The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai

by Barbara Lazar

  I see the waters of repentance in his eyes. After a time, he rubs the back of my hand with a finger. ‘Guards. My personal guards, shall be with you always.’

  I gulp, clear my throat and make another decision. ‘I humbly request that Akio, the samurai who has been my teacher for many years, now be one of my personal guards as well. As my honourable lord said, Akio is here and he can attest to my bokken’s work on Goro’s face.’

  Michimori pulls his paper and brush from his writing box, writes, and calls, ‘Messenger.’ A guard rushes to the platform, lies on the floor with one palm up. Michimori folds the paper like a flower, gives the messenger directions and drops the note into an open palm. The messenger scuttles away.

  He turns to me. ‘You have already asked me about him. I keep my word. Akio is with my troops. His family has a comfortable place to live. Consider it done.’ He rearranges himself on his cushions so he is closer to me. ‘Now you have heard what is truly in my heart, and I have heard what is in yours. I say again, I wish you to be my wife. Will you consent?’

  Concubine, a possibility. Wife? Marriage? He is nephew to the emperor’s father. He is truly the noble, the kuge.

  ‘Why, my lord?’

  What does he want from me? What kind of pawn am I – and in what kind of game? A wife has more responsibilities. As a concubine, I would be freer to search for Goro. ‘My lord, I have no need of marriage. Why should you?’

  ‘I need to marry you.’

  ‘Surely not.’ A small smile wipes my lips. ‘You may have me as often as you desire. Whenever you wish.’ What more does he want? ‘Surely you know my oath binds me in fidelity. Have not my sacrifices proven my trustworthiness?’

  ‘I have been enamoured of you since I heard Tokikazu describe you. I love you more now because you have proved more honourable with your sacrifice. Still, I must marry you.’

  ‘I do not understand why it is necessary.’

  His hand brushes across mine.

  The easy touch brings quivering to my spine.

  ‘To protect you. To give you deference and rank. Above all other reasons, to have others give you the high respect and esteem that I already accord you. This is not without precedent. Minamoto no Yoshitomo has a mistress. Her name is Ōi, I think. A chōja at Aohaka Inn in Mino Province, if my messengers are correct. They usually are.’ His smile is broad, and his arms stretch out to each side with a slight lift in the shoulders.

  ‘My uncle, Kiyomori, had problems with Hotoke, another Woman-for-Play, I believe. Know that I am not my uncle, neither do I waver in my feelings as he does. I am not married and never have been. I will be faithful to you, my beautiful sparrow.’

  My eyes fill with the long-sought goal achieved. My breath shortens and my arms tremble.

  Deference and rank? My father had required me to be mindful of our family’s honour. How much more honour can there be in third rank? Third rank visits the emperor, his palaces, his festivals. How much more respect can there be in becoming the wife of the nephew of the emperor’s grandfather? He is offering an honourable life, one my ancestors and my family will cherish.

  I nod, indicating agreement, because I fear my words will tangle. I dare not think of Tokikazu, our friendship and – understanding.

  The warm brown eyes crinkle, and he makes an odd motion with his hand. A servant brings a lacquered tray, holding three red cups and a sake jug. Another servant pours sake into all three cups, each larger than the next, and finally removes the jug. The servants leave.

  ‘Is sansankudo known to you?’

  ‘N-No, my lord.’ My limbs are still shaking, but I am glad to have spoken these few words.

  He tilts the smallest cup and allows a few drops to spill into his mouth. ‘Sansankudo, three sets of three means nine. Three – the perfect number, because it is indivisible. We drink three times from each cup,’ he says quietly.

  He hands me the smallest cup, and I swallow as he has. I return the cup to him and he drinks. ‘For your safety, and to provide you with my rank and recognition, we are joining in this public place.’

  I sip, suddenly aware of all the samurai’s eyes focusing on us. He drinks. We alternate, until we have each sipped three times from each cup. He maintains his focus on me. When I return his stare, his intensity shoots through me, as if already piercing my womb, and I drop my eyes often, to the cup or the floor.

  All three cups are empty. We are married. In public. With witnesses.

  I resolve to be an honourable wife, devote my life to him and sacrifice myself for him if he asks it.

  Michimori motions to his personal guards.

  Words rumble like thunder in my head. ‘Marry.’ ‘Wife.’ The room revolves like silk spinning. Now married, now third rank, now of the nobility. Tashiko and I could never have imagined such a possibility.

  Tears flow from the persistent grief of my lost love, from being forced into a position I do not know how to occupy, with duties I do not know how to perform, and into a rank that holds such honour that even my distant ancestors must sing with joy. I hide my face in my sleeves to conceal my feelings, not knowing how low to bow to a husband. I force myself to make only the deepest bow without the full five-point one.

  Personal guards, Akio but not Tokikazu, thank the Goddess of Mercy, conduct me through the corridors to my lord’s chambers. I hear a musician playing in another room. All of the servants are absent, except Obāsan, who lights a delicate incense. I recognise the scent from my first meeting with Michimori. The brazier glows. The room becomes a garden of tender scents. The futons and cleaning cloths are arrayed. Refreshments sit in covered bowls on a table, gold accents shimmering like early dawn. The table’s shape resembles the one Chiba used in Lesser House, worlds away.

  I sit and close my eyes. Opening them, I see Obāsan standing behind my honourable lord. He walks to me and puts his fingers through my hair, like a comb. In a low growl, without turning, he commands Obāsan to be gone, and she is.

  He takes my hand to help me stand. ‘No stories,’ he murmurs into my neck. ‘My wife,’ he says, skimming his face over mine. ‘My love,’ he says, spreads my robes wide and surveys my body with his hands as carefully as he had his maps for battles and traces Goro’s few remaining visible injuries with a fingertip.

  I release his robes, but he holds my wrists. ‘No, my beautiful samurai woman.’ His face lights up. ‘I have dreamed of you, of this. Let me give you happiness. For my delight. My wife.’

  I see tears drip. I catch one on the bent knuckle of a finger. The top of my head floats at the word ‘wife’.

  ‘Never doubt me again.’ His voice is strong and stern.

  ‘This is beyond my dreams.’ I remove another tear from his sun-darkened cheek, his face thinner than I remember. ‘You have brought me back from Hell, yet I remember the demons.’

  He massages my neck and shoulders. ‘How frightened you must have been that morning at the Village after I left. I did not have time to explain. I rarely do.’

  He stops, shrugs and smiles, a sweeping smile I have never seen.

  He clutches me to him. His heat pushes through his heavy hitatare. ‘I will never allow us to be apart again,’ he says, and picks me up as if I were an empty quiver.

  Michimori sets me on the futon and kneels beside me. His hands caress my face and neck. ‘We will never be separated again. Perhaps that will help to silence your devils, Kozaishō.’

  He places his head on my stomach, his arms clasping me, and weeps. I put one hand on his head and the other on his shoulder. So much passion. Is he crying for joy? Or sadness?

  I loosen his clothing, rubbing his thick black hair, trying to soothe him. His sobs subside, and his hands seek my Gate. His fingers press against my skin, tender as gosling down, and I spread my robes. Desire bounds forth at these mild touches, his smooth strokes, and the bold, meticulous kneading. I cannot keep my hands from embracing him through the brocade with a long slow rhythm.

  My honourable lord pulls my arms awa
y, chuckling now. ‘It is my right to delight you, my beautiful strong wife. Allow me.’

  With that admonition, I lie on the futon, burning and shaking with craving. Is this the way with husbands and wives? He permits me to touch only his chest, neck and face. Nothing else. Impatience controls my limbs, and my hands brush his chest, many times, keeping cadence with his. My breathing frays. My legs unfetter – open in the excitement.

  He groans and enters. He rises on his arms and knees and rocks us together to give me bliss. Satisfaction plucks at my body again. Again. I clutch his shoulders. We dance for hours.

  ‘I hope never to spend another night without you, my brave Kozaishō.’

  I lie beside him, aware of the growing knot of fear in my stomach. With such an influential husband, perhaps I have acquired new, fiercer and more dangerous enemies.

  When his breathing becomes more regular, I fall asleep.

  V. A Hunter’s Dog

  This was the beginning of the best, the most difficult and the most perilous time.

  I had never thought of marriage, yet the samurai treated me as his bride. They bowed to me as to any of the other wives, although Tokikazu often included a knowing nod or wink. At first these honours were uncomfortable to accept.

  Michimori’s family’s other wives and concubines signalled the same hostility as to any other new wife, I supposed, but they showed outward courtesy. I worked hard to earn my place among them. With appropriate protestations that I was undeserving, I gave them most of the gifts my husband heaped on me. But I did not give anything to my new servants, for I had learned how to manage servants at Hitomi’s.

  In the first of our night-time talks, Michimori charged me, ‘As my wife it is not your work to perform dances, songs or even play the biwa or koto. Only play if it is your own desire.’

  My own desire. I did not know what that would be, besides the practice field and to see Three Eyes’ head on a spike.

  ‘Nevertheless, bush warbler. I expect you to sit behind the screens in a room similar in function to the ones you saw in Rokuhara. You are to look through the hinges, observe and listen when men visit. Later, we can discuss our findings.’

  He taught me the political language and implications, and I taught him to hear with another ear and see with another eye. A captain who boasts of conquests and wealth, yet comes to the palace with uniforms of second rate silk, is a liar. The way the head is held or the rapidity of darting eyes can yield much information about the truthfulness of the speaker. Michimori and I talked and compared notes, trying to outguess each other with our hypotheses.

  He also showed me how he folded his notes so I would not mistake forgeries for his. I designed my own distinct folds and practised them. For the writing I waited for Misuki, because hers was acceptable and mine was not.

  When I had grasped how Michimori wanted me to serve him, I said I would be his Hunter’s Dog, recounting this story:

  Long, long ago in Mimasuka Province, humans were often sacrificed at the Shinto Shrine of the Monkey. One month a thirteen-year-old, an only child of elderly parents, was chosen. They were sad and shared their wailing with all who would listen.

  Inuyama, a hunter, heard their distress. He asked the unfortunate parents if they would allow him to take the place of their daughter. The parents protested at first, but Inuyama insisted. The parents finally consented, with more tears.

  The day before the sacrifice, Inuyama secretly put two of his dogs into a large chest and carried it to the shrine. He himself was to stay all night in the shrine and be sacrificed to the monkeys. He waited in the dark for a time, but as a hunter he was patient and skilled. When he heard the scratching of the monkeys’ paws, he opened the chest. Inuyama and his dogs fought the monkeys and won.

  The monkeys begged Inuyama to call off his dogs, saying, ‘Please, no more! Let there be no more human sacrifice!’

  Inuyama considered this, and in that moment the shrine’s priest also cried out, ‘I am the Deity of the Shrine! No more! Let there be no more human sacrifices!’

  The villagers, brought by the parents, heard this and stopped Inuyama killing the monkeys. Later, with joyous feasting, the daughter married Inuyama, who had saved her life.

  When I related what had happened to Misuki, she said, ‘Be careful. As they say, you are a kite breeding with a hawk.’

  VI. Another Road

  Practice, drill, sitting behind the screens, being with and talking with Michimori filled my days and nights. Despite these activities, Misuki and I slowly sought out others who could help us find Three Eyes. There were only a few we could trust. Misuki and I tested them with a little game. I shared some inconsequential gossip with a potential contact. During the next few days Misuki spoke with their servants and tried to extract from them the information I had imparted to their master. If she succeeded, we found another possible enemy or, at least, someone unreliable. If not, we tried again until we felt secure. Misuki was excellent at wresting hearsay from others, and we counted a few allies.

  We sent out for information, but all led nowhere. Three Eyes, the other priests and the guards who had stood by, had seemingly vanished. No one we asked had any information. Or perhaps they would not tell us.

  ‘Friends one day, enemies the next,’ Misuki reminded me.

  Visions of that priest’s head stuck on a spike lingered in my morning prayers.

  Between Akio, who accompanied me almost everywhere, Tokikazu, Sadakokai, Mokuhasa and all our new trusted contacts, we were closing in, not on Goro, unfortunately, but at least on the priests who had betrayed me. We planned when the five or six of us were alone on the practice field. I made sure to check the direction of the wind so that our voices would not carry.

  Winter arrived. Most of the other women complained of the cold and our poor surroundings. Listening to them, I thought of my hut at Hitomi’s and pretended sympathy.

  In the tenth month, with the cold worsening, we heard that Minamoto no Yoritomo had gathered a force and advanced to the east in Suruga Province. Along the Fujikawa river’s banks, Taira forces attacked and strategically retreated. In Fukuhara, the decision was taken, and within weeks Kiyomori ordered all to return to the capital city.

  Because of rampant illness, the return procession proved less elegant than the journey out had been. The sounds of coughing surrounded us, with thoughts of the bad omens it brought. Otherwise we travelled mostly in silence. Perhaps the cold kept people quiet.

  One day in my palanquin I heard horses close by. Peeping out through my curtains, I saw Tokikazu, Michimori, Akio, Mokuhasa and Sadakokai riding towards me. They had left the procession, bringing an extra horse. Directed to mount, I did so and followed them – we had agreed I would wear my riding clothes that day. Misuki had also dressed me with my collar and helmet.

  We rode swiftly away from the procession. As I galloped over the hills, I saw them. Several of Michimori’s samurai were standing guard in a circle, facing outwards. In the centre there were nine poles. On each one I saw a head.

  Michimori said, in his usual understated way, ‘My samurai suggested these fiends might enjoy the countryside. I agreed.’ He motioned to the nine stakes.

  ‘Thank you, my lord,’ I whispered.

  ‘One decided to help us with target practice. Please join us.’ Anger spouted from Michimori’s eyes, but the rest of his face was like dull wood.

  With a grim expression Sadakokai handed me my bow and quiver, saying, ‘W-We have s-s-started without you, but we thought you m-might . . . wish to p-p-partake.’

  I looked to where Sadakokai had gestured. On the other side of another hill, below the circle, the Cleansing priest was tied to a large archery target, his arms and legs spread out. Several arrows stuck out from his body. His top knot was intact, but his eyes were twisted. His face was heavily sprayed with blackened blood, as if someone had lacquered his skin. A cloth was stuffed into his mouth, but he produced muffled screeches. His eyes – as hard in dying as they had been in life – b
ulged in terror and fury.

  I gazed at Michimori and the samurai. We all held our bows. Michimori nodded to tell me I was to go first. I did so, followed by each of the others. We repeated this process until there were few sounds or movements from the target.

  Michimori rode over to me. ‘Mokuhasa tells me you are good at learning new sword strokes. You may practise if you wish.’

  I curved my fingers around my sword’s hilt. I remembered the Lotus Sutra, in which the Buddha says that anyone who curses the Law near the Buddha will be forgiven. But one who does injury or harm to anyone who espouses the Law will suffer greatly.

  I thought of Emi’s smiling face as she recited her prayers with me. I thought of Misuki, such a faithful and steadfast companion, and my beloved Tashiko, lying dead with her neck encircled by that ring of rope-torn flesh. I stared at this priest’s eyes, not wide with pain and anger as they were now, but filled with glee as he filled the bath with salt.

  ‘Yes,’ I replied, in formal language. ‘Thank you. I will.’ I did. First the Small Priest’s Robe Stroke, cutting deep into one arm. I used the Priest’s Robe Stroke, slicing across his neck and other arm. I said the name of each stroke, breathing carefully, taking my time, performing each stroke meticulously.

  Afterwards, Michimori cut the priest’s topknot from his head. ‘Your messengers proved as useful as mine. I need you to make sure that all the filth is here.’ His hand swept across to the poles.

  ‘I will, my honourable lord.’ At Michimori’s signal, the samurai gave way for me, and I rode down the hill to the circle. Tokikazu rode beside me, although there was no need. I directed my horse around each head, examining each face against the list I had made during my Abstention. Some were difficult to identify, distorted in death. The missing right ear lobe and the little goatee were easy to spot. I used my dagger to lift lips, checking for large front teeth, lost teeth, and to open closed eyes to find the clouded one. Each was a match, and my list complete. But for one.