The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai

by Barbara Lazar

  ‘Emperor Go-Sh-Sh-Shirakawa has fingers as long as spider’s webs,’ Sadakokai said, and gave me a knowing look, ‘in the capital and in each p-p-province. If Chancellor Kiyomori can do this, it will be a g-g-good thing for us.’

  ‘We are in need of allies now, but we must isolate the emperors from our rivals. There are many, not just the Minamoto.’ Mokuhasa spoke softly.

  ‘I wish Chancellor Kiyomori well in negotiating this political maze.’ Tokikazu tapped Mokuhasa on the back.

  ‘Yes, I heard the sōhei armies of Mount Hiei and Nara might unite.’

  Sadakokai shook his head. ‘I heard a rumour too. About Chancellor K-Kiyomori. They say he might have to take the emperors away from our enemies near here. Maybe Fukuhara. To p-protect our p-power and his grandson.’

  Mokuhasa gestured to Tokikazu. ‘With no offence intended against your judgement and leadership, Captain Tokikazu, I wish Governor Michimori was one of those making the decisions, with the Minamoto and sōhei from the north and the south.’

  ‘We would all be fools not to agree.’ Tokikazu’s eyes turned a bitter brown.

  I wondered if these problems would make my plans for revenge easier or more difficult.

  VI. Journey with the Emperor

  With Obāsan, her nephew, Ryo, Tokikazu and our samurai, I created a small network of messengers, as Michimori had. I used my serving girls, although I did not trust them yet. Gathering information was like collecting grains of millet, many seeds to make a mouthful. Three Eyes, the fiend and demon, seemed to have evaporated.

  That first month at Rokuhara, however, I gained other information. Stories abounded about the burning of Miidera. There had been a siege. The Taira leaders, with Michimori as second-in-command, had burned some buildings and several priests had died. While I was sad about this, the monks had committed treason against the emperor and Chancellor Kiyomori. Nevertheless, I did not think well of burning temples.

  Obāsan agreed with me. ‘Punishment, yes,’ she sighed, and put one hand on top of the other, ‘but not destruction.’ I placed my hands around hers, remembering a priest unworthy of death.

  The next day, Rokuhara was transformed into a summer beehive, servants, samurai, priests, hatted and non-hatted aristocrats all chattering together. No one walked. Everyone ran through the corridors. It was rumoured that the entire capital was moving to Fukuhara.

  The next evening Obāsan rushed in, her plait streaming behind her like a groomed horse’s tail. ‘It is true!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The capital is moving to Fukuhara – on the third of next month.’

  ‘So soon? Is that possible?’

  Obāsan raised her eyebrows and said informally, ‘When Taira no Kiyomori decides on an action, it is done.’

  In fact Obāsan was mistaken. We left earlier, on the second, not the third, of the sixth month. She said it was a good month to travel since it was rainless. Not that we had any choice.

  We were not to leave until the Hour of the Snake, so we watched the procession assemble until Tokikazu came for us. Thousands of mounted samurai and foot soldiers edged along each side of the road. From a distance the cavalcade resembled a long column of ants – well-dressed, colourful ants. Some ants rode horses, some rode in ox carts, and servant-ants carried the higher-ranking ones on tiny leaves. We would ride: the samurai on horses, Misuki, Emi and the serving girls in an ox cart, I in a palanquin, and Obāsan, later, in the ox carts with the others overseeing serving women.

  Obāsan indicated the higher rankings, like Chancellor Kiyomori’s. He was of the first rank, the highest to which a commoner could aspire.

  ‘I did not know it was possible for a commoner to have rank.’ Emi put her hands together, and her eyes brightened.

  ‘He is the first warrior to have this honour,’ Obāsan continued. ‘Senior nobles are the first, second and third ranks. Those ranks are reserved for chief ministers in the Council of State.’

  ‘But Lord Michimori is third rank?’ Emi asked.

  ‘Yes. Fourth and fifth ranks are key posts. Below fifth rank, a person cannot freely enter the imperial walls. They are mere officials.’ Here Obāsan made a false pose of dignity.

  We were too far away from the procession to detect the different combinations of scents. Each person formulated their own incense. Yet what colours! I studied the courtly women’s sleeves, which draped out of their palanquins and ox carts like butterfly wings. Naturally nothing else showed.

  Obāsan said, ‘Courtly women entertain behind a curtain at home and never show their faces, just their sleeves.’

  ‘I suppose that is why kimono colour combinations are so important,’ Misuki said to herself. Obāsan smiled and placed a hand on Emi’s shoulder. ‘Yes, dear one.’

  After the imperial guard, the reigning emperor came in his formal dress, and next the two retired emperors, Go-Shirawaka leading, also gloriously attired. Emi shaded her eyes against the glitter.

  Chancellor Kiyomori led in an exquisite palanquin, lacquered with gold and silver makie, followed by his women’s equally elaborate palanquins. Next came carts and the imperial carriages with their escorts. Obāsan named each one she knew.

  The Fujiwara regent was next, followed by Munemori, a son of Kiyomori, Michimori’s cousin. More of the highest-ranking officials, their women and escorts passed.

  We joined the procession, with Tokikazu, Akio, Mokuhasa and Sadakokai as our escorts, among the third-rank people. Michimori rode ahead with his father and uncle, so I was deprived of his company. Akio shadowed Tokikazu, but, thank the Gods, he kept close to me and conversed whenever he could. He and I discussed the changing political situation. The Fukuhara monasteries would not make trouble, although the sōhei on Mount Hiei and Nara had gathered against the emperors. After the burning of temples, it was logical to assume the monks bore antipathy towards the Taira, and perhaps the emperors as well.

  To peep through the curtains of my palanquin, watch samurai on horseback, the countryside and the imperial guards trotting back and forth furnished me with nearly as much pleasure as watching courtly dances. For me the trip lasted but a breath.

  As we approached the new city, scenes from Hitomi’s domain streaked through my memory. How long ago it was that the Village of Outcasts had loomed ahead, so immense to me. Through the horrible sixth month’s heat, an endless file of the People-Above-the-Clouds from Rokuhara and Heian-kyō, their samurai and soldiers, their servants, cooks, and seamstresses, travelled to the shore. From a distance Fukuhara looked like a primitive toy compared with Heian-kyō, but it enlarged to a detailed miniature the closer we approached.

  At Fukuhara servants ran back and forth. I avoided the clusters of hooded priests who roamed the corridors like scavenger birds on a beach. Could one be the priest I was seeking? I scanned for a crooked nose below empty eyes.

  Our serving girls settled Misuki, Emi and me into rooms from which we could view the sea, a sight new to us. Our quarters were more rustic than they had been at Rokuhara, but compared to the Village of Outcasts, they were luxurious. My possessions, especially my writing box, had arrived safely. Misuki had ensured the security of my logs and other papers, procuring every paper out of the hiding places. All were undisturbed.

  With some leisure while the servants scurried about, I studied my belongings. Inside my writing box, four or five brushes lay on a small tray, also inlaid with mother-of-pearl and yellow stones. Each brush was a singular beauty, with a painted design on one, inlaid woods on another. Each represented a miniature world to me. My determination grew stronger to improve my writing with these beautiful new tools. Here, where the kuge, the People-Above-the-Clouds, revered beautiful calligraphy, it was crucial I do so.

  I also needed tools to continue working out a plan of revenge. Writing was only one of them. I needed more trusted contacts. Tokikazu was helpful, as were Obāsan and Ryo, her nephew who was now a part of my circle of spies. How was I to make sufficient connections to obtain information about my po
werful enemy?

  With all I had learned so far, I knew little about Three Eyes.

  What would happen when Michimori arrived? Might there be another Three Eyes in Fukuhara?

  As the kuge say when kept waiting too long, ‘The calendar was almost unrolled.’

  BOOK 12

  I. Sea Bass

  Most kuge rejoiced at the cooler coastal temperatures at Fukuhara. I imagined the sun rising from the white-tipped sea in the early pink sky. I wished to smell salty breezes during winter. Hardy since childhood, I had always relished brisk weather.

  Obāsan had many talks with me during those early days in Fukuhara. She began by saying, ‘You need to know about Governor Michimori.’

  Settling in for a story, I made myself comfortable in front of the writing table where I spent time after my field practice.

  ‘Are you aware he is now second-in-command of all the Taira armies?’

  ‘N-n-no,’ I stuttered, my eyes wide, without regard for decorum, because we were alone.

  Obāsan asked if she could arrange for her favourite court ritualist to visit me regularly.

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed, but not before I asked timidly, ‘May Misuki sit with us?’

  ‘Yes, my lady, but to what end?’

  My response came easily: ‘She is a trusted friend as well as a servant. I rely on her as much as I do upon you.’

  Obāsan’s fingertips stroked the back of my hand. ‘All right.’

  I had studied much, but knew little. I promised myself I would listen closely to both Obāsan and the court ritualist. Every shred of information was useful to me: it might reveal the head of Three Eyes and set it on a spike. Misuki joined us and Obāsan began, ‘The Taira Clan traces its ancestry from Emperor Kammu, whose grandson first bestowed the name. Generations later, Chancellor Kiyomori has risen to the highest status possible for a commoner. Kiyomori’s second youngest brother, Norimori, is Michimori’s father. Did you know Michimori is Norimori’s firstborn?’

  Misuki stopped sewing, lifted her head and nodded. We both knew that much, but neither of us said anything.

  Obāsan continued, ‘Kiyomori became great through gifts from the Gods. He rescued the emperor during the Hōgen Disturbance and became deputy of the Imperial Office for all of Kyūshū. Finally the emperor gave him the rank of Chancellor of the Realm, Junior of the First Rank.’

  ‘Kiyomori’s grandson is . . .’ she paused and lifted her arms up to the heavens ‘. . . Emperor Antoku.’ Obāsan bowed slightly to me. ‘Governor Taira no Michimori is from a long line of gifted warriors.’

  ‘Imagine!’ I murmured, as I returned Obāsan’s bow. My thoughts reeled from the recitation of the ranks and power into which I had been thrust. What was I doing among these people? How could I survive here, especially without Michimori, whom I had not even glimpsed since my arrival?

  ‘Let me share a story with you,’ Obāsan leaned back on a pillow, enjoying herself with an eager audience.

  ‘Chancellor Kiyomori went on a pilgrimage to the Ise Shrine with his escorts, a favourite wife, her ladies and some notable Buddhist priests. I mean the Tendai priests from Enryakuji, the ones from Mount Hiei, not the Shingon priests who were out of favour.’

  As she mentioned the word ‘priest’, my eyes must have shown emotion. She touched the tips of my fingers. I wondered if she knew. Our eyes met.

  ‘You know?’ The words scarcely left my throat. Misuki looked at me, and subsequently at Obāsan.

  ‘We are not to speak of such things,’ Obāsan whispered. Her eyes darted to the rooms where the serving girls were and back to me. I motioned with my eyes to show understanding. So did Misuki. Obāsan cleared her throat with a mock-cough and continued in a louder voice.

  ‘While servants were playing Kiyomori’s favourite song, turbulence near the boat caused them to stop. The escorts looked over the side of the boat and drew their arrows in readiness. Others remained on the other side, so all was secure. The noise became louder. With greater commotion and spray, a vast sea bass leaped out of the water and threw itself into the boat.

  The priests proclaimed it to be a sign from the Buddha. “We must eat it today,” they interpreted, “for it is an omen of immediacy.”’

  ‘They ate on a fast day?’ Misuki asked quietly, leaning towards Obāsan.

  ‘They feasted on the delicious fish. Kiyomori became the great leader he is now.’ Obāsan turned her palms upwards. ‘Michimori is following in Chancellor Kiyomori’s path.’

  ‘You speak with such respect and devotion.’ I left my question unasked.

  ‘When my husband died in the Hōgen Disturbance twenty-four years ago, Kiyomori attended the funeral and recited a poem to honour him.

  ‘My sons, the ones who are alive, are with Governor Michimori. My two eldest sons died in the Heiji Insurrection. Chancellor Kiyomori and Governor Michimori attended their funerals. Kiyomori dressed in elaborate brocade to honour my children. Michimori, even then, as a young man, embodied the Majestic Calm of a great leader.’ She added, with a soft smile, her eyes far away, ‘His essence is Pure Tranquillity. You can depend on Michimori, as I have, for the clean action from a pure spirit without emotion.’

  I had much to think about, some hope, and went to the practice field that day in silence.

  II. Summoned

  Tokikazu and Akio trained with me in the fields and target areas each day, unless Divergent Directions forbade it. I disliked those days away from Tokikazu. His conversations and stories amused everyone, except Akio.

  The varieties of cutting with my tachi grew familiar, and I improved slowly with kisagake, moving the blade in a quick whip-like action with each type of cut. Since Cutting-the-Sleeve was the first stroke I had learned, it was my best. Others improved. Some I had learned from travelling samurai at the Village of Outcasts. The samurai in Rokuhara, most subscribed to the Sanjo branch of the Yamashiro School. Relearning took time, since the differences were subtle yet important.

  Every practice session included bow and horse, as well as short swords, daggers, knives and shuriken. I wondered about the shuriken but Tokikazu, my doting friend, often said, with a shake of his head, ‘You need to know everything.’

  Obāsan brought me anything I wanted. Through her, I learned to read better. With writing, though, I still struggled, like a kitten in deep mud.

  As for locating Three Eyes, my trusted people asked discreet questions of those we knew could keep secrets. For now, that was only a few. Tokikazu led me to others who were also safe harbours in what I found was an agitated sea.

  Information arrived, often in morsels, too small and scattered to make a recognisable pattern. Even worse, it was often false. During practice, Sadakokai heard that Michimori was coming to Fukuhara. I did not believe this because Sadakokai had foretold it many times before. On this occasion I learned that the source of information was unlikely to be accurate, and that was important.

  One particular morning practice was difficult because I was tired. Kōshin had been the night before, and everyone had remained awake all night. The court ritualist explained that Kōshin came every sixty days and that everyone kept vigil all night. Otherwise, worms in our bodies would travel up to the Heavenly God and report our misdeeds. The Heavenly God could decide to shorten our lives or end them. I did not believe in these worms, but the kuge did, and I had no wish to take chances.

  Obāsan interjected, sweeping three fingers in the air, ‘If we slept, three different types of worm might attack us and cause illness, perhaps even death.’

  Misuki thought it strange that neither of us had heard of it before, but she had remained awake.

  I completed my practice, and Akio reminded me, ‘Samurai feel no weariness and no hunger.’ I felt sad because I certainly felt both.

  A few days later, Obāsan raced in while I was having my bath, her plait flapping against her back, like a hooked fish struggling for water. ‘He is here!’

  ‘Who?’ I thought of Goro.

  ‘Com
mander-in-Chief Michimori!’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘You were the first person I came to see!’

  ‘W-who, h-how . . .’ I had not expected Michimori so soon, probably because of Sadakokai’s mistaken warnings.

  ‘My nephew Ryo knows one of the guards,’ she breathed. ‘We have much to do. Ryo overheard Governor Michimori say he was going to send for you.’

  ‘I thought he had forgotten me,’ I murmured.

  Obāsan touched my shoulder, tugged at my hair gently and left. After a brief meal, the serving girls, Misuki and Emi arranged my hair and makeup, then readied my clothes. I found myself humming as I decided on which story to tell.

  I settled on a simple tale of enchantment. A young lady, entranced by a prince’s love potion, becomes uninhibited. This story did not require costumes or props. I could manage with what I had already planned to wear.

  When Obāsan came back to escort me, she had transformed herself into a regal bird. She wore heavy silk, thick with textured patterns, and the colours matched, from the blue-ribbon bird in her hair to the threads in her outer kimono and her shoes. The blue was a deep sky-without-a-cloud blue and made her white hair more startling and beautiful by contrast. Her eyes glistened more than they had when we first met. She touched my cheek with a finger.

  ‘I am an old woman, so I will not compliment you on how you look.’ She gave a small smile, and added in her most grandmotherly tone, ‘Remember, the Empress Aiko thought learning more important than clothes or a flirtatious manner.’

  With that, she held out a new incense burner and put a scent on my hair and clothes. I admired the lotus-shaped burner. Each leaf was a different bright colour. I had never seen its like.

  The dream I had cherished on the day I was sold to Chiba had come true. I was in a palace, wearing many-coloured robes, while servants get dishes of gold and silver before me. How could it be true that only the dreams of priests, high-ranking nobles and royalty came true? Even after Purification, I was a Person-Without-Rank, a Woman-for-Play – from a Village of Outcasts, summoned by the great Governor of Echizen, Third Rank, nephew to Chancellor Kiyomori. To what was I summoned?