Autumn Bridge (50 page)

“Even knowing how foolish a girl you are,” her mother said, “I can’t believe you were climbing a tree on this day, of all days!”

They were in Lady Chiemi’s bedroom. Her mother fixed Midori’s hair while the servants struggled to help her into a new kimono at the same time.

“They were supposed to be here in the morning,” Midori said. “They weren’t, so I thought they wouldn’t come until tomorrow.”

“And naked, like a monkey!” Her mother put her face in her hands. “How mortifying! What will they think of us?”

“I wasn’t naked, Mother.”

“Did you have on your outer kimono?”

“No, but—”

“Were your legs bare for all the world to see?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then you were naked, you shameful child!”

“How can I win a tree-climbing race in a full kimono, with a gown clinging to my ankles?”

“You are the daughter of the lord of this domain, preparing to meet your betrothed,” her mother said. “What were you doing climbing a tree in the first place?”

“Kazu said he’s faster than I am. I know he isn’t, so I proved it.”

“What does it matter who’s the fastest at such a silly thing?”

“You told me you were the fastest climber in the domain when you were a girl,” Midori said. “I knew how to bind my kimono like hakama only because you told me how.”

“Don’t be impudent,” her mother said, a flash of color rising to her cheeks. She turned away to hide her smile. But the smile fractured instantly and dissolved into sobs.

“I won’t climb any trees after I’m married,” Midori said.

She felt great shame for embarrassing her parents in front of Lord Kiyori and Lord Yorimasa. In truth, she wished she had made a better impression herself. What must Lord Yorimasa be thinking? His wife was an ignorant child so countrified and immature, she stripped to her underwear and raced up trees with peasants from the fields. How he must be lamenting his fate! He seemed so sophisticated, too. Could anyone have disappointed him more than she had?

She said, “I’ll behave properly from now on.”

Her words did not reassure her mother, for her sobbing grew worse. Soon the servants were crying, too. It did not seem at all like the joyous occasion it was. It was all her fault for acting so childishly. She would make up for it. She would be the best possible wife to Lord Yorimasa, and a dutiful daughter-in-law to Lord Kiyori. When her mother and father heard reports about her, they would hear only praise.

“Don’t worry, Mother,” Midori said. She struggled not to join in the weeping. Tears were contagious. “You’ll be proud of me, I promise.”

Later, Yorimasa could not say with any certainty why he did what he did on his nuptial night. This inability to understand his own actions surprised him as much as what he did in that long hour before dawn. He thought he was beyond surprise when it came to what he could do with a woman and what he could force a woman to do with him. After all, had he not permanently erased the boundary between pleasure and pain? Had he not experienced everything possible? He thought he had, and yet, there was one thing he had missed without knowing it. The result was agony beyond his worst imagining.

He had devised no particular acts ahead of time. His only plans dealt with trifles designed to increase his amusement. Opium balls contained within the sweet paste of rice cakes. A flask of absinthe he kept on his person. A grotesque appendage fashioned out of sexual nightmares and various bestial organs by an anonymous lunatic artist, purchased from the same smuggler who supplied his opium. His father’s attention was as complete as he expected, and neither rice cakes nor flask survived the search. As for the monstrosity, Yorimasa had never thought it would reach Shiroishi Domain. It was there entirely for effect. What would his father do when he found it? Would he continue to insist on the marriage? At the very least, Kiyori would bellow and rage, and probably strike him. Speculation on the matter was most entertaining.

The actual result was considerably less so.

Kiyori found it hidden among Yorimasa’s clothing.

Leave the room, he said to the servants.

His voice was quiet, his expression bland. When they had complied, he wrapped the false organ in an undergarment from the luggage and removed it. He did not scream imprecations. He did not strike. Indeed, he never even looked in Yorimasa’s direction. He said not a word as he departed. His eyes, Yorimasa noticed, were moist.

Recalling the incident now, Yorimasa felt a quick surge of anger. What right did his father have to feel sorrow, to feel shame, to feel anything at all? Was he the one who had lost everything? Was he the one who lived every moment with unendurable humiliation? Was he the son who was prevented by the father from ever truly becoming the man he should be? Kiyori was Great Lord, prophet, leader of loyal vassals. Those who did not respect him feared him.

Who respected Yorimasa? No one.

Who feared Yorimasa? Only women.

He would have liked sake, but even this harmless tradition had been forbidden him. Anger became heat in his loins. If his father thought anyone but Yorimasa could determine his own behavior, he would soon learn otherwise. Kiyori had found the drugs he had been meant to find. He had not found the opium and absinthe secreted in the hilts of Yorimasa’s swords. What samurai would suspect another of stooping to such an abominable desecration?

He walked leisurely to the bedchamber where Midori awaited him, somewhat more leisurely and less steadily than he had intended. A month of sobriety had diminished the amount needed for the desired effect, and he had consumed too much. No matter. He was conscious enough.

He did not imagine the acts he would perform or force her to perform. Preconceptions diminished the power of reality. The fact that the birth of Midori’s son was foreseen meant he could do anything he wished. No matter what he did, she would not be injured to the extent that conception and birth were prevented. She could die after childbirth, of course, or during it. That was unforeseen because it was unimportant. The production of the heir was the only thing that mattered to Kiyori. In this knowledge — of his own freedom and his father’s pathetic dependence upon him, the discarded son — Yorimasa felt a great liberation. He could strangle her. She would not die, she could not die, she could only suffer. Would she slip into a coma? Could an unconscious woman carry a child to delivery? Perhaps he would find out. The possibilities for the night were infinite.

They were afforded a measure of privacy in an isolated wing of White Stones Castle. Still, they would be heard if she screamed loudly enough. Could Lord Nao keep himself from intervening when he heard her agonized cries of pain? Could Kiyori? Perhaps Lord Nao and his vassals would come to Midori’s rescue, and his father and his vassals would try to prevent such a breach of clan honor. In that case, a bloody battle would certainly ensue, all the more tragic for being between good friends. That would be a perfect outcome.

Midori would remain here with her family.

Kiyori and Yorimasa, if they survived the battle, would return to the south.

A divorce would result.

Then, fulfilling the prophecy, the heir would be born at the opposite end of the realm from his birthright.

No matter who lived and who died, grandfather and grandson would forever be estranged. Hatred and mistrust, not blood and name, would always be their only true bond.

For Yorimasa, no vengeance could be more perfect.

Lord Kiyori and Lord Nao sat with their chief vassals in formal arrangement on opposite sides of the banquet hall. Samurai served as attendants. No women were present. No celebratory delicacies adorned the small trays before each man. No toasts were offered. Sake was consumed in grim silence. A guest arriving uninformed would never have guessed that this was a wedding festival.

Nao said, “As you requested, Lord Kiyori, I have sent my wife and her ladies-in-waiting to Kageyama Monastery.” Because the one-castle rule imposed by the Shogun limited the number of fortifications in every domain, Nao was a great supporter of religious devotion. The monasteries that dotted his domain tended to be strategically positioned, strongly built, capable of withstanding heavy siege, and inhabited by monks rather more burly and warlike than one might expect. “It is an unusual request to make of a mother on her daughter’s wedding night.”

Kiyori bowed. “I apologize for the necessity of the request, Lord Nao. Please accept my deepest thanks.”

“Neither apology nor thanks are necessary,” Nao said. “But I cannot help noticing that this gathering, too, is extraordinary in character. Beyond every other remarkable fact — and there are many — one stands out most visibly. Lord Kiyori, why are you, Lord Tanaka, and Lord Kudo without your swords? And where are your own attendants?”

“They are in their quarters. I have ordered them to commit ritual suicide if I do not return by sunrise.”

A murmur of shocked breathing rose from Lord Nao’s men. He himself remained unmoved.

He said, “A strange way to celebrate a wedding. Why would you not return to your quarters?”

Kiyori said, “You did not permit me to tell you what you need to know about Yorimasa. If the night develops as I fear it will, the shock will be great indeed.” He paused. Then he said, “Do you still trust me?”

“Always,” Nao said.

“Then promise me this. Promise you will not intervene, no matter what you hear, nor will you permit your men to intervene. Do not go to the nuptial chamber until morning. Then, if circumstances warrant it, you have my permission to execute Yorimasa, and to discard his remains without benefit of any dignities or blessings.”

“What?”

“Before you go there, you will execute me, Lord Tanaka, and Lord Kudo. This is inadequate, but it is the only apology I can offer. To avoid difficulties with the Shogun, you will report the deaths as accidental. I left Lord Saiki in Akaoka, for the heir will need a regent and a protector in his childhood and his youth. He expects to receive word of the ‘accident.’ ”

“Lord Kiyori—”

“My younger son, Shigeru, will be the titular head of the clan until the heir comes of age. At that time, he will commit ritual suicide to further atone for his brother’s actions. I have so instructed.”

“Lord Kiyori, what do you expect to happen tonight?” Nao’s voice was almost a whisper.

“Give me your word,” Kiyori said, “or annul the marriage. It is still not too late.”

“Have you foreseen this all?”

“No. My fears are based on my knowledge of my son.”

Nao closed his eyes and sat silently for several breaths. When he opened his eyes, he said, “I promise to do as you ask.”

Kiyori bowed low. “Thank you,” he said. He contorted his face into a grimace to keep from sobbing. A few tears escaped, but no audible sorrow. “Sake,” he said.

“Fear makes us imagine the worst,” Nao said. “If you have not foreseen disaster, then it is only possible, not inevitable. Disaster is always neat, even in the best of circumstances. Let us toast the newlyweds, and wish them every happiness.”

Despite her promise to make her parents proud, Midori felt great apprehension as she listened to the rustle of her husband’s kimono approaching the bedroom door.