25
The following day they left early in the morning to ride to Terayama. The beauty of the autumn weather and the prospect of seeing Matsuda Shingen raised Shigeru’s spirits a little, even though he had few hopes of the meeting with Maruyama Naomi. He knew her husband was from the Tohan; the husband’s daughter was married to a cousin of Iida Sadamu, Nariaki. Naomi was only a year or so older than Shigeru himself. Despite what everyone kept telling him about the Maruyama way of doing things, he doubted if she had any real power, if she would ever act against the wishes of her husband and his family-which would be those of Iida Sadamu.
In fact, the more he thought about it, the more reluctant he was to meet her. Mingled with his fears was a kind of anger at his own family, his father, his uncles, who had allowed this situation to develop. He couldn’t help wondering why they had not approached the Seishuu themselves, years before, when he and Naomi had been children; they were almost the same age; they could have been betrothed then. And why had the Seishuu not considered the Otori heir rather than a binding alliance with the Tohan? Did they, and most of the other clans in the Three Countries, consider the Otori an insignificant force, a declining clan destined now to be wiped out by the Tohan?
By the time they arrived at the foot of the mountain, he had decided he did not want to meet her and hoped she would not be there. The journey had unsettled him further, though he should have been delighted by the rapturous welcome he received along the way. The progress was slowed by so many people wanting to greet him, talk to him, offer presents to him and his men, and meet Takeshi.
“You will have to learn to be more standoffish,” Kiyoshige said, after the fourth or fifth halt to examine some innovative farming technique or be informed about a new taxation levy. “They will eat you alive. You cannot be available to all these people. It’s like being nibbled by a pool full of carp!”
“And we’ll never get to the temple,” Takeshi added.
Shigeru saw what he had become, a sort of symbol for these people who put all their trust and hope in him. If he failed them, they would fall under Tohan rule: he could not bear to see that happen. Yet was he ready to take the measures that would bring war on the whole fief? And he was saddened in some way by the adulation. It had little foundation and was like a fantasy, unrealistic and unsustainable. He wanted their lives to have a sounder base-justice because it was Heaven’s will, not on the whim of some idealized hero.
There were several retainers already at the inn at the foot of the mountain, wearing the Maruyama crest on their surcoats. They stared at Shigeru and Takeshi with undisguised curiosity as the brothers dismounted from the horses, leaving them in Kiyoshige’s care.
“We’ll go straight to the temple,” Shigeru said.
“Yes, I’ve eaten and drunk enough to last me for days,” Takeshi replied, for they had been fed at every stop.
As they made the climb, Shigeru recalled the day when he had made it alone. He had been fifteen-more than a year older than Takeshi was now. He had found the early days almost unbearable, had longed to leave. Would Takeshi find it unendurable? There would be other boys as young as he, but they would be novice monks, not the son of the head of the clan. He thought he might speak to Matsuda, ask him to treat Takeshi leniently, but then corrected himself. Takeshi would be treated by Matsuda as he needed to be, and leniency was the last thing he needed if he was to learn to curb his recklessness and remedy the effects of his mother’s indulgence.
At first Takeshi leaped ahead up the path, but as the climb steepened, his pace slowed. The thought of the coming months was perhaps turning him serious.
They were greeted by the monks with a quiet, undemonstrative pleasure and taken immediately to Matsuda Shingen, now the Abbot of the temple. He made them welcome, openly delighted to see Shigeru again. Matsuda studied Takeshi carefully, but said little to him beyond commenting that in looks, at least, he was very like his brother. Then he called for two young boys, who were in simple clothes and whose heads were shaven, and asked them to take Lord Takeshi and show him around while he spoke to Lord Otori.
The boys left in deferential silence, but before they were beyond the cloisters, Shigeru could hear Takeshi’s eager questions and soon laughter from all three.
“It is very early for your brother to be here,” Matsuda said. “I wonder if he has the maturity…”
“I’m hoping he will learn it here,” Shigeru replied. “He does not receive the discipline he should in Hagi: My parents spoil him, Mori Kiyoshige leads him astray, and he has little respect for anyone. I want him to stay here for at least a year, possibly more. His education and training must be the same as mine-”
“I have other responsibilities now,” Matsuda interrupted gently. “It is not possible for me to absent myself from the temple for long periods, as I did with you.”
“Of course, I understand that. But I hope you will be able to teach him, here, much of what you taught me.”
“If he is willing to learn it, I can promise you I will.”
“I have another reason for sending him here at this time,” Shigeru said. “If we are to be at war next year, he will be out of harm’s way, and if I meet my death on the battlefield, the heir to the clan will be in safe hands. I trust you, where I do not trust my uncles.”
“You are right, in my opinion, both about the coming war and about your uncles,” Matsuda said quietly. “But are the Otori prepared? You must delay as long as possible, while you build up your forces.”
“I suspect Sadamu will attack us early, through Chigawa. I intend to concentrate our defense around Yaegahara.”
“You must beware of a double attack, from the south as well as the east.”
“That is why I have sent Irie to Noguchi to claim his support. And my wife’s father will guarantee the support of Kushimoto.”
“I’m afraid next year is too soon,” Matsuda said. “Try not to provoke Sadamu into an early attack.”
“I must be prepared, yet I must not provoke him,” Shigeru said, smiling. “It is not possible to do both.”
“Whatever you choose to do, you have my support always,” Matsuda said. “And Lord Takeshi will be safe while he stays with us.”
As Shigeru rose to leave, the older man said, “Let us walk in the gardens for a while. It is such a beautiful day.”
Shigeru followed him along the polished wooden floor that gleamed in the dim light: sunlight spilled through the open doors at the end of the corridor, and he could smell wood smoke and pine leaves from outside, mingled with incense from the main hall of the temple.
At the end of the corridor they crossed a small courtyard and stepped into another wide room, whose doors were all open onto the garden beyond. The matting glowed gold. Two painted screens stood at either end; he had seen them often before but never failed to be moved by their beauty. When he had first come to the temple, the other boys had recounted the legends about their creator, the artist Sesshu, who had lived in the temple for many years. The bare panel was said to have once been painted with birds, so lifelike they all took flight, and the gardeners complained Sesshu’s horses roamed at night, trampling and eating the crops, and demanded he should tether them.
A wide veranda gave onto the garden, facing south, warm with the autumn sunshine. They paused on the silvered cypress wood boards while a monk brought sandals, but before Matsuda stepped into his, the other man whispered to him.
“Ah!” Matsuda said. “It seems my presence is requested for a few moments. If you will excuse me, Lord Shigeru, I’ll join you later.”
Shigeru could hear the waterfall in the distance and walked toward it, for it was one of his favorite parts of the garden. To his left lay the drop to the valley below: the slopes turning crimson and gold, the ranges beyond folding one after the other against the sky, already hazy in the afternoon light. To his right, the mountain itself formed the background to the garden, deep green with cedars, against which bamboo trunks stood out, slender and graceful, and the white splash of the waterfall fell like spun threads over the gleaming rocks. He climbed a little among the ferns and looked back down on the garden. From here the rocks looked like mountains, the shrubs like entire forests. He could see the whole of the Middle Country in this small plot of land, its ranges and rivers. Then the illusion was broken by a figure appearing through the bushes-but not before, for a moment, she had seemed like a goddess walking through her creation.