He felt the smile break out on his face, and she also smiled frankly at him. The moment went on a little too long, and she spoke into a silence that had become almost awkward. “Will you return to the women’s rooms with me? I will prepare tea.”
“Gladly,” he replied.
She bowed deeply and rose to her feet. Shigeru followed her along the path between the rocks and the dark-leafed shrubs. They walked around the side of the main halls and courtyards of the temple and descended the slope to where a group of small buildings were set aside for the use of women visitors. The main guest rooms lay a little farther up the hill, around the hot springs, and beyond them, beneath the huge cedars, were the graves of the Otori lords and their retainers, the moss-covered headstones and lanterns dating back for hundreds of years. Doves were coo-cooing from the roofs, and the sparrows chattered in the eaves. From the forest beyond came the poignant autumn cry of kites. In the inner depths of the temple, a bell pealed out clearly.
“It will be cold tonight,” Lady Maruyama remarked.
“Will you stay here?”
“No, I will stay at the inn at the foot of the mountain and return to Maruyama tomorrow. You will remain here for a few days?”
“Two at most. I must make sure my brother is settled in, and there are several matters on which I need to seek Matsuda’s advice. Then I have various affairs to deal with in Yamagata -the fief is administered from there at this time of year. But I will be back in Hagi before the solstice, before the snow.”
They came to the veranda of the women’s guesthouse, and stepped out of their shoes onto the boards. A woman a few years older than Naomi came out to greet them.
“This is my companion, Sugita Sachie,” Lady Maruyama said.
“Please come in, Lord Otori. It is a very great honor.”
When they were seated, Sachie brought tea utensils and hot water, and Lady Maruyama prepared the tea. Her movements were precise and elegant; the tea was bitter and foaming. After they had drunk, Lady Maruyama said, “You are acquainted with Sachie’s older sister, I believe. She is married to Otori Eijiro.”
Shigeru smiled. “I am hoping to break my journey with them on the way home. It will be a pleasure to report this meeting to your sister. I admire your brother-in-law greatly.”
“Sachie writes very often to her sister,” Lady Maruyama said. “You may receive messages from her, from time to time.”
“I look forward to it,” Shigeru said. The family connection reassured him. They conversed in general terms about Eijiro’s family and then about painting and poetry. Her education seemed as broad as his, and she could obviously read men’s language. Then the conversation became more personal: he found himself sharing with her his concerns for the well-being of the people, his desire for justice.
“Our recent confrontation with the Tohan in the East took place because they came across the borders and were torturing and killing our people.”
He remembered the woman from Chigawa who had told him that many of her sect, the Hidden, sought refuge in Maruyama; indeed, Nesutoro, the man he had rescued, was on his way there with Shigeru’s letters of protection.
“We heard something of this.” Lady Maruyama exchanged a swift glance with Sachie. “The Tohan persecution of the Hidden is another reason why I will never let them take over Maruyama. I do not speak of this openly, and I am trusting you not to divulge it, but these people are under my protection.”
“I know very little of them,” he replied, half wanting to ask her more, directly. “But I find torture abhorrent: its use to force people to deny a deeply held belief is barbaric, not worthy of our class.”
“Then we have another reason to unite against Iida,” she said.
He rose to take his leave; she remained seated but bowed deeply to the ground, her hair parting slightly to reveal the nape of her neck. He was surprised and rather ashamed of the strength of his desire to slide his hands under the silky mass and feel the shape of her head in the cup of his palms.
26
Two days later, Shigeru bade farewell to his brother and began the journey back to Hagi. The weather changed and became showery. The rain was cold; the easterly wind had a frosty bite, reminding him of the coming snows of winter. Kiyoshige was waiting with the horses at the foot of the mountain, together with Otori Danjo and Harada, the messengers he had sent to arrange the meetings with the Seishuu. They rode to Misumi, Danjo’s home, and the two men told Shigeru their opinions of their undertaking.
“Arai Daiichi has not really changed since we were boys-he was always the leader, always fearless,” Danjo remarked.
“He is a man of huge abilities,” Shigeru replied. “And, I would think, very ambitious.”
“He is irked, I suspect, by his position among the Seishuu-heir to a remote and not very wealthy domain, threatened by his nearest neighbors, the Noguchi, and kept from real power by his father’s refusal to die or retire. He is attracted to the Otori alliance because it would give him equal power with Lady Maruyama, but he dare not support it openly-such negotiations would seem like treachery to his father or to Iida, and either one would not hesitate to demand he take his own life.”
“I had hoped for much more,” Shigeru admitted.
“Our efforts have not been a complete failure,” Danjo replied. “I believe the Arai will follow Maruyama’s lead and not join in an attack from the East. At this stage, it may be the best you can hope for. And you may have started an alliance, which can only be good for the Middle Country. You, Arai Daiichi, Maruyama Naomi are all young. Who knows what great things you might achieve in the future?”
“You are optimistic, like your father,” Shigeru said, smiling.
“I agree with Lord Danjo,” Harada said. “Lady Maruyama seemed to grasp immediately the significance of your journey and your desire to meet her. She had been considering approaching your father, but early attempts had not met with much encouragement.”
“I knew nothing of them,” Shigeru exclaimed. “So much time has been wasted!”
“You cannot blame yourself,” Kiyoshige said. “We have been fully occupied in the East for the past two summers.”
“And will be next summer,” Shigeru replied. They rode in silence for a while, each wrapped in thoughts of the coming war.
Harada said, “Lord Otori, I thought you would like to know, I saw the man we rescued, Nesutoro, in Maruyama. He is settled with some of his people and is learning a trade-basket-making or something of that sort. His niece, the girl, Mari, has found work in the kitchens of the castle.”
“I am glad they are safe,” Shigeru replied, a little surprised that Harada should know the girl’s name, should have remembered it. He shot a look at his retainer, but the man’s swarthy face revealed nothing. Yet Shigeru knew how moved Harada had been by the courage, suffering, and death of Tomasu, and by Nesutoro’s fortitude. He wondered if some deeper connection had been made: was it possible for a warrior like Harada to be attracted to the beliefs of the Hidden? He would have to question him further about it.
How little he really knew about any of these men, of their inner beliefs, hopes, ambitions, and fears. He expected their loyalty and their obedience to his wishes; in their turn, they demanded the same obedience from the men who served them, and so it went, through the whole interlocking hierarchy of the clan, everyone linked to everyone else through a net of loyalty and obligation. But someone like Nesutoro stood outside the net: he would only obey some unseen force, a supposed god who was above all human rulers and who would judge them after death. And he would not take life-neither his own nor anyone else’s.