“Toshihide-san informs me there have been, as of yet, no further attempts.”
I thought she smiled then, though through the veil it was impossible to tell. “You sound disappointed.”
“Not at all, Highness. Say, rather, surprised. A sentiment Toshihide-san shares.”
“Perhaps the danger is past. As we cannot discern the reason for the danger, how could we in turn recognize when it is gone? Shall I wait behind these walls for the rest of my years for an attack which never comes?”
“If it is within my power to prevent this, I will do so. Yet I will admit myself at a loss. The most puzzling thing about the attempts on your life is there still appears to be no reason for them. Yet we know there must be. With all respect, there are those in the halls of power in this city who would poison their own mothers.”
She laughed. “As a child of the court, I am well aware of this. However, they would not do so on a whim. In someone’s mind, there is a reason, and failing a personal grudge, that reason would be about advantage. Status, power . . . to gain or prevent a loss of either. There is very little aside from these things which courtiers care about.”
“Indeed, which is one reason I came to see you today, though I must thank you for the concert. I studied music as well, in the Daigaku-ryō, but quickly learned I had no talent for it. Yet I do regard it highly and your playing was more than I had any right to expect.”
“You are too kind. So, you did attend the imperial university? I am not surprised. Still, I cannot claim any great skill for myself. I do like to play, Yamada-sama. It helps take my mind off of my . . . situation.”
“Yet all I do is remind you of it, so again I must ask your forgiveness.”
“Baka,” she said. “What did you want to ask?”
I accepted her gentle reprimand and got to the reason for my visit. “When last we spoke, you mentioned you are now betrothed. I realize this is a personal question, but are you yet prepared to name your groom?”
“What would be the point, Yamada-sama? It’s not important.”
“It might be very important, Highness. Far more than we realize.”
There was a slight hesitation then which led to a sour note, but she quickly recovered. “What do you mean?”
“I have been going around and around like a dog chasing its tail trying to discern why anyone would wish to harm you. What I keep coming back to, time and again, is the realization there is simply no reason, none.”
“But someone does want to harm me. I think this is well established.”
“Indeed. The realization of which leads me to the conclusion the reason has nothing to do with you personally. You said it yourself—all princesses marry for reasons of state. You are to be married. What if it is the marriage itself that creates a perceived threat, so much so someone would be willing to do almost anything to prevent it?”
“Oh,” Princess Tagako said, and for a while no one said anything. It was Morofusa who broke the silence.
“But . . . when we traveled through Kawachi province, even Her Highness did not know a marriage had been arranged. How could word have reached anyone? Who would have known?”
I glanced at Princess Tagako. “Aside from His Majesty? I bow to your expertise concerning imperial matrimony.”
“Well, normally I would say the members of the Daijo-Kan—the Great Council of State—would know, and so the entire court would soon learn of it. But it is also true that Takahito—excuse me, I mean Emperor Go-Sanjo—has an independent streak. They were likely not consulted on such a trivial concern. Even the late Emperor Go-Reizei was known to ignore them at times, much to their annoyance. It is likely that Prince Kanemore knew, as he is the emperor’s uncle and they have a close relationship. Otherwise, I wouldn’t think the knowledge of an arranged union would travel far.”
“Thank you,” I said.
She stopped playing then. “I don’t understand. Why are you thanking me?”
“Highness, while I did spend some time at court in my early years, I wanted the perspective of someone raised there. Now I know what appears strange to me, as one looking in, has what seems to be a perfectly reasonable explanation, and Morofusa’s question is a valid one. If no one knew about the marriage—meaning no one outside the emperor’s immediate circle—this likewise makes it very unlikely the marriage is an issue.”
She sighed. “A pity, in a way. A marriage not advantageous to one faction or another would be a reason. Now we are back to where we started.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not. I said there was a reasonable explanation. I said it was unlikely the marriage was a factor. Yet what if, despite all that, it was the primary cause? Suppose word of the alliance—for such it would be—had somehow reached beyond the emperor and his closest confidantes. Then let us further consider your marriage would be a threat to someone, in whatever capacity, and the betrothal really is the reason you are in danger. If you died before the betrothal was even announced, no one would connect the two events and so obscure the trail of the guilty party. It would make sense to arrange an assassination before the announcement.”
“You have an interesting mind, Lord Yamada,” she said. “And certainly some of what you say makes sense to me. Yet I am having a great deal of trouble imagining why my marriage would be a threat to anyone . . . save my future husband. I am reliably informed that I can be difficult.”
I bowed, resisting a smile. “That answer, too, is eluding me at the moment. Yet if I knew who your betrothed is, the knowledge may indicate the right path for me to follow.”
She sighed. “So we are back to this again. Honestly, Lord Yamada . . . ”
“Your Highness, I know this is a very personal subject and I understand your reluctance, but this may be crucial to your safety—I need to know who your betrothed is.”
“You do not understand, Lord Yamada. I am not being coy. I am being embarrassed.”
“Embarrassed? How?”
“Because I have no idea who I am going to marry.”
I was stunned. I can only assume Morofusa was in the same state, as neither of us said anything for a long while.
“You don’t know?” I finally said. “Honestly?”
“That is the embarrassing part, the humiliating part,” she said. “That is why I didn’t want to say, to admit I am of so little consequence the emperor didn’t even bother to tell me my betrothed’s name. That is why I cannot entertain the notion my marriage is a reason for anyone to kill me, Lord Yamada. It has been made quite clear to me that I am of no consequence, and so neither is my marriage.”
There was not a lot left to say after this. Princess Tagako pleaded fatigue and we took our leave. When I returned home, I sought out Kenji immediately and related my conversation with the princess.
“Something I had not considered,” he said. “Also, not normally the sort of thing that would trigger such an extreme reaction as attempted assassination. Yet I must side with Princess Tagako—this scenario does not appear likely.”
I thought about what he had said for a moment before replying. “Kenji-san, in general I would agree with you, but one issue that neither of us has taken into account is this: these are not normal times. Rather, they are quite extraordinary, when you stop to consider. We have a high-ranking member of the Fujiwara siding with the emperor. Then, as Princess Tagako related, an emperor possibly bypassing the Daijo-Daijin altogether in the matter of a state marriage. And—despite Princess Tagako’s dismissal—her marriage is a matter of state. Back in Chancellor Michinaga’s time, his merest frown could force an emperor off of the Chrysanthemum Throne. Now they cannot even expect all members of the clan to back their leaders.”
“While it’s true that Michinaga’s sons are not the men their father was,” Kenji said. “In order to present a united front they would have to be, well, united.”
I frowned. “Have you heard something else?”
He laughed. “Yes, when I wasn’t chasing you around the city on one crisis or another I d
id learn a few things, which I think you will find of interest. It should not surprise you that the temples of this city keep a close eye on affairs at the imperial court, as their livelihoods and sometimes even survival depends on it. It seems, at the moment, the Fujiwara clan leadership is at war with itself.”
“I knew that much,” I said.
“Yes, but did you know why?” I had to admit I did not, so Kenji continued. “When Prince Takahito ascended the throne, the chancellor was Fujiwara no Yorimichi, the eldest son of the legendary Michinaga. Yorimichi resigned in favor of his slightly younger brother, Norimichi, who is now chancellor. Apparently, it was understood that Yorimichi’s son, Morozane, would in turn assume the office once Norimichi stepped down. However, Norimichi had other plans. He wants his own son to succeed him.”
“Lord Yorinobu did speak of a family squabble, but I had no details,” I said.
He smiled. “Yet seldom do such squabbles have such immediate consequences. Yorinobu has made good on his promise—he has appointed his adopted son, Yoshinaga, plus a member of the Murakami Genji, to the Daijo-Daijin. These two, in turn, are appointing other more minor but very important officers, and all from the emperor’s own faction, bypassing the sekkan-ke altogether. The Fujiwara were powerless to stop it, all because their two supposed leaders are at each other’s throats.”
I took a few moments to let what Kenji had told me sink in. “Well.”
“Well, what?”
“I was merely taking time to appreciate a brilliant piece of strategy. I remember when I first heard of Princess Shigeko’s passing. Six years ago, was it not?”
Kenji frowned. “About. What is your meaning?”
“Just if Prince Kanemore, and at the time, Prince Takahito wished to be of service to Lord Yorinobu—and I would think they would, as my understanding is that Lord Yorinobu has long supported Takahito’s ascension—why would they wait until now? I flatter myself and you as well we could have been of some use once the haunting was discovered.”
Kenji stroked his chin. “My instinct tells me Prince Kanemore wouldn’t wait, but such an act would bring His Majesty no immediate benefit, as Yorinobu was already committed to his faction. No, Lord Yamada, I think we were held in reserve, like a squad of mounted archers during a battle, until the time to strike had come.”
Perhaps His Majesty takes after his mother even more than I realized.
“I no longer care what he is or is not doing,” I said. “I need to find Prince Kanemore.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
It was one thing to resolve on a plan of action, but quite another, in the cold light of a new day, to put that plan into practice.
“Kenji-san, do you think any of your temple contacts know of the whereabouts of Prince Kanemore?”
“None of the few I’ve spoken to did. Honestly, Lord Yamada, did you think I would forget to ask?”
“I suspected such, but I simply wanted you to confirm it. My next question is, do you think they could find out? If he’s not in the Capital, I would like to know where he is.”
“A bit trickier,” he said, “but there are few great households who do not have priestly visitors for instruction and healing services, and people do talk. So long as we understand our looking for this information will not remain a secret for long.”
“Nothing remains a secret here for long. We must risk it, I think.”
“Very well. I will see what is possible.”
Kenji left then to meet with his friends and associates within the temple community. I suppose I should have been more concerned for his safety, but as he had been out of the city long enough that most of his past transgressions had faded in everyone’s memory, I wasn’t unduly concerned. Rather, I envied his ability to move freely about the city, a right I had long since forfeited.
A short time later Takamasa brought me word the former governor of Kawachi province was to be permanently exiled to the northern coast of Suma in Eichigo. I had wondered what the emperor’s justice had in store for him. I would not have been completely surprised if the sentence had been death, but after all he was a protégé of Fujiwara no Michinaga, and that was still a name to conjure with in the Capital. I’m sure His Majesty considered it far more pragmatic to exile the man rather than hand out the punishment he so richly deserved and risk pushing the Fujiwara into a more united front. While exile would have been considered far more severe in the case of a courtier, for one such as Minamoto no Yorinobu, it was simply a new place to live—without the servants and attendants and bushi at his beck and call. He could either make the best of his situation or spend his remaining years planning toothless revenge. Even so, the news triggered a new thought.
I wonder who still cares about this man?
While it was unlikely the real instigator of the assassination attempt on Princess Tagako would show himself for the execution of the warrant of exile, I thought it might be interesting and perhaps informative to see who would be there. I allowed Morofusa and Ujiyasu to collect me and we set out for the Demon Gate.
The northeastern gate was called the Demon Gate since it was located at the direction from which evil spirits were thought to enter the city. In my experience they could come from anywhere, so I never thought the gate’s sinister reputation was deserved. Even so, it was for this reason a sentence of exile would be carried out there, thus adding another layer of humiliation to the actual punishment. To reach the gate we had to travel within sight of the imperial compound and pass closely to the Gion Shrine, which was located due east of it. Needless to say, the streets in this part of the city were fairly busy places, which I knew made Morofusa nervous. If I had been traveling alone, I would have felt—and been—perfectly safe lost in the crowd. Now I was set apart, and that was quite a different situation.
“My lord, are all these people here because of the exile?” Morofusa asked.
I frowned. “They’re here for the shrine and for business within the imperial compound and for travel to the temples located at Mount Hiei. This is a busy area and always has been, the influx of demons notwithstanding. When we get closer to the gate, we’ll have a better idea of who is there for the ceremony.”
Glancing about, I silently hoped we would be able to tell anything at all, if the crowds did not thin out by the time we reached the gate. Fortunately, as we moved away from the shrine and the imperial compound, there were fewer people on the street. I started to pay more attention to the people left in the area as we approached the gate. For the most part they appeared to be the curious or those who had business in the area and the street merchants who served and profited by both, as well as the normal run of charms-and-talisman hawkers who normally hung about the gate in order to offer “protection” from the evil spirits entering the city by the dozens, supposedly, through that very gate. I remembered Kenji as just such a one, though with the distinction his charms and wards usually worked. I wondered how he would feel about knowing his place there had long since been taken. I couldn’t imagine he missed his old life very much, but then he had always been flexible about the possibilities life had offered him. In some ways I envied and tried to emulate that aspect of Kenji’s character, but I had never succeeded very well.
I saw the procession appear from the direction of the imperial compound, and I withdrew to the far edge of those gathered there. I was not interested in whether or not the prisoner knew I was there. I hadn’t come to gloat—my only concern was to see if anything unusual occurred or if he would simply be packed off to the northern coast at Suma with no witnesses save the official and the curious.
An official from the ministry of justice, a pompous-looking older bald man, held up a scroll, and even from that distance I knew it bore the emperor’s seal. He opened the scroll as the prisoner was led out between two scowling bushi. The former governor of Kawachi looked very different than when I had seen him last. There was nothing of the defiance remaining in him. The former protégé of the great Fujiwara no Michinaga looked beaten down, crushe
d. The officer held up the open scroll to read.
“Lord Minamoto no Yorinobu, you have been found guilty of the crime of the attempted murder of Princess Tagako, former high priestess of the Grand Shrine. Do you have anything to say before the sentence is carried out?”
A little of the old fire returned to the man’s face. No more than a spark, quickly fading, but it reminded me of the man he had been.
“I was betrayed!” he said.
Betrayed? What is he talking about?
There were no explanations forthcoming, as the prisoner fell silent and the official in charge read the sentence. “By Order of the emperor, you are to be escorted to the northern coast at Suma where you are to reside for the remainder of your life. Shōshō, carry out the sentence.”
Lord Minamoto no Yorinobu was escorted from the city by a group of Taira bushi.
I turned to Morofusa. “They will likely camp overnight just west of Lake Biwa, yes? I think there’s a small village there.” When I had joined the escort of Princess Teiko on her way to Suma, she had requested we camp on the shores of Lake Biwa itself, which was only a little out of the way. Too late we had realized why she had made that request.
“I think so. Why?”
“I need to speak to the former governor. And I’d rather not chase him all the way to Suma to do it.”
I also preferred no one in the city saw us follow the procession, so we waited until they were well away and the crowd had dispersed before we chose our moment and followed. We caught up with the prisoner and escort after they had stopped for the day at a village north of the Capital. Morofusa went ahead to speak to the shōshō of the Taira bushi, but he soon returned.
“All is arranged. The Taira shōshō had no objection but deferred to his prisoner. Oddly enough, Lord Yorinobu was willing—rather, I’d say eager—to speak with you. There’s a small local temple. He has agreed to meet with you there . . . alone.”
The Emperor in Shadow Page 19
