Shike by Robert J. Shea (the reading list txt) 📕

rebellion against Hideyori. He claimed that Hideyori had sent assassins to kill him. Hideyori, of course, denied it, charging that Yukio had arranged the incident to give himself justification for making war on his brother. GoShirakawa was convinced, though. He gave Yukio a commission ordering him to chastize Hideyori as a rebel against the throne and an enemy of the Court. But Hideyori had already sent the Mongols to arrest Yukio, and Yukio was forced to flee the capital. When the Mongol army got near, GoShirakawa withdrew the commission and sent an apology to Hideyori, saying he had issued it under duress. Yukio fled south to Hyogo with a thousand warriors.

When he sailed from Hyogo one of those great storms that the Chinese call tai-phun came up and wrecked his ships near Shimonoseki, the very place where he won his great victory over the Takashi only two years ago. It is said that the angry ghosts of the Takashi called up the storm. I wonder if the ghost of my beloved Atsue was among them. There are rumours among the local fishermen that the shells of crabs caught in Simonoseki waters bear the imprint of the faces of Takashi warriors.

Yukio left his mistress, Shizumi, behind at Hyogo, which probably saved her life, but she was quickly captured by Hideyori’s men. Poor thing, I hear she’s pregnant. Now Hideyori has his men searching everywhere for Yukio. Even though Yukio was generally loved, when it came to an open break between the brothers, almost all samurai hastened to side with Hideyori. He has lands and offices to give away while Yukio has nothing to offer but an unprofitable struggle against injustice.

Eor it is an injustice, what Hideyori is doing to Yukio; even I admit that in my heart.

Insisting that Yukio is still a threat to the peace and good order of the realm, Hideyori has extorted enormous concessions from the Court. He has been granted the power to tax the rice harvest of every estate in the Sunrise Land, income which he says he needs to pay for troops to search for Yukio. He also has the authority to appoint stewards and oryoshi in every province to enforce his decrees and collect the taxes. Land, after all, is everything. Now Hideyori has control of all the land in the realm, and Yukio helped him get it. Also, at his insistence, the vacant throne is at last to be occupied by the Imperial candidate of his choosing, Kameyama, a young grandson of GoShirakawa. So Hideyori is now a maker of Emperors. I have known many leaders-Sogamori, Kiyosi, Kublai Khan, Yukio-but Hideyori has started with the least and accomplished the most of all of them.

It does not trouble me that he is too busy to pay much attention to me. Another man now absorbs all my time and thought, even though he is only five years old. Of course, I could let my ladies take charge of his care and education, but I do not trust the women Hideyori has appointed to serve me. Some are doubtless spies who might report any careless remark or small act of Sametono’s to Hideyori in an unfavourable light.

I am seeking music, poetry and calligraphy masters for my grandson. There was a time when it would have been impossible to find a first-rate teacher of any art in Kamakura, but now that the centre of power is here, accomplished men are drawn to the north as bees to a flower. My cousin Munetoki has agreed to teach Sametono the martial arts. And, of course, the most important part of his education is that which he receives from Eisen.

Another friend we often see is Moko. He has two children now, a thirteen-year-old son named Sakagura, who was born the year we all left for China, and a new baby girl. He is on the way to the five-or was it six?-children he claimed when Jebu and I first met him. His shipbuilding trade, he says, is prospering. Whenever he comes to call, the first question we ask each other is, “Do you have any news of Jebu?” Neither one of us ever does, and we shake our heads together in disappointment. If Jebu is still alive he is surely with Yukio, sharing his fate.

-Fifth Month, twenty-first day

YEAR OF THE SHEEP

At the beginning of summer, to celebrate the destruction of Yukio and his acquisition of new powers, Hideyori gave a great feast at the Shogunal castle in Kamakura. Over three hundred kenin, the highest ranking samurai, filled the reception hall of the castle. Most of the guests sat at low individual tables enjoying the delicacies Hideyori had selected for the occasion. While their costumes were less elaborate and confining than the dress of the Imperial Court, these new masters of the Sunrise Land wore equally fine materials, no less handsomely adorned. The treasures that had gradually been accumulating in Hideyori’s castle, gold and silver drinking vessels, T’ang dynasty porcelain, ebony and rosewood tables, statuettes and vases of jade and ivory, ancient scrolls on which Buddhist verses were painted in gold leaf, all were brought out to decorate the hall. Eive groups of musicians from aristocratic families played in turn, so that there was continuous music.

Hideyori’s most important vassals sat with him on a dais at the north end of the hall under a canopy of plum-coloured silk. Among them were the heads of the powerful Shima clan, the brothers Bokuden and Ryuichi, as well as Ryuichi’s son, the strapping young Munetoki. With them sat the chieftains of the Ashikaga, the Hiraga, the Wada and the Miura clans. Taniko knelt just behind Hideyori, silently pouring sake and serving morsels of vegetable and fish and rice to the Shogun.

Hideyori’s eyes tonight were bright and beady, like those of a crow that has just captured a tender bit of meat. He wore a black ceremonial robe and a tall black cap of lacquered silk. Midway through the banquet he clapped his hands for attention, and the hum of conversation and the clatter of eating and drinking in the hall died away. The musicians fell silent.

“I have a special treat for all my guests now,” Hideyori announced to the hall at large. “Here is a woman reputed to be the greatest dancer in the Sunrise Land. She comes to us from the Court at Heian Kyo, where she gave much delight to our new Son of Heaven, Emperor Kamayama, as well as to His Imperial Majesty’s most honoured grandfather, the Retired Emperor. As well as others who were recently at the Court.”

There were a few chuckles in the hall from those who realized who the lady was and what Hideyori meant by “others at the Court.” Taniko sensed what was about to happen, but somehow she had not thought Hideyori would stage this kind of public spectacle.

“In return for our hospitality this lady has agreed to entertain us,” said Hideyori, pleased with himself. “Noble lords of the Bakufu, I present the Lady Shizumi.”

The doors at one end of the hall slid back and a tiny figure was revealed in the gallery leading from the women’s house of Hideyori’s castle. Taniko’s first sight of Shizumi wrung her heart. Yukio’s mistress was a beautiful young woman with huge dark eyes and red lips. Her long black hair hung unbound past her shoulders, black locks spreading protectively over her small breasts. She held herself very straight in a trailing robe of pure white silk, tied by a white sash. She is far more lovely than I was at her age, Taniko thought admiringly.

She had heard Yukio’s mistress was pregnant. There was no sign of it, but it was still cruel to put her through this ordeal.

Taking small steps, her eyes cast down, Shizumi moved into an open space in the centre of the hall.

“Why are you wearing the colour of mourning?” Hideyori demanded. “I told you to put on your finest gown.”

“Please forgive me, my lord,” Shizumi said. “This is my best gown.” She spoke softly, respectfully, but there was a strength in her voice that was surprising, coming from such a fragile-looking body.

Six musicians in Court dress with drums, bells, woodwinds and lutes glided from the gallery and seated themselves near the dais. Shizumi looked questioningly at Hideyori, and he nodded brusquely. She bowed to the musicians, drew an ivory fan from her sleeve and spread it open. Hideyori sat back with a smile, his hands resting on his knees. To force Yukio’s mistress to entertain him and his guests made his triumph complete.

The first notes the musicians struck were slow, solemn, booming, like the tolling of a temple bell. Taniko realized at once that Shizumi’s choice of white robes was no accident. Her dance was as mournful as her white raiment. Her measured steps, the bending of her body like bamboo in the wind, the horizontal rippling of her arms and the droop of her fan said that all things pass, happiness turns to sadness, each of us is alone at last. This was not what these leaders of samurai wanted to hear tonight, but it was a measure of Shizumi’s talent as a dancer that she changed the mood of the gathering. Every head was still, every eye fixed on the flowing white figure in the centre of the hall. In the eye of many a scarred old eastern warrior there stood a tear. The woman in white was a cherry blossom, blown from the bough by the wind, fluttering to the ground. White, those watching recalled, was the colour of the Muratomo. One day, the dance whispered, even the victorious banner of the White Dragon must fall. The music ended with the same slow, ringing notes that began it. When Shizumi was done, she sank gracefully to the floor. There was no cheering, no applause, only a sigh that rustled around the hall like the wind in autumn leaves. A far greater tribute, Taniko thought.

Hideyori alone was displeased. He gnawed at his moustache, frowning angrily.

“That dance was not suitable for this occasion,” he growled. “Nevertheless, it was exquisite,” Shima Ryuichi said gently. Tani ko’s respect and love for her uncle rose. He had indeed grown braver since the days when he trembled before Sogamori in Heian Kyo. Hi deyori threw an irritated glance at him, then turned back to Shizumi. “Sing something for us now. Something more cheerful.” “I will sing of love, my lord.”

“Proceed.” Hideyori smiled thinly.

Shizumi nodded to the musicians. She sang in a voice that was rich and sad and husky, her red lips forming a circle on certain words, as if she were offering kisses to one who was not there.

The memories of love settle like snow

That drifts down from the mist on Hiei’s crest, As I sit alone and the day grows dark. Ah, how I grieve for the beauty we lost.

In the cloudland under a distant sky

He lays his head beneath a snow-capped pine. That strange land is an ill place for my love. Ah, how I grieve for the beauty we lost.

Amazing, thought Taniko. What courage this young woman has. Hideyori tries to use her to celebrate his victory over Yukio, and she seizes the moment to proclaim that she still loves Yukio and mourns for him.

In his mansion our pillows still remain Side by side, though we are a world apart, And I will not see him before I die.

Ah, how I grieve for the beauty we lost.

“Enough!” Hideyori shouted. He sprang up, his face suffused with anger. The musicians faltered to a stop. The hall was utterly silent as the guests stared, amazed, at the Shogun. Yukio, Taniko thought, you have triumphed over your brother even now.

“How dare you sing such a song here in my home,” Hideyori raged.