Yamada Monogatori: The Emperor in Shadow (5 page)

“We should reach Saiku by tomorrow afternoon,” Morofusa said.

Saiku was a small village where the shrine’s high priestess, the
saiō
, resided in relative peace from the bustle and crowding of the Grand Shrine; it was about two leagues northwest of the shrine itself. Calling it a village was perhaps inaccurate, since all in residence there were either close attendants or persons either directly or indirectly in service to the priestess’ household. As the
saiō
was traditionally an unmarried imperial princess or a close member of the royal family, it would have been extremely poor manners to ignore her. Not that I was above such behavior when I felt warranted, but I had no reason now. I had long since learned to choose my insults carefully.

“It will be necessary to stop briefly and pay our respects to the
saiō.
Unless by some chance she is in attendance at the shrine, currently?” I tried not to sound hopeful, though I wasn’t looking forward to another delay. Kenji cheerfully severed the thread of optimism I was clinging to.

“Unlikely,” he said. “There are only three ceremonies which require her physical presence, and those are in the Sixth Month, the Ninth, and the Eleventh. As it is the Tenth, Princess Tagako will probably be in residence in the Bamboo Palace.”

I blinked. “Princess Tagako?”

Kenji just looked at me for a moment. “Honestly, Lord Yamada, after all these years I am still amazed at what you do and do not pay attention to. Even one such as I would know that Princess Tagako is the current priestess and the longest-serving
saiō
in some time. She has been in residence for almost seventeen years, appointed by Emperor Go-Reizei when she was twelve.”

I had heard the name before. In my first year at court, I had known her as a friend of Princess Teiko, even though Tagako couldn’t have been more than six or so at the time. I was years gone before her appointment as
saiō
and had heard nothing of it, but then my attendance at any shrine outside Kamakura had been spotty at best.

Morofusa spoke up then. “With your permission, Lord Yamada, there’s a small village not too far from here where the
saiō
traditionally rests both on her way to the shrine after her appointment and upon her return to the Capital. The temple there keeps a garrison of
sohei
, so it should be secure.”

“That sounds perfect.”

Our stop was a fishing village built next to an inlet on Ise Bay. The temple Morofusa mentioned, since it served as a waystation for the high priestess, had guest quarters. Nothing opulent, but more than adequate for our needs. That evening I found myself again watching the shoreline, this time from the western veranda of the temple, but this time the ghost light did not appear. Kenji found me there.

“As I suspected,” he said. “Have you seen any sign?”

“Nothing. And I am not sure whether I am more relieved or saddened.”

Kenji said nothing for a moment or two, but I knew there was something on his mind. He finally spoke it. “Princess Teiko is dead, Lord Yamada. Her ghost, for whatever reason it has chosen to remain in the mortal realm for now, no longer belongs here. She should be exorcized.”

“No!” Even I was startled by the force of my denial, but Kenji didn’t blink.

“I anticipated your reaction, but you needn’t concern yourself, as I doubt this step will be necessary. I believe, once you or we have accomplished her desire, she will wish to depart on her own. You should be pleased for her, and yet?”

“I am torn,” I said. “I would know she was at rest, but . . . ” I didn’t finish. Kenji did it for me.

“She will be really gone this time, for good and all? Yes, I thought so. Yamada-sama, ghost or no, she is already gone, in every way that should make a difference to you. There may come a time when she is truly ready to depart and it is only your clinging to her memory that will, perhaps, hold her here. Will you be prepared to let go, to really let go, when the time comes?”

I gave him the only answer I had. “I do not know.”

Kenji’s expression was as serious as any I had ever seen on his face. “Then I suggest you consider the question, for there may come a time when the answer will matter more than Teiko’s last wish for her son does now.”

We set out early the next morning, and as Morofusa had predicted, we came in sight of the Bamboo Palace at Saiku well before sunset. As a residence it was little worse than most noble mansions in the Capital, with a main hall and two wings connected by walkways, plus several outbuildings for storage, kitchens, and workshops, all within a walled compound within the village. I knew there was little reason to proceed on toward the Grand Shrine before nightfall, so we set up camp on a small hilltop overlooking the village while a runner was sent ahead to offer our greetings to the
saiō
. Even I knew that one simply did not present oneself unannounced in such circumstances. Yet the attendants had barely begun their preparations before the runner, a young man named Hiroshi, returned and kneeled before me.

“Yamada-sama, I was instructed to give this to you personally,” he said.

Hiroshi held out both hands palm up, and resting there was a small sheet of
washi
neatly folded into the form sometimes referred to as a “lover’s knot,” since it was nearly impossible to re-fold properly once opened and so had the virtue of making it extremely difficult for anyone else to read the message without the intended recipient knowing that the communication had been compromised. I took the paper and unfolded it carefully to read:

Autumn wind rushes past

An empty garden where once

The peony bloomed.

After the poem, there was a simple message: “I would speak with you in private.” I dismissed Hiroshi then showed the paper to Kenji, who frowned.

“It seems you will be allowed an audience with the priestess,” he said.

“Allowed? It sounded rather more like a command.”

“It also sounded as if we—well, you—were expected. That poem . . . ”

I nodded. “Yes. It’s a reference to the death of Princess Teiko. ‘Peony’ was her nickname at court. She held it from the age of seven. Not just anyone would know that, especially now, but Princess Tagako is one who would. Without mentioning either of our names, it was clear the message was for me.”

My time at court had been so long ago I sometimes forgot how the mind of someone raised at the emperor’s court tended to work. The message would have seemed innocuous enough to anyone else who discovered it, yet to the intended recipient—myself, in this case—there was far more to be read. Princess Tagako’s note reminded me of Teiko in more ways than simply the poem.

“Why would she bring up Teiko? That seems rather indelicate.”

It was more than indelicate. It was deliberate, implied far more than it said, and was aimed precisely at me.

“Indelicacy with a purpose, I think, though what that purpose is, I cannot fathom. I must go speak to the
saiō.
”

“You must also finish the
tanka.
”

I winced, but Kenji was right. The form of the poem required an answer, or rather, a
shimo-no-ku
, a lower phrase, which must also be in the proper form to match the upper phrase. Princess Teiko had always been somewhat amused by my attempts at poetry, but the occasion called for me to try. I sent for a portable writing table and quickly prepared the ink. First I copied Princess Tagako’s poem as best I could and, after many hesitations and false starts, wrote down this:

Autumn yields to winter’s cloak,

In spring, flowers bloom again.

Kenji looked at what I had written. “Lord Yamada, for you that almost sounded hopeful.”

I sighed. “Yes. If I had more time . . . well, it still wouldn’t be any better.”

After the couplet, I replied that I was at her service and then folded the paper. I knew better than to attempt the elaborate lover’s knot fold Princess Tagako had used, so I called for a candle and used the dripping resin to seal the message, then sent for Hiroshi to carry it back.

“I wouldn’t expect an answer before tomorrow,” I said, but there I was wrong again. Hirsoshi soon returned, this time with a simple note:

The moon will be lovely tonight. Please join me for a viewing on the eastern veranda.”

I grunted in surprise. “Princess Takago knows as well as I do the moon is yet waning and any such viewing will be mediocre at best.”

“Then perhaps your conversation will have to do with subjects other than the moon, as you’ve surely guessed by now. Speaking of which, you are the head of the Yamada clan now meeting with an imperial princess. Please do make yourself more presentable,” was all Kenji said. He then excused himself to go check on his mount, which, in addition to Ujiyasu, had also been injured in the bandit attack the previous day.

There was no arguing with his point. I took the time before sunset to have a meal and then dress myself in the finest clothing I had brought with me. It wasn’t exactly the formal court style, but my robes and
hakama
were of good quality. I was also able to use a nearby spring to wash the worst of the day’s travel grime off me so I wouldn’t embarrass myself by my appearance or odor.

When Morofusa learned of my intention, he presented himself and three other members of his detachment. “You must have an escort, Lord Yamada, if only as far as the mansion courtyard. It will be expected. We will remain on guard there.”

“Very well. Shall we go?”

It wasn’t very far to the compound, but we went on horseback, as that also was expected. We dismounted at the gate and surrendered our mounts to the grooms waiting there. While Morofusa and his
bushi
were served wine and rice cakes on the southern veranda of the main hall, two female attendants led me through the mansion to the eastern veranda, then withdrew to a discreet distance.

“Welcome, Lord Yamada. It has been a long time.”

Princess Tagako was a member of the royal family meeting a man who was neither a relative nor her husband, so I fully expected her to be speaking to me from behind a screen, but instead she was kneeling on a cushion in full view of the waning moon. The light from the moon wasn’t exactly bright, but her face was in profile and I admit I was looking to recognize the child she was when I saw her last, but I did not find her there. Princess Tagako was now a striking woman of about thirty. She wore a layered silk robe in autumn colors, quite elegant but far from elaborate court dress. I kneeled, bowed low, and stayed there.

“I am honored you remember me, Tagako-hime.”

“Only barely, I admit, since I was so young when I saw you last. I suppose you are wondering why I am greeting you in this scandalous fashion,” she said. “That is partly because it is impossible for the
saiō
to fulfill her duties as priestess while hidden away like some secret, so I’m afraid I’ve rather gotten used to it. No doubt I am ruined for decent society at the Capital.”

“One would never say so,” I said, “but you implied, perhaps, another reason as well?”

“I wanted to see you, Lord Yamada, and not through a veil. I will admit this as well—after all this time and so many stories and rumors, I was curious.”

I frowned then, though with my face almost pressed against the floor, I doubt she noticed. “Rumors, Tagako-hime? Stories?”

“Oh, please get up. I have a cushion here for you,” she said. I looked up and noticed the cushion a few feet away. It placed me no closer to the princess than propriety dictated but not so far away that discreet conversation would be impossible. I remembered the two servants and wondered how many others were nearby. However the situation might have appeared, I knew we were not alone. I kneeled on the cushion as she turned to face me.

“Do not pretend your exploits are not, shall we say, of some interest to people who are aware of the world beyond their own hearths, Lord Yamada. Is it true that you and Crown Prince Takahito’s uncle once defeated a fully grown ogre?”

“Prince Kanemore defeated such an ogre in single combat and I was present, that much is true,” I said. “Otherwise I think my reputation has been somewhat exaggerated.”

She raised one sleeve then to hide her smile. “For those who have reputations in the first place, most surely are so,” she said. “That doesn’t mean there isn’t truth to them. As we are old acquaintances, I made it my business to attempt to ascertain the difference.”

“I am unworthy of such consideration,” I said.

“Princess Teiko never thought so,” she said then, lowering her voice.

The direction of the conversation was taking was starting to worry me, but it was clear that Tagako knew that.

She kept her voice barely above a whisper. “Forgive me, Lord Yamada, but I need you to understand something about me. As the daughter of a deceased minor prince, I was of little interest to anyone in the imperial court. That reality was often made known to me in no uncertain terms. I was selected by divination, just as any other
saiō.
I think the gods chose well, but some still believe the only reason the current emperor appointed me to this exalted post is because he had no daughters of his own, and I was the only unmarried imperial princess who was not already being groomed for some other role.”

“I did not know this,” I said.

She smiled again, but it was a sad smile this time and she didn’t bother to cover it. “Please understand—I say this not to elicit your sympathy but rather so that you know how much Princess Teiko meant to me. She was the only one at court who showed me any kindness or consideration, who talked to me as if I were an equal. After your departure, Princess Teiko took me into her household for a few years before my appointment here, and those were some of my happiest memories at court. Lord Yamada, I may have been young then, but I was not blind. I knew how she felt about you and what it did to her to send you away . . . yes, I did find out about that and more besides.”