Shike - Robert J. Shea (best finance books of all time .TXT) 📗

It was early spring when Jebu and Hideyori stood in the presence of a trembling Shima no Bokuden.

“Does Domei reach from beyond the grave to destroy his friends? This house has always been known as a Takashi house. How could I shelter you here?” Lord Bokuden demanded.

“What do you mean, from beyond the grave?” Hideyori said quickly. “Is my father dead?”

“Yes, of course. And your brothers. Had you not heard?”

Jebu felt a pang of grief at the thought that the brave, strong Domei, in whose service he had spent two years, no longer lived. He looked at Hideyori, whose face was without emotion.

“How did they die?” Hideyori asked.

“One of your brothers was badly wounded, and your father helped him to die. Domei and the other two were captured, taken back to Heian Kyo and publicly executed.”

“What of Yukio, my half-brother?”

“I have heard nothing,” said Lord Bokuden, waving away these family griefs as if he were trying to drive away a mosquito. “But you can see that your family’s cause is hopeless. Erom now on the Shima must be thoroughly Takashi.”

“I understand,” said Hideyori. “I ask you in the name of whatever bond existed between you and my father to give me shelter for a few days. I think I will continue to travel north. I need time to make plans and to send out messages.”

Standing beside him, Jebu turned and looked at Hideyori. It was a serene profile that bore the mark of authority. There was an unbelievable calm and strength about this fifteen-year-old boy, Jebu thought. Another youth might have prostrated himself before Lord Bokuden, blubbering for mercy.. Hideyori might be the last living male in his family, but he was absolutely controlled. Jebu remembered The Zinja Manual: “He who does not feel fear is dead.” What was the price of Hideyori’s control?

After the monk and his charge had left the room, Lord Bokuden took Taniko’s letter out of his desk and re-read it. The letter was in Chinese.

Honoured Eather,

This is to warn you that Hideyori, the heir to the chieftainship of the Muratomo clan, is said to be headed in your direction. I have never questioned your dealings with these warring clans, but neither am I unobservant. I have reason to think, therefore, that Hideyori may come to you for help.

At this moment the Takashi are in the ascendant, and you may be tempted to display your loyalty by sending Hideyori’s head to Heian Kyo. I suggest that this young man may be worth more to you alive than dead.

As the Takashi grow more powerful they grow more arrogant and make more enemies. If Hideyori is alive, he will be the natural person for those enemies to rally around. Whoever has protected Hideyori will then hold the key to the future.

These suggestions are offered in all humility and in gratitude to you for having placed me here, where I can observe great events.

Your loving daughter, Taniko

Lord Bokuden grunted. What possessed this daughter of his to think she could advise him in as perilous a matter as this? Still, there was sense in what she said. But he had to assure the Takashi of his loyalty.

Taking up his brush, Bokuden began a letter to Sogamori.

Esteemed Minister of the Left,

I have Muratomo no Hideyori. What shall I do with him? I shall hold him until I hear from you.

Tears formed rivulets in the white powder that coated Akimi’s face. It is not pleasant to see a woman of the Court cry, thought Taniko.

“I loved Domei,” Akimi said. “He was a warrior of force and fire, but he was a gentle, simple man as well. I loved him so much I went through the agony of going to see his head displayed at the execution ground. Now all I have left is Yukio, my sweet, beautiful boy. I fear his father may have condemned him to death.”

“How?” asked Taniko.

“Domei’s legacy to his family is a blood feud with the Takashi. The only way the Takashi can protect themselves is to kill all his sons. And Yukio is in their power.”

Taniko put her hand on her friend’s. “What can I do to help?” She understood how Akimi felt about Domei. She had only to compare the feeling with her own for Jebu. It could have been Jebu’s head on a pole overlooking Rokujoga-hara.

Akimi said, “If you will permit me to speak of your husband.”

“Of course.” Be careful now, Taniko told herself. In this house anyone could be hiding behind the panels, listening. So far I have said nothing to endanger myself.

“Your husband has great influence with Sogamori. And I believe-excuse me for saying it, but fear for my son’s life makes me bold-when blood might be shed, Prince Horigawa is in the forefront of those who call for shedding it.”

“I do not think Prince Horigawa would deny that,” said Taniko dryly. “He would speak of the need to strengthen the power of the Emperor and to protect the government from treasonous factions.”

Akimi bowed her head. “Of course. Only-my son is not a danger to the Emperor and he does not think of treason. He is a child. His only thoughts are of watching the wild birds on Mount Higashi and playing the flute. His flute-playing is-beautiful to hear-” She broke down in sobs.

Taniko felt tears fill her own eyes to overflowing. She pressed Akimi’s hand in both her own. “I have no influence whatever with my husband, dear Akimi-san. But I will do what I can.”

Akimi looked up. Weeping had destroyed her painted face. “Believe me, Tanikosan, I will do anything-anything at all-to save the life of my son.”

The scowling, florid face of Sogamori appeared in Taniko’s mind. She recalled his look of frustrated lust when his son, Kiyosi, had ridiculed him for attempting to woo Akimi. Sogamori, she thought, might do anything-anything at all-to have Akimi.

“I believe you can win Sogamori over,” Taniko said, “if you are willing to pay the price. I can say no more now. Don’t give up hope. I’ll send word to you when the moment seems right.”

On the fifteenth day of the Fifth Month of the Year of the Horse, Horigawa held a winding water banquet. Such affairs were a tradition that went back centuries. Horigawa chose the evening of the full moon, so that the silver disk would be reflected in the stream that wound through his garden. Eor seven days before the banquet Taniko resided at Horigawa’s house to help oversee preparations.

She sent Moko to Akimi with a special message. The chances that

Horigawa would find out what she was doing were all too good, she realized. If he did find out, he would undoubtedly punish her severely. But Akimi had lost nearly everything. To lose her son would kill her. Something inside Taniko-perhaps it was what Jebu called the Self-would not let her abandon her friend.

The evening of the banquet, the landscaped gardens around Prince Horigawa’s mansion were bright with lanterns. Carriages pulled by oxen bedecked with ribbons and flowers rolled up before the main gateway. Servants ushered each guest to a designated place along the twisting banks of the stream. To enhance the beauty of his artificial brook Horigawa had added a few bridges, ponds and small waterfalls, as well as a number of new plants along its edges.

The guest of honour was Sogamori. He arrived last of all and was seated approximately at midpoint along the stream’s course, so that he need be neither the first nor the last to recite a poem. His son, Kiyosi, who had already arrived, was seated a few paces downstream from his father. The other guests included courtiers, ministers and high-ranking Takashi.

Unknown to Horigawa, one other person was present. Lady Akimi had left her carriage some distance from the Shima mansion and, cloaked and hooded, had come the rest of the way on foot. Taniko let her in by a side gate.

Taniko was painfully aware of the risks of her plan. She might have misjudged Sogamori. Meeting Akimi at this banquet could have the opposite effect on him from what she intended. He might even be provoked to take action against the boy Yukio and against Akimi as well. As for Horigawa, even if the plan were successful, only the kami knew what that cruel and bloodthirsty man might do. Taniko sent Akimi to a vacant chamber in the women’s pavilion, promising to come for her at an opportune time.

When the guests were seated, Horigawa gestured to Taniko, who filled a round-bottomed wine cup with hot sake and set it adrift at the head of the stream. As host, Horigawa began the recitation of poetry by picking up the cup, sipping from it and declaiming:

Straw dogs turn to ash

Under the Red Dragon’s breath.

There was laughter and applause. No one doubted that the sacrificial straw dogs referred to the defeated Muratomo. Erom some courtiers, however, Taniko heard a murmur of distaste. Eor hundreds of years the best people of the capital had looked on fighting and bloodshed as activities fit only for savage beasts, certainly nothing to write poetry about.

The next guest along the stream bank took the cup out of the water, sipped the sake and said:

That pale cloud in flight-White smoke or a dragon’s tail?

Most of the guests laughed, Sogamori loudest of all. Taniko looked beyond him at the handsome Kiyosi, who was staring pensively into the stream.

Horigawa had set the tone for the banquet, and most of the guests followed with poems on the martial theme, many of them ancient Chinese ballads of war. A few who disapproved recited poetry on subjects more traditional for a winding water banquet: flowers, the seasons, the moon.