The Seabird of Sanematsu (31 page)

Certain Sanematsu was the best he could be for the moment, Kiyohara turned his healer’s hands to Hikita. The samurai tolerated the monk’s nursing and did not react as the stinging ointment was smeared into his injury.

**
*

He paced in front of the uyu-ba. All his daughters except for Aya knelt watching. With the passage of time, his pacing quickened.

Dream magic occurred, and he was in the birthing house, his katana drawn and bloodied, holding a male child in his arms. A woman lay unmoving on the futon. He stopped pacing to take a step toward the futon to look at her face and…

Scarlet covered the scene.

**
*

Despite the heavy opiate, Sanematsu convulsed. Kiyohara touched him as Hikita came to offer help. It was not necessary. Sanematsu quieted.

“Our lord is disturbed,” Kiyohara noted.

“Could his wound be causing his restlessness?”

“He has a very high fever, but it is neither that nor the injury which afflicts his mind. Rather, his mind affects his body.”

Hikita nodded agreement, though he was not sure if he understood. Priests like Kiyohara were strange and mystical people. He had seen this man do some baffling things during his service to Sanematsu.

“I do not wish to give him too much of the opium. I have seen it destroy too many men.”

The monk meant Sanematsu’s father, who had abused the Min-koku plague for years without the excuse of a battle wound.

The two men sat in solemn vigil. Sanematsu rested easier. He slept, no longer bothered by what hid within the recesses of his mind.

The sun rose, crept across the blue sky and set behind the ominous volcano guarding the temple, to return once more another morning. It came up over the valley at the temple’s feet. Hikita and Kiyohara kept their watch and tended Sanematsu. He continued to thrash about at intervals, necessitating his being medicated again.

The second day’s sunlight spread across the room to touch first Hikita, then the Lord of Satsuma Province. Sanematsu woke the moment the warm brightness covered his face. Lastly, the abbot of the mountain temple stirred and opened his eyes.

Sanematsu dismissed Hikita with a hand’s slightest wave.

“Yoshihide.” Kiyohara bowed to him.

“Such ceremony is not necessary, Kiyohara-sama.” He could only manage a low whisper. “I come to you, not you to me. I have so much I need from you.”
Life.

“Not at this time, Yoshi.” Kiyohara used his child name. “You must have a clear mind. We will not speak of these matters until I judge you fit.”

“I put my life into your hands, Kiyohara-sama.”

He sighed and rested, allowed a contentment he found only in the monk’s presence to wash over and through him. He drifted into a misty sleep filled with scenes from his boyhood within these very walls. He was…home.

**
*

Aderyn sat beneath a shade tree and sketched a picture of the birds playing on a dwarfed shrub within the courtyard. Hatsu sat beside her.

The second caravan to return from Kamaga had been in residence for fourteen days. A pall, centered in the yashiki, settled upon Nishikata. The yashiki was maximally fortified; armed men stood all around the walls. The six chosen by Nakata for her personal guard stood nearby. The extra guards and armament disheartened her.

A bird flew high overhead, and she watched it until it was out of sight. She listened, but no sound assailed her ears. She continued to look at the sky; she heard a sound from behind, and Hatsu giggled.

“Hello, Uesugi-sama.” Aderyn returned to her sketch. She made two quick strokes, then blended with the side of an already charcoal-soiled little finger.

“How did you know it was me?”

“Hatsu-sama likes to giggle at you.” She smiled up at him. “Where have you been the past week?”

“I was called to my father’s house. He has been ill, and we thought he may being crossing into the Void, but he is a warrior and recovered.”

“I am glad.” She turned to Hatsu. “Would you do me a favor and have my maid put these away?” She handed the paper and charcoal to the girl.

“You will never finish it!” Hatsu stood and stomped her foot. The picture was to be hers when completed.

“That is no way for a young lady to act,” Aderyn scolded. “Lord Sanematsu would not approve of your attitude. I will finish it by tomorrow afternoon. Go give it to my maid, please.”

“Uesugi-sama is Aya-hime’s,” Hatsu reminded on her absent sister’s behalf.

“I do not believe that to be settled,” she stated, and the prepubescent girl departed. Alone with Uesugi, she asked, “Why did the girl who Matsumoto-sama told to assassinate our master kill herself?”

“I did not say she killed herself. I am sure it was Matsumoto-sama’s doing.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because she is not samurai. Only they practice the ritual of seppuku. It is their duty.” He came to sit beside her.

“Duty to die?”

“If one fails in their giri or offends another socially higher, yes.” He leaned forward and scooped up a handful of pebbles. “Matsumoto-sama killed her so she could not be questioned. It is his right to kill anyone he chooses.”

“She is yet another to die because of me.”

“Because of you?” His eyes angled sideways as he looked at her without turning his head. His fingers manipulated the pebbles in his hands.

“If I had not overheard her and stopped her, she would not be dead.”

“Lord Sanematsu might be.”

“Yes, you are right.” Aderyn sighed. She was tired of every road leading to the grave. “I am not used to your ways of death. It is the answer for everything.”

“It is the only answer for failure,” Uesugi commented without concern.

“Then never, ever fail, Tadakuni-sama.” Her look beseeched him as she studied his face. “Never!”

“I strive always not to.” Uesugi faced her fully, dropping the pebbles. “I have not see Sachi-sama with you since our return.”

“She is required at her husband’s house. Have you seen Aya-hime?”

Aya had given in to grief on hearing of her stepfather’s possibly mortal wound, and her mourning had not lessened the few times Aderyn had been with her.

“I have…instructions to refrain from seeing her. I do believe I could easier cut off my sword arm.” Uesugi fondled a new handful of pebbles, full of nervous energy.

She smiled at his sigh. It was easy to read that the young samurai’s thoughts lay with Aya. In the darkness and quietness of her room, she had often dared to think the same thoughts he entertained. She would conjure the vision of Sanematsu at his bath, only to feel strange stirrings in her body. If she lingered too long over the thoughts, the ache, a hunger she had never known, would spread from her loins to her lower body until she could not stand the sensations. She would force the picture of Sanematsu in any form away from her mind so she could drop into a fitful sleep.

Sanematsu had warned her to be on her guard and aware of what happened around her. She could not forget she was his pampered prisoner; her existence was changed only in slight ways. Guards surrounded her at all times instead of just when she left the yashiki grounds. Matsumoto avoided contact or communication with her, but he hovered nearby, lurking like a vulture on a tree. He waited for Nakata or his minions to blink, and then she would be in jeopardy.

The servants and other inhabitants of Nishikata-jyo treated her as though she had suddenly come into existence. Before, they had tolerated her, giving what was needed and no more. Now, they spoke to her with respect, adding the honorific to her name as if she had always had it.

The first few times she had been addressed as “Tori-sama,” she was flustered, but now she was accustomed to it. She was being absorbed into Nihon, and she was comfortable with the change.

“I know how you feel,” she confided. “The days drag on so. I wish Sanematsu-sama would return.”

“Be patient, Lady Tori,” Uesugi consoled her. “He will return to us soon.”

Aderyn studied the young samurai’s eyes. His admiration for Sanematsu showed. Was her own love for Sanematsu as easily detected?

“Do you think it will be soon?”

“I can only guess, but Lord Sanematsu should dwell within these walls by the next moon.” He looked toward the sun that was beginning its descent.

They sat in silence. A maid brought tea and sake with small delicacies. The yashiki’s inhabitants went about their lives as if nothing were amiss. It was as though the conspiracy, the battle with Amemiya, even Sanematsu’s wound, had never taken place. The ache in Aderyn’s heart, however, was her constant reminder that all was not well at the castle of Sanematsu.

Change was coming to Nishikata. All too soon, a wind would sweep down from Mount Aso to disperse the mood and bring a new atmosphere to the Satsuma Province. It now stirred into a breeze in the West.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Well done, Yoshihide!” Kiyohara praised.

The daimyo completed the long, complicated kata using the staff of the sohei.

“You have learned well.”

“I am grateful I have proven worthy of your teachings.” Sanematsu handed the bo to a novice to replace in the arsenal and took a canvas jacket in return. He had worked hard to learn the military form routine to the Buddhist monk warrior.

“A moment.” Kiyohara held up a restraining hand as he started to slip his arm into the sleeve. He fingered the scar on Sanematsu’s side; his inspection used both sight and touch.

A white line running with varying degrees of width from mid-back to mid-front at the waist was the only hint of the wound. The rest of the warrior’s chest, back and abdomen was again firm muscle overlaid with taut brown skin.

“You appear to be healed, my lord. You will soon leave me.”

They resumed their walk through the temple. High thick walls made of heavy stones, of four shaku--the Nihonese measurement equal to the European foot--by six shaku surrounded the courtyard. Lichen and moss covered the walls, a testament to the age of the temple situated on the slopes of Mount Aso, an active volcano. The gigantic trees standing high within the walls validated the security they had provided the monks from the lava flow through the centuries.

Under the branches of one of these ancient trees, Sanematsu paused to dress and tie his belt.

“We have had many partings, Sou Kiyohara, yet none are permanent.”

He shook back the loose, shoulder-length hair he had begun to wear unconfined. Now he was not sure he ever wanted it tied, content with having the sides up and top pulled back. That he contemplated leaving his hair free was the first sign of rebellion. That he wished to do it to please Tori, a woman and a barbarian, was a second.

Such thoughts worried him. He was taught it was not worthy of a man to care about a woman. What was happening to him? He had to speak with Kiyohara of these confusions.

“You have not given me leave to discuss that which weighs heaviest on my mind.”

They entered the abbot’s cell, a medium-sized room with clean tatami spread from edge to edge. A metal cabinet with three shelves sat against one wall and the opposite wall housed a small shrine to the Buddha and candles.

Next to the cabinet was a rack holding a set of samurai blades. They rested in their ornate scabbards, indicative of Kiyohara’s warrior rank. Many warriors who took up the monastic life joined the order of sohei, the military monks.

“Do you feel up to it?” Kiyohara looked out the lone window, hands clasped behind his back. He wore the long robes of a Buddhist monk but the hairstyle of a samurai.

When Kiyohara faced him, Sanematsu looked across the room into the man’s eyes. He had the strange sense he looked into a sort of mirror. This man had made his student the embodiment of his teachings. Was it possible those lessons could cause their faces to grow similar?

Kiyohara’s blank expression did not allow Sanematsu to read his thoughts.

“It is the last task I have to complete. I must meet with Shogun Ashikaga in Kyoto, and then return home.”

Sou Kiyohara gestured for him to sit. A young novice entered with tea and departed.

“How may I help you further, Yoshi-dono? I have healed your body, taught you the discipline of the staff.” Kiyohara busied himself preparing the tea. “Your inner conflicts can be resolved only by yourself.”

“You have helped me with major decisions many times in my life. I have always found your judgment wise. Was it not your hand that stayed the killing sword when I wished to escape my birthright?”

Kiyohara nodded. At seventeen, Sanematsu had been ready to flee his duty as daimyo. Only Kiyohara’s intervention saved his life and the lives of others. In many respects, sitting here before him with dangling, sweat-damp hair and wearing a plain hitatare, Sanematsu was the same naive, confused child Kiyohara had rescued.

“I have since been deterred by your words many times when I felt the same. You come unbidden into my dreams to offer guidance.”

Sanematsu paused, not sure how to say the rest. He needed someone to tell him what he had decided to do was right. The only person to give him an honest answer was Kiyohara. The abbot would understand the new emotion he felt. Or would he? He was a samurai at heart, Nihonese--and as duty-driven as Sanematsu. How could a monk know what he felt?

“At the base of all my decisions is what is best for the Satsuma Province. I want to change things in my ryo-chi, changes that will take my lifetime and yet another. To do this, I must provide an heir to carry on such changes,” he began.

Kiyohara held up his hand. “The dilemma does not lie with an heir. The dilemma is in your inability to make a decision on your own and then act upon it!” Anger flooded out with his words. “You have been held captive by Lord Shigehide and that council Shigeni surrounded you with for too long. You rule the Satsuma Province in name only. In reality, your grandfather is the governing head. You should have banished him from the castle. Then you would have not become his puppet.”

Kiyohara poured tea with a calm hand although his words were anything but. With his advancing years, his position and the esteem with which Sanematsu held him, the priest was allowed to speak bluntly, even though what he said verged on cultural heresy.

As if a veil had been lifted, everything became crystal-clear to Sanematsu. He nodded agreement. How could he have been so blind for all these years? He was, indeed, a puppet! How many others saw through the disguise? How many witnessed his humiliations?

“It is not time now to seek your manhood between your thighs but between your ears,” Kiyohara continued with jovial reproof. He lifted the cup to Sanematsu.

“Yes, of course. You are right.” He took the offered tea bowl and tasted the liquid, trying to compose himself before he spoke, but he did not sit. Pacing the floor of the small room helped him quell his temper. “For eleven years, they have sent me to battle or a futon with enemy or wife of their choosing! My peers at Bakafu do not depend upon old men to make their decisions. It is little wonder I am treated as an outsider! I am an apprentice warrior, as naive as a boy without his tying-up ceremony!”

Was his unthinking reference to a samurai acquiring his tonsure some sort of omen? He stood and shook his head in anger; the hair moved loose and free about his shoulders. He liked the feel.

Kiyohara sipped tea and let him rant.

“It is going to change!” the daimyo shouted. “No more will I be led around. I will take hold of my life. If I fail, I fail. But…” He dropped to his knees at the abbot’s side, set the teacup aside and grasped his hand and arm. “…with determination and planning, I can be whatever I wish.” His voice was a low, heavy whisper.

“Even military leader to the Ten-nou, Yoshi?” Kiyohara whispered. “Seitaishogun?” He used the formal title of the shogun, which meant “barbarian-subduing great general.”

“Yes! Even that.” He released Kiyohara and sat back on his heels.

“And to think, Yoshi, you once wished to become a fish seller,” Kiyohara teased.

They laughed together.

“Life has changed, indeed, Kiyohara-sama.” Sanematsu’s zest and anger cooled.

“Aha, now, you will tell me of Tori-sama.”

“I will not ask how you know of her because you, by some magic, know all.”

“I was present at your birthday feast when she scandalized your court by coming from behind the screen to give you a scroll. That I may know more of her does not tell me how you feel about her. Is she the barbarian you wish to subdue?”

“I do not think anyone could subdue Ko-tori-sama.” Sanematsu laughed.

“Tell me.”

Sanematsu explained how he had found her aboard the Portuguese ship. He described their first meeting and the teapot disaster, the subsequent talks, her presentation to the Council of Elders and his daughters, the way she had harangued him at the cove when the shark threatened, the details of the picnic and, finally, the way she had protected him from assassination.

Kiyohara watched and listened. Little of this he did not already know--the barbarian’s affect on Sanematsu was common knowledge. What he saw was a new light in the young lord’s eyes. They glistened vividly, alive like never before. When Sanematsu was a child and began the martial training, a similar light had sparkled. It faded the day Shigeni was killed and Yoshihide became daimyo.

“She is a beautiful girl, wise, witty, intelligent. She has a will that surpasses many samurai. She sees through all I show the world and still believes in me. I never realized how important it was to have someone believe in you. And never was it important for a woman to do so. Now, I do know.

“She gives me strength. Tori…Tori-sama is to become my wife. Regardless of anyone’s feeling on the subject. Except yours, learned one! Do we have your agreement?”

**
*

“You do not need my approval.” Kiyohara suspected Sanematsu had formulated a decision only minutes before he blurted it out. “You are samurai, Sanematsu-uji, and sengoku-daimyo. You need no one’s approval for anything you choose. I do commend her for being the source of this great change in your manner.”

“Kiyohara-sama.” He spoke in a quiet tone, as if they shared a conspiracy. “Do you know of love? I have never thought much of this emotion and do not think I have ever experienced it, if I understand Tori-sama’s definition, except in the form of a father’s love for his children.”

“Many years ago, I knew love.” Kiyohara sighed. “Love makes one do strange things. Dangerous things. She was promised to another, and I entered the brotherhood. Over the years, I have served her from here in better ways than as a husband,” he reflected. “But you did not ask my story.

“Beware. Love can do two things. It will send you to the greatest heights possible and then bring you to the lowest depths. Neither can be avoided, especially on the path you have chosen. Be prepared for this, Yoshi, and all will be as karma will have it.”

“Thank you, Kiyohara-sama. I will leave at first light. I must be off to rebuild my life.”

Kiyohara nodded, deep in thought. Many times Sanematsu had come and gone from the Mount Aso Temple and his counsel, yet never before had he sent a man back into the world. This time, he did.

**
*

Uesugi’s prediction failed. Sanematsu had departed on his secret mission from the military camp six months before, and life at the yashiki was only beginning to return to normal. Chiyo stopped asking for her father, and Aya pursued her lessons with reluctance. Hatsu became a woman in her father’s absence.

Sachi returned to her position with Aderyn as before, continuing to teach her small things about Nihonese life. Aderyn undertook the challenge of learning to read and write Nihonese; her wordbook and her artwork kept her mind occupied as she strove to fill each day’s waking hours so as to forget Sanematsu’s absence.

Her thoughts were erotic when her mind was not occupied. Stirrings would begin, and a warm glow centered between her thighs. Only Sanematsu could quench that fire.

Autumn was more like a continuation of summer in Nishikata, with bright sun, hot days and humid nights. Aderyn’s spirits remained low; the longer Sanematsu was away the deeper they sank.

One late evening, with a few stray clouds blocking the sun and a hint of cooler temperature in the air, she stood on the third-story engawa overlooking the wall. A horse and rider carrying the sashimono emblazoned with the Sanematsu kamon on a pole attached to his back tore down the road to the Nishikata-jyo. Most undignified in sandals and uchiki, she ran into the courtyard. Her two samurai shadows trotted to keep up, swords rattling.

The household awaited the contents of the first message from their daimyo in half a year, though their curiosity was not obvious since they moved to positions within hearing range as they went about their usual duties. She arrived in time to see Matsumoto re-roll the scroll. He faced her, glared with defiance and then marched away, leaving them all to wonder.

Alone in the courtyard, Aderyn grunted, her hands planted on her hips as she stared after him. On impulse, she hitched up the uchiki’s hem, kicked off the sandals and ran across the garden, ignoring the rocks bruising her soles through the socks. When she took rough hold of his arm, she failed to turn him, but they came face-to-face when momentum propelled her in front of him.

“How dare you? How could you walk away without letting anyone know where Lord Sanematsu is or when he will return?”