Cloud of Sparrows (44 page)

“Do you still find her repulsive and ungainly?”

“Not repulsive. But only because I have grown accustomed to her appearance. ‘Ungainly’ is also a rather harsh term.” Genji recalled the way she lay in the snow, waving her arms and legs to create her snow angel. He pictured her clambering into the apple tree without the least self-consciousness. “I suppose, in her own outsider way, she has a certain innocent grace.”

“You speak of her as though she is someone for whom you have affection.”

“I will admit to liking her. It is a long way from liking to loving.”

“A month ago, it took all your discipline for you to even glance in her direction. Now you like her. Love does not seem so inconceivable.”

“There is a critical difference between the two. Sexual attraction.”

“Which she does not generate?”

“Please.”

“Of course, there is an even simpler explanation,” Heiko said.

“I hope it is more pleasant as well,” Genji said.

“That is for you to say, my lord, not I.” Heiko looked down at her hands clenched in her lap. “New conditions would not have to arise leading you and Emily to bed if you have already been there.”

“Heiko, I have not bedded Emily.”

“Are you certain?”

“I would not lie to you.”

“I know you would not.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“You were delirious when Shigeru found you.”

“Unconscious. I had been delirious earlier.”

“You and Emily were inside a snow-covered lean-to for a day and a night before you were discovered.” She looked up and her eyes locked with his. “My lord, do you remember precisely how you stayed warm?”

“I am so happy to see you well,” Emily said. “We were all very worried. Please, sit down.”

“Thank you.” Genji’s inner self was in turmoil. It was only fitting that his outer self be in equal agony, a condition immediately provided by the misshapen outsider chair. His spine shifted out of alignment as soon as he sat, and his organs pressed unnaturally against each other, restricting the flow of
ki
and causing the accumulation of dangerous toxins. Excellent. Now he was thoroughly ill at ease.

“Lady Heiko said you wished to speak with me.”

“Did she tell you why?”

“Only that it was a matter of some delicacy.” Emily looked at him. “It might have been better for me to come to your rooms instead of you to mine. Perhaps you haven’t completely recovered from the recent episode.”

“There is nothing to worry about,” Genji said. “It was only fatigue catching up with me. I am more rested now.”

“I was about to have tea.” Emily went to a table with an outsider tea service on it. “Would you care to join me? Heiko was kind enough to acquire some of the English variety.”

“Thank you.”

Any delay was welcome. How was he to raise the question? He couldn’t imagine a less manly, more humiliating act than asking a woman—a woman with whom he was not on the closest terms, and an outsider on top of it—whether he had bedded her because he couldn’t remember if he had or not!

Emily lifted a small decanter and poured a portion of thick white fluid into their cups. Then she added black tea. Its perfumed scent failed to conceal the fermented nature of the leaves used for brewing. Finally, she added sugar and stirred.

Her first sip brought a bright smile to her face. “It has been so long, I had forgotten how delicious it is.”

Genji tried the strange mixture. As soon as it touched his taste buds, he gagged. Politeness prevented him from doing what instinct demanded, which was to instantly spit out the foul concoction. The cloying sweetness, the strong bergamot odor, and the wholly unexpected presence of greasy animal fat combined to create an intolerable assault on his senses. Too late, he realized what the white fluid was—thickened milk from the grotesque udders of cows.

“Is something wrong, my lord?”

The potent liquid in his mouth prevented him from responding. He steeled himself and swallowed. “Ah, I am surprised, merely, at the taste. Our tea is not so strongly flavored.”

“Yes, the difference is significant. It’s a wonder they are made from the same leaf.”

They spoke of differences and similarities long enough to allow Genji to set aside his cup without drawing attention to the fact that he did not drink from it a second time.

Still unable to directly approach the actual subject of his visit, Genji sought to reach it in a roundabout manner.

He said, “When we were together in the snow, I noticed something.”

Emily’s cheeks immediately became inflamed. She lowered her gaze to her teacup. “Lord Genji, I will be in your debt to a very great extent if you will never mention the matter again.”

“I understand your discomfort, Emily, truly I do.”

“Forgive me for expressing doubt, sir.” She briefly raised her dizzyingly bizarre blue eyes to cast a hurt and disapproving look his way. “You seem to have found a particular amusement in frequent and public allusions to it.”

“For which I sincerely apologize.” Genji bowed. Now that he found himself in an analogous position of profound embarrassment, he knew her feelings could not be very different from his. “I did not previously treat your concern with the appropriate regard.”

“If your apology is heartfelt and true, then you will drop this matter now and forever.”

“I promise to do so afterward. Regrettably, we must speak of it one last time.”

“Then you will understand if I do not take your apology seriously.”

Genji knew of only one way to demonstrate his sincerity. It was something he did daily at the shrine of his ancestors. He never performed the act before living persons outside the Shogun’s palace, and he had never imagined he would for an outsider. He went to his knees and bowed all the way to the floor. “I ask only because I must.”

Emily knew pride was everything to samurai. The sight of the lord of the domain humbling himself to her brought tears of shame to her eyes. Who was the conceited one here? Whose was the arrogance? The vanity? It was written in the Book of Job—Wilt thou condemn me, that thou mayest be righteous? She, too, fell to her knees and took his hands in hers.

“Forgive my self-serving vanity. Please ask what you must.”

Genji was too shocked to speak right away. He was utterly unaccustomed to having his person seized in such a way. Indeed, had any of his bodyguards been present in the room, Emily’s head would now be rolling on the floor. To touch a Great Lord without his permission was a capital offense.

“The wrong is mine,” Genji said. “Do not blame yourself.”

“I do, I must,” Emily said. “What a dangerous and insidious thing is pride.”

It was several minutes before they were back in their chairs and she was sufficiently restored to allow the discussion to continue.

“It might have been nothing, only delirious imagining,” Genji said. “In the snow, I saw a piece of jewelry at your throat.”

Emily reached into the neck of her blouse. A thin silver chain came up with her hand, and on the chain was the silver locket with the cross and the stylized flower.

“Was it this?”

“Yes,” Genji said. “What is on the cross?”

“A lily in a form known as the fleur-de-lis. The Kings of France took it as their royal symbol. My mother’s family was originally of French extraction. The fleur-de-lis was a reminder of this.”

She clicked it open and leaned forward to show him what was within, a miniature portrait of a young woman who closely resembled Emily. “This was my mother’s mother, at seventeen years of age.”

“An age you will soon attain.”

“That’s right. How do you know?”

“I asked you, when you made the snow angel.”

“Of course.” Remembering, she smiled. “You did not think much of my angel.”

“A failure of my perception rather than your art.”

Emily sat back and sighed in relief. “Well, that was not so bad. I was expecting—I don’t know what I was expecting, but I thought the line of questioning would be far worse.”

There was no way to avoid asking the more difficult question.

“I’m not finished,” Genji said.

“Go on, then. I am ready.”

She looked as ready as he felt, which was not ready at all. But there was nothing else to do, so he went on.

“After I was injured, my memory is fragmented and hazy. I remember lying with you. Naked. Were we?”

“Yes, we were.”

“Did we do more than lie together?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did we make love?”

Emily turned away, shocked that he could even mention such a thing. Though it seemed impossible, more color rose into her cheeks.

“It is very important that I know,” Genji said.

She could neither face him nor say a single word.

Finally, after her silence extended from moments into minutes, Genji stood.

“I will forget this conversation and the events leading to it.” He slid the door open and stepped into the corridor. He was closing the door when she spoke.

“We shared our warmth,” Emily said, “to save our lives. Nothing more. We did not—” To speak so explicitly was agonizing. “We did not make love.”

Genji bowed deeply. “I am very grateful for your candor.”

He walked away without the relief he had hoped to receive. Emily was not already pregnant. Also, Lady Shizuka remained to be met. These were good things. But his hopes were rapidly diminishing. The other possibility Heiko had mentioned—that he would fall in love with Emily—was no longer as unimaginable as it had seemed. During his visit, as he had spoken of their time in the snow, and recalled what he had seen and sensed, and had watched the innocent emotions so guilelessly displayed on her face, something truly unexpected occurred.

He had found himself growing excited.

“I continue to believe Lord Genji and Lord Shigeru will lead our clan to its destruction,” Sohaku said. “Therefore, I do not regret my decision.”

He had led seventy-nine samurai out of the mountains and back to Mushindo Monastery. The sixty who remained sat assembled before him in the meditation hall. The others had disappeared before the meeting. Sohaku did not doubt more would soon follow them. Events had conspired against him.

He had failed to kill the two remaining Okumichi heirs.

By now, Kudo’s head was rotting on the end of a spear outside Cloud of Sparrows. And the Shogun’s proclamation suspending the Alternate Residency Law had made Sohaku, and not Genji, the outlaw.

Kawakami insisted their plans could still succeed. He could afford to say so. He was the head of the secret police and the Great Lord of Hino. He had place and knew it. Sohaku had none. Nothing was left for him but a final bold stroke. It didn’t matter that it would change nothing whether the result was triumph or defeat. The only important consideration was how he would die, how he would be remembered by his family and foes. He had once commanded the finest cavalry in all the domains of Japan. He preferred attack to a more passive ritual suicide.

According to his scouts, Genji had left Akaoka for Edo accompanied by less than thirty samurai. Sohaku had twice as many men now. He would not have them for long. He doubted he would have ten when he rode from the temple.

Sohaku said, “Tomorrow morning, I will meet Lord Genji in battle. You are released from your oaths of loyalty to me. I urge you to either seek a reconciliation with him or service with another lord.”

“Hollow words,” an angry man in the fourth rank said. “Released from our oaths or not, we are still bound by our actions. Reconciliation is impossible. And what lord will accept traitors like us?”

“Be silent,” another man said to him. “You knew the risks. Accept your fate like a man.”

“Accept yours,” the angry man said. His sword flashed suddenly. Blood spurted from the severed arteries of the man who had admonished him. The attacker fought his way through the three ranks separating him from Sohaku.

Sohaku neither stood nor drew his sword.

The man was almost upon him when another samurai cut him down from the back.

“Forgive him, Reverend Abbot. His family did not succeed in escaping from Akaoka in time.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Sohaku said. “Every man must make his own decision. I will leave my swords here and go to the meditation hut for one hour. Then I will return. If any among you wish to accompany me into battle, wait here.”

No one took him up on his invitation to come and kill him. When he returned to the main hall an hour later, he found the two corpses gone. Everyone else remained in their places. He would have fifty-eight men against Genji’s thirty.

Sohaku bowed deeply to his loyal retainers.

“I have no words to express my gratitude to you,” he said.

The brave and the doomed returned his bow.

“It is we who are grateful,” a man in the first rank said. “We could not follow a finer lord.”

“The Reverend Abbot declines to coordinate his attack with yours,” the messenger said. “He will sally forth from the monastery at dawn.”