Autumn Princess, Dragon Child Page 3

  He heard footsteps and a man knelt at his side.

  “Lord Masachika? Can you hear me?”

  The woman had taken away the cup and was bathing his face. The cloth felt cool and soothing. He nodded and felt it slide against his skin. Then it, too, was removed. He could see a little better. Hironaga, a man in his fifties with graying hair and a weathered face, was bending over him.

  “We found you after the attack. We were searching the hillside for spent arrows and uninjured horses. Luckily, it was I who came across you and I recognized you. You have been unconscious for a long time. My wife has been caring for you—you know she always loved you like her own son.”

  “The attack?” He half-recalled the desperate plunge down the hillside.

  “We knew it was coming. Young Chikamaru, Kongyo’s son, came from Matsutani to warn us. The Miboshi horsemen plunged straight into a trap. None of them survived. If you had not fallen from your horse halfway down, you would have been killed, too. We could see very little in the dark and we would never have known who you were.”

  He remembered that he was Miboshi now. Didn’t Hironaga know that? He frowned, confused, and pain shot around his eyeballs.

  While his eyes were shut he thought he sensed someone else approaching. Again he knew the voice.

  “Lord Masachika,” it said.

  He peered through swollen eyelids.

  “It is I, Kongyo. Do you remember me?”

  He nodded. “You were my brother’s friend.”

  “I became his senior retainer, and will be yours, too, I hope. We all know how your father commanded you to go to the Miboshi. You cannot be blamed for obeying him. But something prevented you from attacking your family home. If your brother, Kiyoyori, and his only son are indeed dead, then you are the last of the Kuromori lords. Your father made a difficult decision to preserve his family line. Who are we to put an end to it? Heaven spared you. We could not go against its judgment.”

  “I feel more like Heaven punished me,” Masachika said and groaned.

  “Heaven gives punishment with one hand and mercy with the other,” Hironaga said.

  Masachika remembered how the older man had always been inclined to make these sanctimonious pronouncements. At that moment he realized two things. One was that despite the pain he would rather be alive than dead; the other, that he was going to be given another chance. He closed his eyes again and began to prepare himself to take full advantage of it.

  * * *

  It was a tiny fortress, not quite under siege, but anticipating another attack any day. The men, almost forty in number, were bored and tense, and always hungry. They waited for news, of a Kakizuki counterattack or confirmation of Lord Kiyoyori’s death, but none came. The bodies of the dead Miboshi had been burned, their swords, bows, and arrows added to the armory. No one came to avenge them or to punish the Kuromori group.

  It rained frequently. The summer days were lush and humid. Farmers paraded outside with food—eggs, summer greens and other vegetables—and every day a handful of men climbed the hill behind the fortress to hunt rabbits and deer.

  The farmers reported that the spirits were still in residence at Matsutani, and no one dared go inside the garden walls. Weeds were growing rampant in the rains and the house was disappearing beneath them.

  Masachika had many long hours in which to reflect on what the future held for him. As the swelling in his face slowly went down his memory came back, but the bee stings left aftereffects, fierce headaches and night fevers. He dreaded confronting the spirits again, yet he became obsessed with ousting them. The idea of Matsutani rotting away, after all the sacrifices that had been made, gnawed at him constantly. He could not help thinking of Tama. He was sorry he had hired the assassin. It had been an impulsive act and he regretted it. He didn’t even know if the man had been successful; he had not had time to find out before he left with the Miboshi army. But to be on the safe side he offered prayers for her soul in the makeshift shrine that had been erected inside the fortress.

  Hironaga and Kongyo, with their simple concepts of lineage and loyalty, seemed to assume he had returned not only to Kuromori but also to the Kakizuki. Of course he had not; he had a better idea of how things were in the capital. He knew who the real victors were. He was not going to join the losers’ side at this stage of the war. But it was not hard to pretend his new retainers were right, nor to agree with them that what they most needed was information, and that he was perfectly placed to get it for them.

  He made a convincing show of gratitude to Hironaga, respect for Kongyo, affection for his old foster mother, joy at being back in his childhood home. Just as he had in Minatogura, he endeared himself to most of the men, already predisposed to accept him as their departed lord’s brother, by undertaking any task alongside them, willingly and competently, by remembering their names, their characteristics, and their exploits.

  “Could you get to Lord Keita, who, it seems, has retreated with the Kakizuki forces to Rakuhara?” Kongyo asked him one morning. It promised to be the first clear day for several weeks. The plum rains were drawing to an end.

  “I can certainly return to the capital. I served the Miboshi well during the years I lived with them. I believe they trust me well enough. I could assess the situation there and report to Lord Keita, get a message back to you or return myself.”

  “Ask him if we should remain here or fight our way through to join him,” Hironaga said.

  One of the men who was listening spoke up. “Lord Masachika was with the Miboshi for eight years and was part of the force that attacked us. Forgive me, but someone has to say it. Can we really trust him?”

  “Tsunesada,” Masachika replied, “a man cannot forget his first loyalties. I longed to return to my true family, especially since my revered brother appears to have passed on to the next world. I was born Kakizuki and Heaven has decreed I should become Kakizuki again.”

  “Even though the Miboshi rule the capital and the Kakizuki are in exile?” Tsunesada persisted.

  “That makes my choice all the more honorable,” Masachika said smoothly.

  Tsunesada pointed at the stack of reports that Masachika had written and that had been retrieved from the saddlebags of his fallen horse. They had sat for weeks on the floor of the room in which the men were now gathered, because no one could decipher them. “What do all these mean?”

  “They are records of the warriors. The men dictated them to me because I can read and write.”

  “Not much use now they are all dead!” Tsunesada scoffed.

  “The records give them immortality. Their names live on. If I take them with me, they will be sent to Minatogura and their families may be able to claim compensation.”

  Hironaga was frowning. “Do the Miboshi do the same in everything?”

  “Keep records? They do. It is Lord Aritomo’s method to know everything, remember everything, control everything. Memory cannot be trusted. Five men will remember the same event in five different ways, but written accounts become legal records. Aritomo loves legality.”

  The men shuffled uneasily.

  “If I present them in the capital I can make myself seem more credible,” Masachika said, “but burn them if you like.”

  Tsunesada looked at Kongyo. The older man said, “I suppose Masachika is right. He had better take them with him.”

  A few days later, supplied with a new horse and his own sword, Masachika slipped away from Kuromori before dawn and rode toward Shimaura. But he did not follow the western coast road to the capital. Instead he turned east to Minatogura. He had been thinking about this plan for weeks and had decided he must confirm his legal claim on Matsutani. Only then would he return to Miyako.

  * * *

  Compared with the half-destroyed capital, Minatogura looked peaceful and prosperous, hardly touched by war. Its ships sailed to and from the port, laden with goods that its wealthy merchants bought and sold with even more vigor than usual. The news of the Miboshi victory and t
he Kakizuki defeat had given the city an atmosphere of triumph. In offices and courts, scribes and lawyers recorded these victories, and the exploits of individual warriors, and calculated the rewards in land that would be granted, and from whom, among the defeated, such lands would be taken.

  Masachika went to his adoptive family’s house, riding through the familiar streets, past the port and up the slope to the north. It was very hot, the sun was blinding in a brilliant sky, yet shivers ran through him and his head ached. He was aware that, unless the onset of war had delayed it, his claim would have been decided. He told himself there was nothing to be nervous about—the estate could be granted only to him; there were no other heirs; he had served the Miboshi faithfully—yet his anxiety persisted. What if he had been ruled dead, or worse, a traitor? Only legal confirmation that Matsutani was his would bring him reassurance and tranquility.

  His adoptive father, Yamada Keisaku, came hurrying out to the gate as Masachika dismounted and handed the horse’s reins to a groom.

  “You are home, and safe! We heard rumors that you had been killed in an attack on Kuromori. Heaven be praised! My wife has prayed for you day and night, and our daughter—how she has wept, believing you dead and our family bereaved.”

  Masachika brushed aside his effusive welcome. Keisaku was a pious and jovial man who wanted everyone around him to be happy, but Masachika had never had much respect for him, despising his excessive religious faith and what he considered shallowness.

  Inside the house he caught a glimpse of his betrothed, her plump pretty face flushed with excitement and joy, her eyes all the more sparkling for her tears. He pretended not to see her.

  “Is there any news from the tribunal?” he asked immediately.

  “About your claim?” Keisaku replied. “We want you to know you will always be our son. We have a country estate, more remote and not as wealthy as Matsutani, of course, but which will always be yours. You will never be landless.”

  “What are you talking about?” Masachika demanded.

  Keisaku was rubbing his hands together nervously. “I am grieved to be the one to reveal such disappointing news. Despite my deep affection for you I am the one who must inflict a grave wound. Accept it as Heaven’s will for your life. No doubt good will come of it in the end.”

  “Are you trying to tell me my claim has failed?” Masachika said, incredulous.

  “Your former wife, Lady Tama, produced documents that stated clearly the land was left by her father to her and whoever was her husband—Matsutani, that is. No ruling was made on Kuromori, which I suppose would still be yours.”

  Masachika stared at his adoptive father, speechless. So Hisoku had failed. Tama was not only alive but had dared to approach the tribunal in her own right. He was outraged and furious, but at the same time he couldn’t help admiring her audacity, and he felt the stirrings of old longing.

  Oblivious to his future son-in-law’s inner turmoil, Keisaku said, “Lady Tama has a powerful ally in the Abbess at Muenji … however, the reasons are not important; the court found in her favor.”

  “But she is a woman!” Masachika could think of nothing else to say.

  “As the only surviving child of her father, and the widow of the Kuromori lord, she was considered to hold the greater right,” Keisaku said. “As the father of an only daughter, I have some sympathy with this judgment.”

  “Surely I have a chance to appeal? I would have been here pleading my own case if I had not been fighting for the Miboshi, and nearly dying, I might add!”

  “I cannot answer you on that subject. You could try speaking to someone of higher rank. Yukikuni no Takaakira, for example; he is here in Minatogura for a few days. Our meager estate borders his, so I have some channels through which to approach him.”

  “Takaakira? He has taken over Kiyoyori’s old house in Miyako.”

  “That is good.” Keisaku attempted a smile. “He will consider himself beholden to you.”

  “Do you think so? If a man wrongs you once, he will find it easier the next time. I can’t expect much help from him.”

  “My dear son, you must not be so cynical. I will do my best with him. Meanwhile, let us put our trust in the Enlightened One and bear whatever Heaven sends us.”

  Masachika could not hide his irritation, thinking, What Heaven sends is one thing, but to bear the platitudes of the old is quite another.

  * * *

  He tried to see Tama, but when he went to Muenji he was refused admittance. He was told the lady was practicing a religious retreat.

  “For how long?” he demanded.

  “It is hard to say.”

  “Will she see me if I come back in a few days?”

  “It is hard to say.”

  That was the only answer he received.

  His adoptive father began to make delicate attempts to contact Yukikuni no Takaakira while Masachika waited impatiently, avoiding his betrothed and her mother and putting off any discussion of marriage. Tama had suddenly become desirable to him once more. He recalled the early days of their marriage, her ardor and eagerness, his terrible pain when she had been taken from him. He convinced himself that she was still his wife. Had she not made it clear she wanted him back last time they met? This time he would not refuse her.

  Even the nagging memory of the spirits did not discourage him. He would face them again with Tama, whom they had called the Matsutani lady, by his side. Together they would find a way to placate or remove them.

  Four days later he was told a messenger was at the door. He rushed out and immediately recognized Hisoku, the rogue he had hired.

  “Lady Tama wishes to see you before she leaves,” Hisoku said.

  “Where is she going?” Masachika could not hide his surprise.

  Hisoku met his gaze insolently. “We are leaving tomorrow for Matsutani.”

  “We?” The word shocked him. He could not bring himself to believe all its implications.

  “Lady Tama has graciously taken me into her service.”

  “She will soon find out how incompetent you are,” Masachika said with scorn.

  Hisoku did not reply, but Masachika saw a muscle twitch in his cheek. It did not worry him that he had made an enemy. He despised the man and had already decided he would kill him at the first opportunity.

  However, he had to follow him to the temple, where they were taken to the garden pavilion. Even here in the shade by the lake, where water trickled from the spring, it was unbearably hot. Cicadas droned deafeningly from the woods.

  Masachika went forward, leaving Hisoku waiting on the step. He studied his former wife with respect. She seemed both unaffected by the heat and possessed of a new, calm authority.

  “Your religious retreat has been beneficial,” he observed.

  She did not respond to his trace of sarcasm, simply indicating that he might sit next to her.

  “You desired to see me?” she said.

  “Tama,” he began.

  “Lady Tama,” Hisoku corrected him.

  “Can we speak in private?” Masachika tried to mask his impatience.

  “How can I be sure you will not make another attempt on my life?” Tama replied.

  “That was a mistake, I apologize…” His excuses trailed away under her level gaze. “Forgive me,” he said simply.

  Without turning her head, she said, “You may wait a little farther away, Hisoku.”

  The man moved a few paces to the edge of the lake, but did not take his eyes off them.

  “What do you want, Masachika?” Tama said.

  “I want us to live together as husband and wife.”

  She continued to look at him without speaking and a slight smile began to curve her lips.

  “You will agree?” he said eagerly. “I may come with you to Matsutani?”

  Now her eyes were alight with emotion. He leaned forward to take her in his arms, but in one swift movement she was on her feet.

  “It is too late.”

  Then she w
as gone, hurrying down the path by the side of the lake.

  “What?” he shouted after her. “You won’t even listen to me?”

  “I think Lady Tama has made her feelings clear,” Hisoku said, giving Masachika a triumphant, sneering look before he followed her.

  * * *

  Two days later, still burning with regret and rage, Masachika found himself in the presence of Yukikuni no Takaakira. He did not want to be there, he would have preferred to leave meeting Takaakira until he returned to Miyako, but his father-in-law had gone to great efforts to obtain the audience, eager for Masachika to seek support for his appeal. However, Takaakira was not inclined to help him or even to listen to him. He cut short Masachika’s explanation, saying, “That has no interest for me. What does interest me is Kuromori.”

  “My lord?”

  “You left with a hundred men. All of them, save Yasuie, appear to be dead. The fortress is still in the hands of your late brother’s retainers, yet you have not only survived but were permitted to leave. What deal did you strike with them and whose side are you on now?”

  His voice was deliberately insulting. Masachika knew Takaakira could be both charming and generous to those he respected, and it wounded him to realize he was not one of them. He began to defend himself.

  “I am, and for years have been, Miboshi. Does your lordship not recall how well I acquitted myself at Shimaura and the Sagigawa?” It did not seem to be the time for false modesty. “I deeply regret the failure at Kuromori, but I was attacked by evil spirits and rendered unconscious before the actual battle.”

  The mention of the spirits, he could see, aroused Takaakira’s interest, and he found himself relating the strange occurrences at Matsutani, Yasunobu’s death, and the crippling bee stings. Takaakira heard him out and then said, “That is one of the most fanciful explanations for a defeat I have ever had to listen to. So, you did not agree to spy for the Kakizuki, and to try to get to Keita in Rakuhara?”

  Again Masachika felt the flick of contempt. He hid his anger and affected a penitent air. “I can hide nothing from such a great and wise lord. I did agree, but only so I could escape and return to Lord Aritomo’s service. I have even brought with me the records of the warriors who died. The men at Kuromori trust me and regard me as Kiyoyori’s heir. Surely that can be turned to our advantage?”