The Harsh Cry of the Heron Read online

  When it was fully light, he bathed and had a barber pluck and trim his hair and beard. He ate a little rice and soup and then dressed in formal clothes for the meeting with Fujiwara’s son, finding little pleasure in the soft feel of the silk and the restrained elegance of the patterns—the pale mauve wisteria blossom on the deep purple background of the under robe and the more abstract weave of the outer.

  The servant placed a small black hat on his head, and Takeo took the sword, Jato, from the elaborate carved stand where it had rested all night and hung it from his sash, thinking of all the disguises he had seen it in, starting with the shabby black sharkskin that had wrapped its hilt when, in Shigeru’s hand, it had saved his life. Now both hilt and scabbard were richly decorated and Jato had not tasted blood for many years. He wondered if he would ever unsheath the blade again in battle, and how he would manage with his damaged right hand.

  He crossed the garden from the east wing to the main hall of the mansion. The rain had stopped, but the garden was drenched and the wisteria flowers hung heavy with moisture, their fragrance mingling with that of the wet grass, the tang of salt from the port, and all the rich smells of the town. Beyond the walls he could hear the thud of shutters as the town awoke, and the distant cries of the morning street sellers.

  Servants glided noiselessly before him, sliding open the doors, their feet soft on the gleaming floors. Minoru, who had gone to eat his own breakfast and dress, joined him silently, bowing deeply and then following a few paces behind him. A servant at his side carried the lacquered writing desk, paper, brushes, inkstone, and water.

  Zenko was already in the main hall, dressed formally like Takeo but more richly, gold thread gleaming at collar and sash. Takeo nodded to him, acknowledging his bow, and handed Jato to Minoru, who placed the sword carefully in an even more ornately carved stand to the side. Zenko’s sword already rested in a similar stand. Takeo then sat at the head of the room, glancing round at the decorations, the screens, wondering how it would look to Kono after the Emperor’s court. The residence was not as large or as imposing as those in Hagi or Inuyama, and he regretted he was not receiving the nobleman there. He will get the wrong impression of us: He will think we are unrefined and unsophisticated. Is it best that he should think so?

  Zenko spoke briefly about the previous night. Takeo expressed his approval of the boys and praised them. Minoru prepared the ink at the small writing table and then sat back on his heels, eyes cast down as if he were meditating. Rain began to fall softly.

  A short time later they heard the sounds that heralded a visitor, the barking of dogs and the heavy tread of palanquin bearers. Zenko rose and went to the veranda. Takeo heard him greet their guest, and then Kono stepped into the room.

  There was the slightest moment of awkwardness when it was apparent neither of them considered they should be the first to bow; Kono raised his eyebrows in a minute movement and then bowed, but with a kind of mannered affectation that drained the gesture of any respect. Takeo waited for the space of a breath, and then returned the greeting.

  “Lord Kono,” he said quietly. “You do me a great honor.”

  As Kono sat up, Takeo studied his face. He had never seen the man’s father, but that had not prevented Fujiwara from haunting his dreams. Now he gave his old enemy his son’s face, the high forehead, the sculpted mouth, not knowing that Kono did indeed resemble his father in some ways, though by no means in all.

  “Lord Otori does me the honor,” Kono replied, and though the words were gracious Takeo knew that the intention was not. He saw at once that there was little chance of frank discussions. The meeting would be difficult and tense, and he would need to be astute, skillful, and forceful. He tried to compose himself, fighting tiredness and pain.

  They began by talking about the estate, Zenko explaining what he knew of its condition, Kono expressing a desire to visit it for himself, a request which Takeo granted without argument, for he felt that Kono had little real interest in it and no intention of ever living there; that his claim on the land could probably be dealt with quite simply by recognizing him as the absent landlord and remitting a certain amount to him in the capital—not the full taxation but a percentage of it. The estate was an excuse for Kono’s visit, a perfectly plausible one. Kono had come with some other motive, but after over an hour had passed and they were still discussing rice yields and labor requirements Takeo began to wonder if he was ever going to hear what it was. However, shortly afterward a guard appeared at the door with a message for Lord Arai. Zenko made profuse apologies and said he would be forced to leave them for a while but would join them for the midday meal.

  His departure left them in silence. Minoru finished noting what had been said thus far and laid down his brush.

  Kono said, “I have to speak of a somewhat delicate matter. It may be best if I talk to Lord Otori alone.”

  Takeo raised his eyebrows and replied, “My scribe will remain.” He gestured to the rest of the attendants to leave the room.

  When they had gone, Kono did not speak for a while. When he did, his voice was warmer and his manner less artificial.

  “I want Lord Otori to know that I am merely an envoy. I have no animosity toward you. I know little of the history of our two families—the unfortunate situation with Lady Shirakawa—but my father’s actions often distressed my mother while she was alive and myself. I cannot believe that he was entirely without fault.”

  Without fault? Takeo thought. All the fault lay with him: my wife’s suffering and disfigurement, the murder of Amano Tenzo, the senseless slaying of my first horse, Raku, all those who died at the battle of Kusahara and in the retreat. He said nothing.

  Kono went on, “Lord Otori’s fame has spread throughout the Eight Islands. The Emperor himself has heard of it. His Divine Majesty and his Court admire the way you have brought peace to the Three Countries.”

  “I am flattered by their interest.”

  “It is unfortunate that all your great achievements never received imperial sanction.” Kono smiled with seeming kindness and understanding. “And that they stem from the illegal death—I won’t go so far as to call it murder—of the Emperor’s recognized representative in the Three Countries, Arai Daiichi.”

  “Lord Arai died, like your father, in the Great Earthquake.”

  “I believe Lord Arai was shot by one of your followers, the pirate Terada Fumio, already a criminal. The earthquake resulted from the horror of Heaven at such a treacherous act against an overlord—that is what is believed in the capital. There were other unexplained deaths that concerned the Emperor at the time—Lord Shirakawa, for instance, possibly at the hands of one Kondo Koichi, who was in your service, and who was also implicated in my father’s death.”

  Takeo replied, “Kondo died years ago. This is all past history. In the Three Countries it is believed that Heaven took a hand in punishing my grandfather’s brothers and Arai for their evil deeds and betrayals. Arai had just attacked my unarmed men. If there was any sort of treachery, it was his.” Earth delivered what Heaven desired.

  “Well, his son, Lord Zenko, was an eyewitness, and a man of his probity will tell the truth,” Kono said blandly. “My unpleasant duty is to inform Lord Otori that, since you have never sought the Emperor’s permission or endorsement, have never sent tax or tribute to the capital, your rule is illegal and you are requested to abdicate. Your life will be spared if you retire in exile to some isolated island for the remainder of your days. The ancestral sword of the Otori must be returned to the Emperor.”

  “It is beyond my comprehension that you dare to bring such a message,” Takeo replied, masking his shock and fury. “It is under my rule that the Three Countries have become peaceful and prosperous. I have no intention of abdicating until my daughter is old enough to inherit from me. I am willing to enter into treaties with the Emperor, and anyone else who approaches me peacefully; I have three daughters for whom I am prepared to make political marriages. But I will not be intimidated
by threats.”

  “No one really thought you would be,” Kono murmured, his expression unreadable.

  Takeo demanded, “Why have you come suddenly now? Where was the Emperor’s interest years ago, when Iida Sadamu was pillaging the Three Countries and murdering its people? Did Iida act with a divine sanction?”

  He saw Minoru make a very slight movement with his head, and tried to rein in his temper. Of course Kono hoped to enrage him, hoped to bring him into an open statement of defiance, which would be construed as further rebellion.

  Zenko and Hana are behind this, he thought. Yet there must be another reason why they—and the Emperor—dare to move against me now. What weak ness are they exploiting? What additional strengths do they now think they possess?

  “I intend no disrespect to the Emperor,” he said carefully. “But he is revered throughout the Eight Islands for his pursuit of peace. Surely he will not go to war against his own people?”

  Surely he cannot raise an army against me?

  “Lord Otori cannot have heard the latest news,” Kono said with an air of sorrow. “The Emperor has appointed a new general—the descendant of one of the oldest families in the East, lord of many countries and leader of tens of thousands of men. The Emperor seeks peace above all things, but he cannot condone criminal activity, and now he has a strong right arm with which to enforce punishment and justice.”

  The words, so softly spoken, had all the sting of insult, and Takeo felt a wave of heat. It seemed almost unendurable to be considered a criminal—his Otori blood rebelled against it. Yet for many years he had settled challenges and disputes by shrewd negotiation and diplomacy. He did not believe these methods would fail him now. He let the words and the insult wash over him while he regained his self-mastery, and started considering what his response would be.

  So they have a new warlord. Why have I not heard of him? Where is Taku when I need him? Where is Kenji?

  The extra arms and men Arai had been preparing—could they be in support of this new threat? The arms—what if they were firearms? What if they were already on their way to the East?

  “You are here as the guest of my vassal, Arai Zenko,” he said finally. “And therefore as my guest. I think you should extend your stay in the West, visit your late father’s estate, and return with Lord Arai to Kumamoto. I will send for you when I have decided how to reply to the Emperor, where I will go if I am to abdicate, and how best to preserve peace.”

  “I repeat, I am only an envoy,” Kono said, and bowed with apparent sincerity.

  Zenko returned and the midday meal was prepared; lavish and delicious as it was, Takeo hardly tasted it. The conversation was light and courteous; he attempted to contribute to it.

  When they had eaten, Kono was escorted by Zenko to the guest apartment. Jun and Shin had been waiting outside on the veranda. They rose and followed Takeo silently as he returned to his own rooms.

  “Lord Kono is not to leave this house,” he said to them. “Jun, set guards at the gates. Shin, take instructions at once to the port. Lord Kono will stay in the West until I give written permission for him to return to Miyako. The same applies to Lady Arai and her sons.”

  The cousins exchanged a glance but made no comment beyond “Certainly, Lord Otori.”

  “Minoru,” Takeo said to the scribe, “go with Shin to the port and find out details of all embarking vessels, particularly those bound for Akashi.”

  “I understand,” Minoru replied. “I will be back as soon as possible.”

  Takeo settled himself on the veranda and listened to the mood of the house change as his instructions were carried out—the tread of the guards’ feet, Jun’s fierce, insistent commands, the nervous scurry of maids and their whispered comments, one exclamation of surprise from Zenko, Hana’s murmured advice. When Jun returned, Takeo told him to stay outside his rooms and let no one disturb him. He then retired within, and went through Minoru’s account of the meeting with Kono while he waited for his scribe to return.

  The characters leaped from the page at him, stern and graphic in Minoru’s near perfect hand. Exile, criminal, illegal, treachery.

  He fought to control the rage that these insults provoked, aware of Jun barely three strides away from him. He had only to speak one order, and they would all be dead—Kono, Zenko, Hana, the children…their blood would wash out the humiliation that he could feel staining his bones, corroding his vital organs. Then he would attack the Emperor and his general before the summer was over, drive them back to Miyako, lay waste the capital. Only then would his rage be assuaged.

  He closed his eyes, seeing the patterns of the screens etched into his eyelids, and breathed out deeply, remembering another warlord who had killed to wipe out insults and had come to love killing for its own sake, saw how easy it would be to take that path and become like Iida Sadamu.

  He consciously put the insults from him and thrust the humiliation aside, telling himself his rule was ordained and blessed by Heaven—he saw this in the presence of the houou, in the contentment of his people. He came to the decision again that he would avoid bloodshed and war as long as possible, and that he would do nothing without consulting Kaede and his other advisers.

  This resolution was tested almost immediately, when Minoru returned from the harbor officials’ record room.

  “Lord Otori’s suspicions were correct,” he said. “It looks as though a ship left for Akashi on last night’s tide, but its cargo examination certificate had not been completed. Shin persuaded the harbor master to investigate immediately.”

  Takeo narrowed his eyes, but made no comment.

  “Lord Otori must not concern himself,” Minoru said to reassure him. “Shin hardly had to be violent at all. The men responsible were identified—the customs official who allowed the ship to leave and the merchant who handled the freight. They are being held, awaiting your decision on their fate.” He lowered his voice. “Neither of them has admitted to the nature of the cargo.”

  “We have to suspect the worst,” Takeo replied. “Why else avoid the inspection procedures? But do not speak of it openly. We must try to recover them before they reach Akashi.”

  Minoru smiled slightly. “I have some good news for you too. Terada Fumio’s ship is waiting to dock. They will be in Hofu at the high tide this evening.”

  “He has come at just the right time,” Takeo exclaimed, his spirits lifting immediately. Fumio was one of his oldest friends, and, with his father, supervised the fleet of ships with which the Otori carried out trade and defended their coastline. He had been away for months with Dr. Ishida, on one of their frequent voyages of trade and exploration.

  “Tell Shin to take a message that he may expect a visit tonight. No need to make it explicit. Fumio will understand.”

  He was deeply relieved on several counts. Fumio would have up-to-date news of the Emperor; if he could leave at once he had a good chance of catching up with the illegal shipment; and Ishida would have medicine, something to relieve the insistent pain.

  “And now I must speak to my brother-in-law. Please ask Lord Zenko to come here at once.”

  He was glad to have the excuse of the customs officials to rebuke his brother-in-law. Zenko expressed his profound apologies and promised to arrange the executions himself, assuring Takeo that it was an isolated occurrence, an instance of human greed, nothing more sinister.

  “I hope you are right,” Takeo replied. “I want you to assure me of your complete loyalty to me—you owe me your life; you are married to my wife’s sister; your mother is my cousin and one of my oldest friends. You hold Kumamoto and all your lands through my will and my permission. Yesterday you offered me one of your sons. I accept your offer. Indeed I will take both of them; when I leave for Hagi they will accompany me. From now on they will live with my family and be brought up as my sons. I will adopt Sunaomi, if you remain loyal to me. His life and his brother’s will be forfeit at the slightest sign of disloyalty. The question of marriage will be decided late
r. Your wife may join her sons in Hagi if she desires, but I am sure you will want her to remain with you.”

  Takeo watched his brother-in-law’s face closely during this speech. Zenko did not look at him. His eyes flickered slightly and he spoke too quickly in reply.

  “Lord Takeo must know that I am completely loyal to him. What did Kono say to you that prompted this? Has he spoken of affairs in the East?”

  Don’t pretend you don’t know! Takeo was tempted to challenge him directly, but decided it was not yet the time.

  “We will disregard what he said—it is of no importance. Now, in front of these witnesses, swear your fealty to me.”

  Zenko did so, prostrating himself, but Takeo remembered how his father, Arai Daiichi, had sworn an alliance with him only to betray him, and in the extreme moment had chosen power over the life of his sons.

  The son will be the same, he thought. I should order him now to take his own life. But he shrank from such an act, for all the sorrow it would cause to his own family. Better to keep trying to tame him, rather than kill him. But how much simpler it would be if he were dead.

  He put the thought from him, committing himself once again to the more complex and difficult path, away from the deceptive simplicities of assassination or suicide. Once Zenko had finished his prostrations, all faithfully recorded by Minoru, Takeo retired to his own apartments, saying he would dine alone and retire early since he intended to leave for Hagi in the morning. He was longing to be in the place he regarded above all others as his home, to lie with his wife and open his heart to her, to see his daughters. He told Zenko the two boys must be ready to travel with him.

  It had been raining on and off all day, but now the sky was clearing, a soft wind from the south dispersing the heavy clouds. The sun set in a pink and golden glow that made the many green hues of the garden luminous. It would be fine in the morning, a good day for traveling, and fine also for the evening activities he had in mind.