“They are hostages, then?” she said in a low voice.
He did not answer directly but merely said, “I’ll give orders for your journey tomorrow. Shall I accompany you?”
“No!” she cried. “And if I am to go, I will ride. I will not wait for his palanquin. Tell Amano I will ride my gray and he is to come with me.”
For a moment she thought he would argue with her, but then he bowed deeply and acquiesced.
After he had gone, her thoughts were in turmoil. If she could not trust Shoji, whom of the domain’s men could she trust? Were they trying to trap her? Surely even Fujiwara would not dare. She was married now. At one moment she thought she should return immediately to Maruyama; the next she realized Ai and Hana were in someone else’s possession and she understood what it meant to have hostages held against her.
So must my mother and Lady Naomi have suffered, she thought. I must go to Fujiwara and bargain with him for them. He has helped me before. He will not turn completely against me now.
Next she began to worry about what to do with Hiroshi. It had seemed like the safest of journeys; yet she could not help feeling that she had brought him into danger. Should he ride with her to Lord Fujiwara’s or should she send him home as quickly as possible?
She rose early and sent for Amano. She dressed in the simple traveling clothes she had worn on the journey, even though she could hear Shizuka’s voice in her head: You can’t appear before Lord Fujiwara on horseback like a warrior. Her own better judgment told her to delay a few days, to send messages and gifts and then to travel in his palanquin with his escort, dressed perfectly for him, presented like the flawless treasures he prized. Shizuka, even Manami, would have advised her so. But her impatience was too great. She knew she would never endure the waiting and the inactivity. She would meet Lord Fujiwara once more, would find out where her sisters were and what he wanted, and would then go immediately back to Maruyama, back to Takeo.
When Amano came she sent the women away so she could speak privately with him, and quickly explained the situation.
“I have to go to Lord Fujiwara’s, but to tell you the truth I am anxious about his intentions. We may need to leave quickly and return to Maruyama at speed. Be ready for it, and make sure the men and horses are prepared.”
His eyes narrowed. “There will be no fighting, surely?”
“I don’t know. I am afraid they will try to detain me.”
“Against your will? It’s impossible!”
“It’s unlikely, I know, but I am uneasy. Why were my sisters taken away if not to force me in some way?”
“We should leave at once,” he said, young enough not to be cowed by the nobleman’s rank. “Let your husband talk to Lord Fujiwara with the sword.”
“I am afraid of what will be done to my sisters. I must at least find out where they are. Shoji says we cannot defy Fujiwara, and I suppose he is right. I will have to go and speak with him. But I will not go into the house. Do not let them take me inside.”
Amano bowed. Kaede went on: “Should Hiroshi be sent home? I wish I had not brought him; I have the burden of his safety on me now too.”
“There is safety in numbers,” Amano said. “He should stay with us. And anyway, if there is to be trouble, we can ill spare the men to escort him back. I will die before any harm comes to him or you.”
She smiled, grateful for his loyalty. “Then let us leave with no more delay.”
The weather had changed again. The clarity and coolness of the last few days had given way to a renewed oppressiveness. It was humid and still, the sort of day that heralded the typhoons of late summer. The horses were sweating and restless, Hiroshi’s roan more unsettled than ever.
Kaede wanted to talk to Hiroshi, to warn him of the possible dangers that lay ahead, to make him promise not to get involved in any fighting; but the horse was too fidgety, and Amano made the boy ride in front with him, lest the roan upset Raku as well. She could feel the sweat running down inside her clothes. She hoped she would not arrive red in the face and soaked. She was already half regretting the rashness of her decision. But, as always, riding made her feel more powerful. She had made the journey only in the palanquin before, never able to look out on the landscape from behind the silk curtains and oiled paper screens that had enclosed her. Now she was able to absorb the beauty of the scenery, the richness of farmland and forest, the grandeur of the distant mountains, range after range, each slightly paler than the one in front, fading until they merged into the sky.
No wonder Lord Fujiwara did not want to leave this beautiful place. His image, seductive and intriguing, rose before her eyes. She remembered how he had always seemed to like and admire her. She could not believe he would harm her. But her senses were heightened with some apprehension. Is this how it feels to ride into battle, she wondered, life never seeming more beautiful nor more fleeting, to be grasped and flung away in one and the same breath?
She put her hand on the sword in her belt, reassured by the feel of the hilt.
They were only a few miles from the gates of Fujiwara’s residence when they saw dust on the road ahead, and out of the haze trotted the palanquin bearers and horsemen sent by the nobleman to fetch her. Their leader spotted the silver river crest on Amano’s surcoat and drew rein to greet him. His gaze swept over Kaede and then his neck muscles corded as his eyes snapped back to her in astonishment.
“Lady Shirakawa,” he gasped, and shouted to the bearers, “Down! Down!”
They dropped the palanquin and knelt in the dust. The horsemen dismounted and stood with bowed heads. They appeared submissive, but she saw immediately that they outnumbered her men two to one.
“I am on my way to visit His Lordship,” she said. She recognized the retainer but could not recall his name. He was the man who had always come to escort her to Lord Fujiwara’s in the past.
“I am Murita,” he said. “Would Lady Shirakawa not prefer to be carried?”
“I will ride,” she said shortly. “We are so close now.”
His lips were compressed into a thin line. He disapproves, she thought, and glanced at Amano and Hiroshi, who were now alongside her. Amano’s face gave nothing away, but there was a flush of blood beneath Hiroshi’s skin.
Are they embarrassed for me? Am I shaming myself and them? Kaede straightened her back and urged Raku forward.
Murita sent two of his men ahead, increasing her sense of unease about the reception that awaited them, but she could think of nothing to do but ride onward.
The horses felt her anxiety. Raku sidestepped a little, ears pricked, eyes rolling, and Hiroshi’s horse threw its head in the air and tried to buck. The boy’s knuckles were white on the reins as he brought it under control.
When they came to the residence, the gates were open and armed guards stood inside the courtyard. Amano dismounted and came to help Kaede from Raku’s back.
“I will not get down until Lord Fujiwara comes,” she said boldly. “I do not intend to stay.”
Murita hesitated, unwilling to take such a message.
“Tell him I am here,” she pressed.
“Lady Shirakawa.” He bowed his head and dismounted, but at that moment Lord Fujiwara’s young companion Mamoru the actor came from the house and knelt in front of her horse.
“Welcome, lady,” he said. “Please come inside.”
She was afraid that if she did she would never come out. “Mamoru,” she said curtly, “I will not go inside. I have come to find out where my sisters are.”
He stood then and came to the right side of her horse, stepping between her and Amano. He, who had rarely looked directly at her, now seemed to be trying to meet her gaze.
“Lady Shirakawa . . .” he began, and she heard something in his voice.
“Remount,” she said to Amano, and he obeyed her instantly.
“Please,” Mamoru said quietly, “it’s best if you comply. I beg you. For your sake, for the sake of your men, the boy . . .”
“If Lord Fujiwara wil
l not come to speak to me and will not tell me what I want to know, I have no further business here.”
She did not see who gave the order. She was aware only of some look that flashed between Mamoru and Murita.
“Ride!” she cried to Amano, and tried to turn Raku’s head, but Murita was holding the bridle. She leaned forward, drawing her sword and urging the horse to rear. He shook his head free from the man’s grip and went up on his hind legs, striking out with his forefeet. She struck downward at Murita and saw the blade slice against his hand. He cried out in fury, pulling out his own sword. She thought he would kill her, but he grabbed at the bridle again, wrenching the horse’s head down. She felt something plunge and flail behind her: It was Hiroshi’s horse, panicking. Mamoru was plucking at her clothes, calling out to her, begging her to surrender. Beyond him she could see Amano. His sword was drawn, but before he could use it an arrow struck him in the chest. She saw the look of shock come into his eyes, then blood began to bubble with each breath and he fell forward.
“No!” she screamed. Murita, at the same moment, in frustrated rage, thrust his sword upward into Raku’s exposed chest. The horse screamed, too, in pain and fear, and his bright blood began to gush. As he faltered, legs swaying, head sinking, Murita caught Kaede and tried to drag her from his back. She struck out at him once more, but the horse was falling, taking her down, and her blow had no strength in it. Murita caught her wrist and effortlessly twisted the sword from her hand. Saying nothing, he half dragged, half carried her to the house.
“Help me! Help me!” she called, twisting her head round, trying to look back at her men, but the swift, ferocious assault had left them all dead or dying. “Hiroshi!” she screamed, and heard hooves pounding. The last thing she saw before Murita carried her inside was the roan bolting, carrying the boy away against his will. It was the slightest grain of comfort.
Murita searched her for other weapons, finding her knife; his hand was bleeding freely and rage made him rough. Mamoru ran before them, opening doors as he took her to the guest rooms. When he released her she fell to the ground, sobbing with rage and grief.
“Raku! Raku!” she wept, as grief-stricken as if the horse had been her child. Then she wept for Amano and the others whom she had led to their deaths.
Mamoru knelt beside her, babbling, “I’m sorry, Lady Shirakawa. You must submit. No one is going to hurt you. Believe me, we all love and honor you here. Please calm yourself.”
When she only wept more desperately, he said to the maids, “Send for Dr. Ishida.”
A few minutes later she was aware of the physician’s presence. He knelt beside her and she raised her head, pushing aside her hair and gazing at him with stricken eyes.
“Lady Shirakawa—” he began, but she interrupted him.
“My name is Otori. I am married. What is this outrage? You will not let them keep me here. You will tell them to let me go at once.”
“I wish I could,” he said in a low voice. “But we all lead our lives here according to His Lordship’s will, not our own.”
“What does he want from me? Why has he done this? He has abducted my sisters, murdered my men!” The tears poured anew down her face. “He did not need to kill my horse.” She was racked by sobs.
Ishida told the maids to fetch herbs from his house and bring hot water. Then he examined her gently, looking in her eyes and feeling her pulse.
“Forgive me,” he said, “but I must ask you if you are carrying a child.”
“Why must you know that? It is nothing to do with you!”
“His Lordship’s intention is to marry you. He considers that you were betrothed to him. He had already sought the emperor’s permission, as well as Lord Arai’s.”
“We were never betrothed,” Kaede sobbed. “I am married to Otori Takeo.”
Ishida said gently, “I can’t discuss these things with you. You will see His Lordship directly. But as your physician I must know if you are pregnant.”
“What if I am?”
“Then we will get rid of it.”
When Kaede cried out in grief, he said, “Lord Fujiwara is already making great concessions to you. He could have you put to death for your infidelity. He will forgive you and marry you, but he will not give his name to another man’s child.”
She made no response other than renewed sobbing. The maid returned with the herbs and teakettle and Ishida brewed the infusion.
“Drink it,” he told Kaede. “It will calm you.”
“Suppose I refuse?” she said, sitting abruptly and snatching the bowl from him. She held it out at arm’s length as though she would pour it onto the matting. “Suppose I refuse all food and drink? Will he marry a corpse?”
“Then you condemn your sisters to death—or worse,” he said. “I’m sorry, I take no pleasure in the situation, nor am I proud of my part in it. All I can do is be utterly truthful with you. If you submit to His Lordship’s will, you will preserve your honor and their lives.”
She gazed at him for a long moment. Slowly she brought the cup to her lips. “I am not pregnant,” she said, and drained it.
Ishida sat with her while her senses began to numb, and when she was calm, he told the maids to take her to the bathhouse and wash the blood from her.
By the time she was bathed and dressed, the infusion had dulled her grief and the brief murderous episode seemed like something she had dreamed. In the afternoon she even slept a little, hearing as if from another country the chanting of the priests lifting the pollution of death from the house and restoring it to its peace and harmony. When she woke and found herself in the familiar room, she forgot for a moment the past months and thought, I am at Fujiwara’s. How long have I stayed here? I must call Shizuka and ask her.
Then she remembered but with no intensity, just a dull knowledge of what had been snatched so violently from her.
It was twilight, the cool ending to a long, heavy day. She could hear the soft footsteps of the servants and their whispered voices. A maid came to the room with a tray of food. Kaede picked at it listlessly; the smell of food sickened her and she soon called for it to be taken away.
The maid returned with tea. She was followed into the room by another woman, middle-aged, with small sharp eyes and a severe look, obviously not a servant from her elegant clothes and refined manner. She bowed to the ground before Kaede and said, “I am Ono Rieko, a cousin of Lord Fujiwara’s late wife. I spent many years in Her Ladyship’s household. His Lordship sent for me to make the preparations for the wedding ceremony. Please accept me with kindness.” She bowed her head formally to the floor again.
Kaede felt an instinctive dislike for the woman before her. Her appearance was not unpleasing—she could not imagine Fujiwara suffering any person around him who was not attractive—but she sensed both self-pride and mean-spiritedness in her character.
“Do I have any choice?” she said coldly.
Rieko gave a little trill of laughter as she sat up. “I am sure Lady Shirakawa will change her mind about me. I am only a very ordinary person, but there may be things I can advise you on.” She began to pour the tea, saying, “Dr. Ishida wants you to have a cup of this now. And as it is the first night of the moon, Lord Fujiwara will come shortly to welcome you, and view the new moon with you. Drink your tea and I’ll make sure your hair and dress are appropriate.”
Kaede took a sip of tea and then another, trying not to gulp it down, for she was terribly thirsty. She was calm and could barely feel anything; yet she was aware of the slow thudding of blood behind her temples. She dreaded meeting him, dreaded the power he had over her. It was the power that men held over women everywhere, in every aspect of their lives. She must have been mad to think she could fight it. She remembered all too clearly Lady Naomi’s words: I must appear a defenseless woman, otherwise these warriors will crush me.
Now they were crushing her. Shizuka had warned her that her marriage would enrage the elders of her class—that it would never be permitted. But if
she had listened and done what she was told, she would never have had the months with Takeo. The thought of him now was so freshly painful, even with the calming tea, that she laid it away in the secret recesses of her heart, as hidden as the records of the Tribe in the Sacred Caves.
She became aware that Rieko was studying her closely. She turned her face away and took another sip of tea.
“Come, come, Lady Shirakawa,” Rieko said briskly. “You must not brood. You are about to make a brilliant marriage.” She came a little closer, shuffling forward on her knees. “You are as beautiful as they say, apart from being too tall, but your skin has a tendency to sallowness, and that heavy look does not become you. Your beauty is your greatest asset: We must do all we can to preserve it.”
She took the cup and set it on the tray. Then she unloosened Kaede’s hair from the ties that held it back and began to comb it out.
“How old are you?”
“Sixteen,” Kaede replied.
“I thought you were older, twenty at least. You must be the type that ages rapidly. We’ll have to watch that.” The comb raked across Kaede’s scalp, bringing tears of pain to her eyes.
Rieko said, “It must be very difficult to dress your hair; it is very soft.”
“I usually tie it back,” Kaede said.
“It is the fashion in the capital to wear it piled on the head,” Rieko said, tugging in a way that hurt intentionally. “Thicker, coarser hair is more desirable.”
Whereas sympathy and understanding might have released Kaede’s grief, Rieko’s unkindness steeled her, making her determined never to break down, never to show her feelings. I slept in ice, she thought. The goddess speaks to me. I will discover power of some sort here and use it until Takeo comes for me. He would come, she knew, or die in the attempt, and when she saw his lifeless corpse she would be freed from her promise and she would join him in the shadows of the afterworld.
In the distance dogs began barking suddenly and excitedly, and a moment later the house shook in a tremor, longer and a little more severe than the previous day’s.
Kaede felt what she always felt: shock, amazement that the earth could quiver like fresh bean curd, and a sort of elation that nothing was fixed or certain. Nothing lasted forever, not even Fujiwara and his house full of treasures.