by Lian Hearn
Just before sleep came to him, he thought, If anyone knows the truth about Akane, it will be Chiyo. He resolved to question the old woman later, and he found some comfort in knowing that she would not lie to him.
LORD KITANO ARRIVED in Hagi the following day and was escorted with great ceremony to the castle. The dignity of his passage was somewhat marred by the frenzied behavior of the townsfolk, still exorcising their grief and sense of betrayal in dancing and chanting, dressed, it seemed, in ever more garish and bizarre apparel. Kitano’s procession found itself the target of abuse. Stones and rubbish were hurled, and blood was very nearly spilled as a result.
Only Shigeru’s appearance stopped the unrest from developing into something more ugly. He met Kitano, welcomed him formally, and rode alongside him, his composure and courage reassuring and calming the people to some extent, as did the presence of Ichiro, who was widely known and respected as a man of great learning and integrity. It was a sultry, humid day: clouds were massing over the mountains and on the horizon. The plum rains would start at any time and put a temporary halt to hostilities.
Men shouted angrily that they would burn their houses to the ground and destroy their fields rather than hand them over to the Tohan; women sang that they would throw themselves and their children into the sea if Sadamu ever rode into Hagi. Shigeru was glad that Kitano heard this. If the people were not placated, the harvest would not be brought in, food production would come to a halt, and everyone would starve before the next spring.
The meeting was to be small, with just the Otori lords—Shigeru and his uncles—and Kitano. Ichiro was also present with two scribes, one from Hagi, one from Tsuwano. When they were all seated in the main hall and the formal courtesies had been exchanged, Kitano said, “I am glad I am able to be of some service to the clan at this very sad time.”
He had a self-satisfied air, like a cat that had just scoffed stolen fish.
Shoichi said, “We deeply regret recent events. We ourselves counseled against them. My brother and I will take responsibility for the future good behavior of our clan. We hope we can make reparations that Lord Iida will find acceptable.”
“In return, he will recognize us as nominated regents until the succession is clarified,” Masahiro added.
“There is no need for such clarification,” Shigeru said, trying to speak calmly. “I am Lord Shigemori’s eldest son. I have an heir, in my brother, Takeshi.”
Kitano smiled urbanely and said, “It is one of Lord Iida’s basic conditions. No further negotiations will be carried out while Lord Shigeru is the head of the clan.”
When no one spoke, he added, “I warned you not to incite his enmity. Unless you agree to step aside, there is little point in continuing this meeting. Lord Iida and his army have advanced as far as Kushimoto. We cannot prevent them from taking Yamagata. Then, only Tsuwano lies between them and Hagi.”
“Hagi cannot be taken by siege,” Shigeru exclaimed.
His uncles exchanged glances. “But we could be starved out, especially since it is early summer and the rice harvest is still weeks away,” Shoichi said.
“Shigeru should take his own life,” Masahiro remarked dispassionately. “Surely that would answer Iida’s requirements, and be honorable.”
“My father’s command was that I should live,” Shigeru replied. “Especially since Jato came to me.”
Ichiro said from behind them, “If I am permitted to speak—Lord Shigeru’s death would plunge the whole of the Middle Country into turmoil. If the Tohan had defeated the Otori in a fair battle, it would be an acceptable outcome. But when treachery is involved, the rights of the defeated are stronger. The battle was fought in the Middle Country: Lord Iida was the aggressor. All these considerations must be carefully weighed before we reach settlement.”
“The threat to lay siege to Hagi is an empty one,” Shigeru added. “For the Seishuu will come to our aid. Tell Sadamu that. Anyway, our reports suggest he suffered too many losses to embark on a new campaign, especially during the rainy season.”
“All these contentions may have weight,” Kitano replied, “but there is no point in discussing them, unless you accept that from this day on you are neither the head nor the heir of the Otori clan.”
“It is not something I can divest myself of, like a robe or a hat,” Shigeru replied. “It is what I am.”
“In that case, my presence here is futile,” Kitano remarked.
There was a short silence. Then Shoichi and Masahiro both began to speak at once.
“It’s ridiculous. . . .”
“Lord Shigeru must step aside. . . .”
“Your brother is at Terayama?” Kitano said. “I must tell you that the temple is surrounded by my men, under orders from Lord Iida and myself to attack it, kill everyone in it, and burn it to the ground unless matters are settled satisfactorily within the week. The town of Yamagata will also be razed.”
“That would be an act of unsurpassed evil, even for you,” Shigeru replied angrily.
“I can think of a few apt descriptions of you, too, Shigeru,” Kitano retorted. “However, I don’t think insulting each other is constructive. We have to come to an agreement.”
There was a sudden rush of rain on the roof, and the smell of wet earth drifted into the room.
“We must put the good of the clan first,” Shoichi said piously. “Lord Iida allows you to live, Shigeru. It’s a huge concession. And your brother’s life will be spared too.”
“You were defeated in battle: you must expect to pay some price for that,” Kitano added. “Of course, if you insist on taking your own life, we cannot prevent it. But I agree with Master Ichiro—it would cause turmoil among the people, and for that reason, with considerable mercy, and because you once saved his life, Lord Iida will not insist on it.”
Their voices reached him as if from a great distance, and the room seemed full of mist. All he could think of was, Yet Jato came to me. I must not die before I have sought revenge. It is impossible for me to cease to be the head of the clan. Jato came to me.
Then he remembered how the sword had come to him, and the words of the man who had brought it to him. Discernment, deviousness, and above all patience. These were the qualities he needed to exploit to survive. He would start practicing them now.
“Very well,” he said. “I will step aside, for all the reasons you have mentioned and above all for the good of the clan.”
“Lord Iida expects written assurances that you will retire from political life and never take up arms against him again.”
Deviousness. Shigeru inclined his head. “In return, my brother must receive a safe conduct to Hagi, and both Terayama and Yamagata be spared.”
Kitano said, “They will be spared from attack but must be ceded to the Tohan, as well as Chigawa and the Yaegahara plain. I am also making sacrifices,” he added. “I am to forfeit nearly half of my domain. I refrained from attacking you as Iida had requested I should. Noguchi, on the other hand, is being rewarded with the whole of the South.”
The negotiations went on for the rest of the day. The borders of the Three Countries were redrawn. The Otori territory was reduced to the mountainous area between Hagi and Tsuwano and a narrow strip along the northern coast. They lost Chigawa and its silver mines, Kushimoto, Yamagata, and the rich southern city of Hofu. Two-thirds of the Middle Country passed into the hands of Iida’s warriors. But Hagi was not attacked, and a sort of peace resulted that lasted for over ten years.
Too weakened by Yaegahara to attack them outright over the next few years, Iida also made demands of the Seishuu, for their alliance with the Otori. Arai Daiichi was ordered to serve Noguchi Masayoshi; Lord Shirakawa’s eldest daughter, Kaede, was sent to Noguchi castle as a hostage as soon as she was old enough; and Maruyama Naomi’s daughter Mariko was subjected to the same fate in Inuyama itself. Huge castles were built at Yamagata and Noguchi and carefully guarded border posts set up on the high roads.
But all that lay in the futur
e.
34
For the next few days, Shigeru was fully occupied with the details of the surrender agreement, the exact placement of the boundaries, a revised system through which tax would be directed to the new rulers. Most of the time he found it easy to act calmly, as if it were all a dream from which he would sooner or later awake, and everything would be as it used to be. He moved with indifference through the unreality, doing what had to be done, meticulously and with as much justice as possible. He met endless groups of people—warriors, merchants, village headmen—explained the surrender terms as best he could to them, remaining as unmoved by their anger and lack of comprehension as by their frequent tears.
Gradually his seeming imperturbability had an effect on the frantic behavior in the town. The dancing crowds dispersed, and people began wearing their ordinary clothes again as life returned to normal. He would not allow them to descend into self-pity and victimhood. That led only to impotence and a festering resentment, which would do the Tohan’s work for them and destroy the clan from within.
But from time to time Shigeru would find himself in the grip of uncontrollable rage. It came from nowhere, as if it were some demon assailing him. He usually rushed from whatever room he was in, for he feared above all killing someone without intending to; his right hand was often bruised from punching it against a wooden pillar or a stone wall once he was alone. Sometimes he slapped his own face, thinking he was surely going mad; then he would suddenly become conscious of the world around him again—a bush warbler calling from the garden, the scent of irises, the soft pattern of rainfall—and the rage abated.
Occasionally, when alone, he was visited in a similar way by demons of overwhelming grief, for all the dead and for Akane, whom he missed with physical pain. The place of her death, the volcano’s crater, had become a center of worship for the women from the pleasure houses and for young girls in love. Shigeru occasionally visited it himself, and he often went to her father’s grave on the stone bridge, made offerings, and read the inscription he had had engraved there:
Let the unjust and disloyal beware.
Rage and grief were equally unbearable, and he struggled to keep them both at bay, but painful as they were, they made him feel real. Yet he could not allow himself to succumb to either.
Chiyo had told him what she had gleaned of the circumstances of Akane’s death. He suspected his uncle Masahiro of more than lechery—the man had been actively conspiring against him. But Akane herself had been indiscreet, had not been completely faithful to him, had been swayed by Hayato’s plight. Thoughts of revenge often came to him, but revenge would keep. He would be patient, like the heron that came every evening to fish in the streams and pools of the garden of the house by the river.
Chiyo, with her practical attitude toward matters of the body, recommended that he console himself with other girls, but he declined her offers, obscurely resenting all women for their attractiveness, their duplicity, and not wanting to become involved with anyone.
He took up residence in the house with his mother and his wife. Ichiro was delighted with the arrangement, assuring Shigeru that the life of a man retired from the world had many delights: the study of literature, religion, and philosophy; the practice of aesthetic pleasures; and, naturally, the enjoyment of culinary ones.
Lady Otori and Lady Moe were less content. Both of them felt, at some level, that it would have been more honorable for Shigeru to take his own life. They would of course have joined him in this act, but while he insisted on living, they also were obliged to.
The house, while beautiful and comfortable, was not large, and Shigeru found a certain pleasure in a simple and frugal way of life. Moe missed the luxury and splendor of the castle; while she thought she had not liked the intrigue of the deep interior, now she found she missed that too. She was not fond of her mother-in-law; Chiyo’s presence made her uneasy, arousing unpleasant memories; most of the time she had too little to occupy herself with, and she was bored. She was a wife yet not a wife; she had no children; her family were dead, her house wiped out due to the rashness of her own husband. It was an insult to them that he still lived, and she reminded him of this daily with barbed comments in company and accusations when they were alone together.
With little to do herself, Lady Otori bullied Moe more than ever, often ordering her daughter-in-law to carry out tasks that the maids should do, and usually for no reason other than spitefulness. One evening, a few weeks after the battle, before the end of the rainy season, she told Moe, who was preparing for bed, to fetch her some tea from the kitchen.
It was raining heavily, and the house was dim. Moe filled the teapot from the iron kettle that hung over the embers of the fire and took a cup to her mother-in-law.
“The water was too hot,” Lady Otori complained. “You should remove it from the flame and let it cool a little before you make tea.”
“Why don’t you ask Chiyo to make it?” Moe retorted.
“Go and make a fresh brew,” Lady Otori ordered. “Take some to your husband too. He is with Ichiro, looking at some records. See if you can’t behave like a wife to him for once.”
Moe did as she was told and, full of resentment, carried a tray with the cups of tea on it to the room that was Ichiro’s favorite.
Shigeru was there alone, reading a scroll. Several paulownia-wood boxes stood around him, and the room smelled of old paper and rue. He was immersed in study and did not look up when she came in. She knelt and placed the tray on the floor. She was seized by the urge to attack him, wound him, make him suffer as she suffered.
“You sit there like some merchant,” she said. “Why do you spend so much time in here? You are no longer a warrior at all.”
“Would you be happier if we lived apart?” he replied after a moment. “I am sure some other arrangements can be made. We have both suffered. There is no point in us hating each other.”
His calm reasonableness infuriated her even more. “Where would I go? I have nothing and no one left to me! The best way to separate would be through death. Yours first and mine afterward.”
He still would not look at her but said quietly, “I have already decided I am not going to kill myself. My father commanded me to live.” His eyes ran down and up the columns of writing on the scroll. He unrolled a little more.
“You are afraid,” she said scornfully. “You are a coward. This is what the great Lord Otori Shigeru is reduced to—a coward, reading about rice and soybeans like a merchant, while your wife brings you tea.”
The day’s incessant rain, the smell of damp and mold had already plunged him into depression, and he had been fighting rage and despair all day.
“Leave me alone,” he said, the anger erupting in his voice. “Go away.”
“Why? Am I reminding you of what you would rather forget? The deaths of thousands on your account? The loss of two-thirds of the Middle Country, the destruction of my family, your own complete humiliation?”
The rage came swooping down on him. He was on his feet, prepared to rush out into the rain. She stood between him and the door. His hands came out to push her away, but she fell against him and he caught her smell, fresh from the bath, her hair fragrant and silky. He both hated her and wanted her. She was his wife: She was supposed to satisfy him and supposed to give him children. He recalled in a flash their wedding night, with its anticipation and disappointment. He was gripping her by the arm, his other hand against her neck, feeling the vulnerable bones at the top of the spine. He was aware of how fragile she was, and of his own power and strength, and was overwhelmed by desire for her.
He thrust her down onto the matting, feeling for her sash, pulling up her robe, loosening his own, wanting to hurt her, obscurely wanting to punish her. She made a small sound of fear. As abruptly as it had descended, the rage vanished. He remembered her fear and frigidity.
I was about to force her, he thought with revulsion.
