The Harsh Cry of the Heron (8 page)

‘But legally
Shirakawa was also Lord Fujiwara’s, after his marriage, and so is now his son’s.
For Shirakawa is male-inherited. If it is not Kono’s to claim, it should pass
to the next male heir.’

‘Your eldest son,
Sunaomi,’ Takeo said.

Zenko bowed his head
without speaking.

‘It is sixteen years
since his father’s death. Why does he suddenly appear now?’ Takeo questioned.

‘Time passes swiftly
in the capital,’ Zenko said. ‘In the divine presence of the Emperor.’

Or perhaps some
scheming person, you or your wife - almost certainly your wife - seeing how
Kono could be used to put more pressure on me, wrote to him, Takeo thought,
concealing his fury.

The rain strengthened
on the roof, and the smell of wet earth floated in from the garden.

‘He may come and see
me tomorrow,’ he said finally.

‘Yes. It is a wise
decision,’ Zenko replied. ‘It is too wet to travel, anyway.’

This meeting added to
Takeo’s unease, reminding him of how closely the Arai needed to be watched: how
easily their ambitions could lead the Three Countries back into civil war. The
evening passed pleasantly enough: he drank sufficient wine to mask the pain
temporarily, and the boys were lively and entertaining. They had recently met
two of the foreigners in the same room and were full of excitement about the
encounter: how Sunaomi had spoken to them in their own language, which he had
been studying with his mother; how they had looked like goblins with their long
noses and bushy beards, one red-haired, the other black, but Chikara had not
been afraid at all. They called to the servants to bring in one of the chairs
that had been fashioned for the foreigners from an exotic wood, teak,
transported from the great trading port known as Fragrant Harbour in the holds
of the Terada treasure ships that also brought jasper bowls, lapis lazuli,
tiger skins, ivory and jade to the cities of the Three Countries.

‘So uncomfortable,’
Sunaomi said, demonstrating.

‘Like the Emperor’s
throne, though,’ Hana said, laughing.

‘But they did not eat
with their hands!’ Chikara said, disappointed. ‘I wanted to see that.’

‘They are learning
good manners from our people,’ Hana told him. ‘They are making great efforts,
just as Lord Joao makes efforts to learn our language.’

Takeo could not
prevent a slight shiver at the sound of the name, so like that of the outcaste
Jo-An, whose death had been the most regretted act of his life, whose words and
appearance often came to him in dreams. The foreigners held similar beliefs to
the Hidden and prayed to the Secret God, yet they did so openly, often causing
great distress and embarrassment to others. They displayed the secret sign, the
cross, on prayer beads worn around their necks or on the breasts of their
strange uncomfortable- looking clothes. Even on the hottest days they wore
tight-fitting garments with high collars and boots, and they had an unnatural
horror of bathing.

The persecution of
the Hidden was supposedly a thing of the past, though it was impossible to
remove people’s prejudices by law. Jo-An himself had become something of a
deity, sometimes confused with one or other of the manifestations of the
Enlightened One: his help was invoked in matters of conscription and other
work-related levies and duties; he was worshipped by the very poor, the
destitute and the homeless in a way that would horrify him as heresy. Few knew
who he had been or remembered the details of his life, but his name had become
attached to the laws that governed taxation and conscription. No landowner was
permitted to take more than thirty parts in a hundred from any resource, be it
rice, beans or oil, and military service was not demanded of farmers’ sons,
though a certain amount of public work was, to drain land, build dykes and
bridges and excavate canals. Mining was also a source of conscription; the work
was so hard and dangerous few volunteered for it; but all forms of conscription
were rotated through districts and age groups so no one bore an unfair burden,
and various levels of compensation were set in place for death or accident.
These were known as the Jo-An Laws.

The foreigners were
eager to talk about their religion, and Takeo had cautiously arranged meetings
for them with Makoto and other religious leaders, but these had ended in the
usual way, with both sides convinced of the truth of their own position,
wondering privately how anyone could believe the nonsense their opponents did.
The beliefs of the foreigners, Takeo thought, came from the same source as
those of the Hidden but had accrued centuries of superstition and distortion.
He himself had been raised in the tradition of the Hidden but had abandoned all
the teachings of his childhood and viewed all religions with a certain amount
of suspicion and scepticism, particularly the foreigners’ brand, for it seemed
to him to be linked with their greed for wealth, status and power.

The one belief that
occupied his thoughts greatly -that it is forbidden to kill - did not appear to
be shared by them, as they came fully armed with long thin swords, daggers,
cutlasses and of course firearms, though they took pains to conceal these just
as the Otori hid the fact that they already possessed them. Takeo had been
taught as a child that it was a sin to take life, even to defend yourself, yet
now he ruled in a land of warriors, the legitimacy of his rule based on
conquest in battle and control by force. He had lost count of how many he had
killed himself or had had executed. The Three Countries were at peace now: the
terrible slaughter of the years of war lay far in the past. Takeo and Kaede
held in their own hands all resources for the violence necessary for defence or
punishment of criminals: they held their warriors in check and gave men outlets
for ambition and aggression. And many warriors now followed the lead of Makoto,
putting aside their bows and their swords, taking the vow never to kill again.

One day I will do the
same, Takeo thought. But not yet. Not yet.

He drew his attention
back to the gathering, seeing Zenko and Hana at their best, with their
children, and made a silent vow to solve whatever problems arose without
bloodshed.

The pain returned in
the early hours of the morning, waking him with its insistency. He called to
the maid to bring tea, the warmth from the bowl momentarily soothing his
crippled hand. It was still raining, the air inside the residence stifling and
humid. Sleep was impossible. He sent the maid to wake his scribe and the
appropriate official and bring lamps, and when the men came sat outside on the
veranda with them and examined such records of Shirakawa and Fujiwara as
existed in the centre of the administrative district and port, discussing
details and questioning discrepancies until the sky began to pale and the first
tentative birdsong sounded from the garden. He had always had a good memory,
strongly visual and retentive; with training over the years it had become
prodigious. Since the fight with Kotaro, when he lost two fingers from his
right hand, he dictated much to scribes, and this also increased the power of
memory. And like his adopted father, Shigeru, he had come to love and respect
records: the way everything could be noted and retained; the way they supported
and corrected memory.

This particular young
man accompanied him most of the time lately; one of the many boys orphaned by
the earthquake, he had found refuge at Terayama and had been educated there;
his quick intelligence and skill with the brush had been recognized, as well as
his diligence -he was one of those who study by the light of fireflies and the
reflection of snow, as the saying goes - and he had eventually been chosen by
Makoto to go to Hagi and join Lord Otori’s household.

He was of a silent
nature, and did not care for alcohol, seeming on the surface to have rather a
dull personality, yet he possessed a fine vein of sarcastic wit when alone with
Takeo, was not impressed by anyone or anything, treated everyone with the same
considerate deference, noting all their weaknesses and vanities with clarity
and a certain detached compassion. And as well as his other talents his writing
was swift and beautiful. His name was Minoru, which amused Takeo because he had
carried that name for a brief time in what seemed now like another life.

Both estates had been
severely damaged by the earthquake, the country mansions destroyed by fire.
Shirakawa had been rebuilt and his other sister-in-law, Ai, frequently visited
for long periods of the year with her daughters. Her husband, Sonoda Mitsuru,
occasionally accompanied her, but his duties kept him mostly in Inuyama. Ai was
practical and hard-working and had profited from her sister’s example.
Shirakawa had recovered from the mismanagement and neglect of their father and
was flourishing, giving high returns in rice, mulberries, persimmons, silk and
paper. Fujiwara’s estate had been administered by Shirakawa; fundamentally it
was richer and it was also now showing a fair profit. Takeo felt a certain
reluctance to hand it back to Fujiwara’s son, even if he was the legal owner.
As it was now, its profitability fed back into the economy of the Three
Countries. He suspected Kono would want to take what he could, exploit the land
for all it was worth, and spend the results in the capital.

When it was fully
light, he bathed and had a barber pluck and trim his hair and beard. He ate
some 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 shark
skin 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 unsheathe 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 honour.’

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 honour,’ 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, skilful 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 labour requirements Takeo began to wonder
if he was ever going to hear what it was. However, shortly afterwards 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.