The Sword That Cut the Burning Grass

by Dorothy Hoobler

  Seikei took a deep breath. Without Reigen, he could do nothing, and the old man was nowhere in sight. Seikei dismounted and allowed the two men to lead him away.

  They moved with the crowd fleeing the burning castle. The men took him into a side street that wound uphill. At the top, they came into an open square where there was an excellent view of the castle grounds. Taking full advantage of it was Yabuta.

  21

  LORD PONZU’S SILENCE

  You might send your messages on paper,” Seikei said. “That way, you wouldn’t waste the time of so many of your men.”

  Yabuta glared at him. “I like to see that people understand my messages,” he said. “Apparently there was some confusion about the last one. I wanted the sword, and you helped someone else steal it.”

  “I did exactly what you told me to do,” said Seikei. “I did not know that another person would take it.”

  “You came here with the man who has it,” said Yabuta. Evidently, he saw a lot from this hill. “Now he has used it against my samurai.”

  “I chose to serve him,” said Seikei, “because he rescued me from Takanori.”

  Yabuta nodded, as if he knew this already. “I thought Takanori would not be able to hold you,” he murmured. He shrugged. “He is no great loss.”

  The loss was yours, Seikei thought. Because he told me you urged Lord Ponzu to rebel against the shogun. That is a secret I’m sure you do not want to be known.

  “But the sword . . . ,” Yabuta said. “I regret that loss. I must have it. I want you to tell Reigen to give it to me.”

  Seikei could not conceal his surprise. “How do you know his name?”

  “Even from here I recognized him,” said Yabuta. “It has not been that long since he left Kyoto. Supposedly he was in retirement, but he does not seem to be a man who has taken up a life of contemplation.”

  “He was forced to take the sword because you sent me to get it.”

  “Yes?” One of Yabuta’s eyebrows went up. “Well, I am sorry to put him to so much trouble. Because now I want him to give it to me.”

  “I am certain he will never do that,” said Seikei.

  “Are you? Then perhaps you won’t mind delivering a message to him from me.”

  “What is it?”

  “Tell Reigen that I have his grandson. And if he wishes Yasuhito to live, he must bring me the sword.”

  Seikei was thunderstruck. Yasuhito? That was Risu’s real name. “Grandson? The emperor is Reigen’s grandson?”

  Yabuta smiled in an ugly manner. “Oh, so there are still things you do not know, in your infinite wisdom? Yes, Reigen is the retired emperor, Yasuhito’s grandfather. Frankly, if you didn’t know that, I don’t understand why you chose to follow him.”

  “Because he is a man of honor,” said Seikei.

  “Let us hope you are right and he chooses to save his grandson.”

  Seikei thought rapidly. Yabuta must be lying. The servant who stopped Seikei had said that Risu had gone to the mountains with Lord Ponzu’s men. Yabuta was bluffing, but at least it gave Seikei a chance to inform Reigen what was happening.

  “I will take him the message,” Seikei said.

  “Good. And then, if I were you, I would go back to Edo immediately,” said Yabuta. “That way, you can be the first to give the shogun the happy news that I have put down Lord Ponzu’s rebellion.”

  “Have you?” asked Seikei skeptically.

  “I would say so,” Yabuta replied. He snapped his fingers at one of his men. “Show our young friend my trophy,” he said.

  The man disappeared behind a rock and returned carrying a leather basket. He held it out so that Seikei could look inside. Seikei blinked at the sight of a man’s severed head, looking up at him through half-open eyes.

  “This is Lord Ponzu,” said Yabuta. “I’d say his rebellion is over, wouldn’t you?”

  Yes, thought Seikei. And he can no longer tell anyone who encouraged him to plan that rebellion.

  Seikei made his way down the hill and back to the castle. It was clear that the rebellion, if there had been one, was over. The castle was still burning, but now most of the people had either escaped it or died trying to do so.

  No one stopped Seikei as he entered the gate that Reigen had fought his way through. He followed a trail of bodies. It seemed that the samurai of both sides had tried to stop Reigen. He had dealt with them all alike.

  Of course, Seikei thought bitterly, how could one think of anyone in this affair as having loyalty to one side or the other? There was so much treachery that he wondered if anyone knew what honor meant.

  He came upon a little stone garden that had been constructed as a place of beauty. Now it was ruined by people who had run through it in panic. A dead samurai lay facedown on the edge of the gravel bed. Reigen sat next to him, eyes closed, in a position of meditation.

  As soon as Seikei’s foot moved a pebble, Reigen’s hand went to the hilt of his sword. He looked up, sadness in his eyes. “I have not been able to find Yasuhito,” he said. “I sense he is no longer here. Have you come to tell me he is dead?”

  “Not dead, but I fear he is in great danger,” Seikei said.

  “Sit here and tell me what you know.”

  Seikei hesitated. “I cannot sit with you as if we were equals,” he said. “I know who you are.”

  Reigen frowned. “You mean . . . that I was once the emperor.”

  Seikei bowed his head.

  “Listen to me,” said Reigen. “We have the same goal, do we not?”

  “To save the emperor,” agreed Seikei. And Hato, he thought.

  “Then we must do whatever is necessary to achieve that goal.”

  “As long as it is honorable.”

  “That goes without saying. It is honorable for you to treat me as your equal—even as your servant—if that will help us reach our goal. Do you agree?”

  “Yes, I understand that,” Seikei said.

  “Good. Now sit and tell me what you have learned.”

  After Seikei described his meeting with the servant, Reigen nodded. “I know the place she means. When Yasuhito was a small boy, we had a lodge in the mountains. During the summer, when Kyoto became too warm, we would go there. There were only a few of us—perhaps fifty to sixty servants, his parents, and I. But he may not know that the place was shut up after his father died. It will be deserted now.”

  Reigen rose and brushed himself off. “We will start at once,” he said. He stopped when he saw Seikei’s face. “Have you anything else to tell me?” he asked.

  Seikei was worried. “I should have told you this first. Yabuta is here.” He repeated the message Yabuta had wanted him to deliver.

  “And you believe Yabuta can see us now?” Reigen asked.

  Seikei indicated the hilltop where he had met Yabuta. It was possible to make out the group of samurai who were still standing there.

  “But Yabuta couldn’t have the emperor,” Seikei said. “The servant told me he was taken away by Lord Ponzu’s men.”

  “Do not forget that some of Ponzu’s samurai were actually working for Yabuta,” Reigen said.

  Seikei had to admit this was true. “But you . . . you mustn’t . . .” He bit his lip. It was not his place to tell an emperor what his duty was. Then Seikei saw the joke in this, and smiled. That was exactly what his original mission had been.

  “I believe,” said Reigen, “that we must reach the emperor before Yabuta does.”

  “But Yabuta will follow us if you do not give him the sword,” said Seikei.

  “He can try,” Reigen replied. “Are you willing to travel with me wherever I go?”

  Seikei had no doubts. “I will,” he said.

  “And you have not forgotten your promise? To use your sword when it is time?”

  Seikei hesitated before answering. “I have not forgotten,” he said. But silently he wondered if he could really use his sword to attack Reigen. And even if he did—how could Reigen be defeated?

>   “More than ever, that is important,” Reigen said. “The Kusanagi must be returned to its resting place. Swear that you will do it.”

  “I swear.”

  “Then let us go swiftly where Yabuta and his men cannot follow us,” Reigen said.

  Seikei was going to ask where that could be, but it was unnecessary. Reigen had already turned and was striding straight toward the still-burning castle.

  22

  ACTING LIKE FISH

  Seikei had to hurry to catch up with Reigen. He had many questions to ask. The most important of them was whether Reigen realized they would be burned alive.

  Fortunately the flames had not yet reached this part of the castle, although they soon would. Smoke filled the great hallway at the entrance, and Reigen told Seikei to bend low as he walked. It was easier to breathe near the floor.

  Seikei could not understand what Reigen was doing here. Even if they passed through the castle and came out another door, Yabuta would still be able to see them from his vantage point. In fact, since Yabuta must have realized that Reigen had no intention of giving up the sword, he might have his men surrounding the castle right now.

  Reigen took a left turn into a short corridor. When Seikei followed, he nearly panicked, for it looked as if the old man had disappeared. Then he saw a flight of stairs headed down into what looked like a pit of black ink. Seikei set his foot on the staircase and heard Reigen headed farther down. There was nothing to do but go after him.

  The air here was not as smoky. In fact, Seikei could feel a damp breeze coming from the bottom of the pit. That seemed impossible, for there could be no windows down here.

  To steady himself, Seikei put his hand out to the side and felt a stone wall. Perhaps it was Reigen’s plan to hide in some forgotten dungeon until Yabuta gave up looking for them. No, that was not like Reigen. He must want to find his grandson as swiftly as possible.

  “Stop here.” Reigen’s voice was right in front of Seikei, who would have run into the old emperor if he hadn’t spoken. The silence here was so complete that Seikei could hear himself breathing. Maybe that was only because he was panting from trying to keep up with Reigen.

  Then he became aware of another sound, very faint but continuous. Seikei held his breath so he could hear it better.

  Water. Flowing water.

  “Can you swim?” asked Reigen.

  “A little,” Seikei said. He wasn’t sure he could swim in total darkness without having any idea where he was going.

  “You may not have to,” said Reigen. “This is a tunnel that brings fresh water to the castle. In the spring, when snow melts in the mountains, the stream can be deep. Right now, it is probably shallow enough so that we will only get our feet wet. Take off your sandals and tabi.”

  Seikei did so, following Reigen into the water. It was not cold, but on the bottom were sharp rocks that hurt his feet. Worse than that was when he stepped on something soft and slimy, and it wriggled away. To his shame, Seikei cried out in surprise.

  “There are snakes in the water,” Reigen told him, “frogs, slugs, and other creatures. But few of them are poisonous.”

  Seikei prayed he wouldn’t step on any more. There was no way for him to tread carefully, because Reigen kept moving ahead at a rapid pace. Once, Seikei’s foot slipped and he fell to one knee. He got up again and had to move even faster. He had no idea how far they had walked, but it seemed to him as if they must have gone well beyond the limits of the castle grounds.

  Finally he realized he could dimly see the water, and then the walls of the tunnel as well. They were nearing daylight again. Rounding a bend, Seikei caught a glimpse of the sky.

  They emerged at a place where the stream met the Shonai River. Seikei looked back. The hill beyond the castle was obscured by smoke. He could no longer see anyone up there, which must mean Yabuta couldn’t see them either.

  Or could he? Seikei had learned not to underestimate the spy chief. Truly it seemed as if his eyes were everywhere. When he saw Reigen and Seikei enter the castle, he must have known there was another way out. Perhaps even now he had moved to another vantage point and was looking down at them.

  Seikei shivered. A chilly wind was blowing up from Ise Bay. Reigen turned in that direction, walking along the riverbank. At least there were other people here—some fishing, some washing clothes. Brightly colored rectangles were laid out on the ground, for people brought freshly dyed cloth here to rinse in the water. With all the activity, Reigen and Seikei would not be so easy to spot from a distance.

  A man with a small rowboat asked if they wished to cross the river. “I charge two ryo per person,” he said, “but for you and your grandson, only three ryo.”

  “I would rather have the boat,” said Reigen.

  The man did not quite understand. “You do not need the boat,” he said. “I will take you across.”

  “How much do you want for the boat?” Reigen persisted.

  The man shook his head. “If you take my boat, I have no way to earn a living.”

  “You can buy another boat,” Reigen said. “But we need this one now.”

  The man looked at Reigen the way he would have regarded a crazy person. He wanted to laugh, but he also wanted to get away from him.

  “Tell you what,” the man said, smiling, trying to humor Reigen. “You can have the boat for an oban.”

  “Fine,” said Reigen. He drew a small bag from his kimono and took out an oval gold coin.

  The boatman’s eyes widened. He put out his hand for the coin, and Seikei saw that it was trembling. But when Reigen gave him the oban, the man seemed to weigh it suspiciously. No doubt, thought Seikei, he had never held an oban before. It did not weigh as much as the copper coins he saw every day. Cautiously, he put the edge of it in his mouth and bit down hard. If the coin was really gold, he knew, his teeth would make an impression. He examined it. Finding teeth marks, he slowly nodded and moved aside, indicating that the boat was now theirs.

  Reigen stepped into the boat and motioned to Seikei, who promptly pushed it off the sandy beach and scrambled inside.

  “I will row from here,” said Reigen. “Since the river flows into the bay, it will be little work.”

  Seikei looked back to see the boatman standing on the river’s edge, still staring at them. “You didn’t have to give him an oban,” said Seikei.

  “He asked for an oban,” Reigen replied. “I did not wish to waste time arguing.”

  “He would have been happy with less,” said Seikei.

  “If he is the type of person who is happy,” said Reigen, “he will still be happy tomorrow. If he is the type of person who is unhappy, he will realize I might have given him two oban.”

  Seikei smiled.

  “What he will probably not realize,” continued Reigen, “is that if he had refused to sell me the boat, I would have killed him.”

  Seikei didn’t smile at that, for it seemed Reigen was serious.

  “That is the sort of thing that comes into your mind when you carry the Kusanagi,” said Reigen. “That is why I do not want to hold it any longer than I have to.”

  “Where are we going?” Seikei asked after a moment.

  “To the imperial lodge in the Suzuka Mountains.”

  “But we cannot get there in a boat.”

  “I hope Yabuta thinks that as well. I would imagine he has men waiting for us at the checkpoint on the Tokaido Road. Anyone leaving Nagoya in that direction would have to pass through there.”

  But you didn’t, thought Seikei, remembering that Reigen had left the road to avoid the guards on the way in.

  “See,” Reigen said, pointing. “We are nearly at Ise Bay. The cormorant fishers are out.”

  True enough. At the point where the river flowed into the great bay, men were using cormorants to catch fish. They tied long cords around the necks of the birds, who resembled large ducks with hooked bills. The birds, as they would naturally, soared over the water looking for fish near the surface. When
they spotted one, they dove swiftly, trying to scoop it into their beaks. Sometimes they disappeared entirely beneath the water in pursuit of their prey. If they were successful, their owners would reel in the cord and take the fish.

  “It seems unfair,” said Seikei, “that the birds do all the work and the man gets the reward. Is it true that they cannot swallow the fish because of the cord around their necks?”

  “Yes,” said Reigen, “but in the end they will receive a share of the catch. I find it interesting, however, that although many people feel sympathy for the birds, no one ever pities the fish.”

  Seikei smiled at the thought. “It’s because fish are . . . well, there are just so many of them.”

  “And you cannot tell one fish from another,” Reigen pointed out. “That is what we must be like now.”

  “Like the fish?”

  “Just so,” Reigen said. “Only we must swim very deep, so that Yabuta cannot see us.”

  Seikei half expected Reigen to order him to jump overboard and swim. After what had happened since Seikei left Edo, nothing would have surprised him. Or so he thought.

  But that was not what the ex-emperor had in mind. When they entered the bay, Reigen guided the boat along the shoreline to their right. It looked no different from any of the countless other small craft that dotted the bay. Anyone seeing Seikei and Reigen would think they were a grandson and grandfather out fishing.

  Seikei still could not understand where they were going. Reigen continually scanned the shoreline, looking for something. But what? Seikei followed the old man’s gaze, but saw nothing out of the ordinary: small villages, docks where boats were tied up, and, higher up the hills, rice paddies, tea plants, and household gardens.

  “There is the place,” Reigen said suddenly, and turned the boat sharply. He headed for the mouth of a small river, one of several that emptied into the bay.

  “Your turn to row,” said Reigen when they reached it. “We will need strong young arms to take us upstream.”

  “How far do we have to go?” asked Seikei.

  “There,” Reigen said, pointing.