by I. J. Parker
He paused, unable to express the depth of his feelings about the dead girl. In the end, he said only, “She was very young.” The grief and anger he felt on her behalf was largely due to her youth and the fact that he was now the father of a girl. The cruel unfairness that a child should have suffered such a fate and encountered death before tasting much of life twisted his heart. He looked at this woman of high rank who sat there in her eccentric finery and resented her. The dead girl had not been privileged and protected; she had been bartered off to be used by men who felt no pity, men who were of his own class and of this woman’s.
He had her whole attention now. She was either shocked or frightened and had lowered her fan. Yes, he thought with satisfaction, she is no longer young. The smooth round face with its tiny painted mouth was covered thickly with white paste, but around the jaw line, the flesh sagged in an unattractive way, and two deep lines ran from the nostrils to the corners of her mouth. The contrast between her and the beautiful dead child was poignant.
She saw him staring and raised her fan quickly. “Wh-what did she look like?” she asked.
Akitada felt a small thrill of triumph. So he had been right. Something had happened here, and she was aware of it, perhaps had even known the girl personally. “In Eguchi, they told me her name was Akogi,” he said, “and that she was in training in one of the houses but had not started working yet. As I said, she was very young, fifteen years at most. She was tall and already well developed, with very long, thick hair. Her face was exceedingly beautiful.” He searched his memory for other words to describe her. “It was oval, but soft like a child’s. Enchanting. There was very little make-up, but the water may have washed that off. She wore only a very thin silk undergown.” He remembered and took the amulet from his sash. “And this was tied around her neck.”
She took the amulet, glanced at it, and gave it back. “Poor child,” she murmured, looking away. “Poor child.” For a moment every part of her figure seemed to sag.
“You’ve recognized it? You know this girl?”
Her eyes returned to his. She said angrily, “Surely you joke, sir. I do not know such women. In any case, I have answered your questions. You may leave.”
Akitada could only blame himself. Even given his ignorance of her identity, he should have realized that she belonged to a family where matters such as prostitution were never mentioned in the women’s quarters. He bowed deeply. “Forgive me. There was a chance that this child was not in the trade. She looked as if she might have belonged to a good family. The amulet suggested as much. I merely mentioned what I was told in town.”
Her manner softened somewhat. “She did not belong here,” she said. “All of our women are accounted for. You must ask your questions elsewhere.”
Akitada bowed again and rose. “Please forgive the intrusion. I have been honored beyond my deserts.”
“Well,” she said, looking up at him, “if you like, you may return tonight. I am giving a small entertainment for friends from the capital.”
It was a gesture of forgiveness that Akitada could not refuse. He bowed again and murmured, “The sun shines on me again. I am a fortunate man.”
Halfway to the great doors, he turned to bow again, but the dais was empty. He thought he heard the faint sound of a titter as a door closed somewhere.
Outside, his embarrassment turned to anger. She had toyed with him, and he would not have it.
The servant who had taken him into the reception hall approached eagerly. “Shall I have your horse brought, my Lord?”
“Not yet. I asked to speak to your betto. I still wish to do so.”
The man’s face fell. “But my lady received you herself.”
Akitada glared at him. “Do not argue with me. Get him.”
The servant bowed and ran. A moment later, he returned accompanied by a tall, handsome man with a shaven head who was dressed a fine green silk robe. He bowed and said, “I am Kakuan. How may I be of service?”
A monk in layman’s clothing? Akitada eyed him with interest. Such a one might well serve as a lover. He spoke well and was, no doubt, educated. Taking care with his phrasing, Akitada said, “I confess that I came here in part to see the architecture of this residence. Tell me, is this building not very much in the style of the great chancellor’s Phoenix Hall?”
Kakuan smiled. “It is indeed, my Lord. You have a sharp eye. Lord Michinaga had the River Mansion built for my mistress when my lady ended her service at the shrine.”
“Beautiful. Which shrine was that?”
“Hakozaki-no-miya. The River Mansion is much larger and more elegant than the shrine, of course. It was a very generous gift.”
Hakozaki-no-miya was of minor importance. So the lady was no imperial princess, and probably not even an acknowledged daughter of the great chancellor. Perhaps she was a lesser member of the clan, or even the child of a favorite. In any case, he now knew where he could learn her identity. Perhaps the rest of his questions would be answered tonight.
He thanked the monk-betto and took his leave quickly.
Chapter Twenty-One
The Shared Cup
The unwelcome invitation to the River Mansion meant that Akitada had to spend the night in Eguchi. It troubled him because he had arranged to meet with Tora in Naniwa. But there was no getting out of it. The last thing he needed was giving offence to a relative of the great chancellor.
He went again to the small monastery and asked to see the abbot. After begging shelter for the night, he inquired about the mistress of the River Mansion.
The abbot’s face lengthened. He shook his head. “Ah, that. I know nothing.” His tone and expression were disapproving. “They don’t attend our services. I sent a monk with an invitation when the lady first arrived, but he was turned away rudely. Thinking that some mistake had been made, I went myself.” He fell silent, shaking his head again.
Akitada waited, but the abbot clearly did not want to talk about the experience. He finally said, “I’ve been invited to an entertainment there tonight and had to accept. It would help me if I knew more about my hostess. I was told she once served as a shrine virgin at Hakozaki-no-miya.”
The abbot regarded him silently a moment longer, then asked, “Is this in any way connected with the poor young woman who drowned? The one both you and your young clerk asked me about?”
Akitada was surprised, though he should not have been. Sadenari was not easily deterred from an interest. He said, “I didn’t know Sadenari had spoken to you. In fact, he disappeared not long after we stayed here, but I don’t think that had anything to do with the dead child. When did you speak with him?”
The abbot thought. “About a week ago, I think. A few days after you both stayed here. He did not stay. Frankly, I thought he planned to spend the night in town.”
Akitada should have been glad to have some word of the tiresome youth, but he was not reassured. He was angry. “You may be right,” he said, then asked, “He seemed quite well?”
“Oh, yes.”
A brief silence fell, then Akitada suppressed his anger and returned to his main concern. “Perhaps I can learn something about the poor young girl’s fate at the River Mansion tonight.”
The abbot expressed disapproval. “It is best to let such things go.”
Akitada looked at the old man. His shaven skull gleamed slightly in the flickering candle light that also threw deep shadows across his face. Many religious men practiced detachment from human desires and fears all their lives. Another death would mean little to them, perhaps all the less for having been the death of a girl who was a courtesan. He, on the other hand, was deeply shaken by death. Yori’s death had nearly destroyed him. And now he had also suffered the loss of Seimei. Little wonder that he was so deeply moved by the death of the beautiful child. And there was danger. “If she was murdered, the murderer may kill again,” he pointed out.
The abbot sighed. “The noble lady is related to the former chancellor Fujiwara Michinaga.
She came here about three years ago. I have a chronicle somewhere.” He got up and rummaged among his books. Selecting one, he brought it back to the light, unrolled it, and ran a finger along the entries. “Shrine virgins. Hmm. Yes. Fujiwara Kazuko, daughter of Fujiwara Tametaka.”
Akitada searched his memory. Tametaka was Michinaga’s brother’s son and was definitely of a rank that made it unwise, if not disastrous, to insult or threaten the mistress of the River Mansion. “Thank you,” he said. “It’s always good to know what one is up against.”
The abbot smiled a little sadly. “You need not go,” he said.
*
Akitada visited the local bathhouse and had himself shaved and his hair arranged. More he could not do because he had brought no clothes. Getting back on his rented horse, he returned to the River Mansion.
It was dusk by then. The air was still and quite warm and humid, but clouds had moved in. Fireflies gleamed now and then among the foliage. At the place where the trees thinned to reveal the broad river, he stopped. A large pleasure boat was anchored in the cove. Lanterns gleamed on board, and the boatmen and servants sat around at their leisure. They had delivered Lady Kazuko’s guests.
And now Akitada could hear faint music in the distance. The atmosphere was romantic but seemed also vaguely disturbing. Had someone killed the girl during just such a night of revels?
He assumed the boat had come from the capital, bringing high-ranking nobles for a night of pleasure at the home of a close friend and relative. This made Akitada even more uncomfortable. There would be every opportunity for him to offend men who were not likely to overlook it and had the power to punish him.
The gates, lit by many torches, stood hospitably open, but servants were there to receive or reject arrivals. As before, he rode into the courtyard and gave his name. As before, a servant took away his horse. On this occasion, however, the betto himself received him. He wore a splendid robe of green brocade over full trousers of pale blue silk and made Akitada feel utterly shabby in his hunting robe.
Kakuan was courteous, bowed very deeply, and led him past the main building to a roofed gallery from which he could see into the gardens.
They had changed magically. Everywhere, lights were suspended from tree branches. More lights cast colored hues from paper lanterns that hung along the galleries. Torches surrounded a wooden stage draped with colored cloth. An elaborately costumed figure in a large gilded mask gyrated there to the accompaniment of six seated musicians. They played a zither, two lutes, a small drum, and two flutes. Around the stage, guests in fine robes, some twenty of them, both men and women, stood watching. Nearby, cushions were laid out in front of trays, and servants waited to serve food as soon as the entertainment was over.
What struck Akitada most was a sense of unreality. He remembered what the boat’s master had said about a scene from paradise. It must have seemed that way to an ordinary working man, but he knew that this also resembled parties he had attended at court or at the homes of wealthy noblemen. Still, there was a subtle difference here. He saw not only the beautiful buildings and the large, well-lit garden, but there was a larger, more mysterious world of forests and river beyond. A sense of being far from the bustle of the ordinary world made this gathering appear celestial rather than human.
Kakuan’s voice woke him from his reverie. “Allow me to introduce you to this lady, sir.”
Akitada turned, and there stood a lovely woman. She was small and finely made, her costume exquisite, and her bow very graceful. Sparkling eyes peered at him over a painted fan.
Kakuan smiled at his surprise. “Please enjoy yourself tonight, my Lord. I’m sure this lady will see to your every comfort and pleasure.”
Kakuan left, perhaps to welcome other guests. Akitada’s attention was on this exquisite creature in her rosy silks and flower-embroidered jacket. Was she a lady of rank or a high-class courtesan? Indeed, she could be either with her long, glossy hair, and her bright eyes smiling at him over the pretty fan. Perhaps she was aware of his confusion and enjoyed it.
He sketched a bow. “You’re very kind. I’m a stranger here. And you?” He hoped her answer would tell him if she was from the town and brought here to entertain the noble guests, or if she had arrived on the boat and was some nobleman’s relative.
It was, of course, very improper for a noblewoman to be here among strange men. No, surely she was a courtesan, and they had done him proud. She was young and very beautiful.
She smiled behind her fan. “I’ve come here before. The lady of the River Mansion gives the most charming entertainments. Are you fond of music, my Lord?”
He glanced at the stage, where two dancers now twirled and jumped. Some battle between ancient gods, perhaps? Yes, he thought one of them was the god of the sea. The music had taken on a more dramatic and martial sound. “I am very fond of it,” he said. “And the dancers are excellent.”
“Come.” She touched his arm with her fan and allowed him a glimpse of a softly rounded face and full lips, “I know a place where you can see better.”
He followed her, the bemusement back because the situation was so odd. He found it easier to go along with it than to object. They skirted the stage and took a path up a tree-covered hillside. She walked very gracefully. From his viewpoint slightly below, he could not help guessing at the youthful body underneath the gown. The jacket fit closely to her back and waist. She was slender but had rounded hips and long, shapely legs under the rose-colored silk of her gown.
The wind had died down, and the night seemed uncomfortably humid. He ran a finger along his collar and looked back over his shoulder. What must people think? The other guests, men with one or two young women beside them, were entranced by the dancers on the platform. None of the women compared to his companion, he thought, though they were pretty enough. He recognized one or two of the men. They outranked him, and his only contact had been mutual attendance at some mandatory court gathering. He hoped they had not noticed him.
She stopped on a small knoll above the garden and gestured at the scene below. “You see? They will soon bring on the asobi. Have you seen an asobi performance before?”
He knew that they were specially trained entertainers among courtesans, but that was all. “No,” he said. “I’m sadly at a loss on occasions like this.”
She laughed softly. “You have missed much, my Lord.”
Perhaps he had. She was lovely in the half light. The torches below did not reach this far, but they cast a golden glow on her graceful head and that glossy hair. It occurred to him that they were not only alone together, but that the brightly lit scene below them meant that they were hidden from the eyes of others. A man might dare anything. He reached out to brush a wing of her hair aside to see her face better. “Yes,” he said with a sigh, “I have missed much, and you are very beautiful.” It was neither elegant nor poetic, and he cringed inwardly. A woman like this, experienced in the language of seduction and desire, must think him as awkward as a schoolboy.
But she turned to him and lowered her fan. Her eyes shone, and a smile parted her lips. Her teeth were blackened. He had never liked the custom, but now the darkness beyond those soft, red lips increased his desire powerfully. Mysteries were to be explored. He took a step toward her.
Sudden applause from below distracted him. The music had stopped and the stage was empty. A woman in brilliant red and white stood on it. She wore a man’s hat, but her long hair flowed behind her like a mantle, covering the red hunting jacket and the full white silk trousers. A sword was pushed through her sash, and she held a pair of small drums. He had heard of that style and thought it ridiculous and highly improper for a woman to dress in man’s clothing, but here the strangeness of her appearance, that unexpected twist on commonly held perceptions of the differences between men and women, was fascinating and part of the magic of this night. The woman below began a slow dance, beating the rhythm on her drums. The musicians joined in, softly and tentatively.
“The
shirabyoshi Koro,” his companion whispered in his ear. She was very close to him; he could feel her breath on his cheek. “She is wonderful and much admired.” Her sleeve brushed his and he breathed in her scent.
“She will never be a charming as you,” he said gallantly and smiled into her eyes. A part of him wondered what he was about. It was not like him to pursue a courtesan, but on this warm and scented night, with the river plashing softly below them, this extraordinary and licentious gathering had worked a change in him. He suddenly felt that he had become a staid and joyless official long before his time. He was not an old man, but he had not really lived, had never tasted the pleasures that were available here. How could he be fully human without knowing this part of a man’s life also? Life was uncertain enough, and death waited at every turning of the road.
“Listen!” she said, her eyes bright with promise.
The shirabyoshi sang. She had a full, warm voice that carried on the sudden silence. “No bower of roses for me,” she sang. “I’ll never be a wife.”
He reached for the woman beside him and bent his head to kiss her.
“Oh, love in vain . . .”
Their lips touched. She opened hers and reached up to caress his cheek.
“ . . . naked breast pressed to naked breast.”
The blatant words of the song both shocked him and stirred his desire. Perversely, he was also moved by the sadness of the courtesan who made love to men who did not care about her.
Naked breast to naked breast.
His companion’s scent was in his nostrils, his tongue in her mouth, tasting sweetness. He wanted her desperately. “What are you?” he asked hoarsely into her hair. “Are you . . .?” How to ask this woman if she was available? The difficulties were immense. And how to handle the transaction? The only time he had experienced something similar, the woman had been an ordinary prostitute who had offered herself, and a piece of silver was all she had expected. He had no idea how much he should offer a woman like this one. Or if an offer would be insulting. Would she accept gold, or was he expected to give her gifts?
