The Harsh Cry of the Heron (50 page)

‘I ask Lord Saga to
swear to preserve the female inheritance of the Maruyama. And as head of my
clan, I will make my own choice in marriage, after consulting my senior
retainers, as well as my father and my mother, as my liege lords. I am
extremely grateful to Lord Saga for his generosity and the honour he bestows on
me, but I cannot accept without the approval of my clan.’

She spoke with
resolve, yet with great charm, making it hard for anyone to take offence. Saga
bowed to her.

‘I see I have a
worthy opponent,’ he declared, and a ripple of laughter ran through his men.

The new moon of the
sixth month hung in the eastern sky behind a six-layered pagoda as they
returned to their residence. After he had bathed, Takeo sent for Hiroshi and
told him of the day’s discussions, leaving nothing out, and finishing with the
marriage proposal.

Hiroshi listened in silence,
saying only, ‘Of course it is not unexpected, and a great honour.’

‘Yet he is such a man
. . .’ Takeo said very quietly. ‘She will follow your advice, and that of my
wife and myself. We have to consider her future life as well as what is best
for the Three Countries. I suppose there is a small chance that we will not
have to make a decision immediately.’ He sighed. ‘So much is resting on this
contest - and everyone in Saga’s camp has already decided the outcome!’

‘Matsuda Shingen
himself advised you to come to Miyako, did he not? You must have faith in his
judgement.’

‘Yes I must, and I
do. Yet will Saga even abide by his own agreement? He is a man who hates to
lose, and he is so confident of victory.’

‘The whole city is
gripped with excitement about you, and Lady Shigeko, and the kirin. Already
pictures of the kirin are being sold, and her image is being woven into cloth
and embroidered on robes. When Lady Shigeko wins this contest, as she will, you
will be supported - and protected - by the delight of the people. They are
already making up songs about it.’

‘The people love,
above all, tales of loss and tragedy,’ Takeo replied. ‘When I am in exile on
Sado Island they will listen to my melancholy story and weep, and enjoy it!’

The door slid open
and Shigeko came into the room, followed by Gemba, who was carrying a black
lacquered box with designs of the houou inlaid in gold. Takeo watched his
daughter look at Hiroshi, saw their eyes meet with an expression of such mutual
affection and trust that his heart twisted with regret and pity. They are like
a married couple already, he thought, tied by such deep bonds. He wished he
could give his daughter to this young man for whom he had such a high regard,
who had been unfailingly loyal to him since childhood, whom he knew to be
intelligent and brave, and who loved her deeply. Yet all these things could not
equal the status and authority of Saga Hideki.

Gemba interrupted his
thoughts. ‘Takeo, we thought you would like to see Lady Shigeko’s weapons.’ He
placed the box on the floor and Shigeko knelt beside it to open it.

Takeo said uneasily, ‘It
is very small - surely it cannot contain bow and arrows.’

‘Well, it is small,’
Gemba admitted. ‘But Shigeko is not very tall: she must have something she can
handle.’

Shigeko took out a
beautifully made miniature bow, a quiver and then arrows, blunt-pointed and
fletched with white and gold feathers.

‘This is a joke?’
Takeo said, his heart contracting in dread.

‘Not at all, Father.
Look, the arrows are fletched with houou feathers.’

‘There are so many
birds this spring that we were able to collect enough feathers,’ Gemba
explained. ‘They let them fall to the ground as if they offered them.’

‘This toy would
hardly hit a sparrow, much less a dog,’ Takeo said.

‘You don’t want us to
hurt the dogs, Father,’ Shigeko said, smiling. ‘We know how fond you are of
them.’

‘It is a dog hunt!’
he exclaimed. ‘Its purpose is to hit as many dogs as you can, more than Saga!’

‘They will be hit,’
Gemba said. ‘But with these arrows there is no danger of hurting them.’

Takeo remembered the
flame that had burnt up his irritation, and tried to suppress his irritation
now. ‘Magic tricks?’

‘Rather more than
that,’ Gemba replied. ‘We will use the power of the Way of the Houou: the
balance of male and female. As long as the balance is maintained, the power is
invincible. It is this that holds the Three Countries together: you and your
wife are the living symbols of it; your daughter is its outcome, its
manifestation.’

He smiled
reassuringly, as if he understood Takeo’s unspoken reservations. ‘The
prosperity and contentment of which you are so rightly proud would not be
possible without it. Lord Saga recognizes nothing of the power of the female
element, and so he will be defeated.’

Later, as they bade
each other goodnight, Gemba added, ‘By the way, don’t forget to offer Jato to
the Emperor tomorrow.’ Seeing Takeo’s look of astonishment he went on, ‘It was
requested, was it not, in Kono’s first message?’

‘Well, yes, but so
was my exile. What if he keeps it?’

‘Jato always finds
its rightful owner, doesn’t it? Anyway, you can’t use it any more. It’s time to
hand it on.’

It was true that
Takeo had not used the sword in battle since the death of Kikuta Kotaro and the
loss of his fingers, but hardly a day had passed when he had not worn it, and
he had become skilled enough in using his left hand to support his right, at
least in practice combat. Jato had the deepest significance for him; it had
been left to him by Shigeru and was the visible symbol of his legitimate rule.
The idea of relinquishing it disturbed him so much he felt it was necessary,
after changing into his night attire, to spend some time in meditation.

He dismissed Minoru
and his attendants and sat alone in the darkened room, listening to the noises
of the night and slowing his breath and his thoughts. Music and drums echoed
from the riverbank, where the townspeople were dancing. Frogs were croaking in
a pool in the garden, and crickets rasped among the bushes. Slowly he realized
the wisdom of Gemba’s advice: he would give Jato back to the imperial family
from which it had come.

The sound of music
and drums continued late into the night, and the next morning the streets
filled again with men, women and children dancing. Listening to them as he
prepared for the audience with the Emperor, Takeo heard songs not only about
the kirin but also about the houou:

The houou nests in
the Three Countries; Lord Otori has appeared in the capital. His kirin is a
gift to the Emperor; His horses stir up our land. Welcome, Lord Otori!

‘I went out last
night to gauge the mood of the city,’ Hiroshi said. ‘I told one or two people
about the houou feathers.’

‘It seems to have
been very effective!’ Takeo replied, holding out his arms for the heavy silk
robe.

‘People see your
visit as a harbinger of peace.’

Takeo did not reply
directly, but he felt the sense of calm that he had achieved the previous night
deepen. He recalled all his training, from Shigeru and Matsuda as well as from
the Tribe. He became grounded and impassive; all unease left him.

His companions also
seemed possessed by the same confidence and gravity. Takeo was transported in
the ornately decorated palanquin. Shigeko and Hiroshi rode on the pale grey
black-maned horses, Ashige and Keri, on either side of the kirin, each holding
a scarlet silk cord attached to the kirin’s collar of gold-leaf-covered
leather. The kirin walked as graceful and unperturbed as ever, turning its long
neck to look down on the adoring crowd. The shouts and excitement did not affect
its composure, nor that of its attendants.

The Emperor had
already made the short journey from the Imperial Palace to the Great Shrine in
an elaborately lacquered carriage drawn by black oxen, and more carriages of
noblemen and women milled around the entrance. The shrine buildings were all
bright vermilion, newly restored and painted, and in front of them, within the
gates, was a broad arena, the concentric circles already marked out in
contrasting colours, where the contest would take place. The palanquin bearers
trotted across this, followed by Takeo’s retinue, guards good-naturedly keeping
back the excited throng but leaving the outer gates open. Pine trees lined the
sides, and beneath their branches wooden stands and silken tents and pavilions
had been erected for the spectators, and hundreds of flags and banners
fluttered in the breeze. Many people, warriors and noblemen, were already
seated here though the dog hunt would not take place until the following day,
taking advantage of this excellent viewing point to get their first glimpse of
the kirin. Women with long black hair and men wearing small formal caps had
brought silken cushions and sunshades, food in lacquered boxes. At the next
gate the palanquin was lowered to the ground and Takeo stepped out. Shigeko and
Hiroshi dismounted; Hiroshi took the reins of the horses and Takeo walked with
his daughter and the kirin towards the main shrine building.

The white walls and
red beams gleamed in the brilliant afternoon sun. At the steps Saga Hideki and
Lord Kono waited with their attendants, all dressed in formal robes of great
splendour, Saga’s decorated with turtles and cranes, Kono’s with peonies and
peacocks. Bows and courtesies were exchanged, and then Saga led Takeo within,
to a dim hall lit by hundreds of lamps, where on the top level of a stepped
dais, behind a delicate bamboo curtain which shielded him from the profane eyes
of the world, sat the Emperor, the embodiment of the gods.

Takeo prostrated
himself, aware of the smoky smell of the oil, Saga’s sweat masked by the sweet
incense and the fragrance of the Emperor’s attendants, the Ministers of the
Right and the Left, who sat on the steps below their sovereign.

This was as much as
he expected, merely to be received into the presence of the Emperor, the first
member of the Otori to be so honoured since the legendary Takeyoshi.

Saga announced in a
clear but deferential voice, ‘Lord Otori Takeo has come from the Three
Countries to present a wonderful gift to Your Majesty, and to assure Your
Majesty of his humble allegiance to Your Majesty.’

These words were
repeated by one of the ministers on the dais in a high-toned voice with many
additions of elegant language and archaic courtesies. When he had finished
everyone bowed again, and a short silence ensued, during which Takeo felt
certain the Emperor was scrutinizing him through the chinks in the bamboo.

Then from behind the
curtain the Emperor himself spoke, in hardly more than a whisper.

‘Welcome, Lord Otori.
It is our great pleasure to receive you. We are aware of the ancient bond that
exists between our families.’

Takeo heard all this
before it was relayed by the minister, and he was able to shift his position
slightly to study Saga’s reaction. He thought he heard the slightest intake of
breath from the man next to him. The Emperor’s words were brief - but far more
than he could have hoped for: recognition of both the lineage of the Otori and
his own entitlement. It was a huge and unexpected honour.

He dared to say, ‘May
I address Your Majesty?’

The request was
repeated, and the Emperor’s assent relayed back.

Takeo said, ‘Many
centuries ago Your Majesty’s ancestor gave this sword, Jato, to Otori
Takeyoshi. It was handed on to me by my father, Shigeru, before his death. I
was requested to return it to you, and I now humbly do so, offering it to you
as a sign of my allegiance and my service.’

The Minister of the
Right conferred with the Emperor, and spoke again to Takeo.

‘We accept your sword
and your service.’

Takeo went forward on
his knees and took the sword from his belt. He felt a terrible pang of regret
as he held it out in both hands.

Farewell, he said
quietly in his mind.

The lowest of the
ministers took Jato and it was passed from official to official up the steps
until the Minister of the Left took it and laid it down before the curtain.

It will speak; it
will fly back to me, Takeo thought, but Jato lay on the ground, silent and
immobile.

The Emperor spoke
again, and Takeo heard in the voice not a god or even a great ruler but a
flesh-and-blood human, full of curiosity, not easily swayed or manipulated.

‘I would like to see
the kirin now, with my own eyes.’

There was a slight
flurry of consternation, as no one seemed sure of the correct procedure to be
followed. Then the Emperor actually stepped out from behind the screen and held
out his arms for his attendants to support him down the steps.

He was clothed in
robes of gold with scarlet dragons embroidered across back and sleeves; they
added to his stature, but Takeo had been right in his judgement. Beneath the
splendour of the costume stood a rather small man of about twenty-eight years;
his cheeks were plump, his mouth small and firm, showing self-will and
shrewdness; his eyes sparkled with anticipation.