Okāsan came outside to greet them. “Yamabuki, this is our new maid, Hotaru, and her daughter, Akemi.”
Hotaru bowed.
Okāsan gave her a tight smile. “Come with me. Let Akemi entertain my daughter so she will stay out of my way for once.” She walked off, her tight kimono barely hampering her pace.
Akemi stared at Yamabuki. She had long hair, not black like Yamabuki’s, but a dark brown with deeper maroon lowlights. Yamabuki stared back. The girl’s bony wrists stuck out of her threadbare kimono and her dirty feet were bare, but still, she had a dignity Yamabuki recognized. Besides, Yamabuki was not about to alienate the only girl she had ever seen. “I know where’s there’s a bird’s nest,” Akemi said, her voice a low monotone. “Want to see?”
Yamabuki nodded mutely.
Akemi opened their gate.
Yamabuki’s feet planted to the ground. “I’m not supposed to leave!” She glanced back toward the main house, to the shrill sound of Okāsan’s voice instructing Hotaru in the ways of their low-nobleman household.
Akemi snorted. “It’s only a few feet away. Do you want to see it, or not?”
Yamabuki followed.
Akemi climbed up into a tree. “What are you waiting for?” Yamabuki kicked off her geta, put her hands around the lowest branch. Her muscles were weak and she couldn’t get up the way Akemi had. Akemi looked at her silently. Yamabuki’s cheeks flamed. With a sheer burst of willpower, she hoisted herself into the tree, pushing her feet against the trunk, the rough bark scratching her too-delicate skin.
The baby birds chirped noisily in the nest, bald and vulnerable. Yamabuki stared at them in fascination. Robins, with blue feather-down. Akemi grinned. “I told you.” They watched the chicks for some time.
“Why are they so noisy?” Yamabuki asked.
“They want their mother to come feed them,” Akemi said. “Aren’t you noisy when you’re hungry?”
“No,” Yamabuki said. “It’s not allowed.”
They looked at the birds for a while. The wind came through the trees, making a whistling sound. Yamabuki looked up and saw her obāchan sitting above her.
“Quiet,” Obāchan said, with her warm smile.
Yamabuki leaned over to the girl, who smelled earthy, like the garden. “I promise I will treat you well,” she said impulsively, squeezing the girl’s wrist. “We will be friends.”
Akemi gave her a strange, puzzled look. Yamabuki did not know what it meant. “All right.” She scrambled down. “We had better go back. I’ll be in more trouble than you ever will.” She waited for Yamabuki to lower herself, helping her to the ground. Then she bent and put the geta gently back on Yamabuki’s feet and led the way back into the compound.
THREE
Tomoe Gozen
MIYANOKOSHI
SHINANO PROVINCE
HONSHU, JAPAN
Spring 1160
Kaneto did not punish Tomoe in the clearing for beating up her brothers, as she thought he would. He merely gestured for them to follow him.
They returned home in silence. During the afternoon meal, they all sat on woven reed cushions around the low rectangular beech table, the boys huddled together. Yoshinaka reverted to his Kanehira-only solidarity and ignored Tomoe.
Tomoe told herself she didn’t care what Yoshinaka and her brother did. Her stomach churned and she finally put down the chopsticks, staring at their brown lacquer with inlaid mother-of-pearl bamboo leaves on them. They were some of the fine things Kaneto had brought back from his time as a retainer, gifts from the Minamoto family. Now that Kaneto was a farmer, he would never be able to afford these items.
Kaneto, too, seemed distracted. He ate silently, a change from the joking manner he usually had.
All of them were waiting for something to happen. How would her father punish her?
Chizuru was the only one who tried to keep everything normal. “Tomoe, after this, we can start on your new spring kimono, yes?” Chizuru leaned toward Tomoe. “It is a beautiful blue color and will look lovely against your skin.” Her rough hand patted Tomoe’s under the table.
In the old days, Chizuru had been considered a beauty. It was a pity she was not born higher, Kaneto liked to say, because no one looked lovelier than Chizuru when she shaved her eyebrows and blackened her teeth. She had not bothered to do either for as long as Tomoe could remember, living as they did out in the countryside. Her hair was beginning to show white, though she was not yet thirty, but her face remained smooth, her cheekbones high and her jawline firm.
Wind rattled the wooden house. The day had turned cool and rainy, so Chizuru shut all the sliding doors to the outside. Now their day was lit by several oil lamps. Tomoe found it oppressive, especially with the boys being as they were. A year ago they might have played together on days like this, spinning tops or playing one of the innumerable war games Yoshinaka thought up. Not today.
Yoshinaka finished his meal. “I hate days like this,” he said. “Nothing happening.”
“That is how most days are,” Kaneto said with a small smile. That was it. The gloomy spell was broken.
Yoshinaka let out a breath. Tomoe realized she had let hers out, too. The boy reached over to tickle her. Tomoe gasped. In front of Kaneto? She swatted his hand away. He grinned and she couldn’t help grinning back. Yoshinaka turned his attention to Kaneto, who was still eating. “Kaneto-chan, tell me about my rescue,” he implored him.
“Yes,” Kanehira said through a mouthful of rice. “Tell us.”
“He’s told it so many times, I could tell it,” Tomoe said, but her mother hushed her.
Kaneto nodded and took another bite. “Many years ago,” he said, “but not too many, the Minamoto were in power. We were the emperor’s right hand. Your father, Yoshikata, was the lord of many lands not far south of here. Fertile lands, all of them, lands that everyone wanted. Lands that produced two hundred times as much rice as ours do.”
Yoshinaka leaned forward, his eyes bright.
Kaneto lowered his voice. “And then, one winter’s night, the Taira attacked.”
“I hate the Taira!” Kanehira bellowed. Yoshinaka shushed him.
“You, Yoshinaka, were only a baby. General Kiyomori wanted your father’s land. He killed your father.”
Yoshinaka frowned. The story, heard so many times, did not upset him as much as make him angry. “Yes.”
Kaneto leaned toward the children. “Yes, he killed your father and took your land. And he would have killed you, too, Yoshinaka, had not your father’s other retainer, Sanemori Saito, taken you away.” Kaneto’s eyes misted. “Sanemori hid you in a saddlebag and sneaked you out. Chizuru and I were here, visiting her parents, whose farm this was. He carried you through the heavy snow to us, holding you next to his chest to keep you warm. You had no clothes, no food, and he thought you might die. But you were strong. Stubborn.”
Yoshinaka nodded.
Kaneto reached over and ruffled the boy’s black hair so it stood on end. “Sanemori knocked on our door in the dead of night. We did not know what to think.”
“But I had plenty of milk to go around,” Chizuru said, clearing away the children’s dishes. “Kanehira was a greedy, chubby little baby. You two were only hours apart in age. Practically twins.”
“Yes,” Kaneto said, continuing. “So we raised you as our own. And the Taira General Kiyomori killed your uncle, and sent your cousins to live in exile. Many abandoned our side. The emperor is weak without us, the Taira too grasping.” Kaneto lowered his voice so the children had to strain to hear. “One day, my children, the Minamoto will rise up again. We will take our revenge on Kiyomori. Take back all our land. Our titles. A Minamoto will be shōgun before I die. Mark my words.”
Yoshinaka stood, raising his fists. “I am ready!”
Kaneto burst into laughter, tugging at Yoshinaka’s kimono. “Not too
quickly, Yoshinaka. I am afraid there will be many years yet like this day.” He nodded at the door, where the rain sluiced down loudly on the wooden porch. “Many days where we must simply bide our time. We cannot rush such a thing, or we will be cut down again. We must gain allies and support.” Kaneto took a breath, put down his empty rice bowl, and laid his chopsticks across the top. “Boys. I must talk to Tomoe. Go outside.”
“It’s raining!” Kanehira said with a scowl. Only Kanehira would be cheeky enough to talk back.
“You must tolerate the rain,” Kaneto replied calmly, in a tone that let his son know he meant it. Yoshinaka was the one who rose and bowed, setting off for the porch. Kanehira threw his chopsticks down and shuffled after his milk brother.
Kaneto stroked his small goatee, a habit of his when he was thinking. The goatee was not fashionable, according to Chizuru, but Kaneto found it practical. Like his wife, his hair had prematurely aged, and white streaked the black of his head and his chin. Chizuru refilled his rice bowl, keeping her gaze on her daughter.
Tomoe folded her hands in front of her. She bowed her head. “Father, I am deeply sorry for my actions.”
Kaneto said nothing.
Tomoe hurried on. “It won’t happen again. I will make it up to the boys. I promise.” Tomoe did not really think she should have to make anything up to the boys, but she knew how her father would see it. It was a matter of honor. She had disgraced the boys by beating them at their own game.
Kaneto let out breath as though he had been holding it. “This is not a world where anyone can sit idle while others fight.”
Chizuru paled. “No, Kaneto. I don’t want her to get hurt. She should learn how to be a lady.”
Tomoe did not understand. What were they talking about? Was she going to be punished, or not?
Kaneto eyed Chizuru with scorn. “And which great lord is going to call for Tomoe to come to Miyako to be a lady-in-waiting? A girl from the countryside, the daughter of a wet nurse and a retainer turned farmer. Such grand prospects.” He took an angry bite of rice. “No, she must learn to fight. She has it in her. More than Kanehira. I cannot help what her nature is. You’ve seen her archery.” Her father patted Tomoe’s hand. “The best archer in the north.”
Tomoe blushed. Two years ago, her father taught them how to use bow and arrow. Tomoe loved the swish as her arrow released, the pride of seeing it land squarely in her target. She practiced long after the boys had gotten bored, but she didn’t know her father noticed.
Chizuru gathered up the dirty dishes with trembling hands. “I will not allow it.”
“Would you rather she be killed in your own home, as you nearly were?” Kaneto’s voice rose. “A new fight is coming, Chizuru. The Minamoto clan rises again. We have many supporters up here and to the west. The Taira are nothing but vicious tyrants. It is kill or be killed in this world. I want the Minamoto to survive.”
“You cannot trust the Minamoto,” Chizuru burst out. She gasped and bent her head as she took the dishes outdoors, to where she would clean them.
“I can trust the one I’m raising.” Her father ate the last of the rice. What did they mean? Tomoe waited, willing herself quiet. He turned his gaze to her. “Tomoe, I have left off your education for too long. When the men are away, it is you who must defend our home.” He got up and went to the large oak trunk he kept in a corner. This trunk held his possessions from his time as a retainer. None of them were allowed to touch it. The boys, of course, did while their parents weren’t around, so Tomoe knew what it contained: swords and armor.
But it wasn’t the trunk he opened. He shoved it aside, then bent to the floorboards, prying one up with his fingertips and reaching into the depths of the house. Kaneto fished around for a minute, then straightened. He held something Tomoe hadn’t seen before. It was a curved blade about two feet long, glinting in the dim light, set atop a wooden pole much taller than Tomoe herself. Indeed, the pole was taller than Kaneto.
“A naginata.” He gestured for Tomoe to come closer. She took the pole in her hands, holding it up. It was heavy, but she could manage. She hefted it and took an experimental swing. With this, one could reach far. It was like having an eight-foot-long arm. “If you practice as diligently as you have with your archery, you will have no problems.”
She hugged her father with her free arm. “Domo arigato.”
He kissed the top of her head. “You can be a warrior and a lady, Tomoe. An onnamusha. Or some would say onnabugeisha.”
Tomoe recognized onnamusha. Onna meant “woman,” musha meant “warrior.” But onnabugeisha? “Geisha? I don’t want to be a geisha.” Tomoe frowned. She’d heard the term ascribed only to some female entertainers.
“No. Bugeisha. Geisha means ‘artist,’ Tomoe. Bu is the way of the warrior. So bugeisha is ‘one who studies the art of war.’ You would be a warrior geisha. Like Empress Jingu.”
Empress Jingu ruled Japan in ancient times. She was said to have led a victorious war against Korea while heavily pregnant. Tomoe smiled up at him. “Will I be an empress, too?”
He glanced toward the door where Chizuru had gone. The boys were out in the yard, the rain stopped. They chased the flapping chickens in circles. Tomoe couldn’t tell which was making more noise, boy or fowl. “No, but you perhaps might be the wife of a shōgun.”
Tomoe followed his gaze to Yoshinaka, who, disregarding all his own personal safety, tackled a chicken in the mud. He pulled Kanehira down with him. Kaneto sighed. “Tomoe, go help them clean up.”
Tomoe bowed her head.
FOUR
Tomoe Gozen
KISO-FUKUSHIMA TOWN
SHINANO PROVINCE
HONSHU, JAPAN
Spring 1160
Her father, good as his word, began Tomoe’s training right away. On the first day, Kaneto took them to the town of Kiso-Fukushima to buy supplies. They brought along Yoshimori Wada, the nine-year-old son of another local farmer Kaneto had recruited. “His grandfather was a Minamoto noble,” Kaneto had said. “Descended from Emperor Kammu. He is like us. Samurai blood.”
Yoshimori Wada seemed an unremarkable boy to Tomoe. He was barely her height, with a medium build and a round, placid face, with straight hair falling into his eyes. Tomoe greeted him with a small bow when they were introduced, then faded back behind Kaneto so she wouldn’t have to talk to him. She focused instead on walking the horse they had brought to carry the goods back.
Tomoe loved going into town. That was the only thing she missed about spending so much time with her father—it was her mother’s job to go buy the goods they could not grow on their farm. This town was tiny, only two streets long. The first street was all vendor stalls, constructed of ramshackle lumber, but each filled with, to Tomoe’s eyes, endless goods. Her favorite was the sweets vendor, who peddled all sorts of rice candies and sweet bean pastries. The second street Tomoe was not allowed to go into. Chizuru said it was all restaurants and drinking establishments and other places not suitable for young children.
Kaneto paused at a stall where the man sold clothing, asking about woven bamboo body armor. “You may each buy a sweet,” he said, giving them each a Chinese copper. Tomoe grinned. Such a treat was usually annual. This must be a special occasion indeed. For the first time in her life, she felt important.
Tomoe and Yoshimori Wada walked slowly to the sweets stall. The two younger boys danced along in front of them, kicking up small plumes of yellowish-brown dirt in their wake. Tomoe sneezed.
“Watch out!” Yoshinaka yelled to the townspeople, doing a high kick for their benefit. “Minamoto coming through.” Several old people nodded approvingly at him with toothless grins.
Tomoe glanced back at her father, expecting a reprimand. Kaneto did not turn. It was young Yoshimori Wada who stepped in and clapped Yoshinaka on the back roughly. “Cut it out,” he said sharply. “You’re getting dirt in Tomoe’s face.”<
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Yoshinaka glanced back at her, surprised. She sniffled. “She doesn’t care if she gets dirty.”
“I care.” Yoshimori Wada put his face next to Yoshinaka’s. “You’re her brothers. You’re supposed to protect her.”
Uh-oh. They couldn’t fight. “It’s all right, Wada-san.”
“Yoshimori.” But he straightened from Yoshinaka.
“I like Wada. Wada-san.” She bowed with a smile. It wasn’t polite of her to call him by his family name, and he might have punched anyone else who tried it. But she wanted to see how far he’d let her go, this Wada. His face brightened and blushed. Perhaps he wasn’t dull after all. Of course, Kaneto would never consent to training a dull boy. So she would watch after the boys, and Wada-san would watch after her.
A group of little girls stood in front of the candy vendor. They were merchants’ daughters, clad in cotton kimonos of light pinks and yellows, their hands soft and untarnished by heavy work, tall in their wooden geta. They looked at Tomoe and giggled. “Is that a boy or a girl?” one of them asked.
Tomoe’s face burned. What did she care what these little girls thought? One day, they would pray for protection from people like her and her family. The real warriors. She held her head up high and walked up to the sweet vendor. Her mouth watered at the display of multicolored candied fruits and the mochi candies. The air here was sweet. She inhaled and looked over the prices. She had enough money for the fruit, not for the mochi, her favorite.
The vendor, an elderly man with wrinkles so heavy they nearly pushed his eyes closed, leaned over. “What would you like, pretty one?”
“One candied loquat, please.” To her left, she heard them continue to chatter about her. Loneliness welled up. She wished she had a girl for a friend. Just one girl.
Tale of the Warrior Geisha Page 2
