I don’t claim to always know when someone is lying, but sometimes I do know when they’re telling the truth, and at that moment I had no doubts.
“If she did appear to you, she must have had a reason.”
“I think it was to deliver a message. To both of us.”
Tagako already had my attention. Now I felt as if she also held my heart in her hands and was thinking of crushing it.
I barely got the words out. “What did she say?”
“In the dream I was lying on my sleeping mat but I was fully awake. She kneeled at my bedside and spoke to me. She asked me to tell you that ‘you are not finished.’ I don’t pretend to know what she meant.”
The exact words I had heard when she appeared to Kenji and me on the bridge. Tagako must have noticed my expression. “You’ve seen her too, haven’t you?”
I saw no point in denying it. I told Princess Tagako about our encounter on the bridge, and she looked thoughtful.
“The same message, so it must be important. Do you know what she meant?”
“I think so, but . . . ”
This time she covered her smile with her sleeve. “Don’t worry—I will not ask. The message was for you, not me.”
“Thank you. Nor will I ask what she said to you.”
She looked pensive. “Actually, I was hoping you could help me understand her meaning.”
I frowned. “Go on.”
“Dream time isn’t the same as waking time, but I am certain she was only at my bedside for a few moments. By the time she spoke of me, she was already starting to fade into darkness, and I’m not completely certain that I understood her. What I heard could be interpreted in one of two ways.”
“I’m listening.”
Princess Tagako looked uncomfortable. “At first I thought she was telling me to look out for you. It sounded like a warning.”
“You told me you were not my enemy. I can assure you, princess, I am not your enemy, either.”
“I believe you, but I am not sure your intentions were what she was referring to in this case. Then there was the other interpretation.”
“I hesitate to ask, but now I must. What was it?”
Princess Tagako looked even more uncomfortable now, and I think I detected a faint blush. “I think she may have been asking me to look after you. Not quite the same thing.”
“Perhaps she meant both,” I said, in a weak attempt to lighten the mood.
There was a flash of anger in Tagako’s eyes. “This is serious, Lord Yamada. Princess Teiko was my friend. If there’s something she wishes of me, if it is within my power I mean to do it.”
I considered her reaction, and answered her in the same serious manner. “Tagako-hime, while my friend Kenji would be the first to tell you that I do need looking after, that is not your burden to bear, and I am certain that Teiko didn’t intend it. I think the first interpretation is the most likely.”
Tagako frowned. “But why would she warn me of you?”
I gave her the only answer I had. “Perhaps because, despite my good fortune in surviving to this age and in what, however little, I may have accomplished, in some very important ways I am unlucky, perhaps even cursed. People near me often come to harm, Princess Teiko not the least of them, and I do not wish that for you, nor would she. That alone would be reason enough to be wary of me.”
Tagako remained silent for a moment. When she spoke again it sounded as if she were speaking of another subject entirely. “There is something else that my time as saiō has taught me.”
“May I ask what that is?”
“It’s about curses, Lord Yamada—they can be lifted.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The next morning dawned crisp and chilly. Already the sun was getting weaker, and the leaves of the maple trees were turning their autumn colors of red and yellow. We rode southeast from Saiku on the road toward the Grand Shrine. Morofusa had sent out riders to cover our left and right flanks, but that was mostly for show. A bandit attack this close to the shrine would have been unprecedented, even in the countryside’s unsettled state.
“You’ve barely said two words all morning,” Kenji observed as he rode beside me.
“Is that unusual?”
He grinned. “Yes. Usually you’ve said barely ten or so by this time. Are you going to tell me what happened with the saiō or not?”
“I’m still not entirely sure what happened, to be frank,” I said. I did relate most of my conversation with Princess Tagako including her account of Princess Teiko’s visitation, though I omitted several things, including Teiko’s message to the saiō. Kenji frowned as he considered what I had told him.
“I’m starting to think that everyone knows why we’re taking this path except the two of us. Do you believe the saiō is in Prince Kanemore’s confidence?”
“I won’t know for certain until I speak with the prince himself, but I’m having a hard time thinking of any way she could know what she knows otherwise. The logical conclusion is that she’s telling the truth. Not that it makes any difference at the moment.”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean we know we’re supposed to be here, and nothing the saiō said to me changes that. If the reason truly is, in part, to meet with this mystery person, then we’ll know that much by day’s end.”
Kenji had no answer and changed the subject. “If the saiōs’s dream was a true one, then Princess Teiko’s spirit is being rather insistent. Which does make me wonder. I mean, you know your task isn’t done. Teiko’s son is not yet on the Chrysanthemum Throne. Such visitations take spiritual energy and can be draining for a spirit. Why would she believe it was so important?”
“It could mean that Takahito’s ascension is in more peril than I currently believe. It could also mean something else entirely. Honestly, Kenji-san, I am as baffled as you are.”
We covered the two leagues to the Grand Shrine without incident, traveling in the shadows of the twin mountains Shumaji and Kamaji as we descended toward the Isuzu river, arriving at the shrine complex around mid-afternoon.
“This was once the site of a fishing village called Uji-tachi,” Morofusa said. “Yet now the shrine has pretty much engulfed everything.”
I could see his what he meant. Everything, from shops and inns and barracks and every other conceivable structure all appeared to be either in service to or indeed a part of the Grand Shrine.
“I gather you have been here before, Morofusa-shōshō.”
“Many times, Yamada-sama. With your permission, I will see to our lodging while you conduct your business. Yoshitsune and three others of my choosing will accompany you.”
The way he spoke made it clear to me that this course wasn’t open for debate. While I was “officially” in command and an attack within Ise itself seemed unlikely, he had the responsibility for both the men in his detachment and my safety; I was more than willing to let him do as he thought best in that regard.
“Very well. Where can I find the Naikū Shrine?”
Morofusa pointed straight ahead. “That way leads to the sacred Uji bridge. Cross to the other side of the river and follow the path to the right along the riverbank, and it will take you there. You’ll need to walk, I’m afraid. Horses are allowed only on special occasions.”
“Gladly,” I said. I’d been in the saddle every day since we’d left Kamakura, and I welcomed the chance to stretch my legs. Even Kenji looked a little relieved. We dismounted and left our horses in Morofusa’s care. Together Kenji and I and the four bushi set out for the bridge.
“I can understand why the high priestess doesn’t reside at the Grand Shrine itself,” Kenji said after a few moments of walking. “This place is chaos.”
Between all the lesser shrines—more than a hundred, according to Kenji, some located within the town itself and some nearby—and the swarms of residents and pilgrims, I could very well see Kenji’s point. I imagined after the establishment of the Grand Shrine in its current form some centuries befo
re, the building of Saiku and the Bamboo Palace at safe distances was probably the first order of business.
We proceeded toward the bridge, drawing almost no attention from the throngs around us. Considering the large numbers of noble and imperial visitors with much larger retinues, my small party must have been seen as unworthy of notice, for which I was a little grateful.
The Uji Bridge spanned the Isuzu River in a graceful arc. I had to pause for a moment at its apex to gaze over the river itself. After the spring rains and the heat of summer, the river was in its gentle phase, flowing in an unhurried stream before the rains of the eleventh month would arrive to hurry it along again. On the opposite shore, I could see the forest of massive sugi that bordered the path along the river.
“Those are some of the largest sugi I have ever seen,” I said. “Even the ones in the Capital are not so impressive.”
“They were here when the shrine was founded and of course never cut since,” Yoshitsune said. “Or so I have been told, Yamada-sama.”
“I can well believe it.”
Once we crossed the bridge, we turned right and walked in the shadow of the sugi forest. Before long, the path turned more toward the slope of Shimaji-yama. The cones from the sugi had begun to fall at this time of year, and we found several in our path as we approached a large building which Yoshitsune informed us was the Kaguraden, the prayer hall built for pilgrims along the path to the actual shrine, since entry to the shrine building itself was forbidden.
“Perhaps, in a few centuries, the sugi forest will expand to cover this road,” I said, after I had accidentally stepped on one of the cones.
“With so many clumsy feet trodding them?” Kenji said. “Unlikely.”
“Not so many today,” I said, looking around.
Kenji frowned. “Now that you mention it, we have seen no one since we crossed the bridge. Does that not seem strange to you?”
“Actually, it does.” It seemed more than strange. It seemed very wrong. “On your guard,” I said.
I had no sooner spoken then several bushi stepped out of the trees ahead of us on both sides of the path. I recognized their mon at once—it was the wisteria vine of the Fujiwara.
Fujiwara bushi?
I wasn’t sure what shocked me more—that Princess Tagako had sent me into a trap, that we were being ambushed on the grounds of the Grand Shrine itself, or that the Fujiwara were now producing bushi of their own. Normally, any warrior acting on behalf of the Fujiwara would be wearing their own insignia, whatever it might be. The odds appeared to be two to one and not in our favor. I glanced down the path looking for a line of retreat, but there were just as many warriors in that direction. It didn’t take a tactician of Prince Kanemore’s level to know that our position was untenable.
“It seems we will likely die today,” Yoshitsune said. “Let my death be honorable.”
He already had his hand on the hilt of his tachi, and I saw nothing for it but to follow his example. Kenji had no sword of course, but he did have his staff. Then I noticed something else strange—none of the Fujiwara had their weapons drawn.
If this is an ambush, why aren’t they attacking?
“Wait,” I said. “Keep your steel covered.”
Yoshitsune frowned but did as I commanded.
“Greetings, Lord Yamada.”
I didn’t see who had spoken at first, but then the bushi in front of us dropped to their knees as a handsome older man, richly dressed, strode briskly between them. “Spilling blood in this sacred space would be an abomination. So before you do something we will all regret, I think we should talk.”
We kneeled together within the empty Kaguraden. Outside, the Minamoto and Fujiwara bushi eyed each other warily, but no violence seemed imminent.
“You are the one I was sent to meet,” I said.
“If you’re referring to what the high priestess has told you, then yes,” he said. “Though I’m sure you know by now that her instructions would have come from our mutual friend, Prince Kanemore.”
Our mutual friend?
“You clearly have the advantage of me, sir,” I said. Eyeing his well-armed guard, I added, “In more than one way.”
He dismissed that. “Most of the time I can no more escape my escort than you can,” he said. “Especially when traveling outside the Capital. I apologize if my attendants startled you. I am Fujiwara no Yorinobu.”
Surprise appeared to be the order of the day. “Sadaijin? The minister of the left?”
“Well, technically I am only acting saidaijin as my brother Norimichi is the official holder of the position, but yes. Not everyone knows I act in his stead.”
The minister of the left was one of the highest officials in the Daijou-kan, the group of seven ministers of the court who exercised power in the emperor’s name. There was also another group of officials each responsible for such areas of concern as the treasury, military, and the emperor’s household, but they were subordinate to the Daijou-kan itself. In that august group only the chancellor of the realm and the daijō-daijin or chief minister, held more power than the man next to me. In theory they were answerable to the emperor, but more than once in the history of the country it had proved to be the case that the emperor really answered to them, even forcing him to abdicate in extreme situations.
“I am honored,” I said.
He frowned. “No, I don’t think so. Forgive me, Lord Yamada, but I do know your opinion of my family. Every now and then—though of course I would deny it if asked—I feel the same way you do.”
I bowed. “With all due respect, Minister, I am less certain of that.”
He smiled. “Prince Kanemore said you might feel that way, so he asked me to tell you something that could make our meeting more . . . productive. Would you like to hear it?”
I tried not to sound as skeptical as I felt, but it was difficult. “Yes, I would very much like to hear it.”
“That night in Shinoda Forest? The ogre’s head struck the ground before his body did.”
I wasn’t certain whether to be relieved or even more shocked. Only three people alive had known that, and Kenji and I were two of them. The third was Prince Kanemore. While Lady Kuzunoha had been present at the battle, she did not arrive until that particular fight was over, and the traitorous priest who had lured us there had committed suicide soon after. The only way Yorinobu could have known about the ogre’s head was if Prince Kanemore had told him.
“You are the reason I am at Ise,” I said.
“Of course . . . well, one of them. I wished to meet with you, but if it happened in the Capital, that could cause difficulties—for both of us. My dear brothers would almost certainly find out, and they know you are no friend to Fujiwara interests.”
That, I considered, was putting it mildly. Fujiwara machinations were the reason my father was dead and my family long in disgrace. That my father had been posthumously exonerated and the shame removed didn’t change what had happened. I knew Prince Kanemore was no more fond of them than I was and possibly less. But he knew the situation at court as I did not, and if he trusted the man beside me, it seemed I might have to do the same—up to a point.
“Yet if we met at the shrine, no one would think anything of it. Thousands of people make the pilgrimage every year,” I said.
“Officially, I am here to pray for the emperor’s recovery,” he said. “It was Kanemore’s idea. Clever man.”
“So it’s true, then. The emperor is ill.”
Yorinobu looked at me. “The emperor is dying. If you hadn’t already known that, I would be very surprised.”
“I admit I had been so informed. It is a sad thing.”
He smiled again. “Let us speak clearly to one another. I know your primary concern is that Prince Takahito’s ascension goes forward. It is the goal shared by Prince Kanemore, his royal uncle, as well. Perhaps there was some . . . question, shall we say, about that in the past? Yes? Well, rightly so. It is no secret that both the chancellor and the
daijō-daijin of the Daijou-kan preferred Norihira, despite the Emperor Go-Suzaku’s decree.”
That much I did know. Go-Suzaku was Go-Reizei’s father, and even though, as his eldest, Go-Reizei ascended in due course, his father had decreed it was to be his much younger brother by Princess Teiko, Prince Takahito, who would ascend after him.
“Prince Norihira is a Fujiwara in the maternal line,” I said.
“Naturally it would be in our family’s interest if he became emperor,” Yorinobu said. “Though if his present Majesty had produced any sons by a Fujiwara mother, it is likely my brothers would have favored them instead, younger men being considered easier to influence and bend to their will. Yet his late Majesty Go-Suzaku may have known something about his eldest son that the rest of us did not. Go-Reizei has three consorts but no children at all. That left only Takahito and Norihira, so of course they favored Norihira.”
So far Yorinobu had told me nothing that I didn’t already know, but his casual relating of Fujiwara political strategy from one of the primary sources left me a bit unbalanced. “When you say ‘they,’ I assume you mean the chancellor and the head of the council?”
“Yes. Specifically, Yorimichi and Norimichi, my elder half-brothers.”
The names were not unknown to me. From what I had gathered from Prince Kanemore over the years, they had treated Takahito rather coldly from the beginning, even though he was crown prince. But then, their goal had always been to change this.
“Forgive me, Yorinobu-sama, but I still don’t understand.”
“Why I am telling you all this? Why you are here?” he asked.
“Yes to both.”
“For the second question, it’s very simple—Prince Takahito will ascend the throne upon the emperor’s death, as decreed. That is certain. What is not certain is how long he will be allowed to keep it. My brothers’ plan is to allow the ascension and then, as soon as possible, force Takahito—well, Emperor Go-Sanjo by that time—to abdicate in favor of his son Sadahito.”
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