The emperor asked her, “What part of the song made you sad?”

“I’m not sure, sire, but I think it is the fear the little snail must feel.”

“Ah!” Otomae said quickly.  “How clever you are, little one.  Yes, that fear is a terrible thing.  It is much more terrible than being crushed because it is the fear that forces the snail to dance.”

The emperor laughed.  “Come, surely nothing can be worse than being crushed.  While the snail lives, dancing is a very pleasant occupation.”

Otomae raised a thin hand.  “You and I know very well what the little snail signifies, but this child does not – and yet I think she has a notion already.  Have pity, sire.”

The emperor flushed.  “Be careful, Otomae.”

The nun bowed.

Biting his lip, He turned away and took up his papers.  He talked about other songs, asking about different versions.  Toshiko said little.  She was confused and a little frightened by what had just happened.

And by what was to come.

A short while later, the guards outside twanged their bowstrings and announced the hour of the boar.  His Majesty dismissed the two women abruptly and without his earlier smiles.

The Consort Pays a Visit

The day after the “Little Snail” incident, the Emperor threw himself into the planning of his pilgrimage.  He had not liked Otomae’s warning and did not believe that for a woman love meant terror because the man forced her into compliance.

The little snail must dance or be crushed.

Worse, she had implied that men assumed women enjoyed being taken.  At first he had been angry, but the matter began to trouble him, filling him with new doubts about his intentions.

After a restless night weighing his desire for Toshiko against possibly painful regrets, he decided to seek spiritual enlightenment.  He emptied his mind of lustful thoughts and spent the pre-dawn hours in prayer and meditation.  After sunrise, he kept his secretaries busy with the details of the pilgrimage.  He consulted them about new temples and shrines to visit and checked his budget for further generous donations and endowments to religious communities.  He received a group of clerics and discussed their needs (they always had needs) and asked for spiritual advice on how to cleanse his mind of worldly matters.  They offered the same old lessons: Empty your mind by meditating on the Buddha.  He resolved to try harder.

Then, around midday, he got the news that his Consort had arrived.

This lady was not the mother of the late emperor Nijo — with her he maintained friendly but distant relations.  No, this was Shigeko, mother of the new crown prince and sister-in-law of Chancellor Kiyomori.  Shigeko had been his frequent bed partner until last year when she had moved back to the capital to be closer to life in the imperial palace.  Being busy with many plans at the time, he had hardly missed her.

The news of her arrival now filled him with astonishment.  She rarely came and then only for brief visits.  On this occasion, she had arrived with a procession of court carriages and mounted attendants, bringing along her ladies-in-waiting, a contingent of Taira warriors, and the little crown prince.

In one respect, the visit was natural enough.  He had just approved the elevation of her son to crown prince, and she wanted to express her gratitude.  But he had an uneasy feeling that she was overdoing it.  She had come too quickly and unannounced, and she seemed prepared for a longish stay.

Her arrival threw even a very large organization like the emperor’s retirement palace into turmoil.  From the moment of the first message, people were running in and out of his private office with questions about arrangements until he gave up and went to seek out his wife.

Shigeko was in the North Hall, in apartments set aside for her.  Everything was in a state of confusion with maids rushing about, carrying parcels, trunks, and folding screens.   He paused in the doorway to look for his wife and saw her directing two ladies in the best placement of a painted screen.

And then his mind played a trick on him.  Seeing the familiar figure of his consort, he found himself comparing it to the young girl who had stirred fires he had not felt for a long time.  Shigeko was small, but she had learned to walk like an empress, slowly and upright, showing off her train and her many lined gowns to perfection.

Toshiko, for all her youth, was both taller and more strongly built, perhaps because some warrior families raised their women as if they were men.  The image of her on horseback flashed again across his mind and suddenly, even as he watched his wife, he was again consumed by the same wild lust.

So much for his good resolutions.

Someone saw him then and alerted Shigeko.  She turned, bowed, and went to seat herself on the curtained dais, where her ladies spread her skirts around her.  She was beautifully gowned as always, and surrounded by equally beautifully dressed young women.

As he walked toward her, he thought that there had been a time when he would have looked her attendants over with an eye to an affair, but he had lost interest in the surreptitious bedding of hollow dolls.

The ladies prostrated themselves before him and then crept away to leave them alone.

He smiled at Shigeko.  “Welcome, my dear.  What a happy surprise.”  Sitting down beside her, he added, “My loneliness was infinite, and every morning my sleeves were drenched with tears.”

She smiled back and tossed her head a little in disbelief.  “Why, sire,” she murmured, “how can this be, when I hear that you spend your nights singing songs?”

Aha.  So that was it.  Someone — Lady Sanjo, no doubt — had informed her about Toshiko.  Pleased that Shigeko should rush to him because she felt threatened by a new girl in his household, he regarded her fondly.

His consort still looked very charming at twenty-four.  In fact, her prettiness had caught his eye when she had not been much older than Toshiko and in his sister’s service.  In those days, shortly after he had abdicated, his gratitude to Kiyomori had still been at its height, and he had allowed Kiyomori’s kinswoman to tempt him into an affair that had blossomed rapidly.

Yes, Shigeko had been young.  And he had already been suffering from a fear of old age.  Besides, when his father had forced him to abdicate, he had felt pushed aside once again.  There had seemed to be nothing in his future except taking the tonsure and spending the rest of his years in prayer and abstinence.  In sheer rebellion, he had begun a passionate affair with Shigeko and, within a year, she had borne him a son.  She was the daughter of a ranking official and related to Kiyomori, and he had acknowledged her and the child.  With his self-confidence restored, they had settled into a comfortable relationship.  She had made efforts to please him, and he had been receptive.

So now he told her that she was beautiful and that he had yearned for her.  It was a kindness and not altogether an untruth.

But Shigeko refused to play the game.  “I have brought you your son,” she said in a businesslike manner.

“Oh?”  He looked around.  “Where is he?  Is he much grown?  Is he clever for his age?  You know, of course, that he will be emperor?”

“Yes, sire, I know.  Your son will be a great ruler.”

“I hope so,” he said with a nod, then added, “I certainly trust he will turn out to be more filial than Nijo.”

The memory of those unpleasant battles with his oldest son was still amazingly painful.  Nijo had preferred his grandfather’s company and treated his father with the disdain that Toba had taught him.  The whole court had been shocked by this. That betrayal had left wounds, and for a time he had become distant and cold to all his children.