by Kara Dalkey
And his sons, echoed the Emperor enviously in his mind as the page left to deliver his message. Kazenatsu, Hidoi and Korimizu—all healthy lads. What karma gave Daimigi such sons? Setting down his wine cup, the Emperor retired to his private chambers.
Imperial Promotions
Daimigi’s mood was as black as his robes and as chill as the frosty morning dampness that clung to them. Sourly he watched the Great Hall of the Palace of Administration fill with expectant nobles, their blue, yellow-green or black robes flitting colorfully between the huge red lacquer pillars. The eager bobbing of their eboshi hats reminded him of a farmyard of black-combed roosters. They are warmed by the fires of hope, no doubt.
The cold of the stone floor seeped up through the straw mat on which Daimigi sat. The small brazier before him gave him no warmth or comfort, nor did the close presence of his three sons beside him. He was all too aware of the curious stares of the other nobles as they noticed he was not seated on the dais of state, where he normally should be on this day.
Impatiently tapping his thigh with his ivory baton of office, Daimigi looked at the great dais at the head of the hall. Yes. There is where I should be seated, not out here with the rest of this rabble. It was the duty of the Minister of the Right, along with the Ministers of the Center and the Left, to hand out the important promotions for the year. But now the low platform, Daimigi noticed, had been furnished with the porcelain statues of the Korean Lion and the Fu Dog that always adorned an imperial dais. At the back of the platform stood a golden, many-paneled screen, on which hung the Sacred Imperial Sword.
So. You have been clever, Your Majesty. While I was fruitlessly chasing flautists, you secretly altered the list of preparations and made it appear to be my orders. The reason given for the change is that I had supposedly learned that I, myself would receive promotion. Naturally, it would be unseemly for me to promote myself, and I must receive the office from a superior. Therefore it was only logical that this year’s promotions should flow from the Imperial hand.
Across the hall, the Ministers of the Center and the Left, a Minamoto and an Oe, were eyeing Daimigi suspiciously. They believe I have denied them their duty for selfish reasons. Were I to tell them the truth, they would think me weak, unable to control an upstart emperor. Either way I lose their favor. Very clever, Your Majesty … but you forget I have played this game far longer than you.
At that moment a gong sounded and ten of the Emperor’s ladies-in-waiting, dressed in many layers of red and white kimonos, bustled into the hall. Two of them carried cushions and one carried a large, gold lacquer box. The rest carried bundles and parcels and baskets that were clearly gifts for the courtiers. There came scattered cries of “How generous is His Majesty!” and “How fortunate we are to live during the reign of such a noble liege!”
Daimigi scowled. The Day of Promotions was meant to be a dignified occasion, not a festival. He noticed the ladies-in-waiting place two cushions at the front of the dais, then they decorously seated themselves behind the golden screen. Interesting, thought the Minister, Will His Majesty seek to make amends by allowing me to join him on the dais after I am promoted?
Another gong sounded and the Emperor himself entered. Immediately all bowed deeply, foreheads touching the floormats. Even from this position, Daimigi watched the Emperor warily.
His Majesty was wearing a magnificent court cloak of deep purple silk brocade and under-robes of gold and white. The bottom of his wide left sleeve bulged heavily, and Daimigi assumed there were more gifts hidden there. But, to the Minister’s shock, as the Emperor sat and opened his sleeve, the cat Hinata jumped out and sat herself with all feline dignity upon the other cushion. A few chuckles were heard at the back of the hall, but the Emperor silenced them with one dark look.
What does he mean by this? thought Daimigi. Does he think to insult the Fujiwara by preferring a cat to sit at his side?
The Emperor rapped the edge of the dais twice with his fan and all the assembled nobles looked up. A young, blue-robed clerk from the Household Office came to the foot of the dais and opened the gold lacquer box. The Emperor reached in and pulled out an ivory baton on which was inscribed the office to be assigned. In a sonorous voice, the Emperor intoned, “Fujiwara no Daimigi!”
The Minister of the Right came forward on his knees to the dais and bowed.
Handing the baton to Daimigi, the Emperor said, “Fujiwara no Daimigi-san, in recognition of your tremendous efforts on behalf of our empire, I have chosen to reinstate the office of Chancellor, which will now be yours.”
Daimigi accepted the baton. Of course. Chancellor is the only position that must be given by the Emperor. Not that this promotion changes anything. It merely formalizes what is already the case. Daimigi stood and bowed again, then did his Dance of Gratitude, each movement of his arms, each flourish of his fan utterly correct.
As he finished, the Fujiwara looked up, expecting the Emperor to summon him onto the platform to sit beside him for the rest of the proceedings. But the Emperor only nodded solemnly. Daimigi looked pointedly at the cat, who blinked down at him as if wondering whether he would make an amusing toy. The Emperor gave a little cough of impatience, and Daimigi allowed just the slightest shadow of a scowl to cross his face before walking, very slowly, back to his mat.
The new Chancellor had barely reseated himself when the Emperor called out the next name.
“Fujiwara no Kazenatsu!”
As the handsome eldest son went forward and bowed, the Emperor held out a baton and said, “As your father is vacating the post of Minister of the Right, this office shall be yours.”
Daimigi gave a small sigh of relief. At least this promotion had been expected. Perhaps the presence of the cat is only a childish act of defiance. Very well, Your Majesty. You may play your little game … but do not expect to win.
Daimigi watched Kazenatsu do his Dance of Gratitude. So graceful and elegant you are! What a fine young emperor you would make. If we could but marry you to His Majesty’s eldest daughter, and then force him to abdicate … but no. The other great families would never stand for so obvious a ploy, and they would be down on our necks instantly. No, for the safety of our family and the purity of the imperial line things must be done this way, and I must rest content with my grandson-to-be as emperor.
Kazenatsu returned to his place and the Emperor called the next name. “Echizen no Netsubo!”
The Minister of the Imperial Grounds came forward—almost too eagerly, Daimigi noted—and bowed. “As the office of Minister of the Imperial Household has been left vacant due to retirement, that office is now yours, and you are now Fourth Rank.” The Emperor handed Netsubo the ivory baton, and a clerk rushed forward bearing the black Senior Courtier’s over-robe. This was draped over Netsubo’s shoulders as he began his Dance of Gratitude.
Daimigi observed that Netsubo’s dance was correct, but just a bit obsequious. This one clearly hungers for position. One wonders if his flute-playing daughter is merely a ploy to make him noticed at court. It seems to have succeeded.
When Netsubo finished, the Emperor gestured with his fan for him to wait. “Netsubo-san, before you go, I would like to ask you a question. Why did you not tell us you had such a talented daughter?”
Netsubo flushed and bowed to hide it. “Your Majesty, I … I wanted to be certain she was of sufficient skill before presenting her to the Court.”
Various snorts and mutterings of disbelief erupted in the back of the hall. The Emperor rapped the edge of the dais with his fan for silence and said, “Well, if my own humble opinion is of any value, I would say she is skilled enough. And I am eager to have her installed at Court as soon as we may.”
Netsubo gave a proud smile and bowed deeply. “Your kind words honor this one’s family, Your Majesty.”
Hidoi murmured, “It will be nice having Uguisu at Court, though if His Majesty wants her I suppose I won’t have much chance—”
“Hush, my son,” Daimigi hissed, “His
Majesty no doubt merely wishes her services as a musician.” Irritated that he had missed what the Emperor had said next, Daimigi frowned at Hidoi and leaned forward to listen.
“Of course,” the Emperor was saying, idly examining his fan, “if your daughter pleases me, there is no need for her to retain the lowly status of Imperial Lady.”
Daimigi nearly fell over with shock, and there were gasps around the hall. The only rank above imperial lady was empress! He wouldn’t dare! Does he think to ruin us all? Does he truly think the Court would accept a girl of an unimportant family as empress, or any son of hers as emperor?
Netsubo bowed his way back to his seat. The Emperor called upon Minamotos, Tairas, Oes, and other nobles of great families, as Daimigi seethed and worried.
What can he hope to accomplish? If he does not take my daughter, and the court does not accept Uguisu, and he dies without an acceptable heir, what then? The nearest relative is a nephew out in the provinces who is the son of the Emperor’s younger sister and a Minamoto! Daimigi shut his eyes and sighed. So far, the warlike Minamoto had been content with their position as “the teeth and claws of the Fujiwara.” But to give them such a foothold on the throne would be disastrous.
Daimigi’s mind wandered further along these paths until his attention snapped back as Hidoi’s name was called. Hidoi nearly leapt to his feet and scampered up to the Emperor, sliding into his bow.
Too eager, my son. You must never look too eager. When will you learn this?
The Emperor took a baton of polished wood out of the lacquered box, then paused. “Hidoi-san, you are currently the Junior Assistant Minister of Central Affairs, are you not?”
Hidoi looked up from his deep bow, confused. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Ah. Well, then, the court is pleased to inform you that you are still Junior Assistant Minister of Central Affairs.”
Hidoi seemed frozen in mid-bow as he heard this, except for his eyes that darted back and forth, as if hoping someone would come forward to tell him what to do. “Your Majesty?”
Daimigi resisted the urge to glare openly at the Emperor. For a Fujiwara not to be promoted as a matter of course every year was practically an insult, or evidence of royal disfavor. Has Hidoi’s offensiveness become too much? Or is this arrow aimed, instead, at me?
Hidoi slowly rose and did a too-brief, awkward Dance of Gratitude before slinking back to his father’s side. “What have I done?” he whispered to Daimigi. “Is he doing this just so he won’t have to compete with me over Uguisu?”
“Don’t flatter yourself, boy. We will sort this out later. Just be grateful you were not made a provincial governor.”
“But, father, I was supposed to become Minister of Imperial Grounds now that—”
“Hush, I say!” The fact that the Emperor was staring at them with a wry twist to his mouth did not improve Daimigi’s humor. He waited through more names from other families until his youngest son was called. Fifteen-year-old Korimizu received the title of Chief of Imperial Guard. Daimigi pondered this as Korimizu did his Dance of Gratitude with solemn dignity and considerable grace for his age. He will be a fine figure in time. The post is an honorable one for a boy his age, no matter what is thought of the Ministry of War. Feeling there was no further reason to remain, Daimigi and his sons rose to leave.
Just then, the Emperor called out, “Niwa-san!”
Silence fell on the hall and no one moved as the wiry old man entered and came before the Imperial dais. Is he insane? A commoner in the Promotions? thought the Fujiwara.
“Niwa-san, because of your great assistance to the Court in discovering Uguisu, I would honor you by promoting you to the office of Minister of Imperial Grounds.”
Daimigi sucked in his breath. So that is why he wished to deny Hidoi that title.
“Gracious Majesty,” said the old gardener. “Niwa is undeserving of this honor.”
I could not agree more, thought Daimigi.
“Nonsense,” said the Emperor. “You have served me and my Court faithfully for as long as I can remember. I would say you are long overdue for this. And it is time a man of your venerable age be allowed a more dignified life than filling the demands for poem blossoms from us younger folk.”
“It has always pleased Niwa to serve the Gentlemen Who Dwell Among the Clouds in whatever way Niwa may.”
“And now we may return the favor. What of your son Takenoko? Where is he? I would honor him also.”
“Glorious Majesty, he has honored this family enough by leaving this world to become a monk at the Temple of Ninna-ji.” Niwa did not even attempt a Dance of Gratitude, but only bowed himself out of the hall, his new green cloak of office draped over his shoulders.
Well, he is old, thought Daimigi, and cannot be expected to remain in office long. I can take some consolation in that.
Just then, four ladies-in-waiting brought in a large, four-paneled kicho, within which a woman hesitantly walked. “I realize,” the Emperor said, “that ladies generally receive their promotions on the eighth of this month. However there is one special exception I wished to make. Katte-san!”
Daimigi clenched his fists at his sides. A woman! A commoner woman at the Imperial Promotions! He is mad, for certain. Then Daimigi felt his heart grow cool and he almost smiled. Of course. Your Majesty has gone the step too far. You have given me the very weapons with which I will win your game. Others will see the folly of giving political decisions to an emperor. And when I take steps to “correct” your errors, none will hinder me.
Hidoi craned his neck, bobbing his head around, trying to get a glance of the woman within. Daimigi soundly thwacked Hidoi on the shoulder with his fan. “You are in the Imperial Presence, boy! You are Fujiwara! Act with the dignity required!”
Hidoi winced and cowered. Kazenatsu, however, was only slightly more restrained in his curiosity, as were most of the nobles in the room.
“Katte-san!” the Emperor called again, and one of the ladies-in-waiting nudged and whispered to the woman inside the kicho. A tremulous, soft voice said, “The lowly one you speak of is here, Most Glorious Majesty.”
“Well, ‘that lowly one’ shall be lowly no more. In honor of your help in finding the flute player Uguisu when no one else could, I appoint you Mistress of the Imperial Kitchens. You are now Myobu no Katte, and a lady of the Fifth Rank.”
Gasps and exclamations swept the hall. Some nobles nodded with appreciation, while others frowned in disapproval. It’s that daughter of Netsubo’s, thought Daimigi, coldly. His Majesty is so infatuated with her that he no longer thinks of propriety or duty. She is another knot that we must see undone.
“I should also like to mention at this time,” the Emperor said, “that my eldest daughter is to become High Priestess of the great Kamo Shrine.”
Daimigi decided he did not need to hear any more. With every indication of wounded dignity, he stood. Making a cursory bow to the Emperor, Daimigi swept out of the hall, plans already filling his mind.
Further Instructions
Uguisu started at every creak of wood, every sigh of wind through the eaves, as she crept through the abandoned house. The sweet scent of plum blossoms from the wild garden outside made Uguisu imagine that ghosts of perfumed ladies wandered the empty corridors with her. She wondered if more spirits would be in attendance this night than the one she intended to summon.
Uguisu made her way through a maze of broken shoji to the center of the house, where she was less likely to be observed, by the mortal world at least. The wood floor was bare and splintered, and the walls bore the slashmarks of intruding thieves. Uguisu brought out from under her kimono the heavy mirror she carried and leaned it against a wall.
During the Festival of U-Bon it had been safe to use a fire in the garden. But this night, even in this deserted part of town, a fire would be noticed. The mirror would be just as useful, for mirrors were by nature somewhat magical. But Uguisu felt a subtle fear that the mirror would be more than just a window to the Und
erworld.
Quickly she laid out the seven herbs and incense sticks before the mirror, then sat back on her heels to wait. Moonlight streamed in through cracks in the roof, making Uguisu’s reflection appear pale and ghostly in the mirror.
After many long moments, Uguisu felt a prickling up her back and saw in the mirror a cloudy shape forming over her right shoulder. She had an intense urge to turn and look behind her but did not, for she knew it would break the spell. The cloudy form shifted and resolved into the craggy face and hands of her guardian spirit.
“Greetings, Uguisu.” The voice was a reedy whisper on the wind.
“Blessing upon you, Wise One.” Uguisu bowed to the mirror.
“Ah, it is too late for that, little one.”
Odd gusts of wind rustled Uguisu’s voluminous robes, and she asked, “Are there other spirits in this house, Wise One?”
The face in the mirror gave a little smile. “There are kami everywhere, Uguisu, as all things have kami. But surely you did not summon me to discuss religion?”
“No, Wise One. My father has told me that I am at last invited to Court. I am to become an Imperial Lady … and may become Empress! It has all happened as you said. I was found and I played the flute for them, and now the Emperor wants me at Court. You said that I should speak to you again when this was accomplished.”
“Hai, Uguisu. You have done very well. Now you shall learn of the purpose for which you have been so carefully prepared.
“You will indeed become Empress, and you will bear the Emperor a son who will be the Crown Prince.”
Uguisu gasped. Bowing very low, she said, “I am deeply honored, Wise One.”
“Yes, you are. But not for the reasons you think.
“Seven generations ago, during the reign of Emperor Shomu, the Fujiwara were striving to gain the power they now possess. However, there was one among the Imperial family who opposed them. His name was Prince Nagaya, and he was a skillful student of sorcery. The Fujiwara feared him, for he was the only one who might thwart their ambitions. One night, while Prince Nagaya was absorbed in his magical studies, Fujiwara no Umaki took the troops of the Six Headquarters of the Guards and surrounded the prince’s house. After extensive interrogation by three nobles, Prince Nagaya was forced to confess that he planned to use his sorcery to overthrow the State. He was condemned to death by strangulation. Shortly thereafter, a law was passed saying that those caught ‘practising mysterious arts’ would be severely punished.”
