It was equally customary not to hinder the passage of pilgrims, particularly one with two swords, hence an ex-samurai with every right to visit temples, shrines, and graves of a samurai quarter. It was the nature of Buddhist mendicants to give up their names, families, and positions, and thus there would be nothing left to record on an identification tag. But once again things were contrary to the norm where this mountainous fief was concerned. The two guards, though careless of the few townsfolk who passed by, were suddenly less lazy when they saw the bikuni. They hurried out of the guardhouse and took up a posture with spears crossed, keeping her from stepping foot off the far side of the bridge.
She stopped at the bridge’s edge and did not say a word for a long while. They seemed to expect her to turn and cross back over to the village. Instead, she acted as though she were waiting for them to uncross their spears to let her pass. Her utter silence made the two men nervous, for surely they had measured her bearing and guessed her skill with the swords she wore.
They broke the silence first. The one with a mustache demanded identification and statement of business. Still the nun did not move or reply. Surely they were aware that a bikuni by definition had neither name nor business. There was nothing she could tell them.
The two men became more irritable, unable as they were to see the face beneath her hat of woven bamboo. When they were sufficiently unnerved, the bikuni’s voice issued from beneath her amigasa.
“You dispose of the formality of checking the business of what few townsfolk dare your bridge, but forego tradition to bar a mendicant from her Way.”
The younger of the two samurai, his face smooth and hairless, tried to sound as severe as the nun as he responded; but there was a quavering edge in his voice. “Only Lotus mendicants beyond this point! Do you know the Lotus Sutra?”
“Namu myoho-renge-kyo,” the nun intoned.
Both guards sighed with relief and started to lower their spears, but the nun added,
“Anyone can say it.”
The spears went up again, this time not crossed to bar her path, but leveled at her abdomen.
“I am of Thousand Shrine Sect,” she said, seeming unthreatened by the spears. “As my allegiance is to no specific temple, it can be said that my bond is with all temples.”
This might well be a good rationale for not fighting, as far as these particular guards were concerned. Their post was not impressive to begin with, certainly not worth a duel over particulars. They glanced quickly at one another, then allowed the bikuni to pass. They returned to the warmth of their coal-pot in the guardhouse, and did not hear the nun whisper to herself, “Sloppy men.”
She wondered why they had been so uncertain of their duties. There would be another bridge and checkpoint before she reached the castle itself; the guards stationed there doubtlessly would be more capable, it being the final point before the castle’s gate. Still, she began to think there’d be less trouble meeting Lord Sato than she had first imagined. Patience would answer that question for her.
Evergreens shaded the winding lane. It was no longer possible to have a clear view of the castle, though periodically she saw a part of it higher on the mountain side, through breaks in the roof of the forest.
The houses of samurai families were small but attractive, tucked at intervals between old trees, protected by those trees from autumn and winter storms. As the estates were on relatively steep ground, numerous rushing streams came down from higher areas, on their way to the gorge and torrential river far down the mountain’s eastern slope. These streams provided excellent excuses for the many artful bridges, some of them no larger than four or five short steps.
Some of the homes were so far back from the road that the passing nun could not see them well. Several of them seemed run-down, from what she could see; but the neglect was recent. A few places appeared as though abandoned. She passed a temple that was even more clearly abandoned, though it might well have been important to certain samurai families before Lord Sato’s conversion to Lotus Buddhism. The Lotus sect was by nature a belligerent one, but Sato’s zeal was rather more extreme than usual. By the evidence, his zeal might well be considered irrational.
Though Lord Sato’s fief was small in terms of rice production, by which the size of fiefs was measured, in terms of area it was the largest in Kanno province. It seemed odd that so many of the samurai estates were ghostly and deserted. Retainers should have been quite busy with the policing and administration of the fief’s widespread holdings, and their homes should have reflected a constancy of comings and goings. Instead, weeds clogged the paths between the narrow, winding road and the small estates. Only once did anyone share the road with her; he was a townsman on some errand, and he stepped off the road to let her pass when he saw she had two swords. For the rest of her casual walk, it seemed a haunted forest, diffuse light barely penetrating the trees or the overcast sky. It was, at least, a little warmer than it had been earlier in the day; that, or climbing the upward grade of the road was work enough to keep her warm.
She began to put a few things together in her mind as she passed through that forest: the laxity of the bridge-guards, the estates in disrepair, the minimal activity, the perfidy of the three retainers she had been forced to kill … clearly Lord Sato did not have a firm control of his men. Everything was odd! The bikuni’s deep hat moved from side to side as she shook her head in heightened consternation.
At an unexpected sound, the bikuni stopped on a flat part of the trail, waiting to hear further movement. She appeared relaxed but ready. Yet there was no need for readiness this time, for the sound came again, and she recognized it as the clip-clippa of gardener’s shears. She raised the front of her hat so she could see up a path leading to one of the estates. This one was better cared for than most of the others, though it was also about the smallest. There, amidst a stand of leafless plums, was a rotund young man trimming away the tiniest stems of a particular tree. Further along the path was someone else in identical industry; he was older and rawboned, but otherwise the bikuni could not make out much about him, for foliage obscured her view.
The rotund fellow stopped working and looked toward the road. He grinned foolishly. He was apparently one of the gardener’s helpers or his son, as he looked neither bright enough nor old enough to have much direct responsibility for anything.
The grinning, oversized youngster waved his hand up and down until the nun felt it was rude not to wave back. She raised a hand in a slow greeting, which encouraged the large, happy fellow to wave all the harder, rather than quit. Not until the older man higher on the path yelled something at him did the fellow return to his labor, gazing covertly at the bikuni as she continued her way.
She came to a knoll where trees were stripped away and the view in every direction was spectacular. Not much further up the way was a long, wide bridge, far larger than the one separating the village from samurai estates. Three separate roads came out of the woods and met at that bridge, and the nun realized she had taken a lesser route. On the far side of the bridge were Lord Sato’s most private lands and, in the middle of those lands, a castle impressive in design if not in actual size. Snow-covered barren peaks provided a gorgeous backdrop.
Halfway between bridge and castle were a group of samurai riding across wide fields in pursuit of a hind. The nun could not hear them; it was eerie to see the hunt go so swiftly and soundlessly. The man in the fore of the group was exquisitely clad. The party was armed with longbows and arrows and wore high, narrow hats. Running along behind, and looking slightly ridiculous, were several servants, who could not possibly keep up with the mounted hunters. They brought replacement arrows and other equipment for the convenience of the hunters and their steeds.
The man in the shining silver hunting cloak, probably Lord Sato himself, unleashed an arrow, which found its mark in the rump of the hind. It staggered, fell, but was on its feet almost immediately, and bounded into a wooded area. It could not go far, as Sato’s private lands w
ere surrounded by bodies of water, either natural rivers or moats. The hunting party vanished into the wooded area, after the unfortunate beast.
Such was the view in the direction of the castle. The opposite direction provided the bikuni a clear view of the village, for she could see right over the top of the forested samurai estates. The low-built homes of samurai were hidden; but here and there, the tiled roofs of temples poked out from the trees.
To the east of both the forest and the village, she saw where the creeks and rivers poured into a deep, tremendous gorge. A vast number of waterfalls vanished into mist. Far, far along the gorge she could see a rope bridge, thin as a thread from so far away, traversing the wide gorge. A miniscule guardhouse stood on the nearer side.
Beyond the gorge was another inhabited area, still well within Lord Sato’s fief. The bikuni saw farmhouses scattered at intervals, smoke rising from roof-holes, going straight up into the clouds. Fine mist made the picture look flat, more like a painted screen than reality. Between the poor, thatched homes, every bit of arable land had been cleared for agricultural use, leaving the farmers vulnerable to highland storms. They must have replaced their roofs very often! Most of the fields, staggered up and down that further mountainside, already lay fallow. A few fanners were still busy on the land, preparing it for its winter’s rest. From the bikuni’s vantage point on the knoll, the industrious farmers looked like ants.
She imagined that the view from the castle was even more extraordinary. A full third of Sato’s fief would be visible from that high place.
The mountainous regions of Kanno were harsh areas to live, it was true, but that gloominess that confronted her time and again was not explained by common hardship; for there was beauty all around, and enough arable land that peasants oughtn’t suffer to excess. She was hard put to understand the source of the emotional shadows she sensed reaching out from the castle, affecting samurai estates, townsmen, temples, and farmers.
She looked again at the tiled roofs of temples, which stuck out from the forest where samurai homes were interspersed. Were they all abandoned or impoverished by Lord Sato’s late decrees? If that were the case, it might explain everyone’s reticence, having only lately been denied their usual avenues of worship. Nobody would elaborate the situation for her, not even Priest Bundori. She could not shake the feeling that something evaded her understanding, something that did not fit the most obvious explanation.
As she went down from the knoll toward the river, she saw beyond the bridge, where the hunters had come out from the woods. Servants afoot carried the downed hind by means of a pole cast through its bound legs. The creature’s limp head bobbed from side to side. The fellow who was almost certainly Lord Sato rode to the fore of his entourage, his posture that of a conqueror home from wars. The bikuni was not impressed.
The guardhouse at the long bridge was capable of housing a lot of men if such were required, but presently there appeared to be only about a half-dozen lounging within. They were drinking saké from small cups, but didn’t talk to one another very much. They shouldn’t have been drinking while on guard, but they didn’t seem to mind that Lord Sato had passed by, close enough to catch them in the act, had he been less absorbed in his hunt.
The guards saw the bikuni approaching and pointed at her. Two of the men looked annoyed, then put down their cups and came out of the building to bar her from the bridge.
“None pass without Lord Sato’s invitation!” one of the men shouted. The other added, “Monks and nuns are especially unwelcome!”
The former rule was common enough, but the latter surprised the bikuni. It would be too audacious of her to question Lord Sato’s policy, however. Instead, she spoke to the two guards in a courteous manner, though they were samurai of low status and red-faced from what they had been drinking.
“I have come to Kanno province,” said the bikuni, “in search of a young samurai of Omi province. He was rumored to have been adopted into the service of Lord Sato. That samurai’s name was Yabushi when I knew him before, but no doubt he has changed it by now.”
As she spoke, the four samurai inside the large guardhouse slowly put aside their cups and came out to join the first two. Three additional men, who had not previously been visible when they were sitting within the open-fronted building, took up long spears and came out with the rest. All of them looked edgy, none was completely sober, and they watched the bikuni closely.
The two men she had been addressing did not reply. One of the other men, who seemed to be in charge, despite his youth, stepped in front of the others to say,
“Lots of samurai work for our Lord.” His implication was that the nun’s query was too vague and stupid to be answerable.
“Still,” she said evenly, “not many from Omi province.” She watched the nine men carefully, for they were moving apart from one another, trying not to be obvious, though it was rather too clear that they were fanning out to surround her. She tried to clarify her query: “The friend I mentioned was of the Rooster Clan, an impoverished family despite a noble history. He had been able to maintain a ‘sympathy’ allowance of less than fifty rice-shares of land only by continuous bribes to certain officials. You can imagine it was hard on his dignity. It was his good fortune, I was told, to make the acquaintance of one of Lord Sato’s ministers who was on a mission to Omi. The minister was impressed by the young fellow’s intelligence and swordsmanship, and hired him as a retainer in some high post almost immediately. That’s the story I was told.”
“No man of Omi across the bridge,” said the leader among the nine.
“He would be younger than you,” said the bikuni. “He was small when I knew him.”
“No such man,” the head guard reiterated. He looked at her sternly. Though her own face was hidden beneath her amigasa, it yet seemed as though he looked her straight in the eyes, daring her to doubt his information.
“If you say it is so,” she replied, “there is no need for me to seek audience at the castle.”
“I say it is so,” he answered.
“Then I won’t bother Lord Sato or his minister about it,” she said evenly, for if it turned out the guard was incorrect, he would lose face and be embarrassed. By his tone, she suspected any error was willful; but she must not prove him false in front of his men, even if they knew he lied. Also there was the matter of the other eight men’s current position. They had her surrounded. A misstatement, and she could be forced to fight.
The guard said nothing more. He did not move. The nun spoke quietly:
“If you hear of such a fellow, perhaps you can tell him to visit a strolling nun at White Beast Shinto Shrine.”
She turned to start back along the road through the samurai estates. The men surrounding her on that side let her pass. She did not look back at the men guarding the bridge, but was aware they watched her until she was out of their sight.
Bundori rarely came into the village, for he was ascetically minded and tended exclusively to his duties—exhausting duties, since he was the sole caretaker of an ancient mountain shrine. Usually he was welcomed heartily whenever he did decide to come into town; in fact, his visits used to be an event. In recent months, for the most part, he went ignored on his rare trips, except where children were concerned. Children were too innocently disreputable to understand or obey decrees that forbade catering to the needs of any priest. As they seemed disrespectful in their actions toward the priest, any spy for Lord Sato or Kuro the Darkness would not complain about the children’s attention to Bundori.
It was a bleak-spirited village and Bundori was like a patch of light hurrying up the street. Children flocked to that light the way moths gather around a paper lantern in the night. Their dirty faces grew smiles. Their little voices rose up in laughter. Their tiny, calloused hands fluttered about, trying to touch the green-gray garments of the Shinto priest. All the while they teased him about living with birds, and being like a bird himself, or half bird, the other half monkey. He didn’t mind th
em at all, although he pretended to be annoyed, since that was the response they were seeking. He looked like some sort of mother duck, chased about by her rambunctious youngsters. The merry sound of their silly parade was the first evidence of happiness the emotionally repressed village had experienced since the last time Bundori had paid a visit.
Yet all this happy noise came to a sudden halt when a mounted samurai appeared at the low end of the street. He was a huge man, made monstrous on his big horse, a wide wicker hat upon his head, and a longbow sticking up high at his back. He rode into the village slowly, and had a second horse tethered to the first. Strapped upon the second horse were three dead men. They were twisted, hideous corpses. One had his head completely severed, tied to a saddle, jostling from side to side. The staring eyes of the dead men were white as porcelain.
The mounted warrior passed slowly through the village, as though wishing everyone to see that three samurai had somehow been slain. He did not stop anywhere, but continued right up to the bridge leading to the samurai estates. There could be trouble about the dead men, unless someone confessed right away.
The terrible sight sent the children fleeing into their dark houses, and mothers sealed the doors. Shop-owners closed their businesses. Priest Bundori stepped into a teashop just as the maid there was closing up. Perhaps the shops would reopen in a while. More likely, fear would keep the village silent for the rest of the day.
Thousand Shrine Warrior Page 4
