Dream of a Spring Night Read online

  At one corner, two pretty young women in red silk skirts and colored jackets laughed and waved to them.

  “Can they be shrine maidens?” Takehira asked his father. “They seem very immodest.”

  Hiramoto looked and gave a snort. “Whores.”

  Takehira grinned. “Really?” He whistled to the women as he passed.

  Both immediately plunged into the street and ran alongside their horses. One put her hands familiarly on Takehira’s knee. “Welcome,” she cried in a high voice. “We know first-class lodgings where your lordships will be treated like princes. Please follow us.”

  Hiramoto reached for his sword. “Away, scum!” he roared.

  The women shrieked and scattered.

  Takehira looked after them regretfully. “What’s your rush? We should stop and find lodging before we make our bow to His Majesty.”

  But his father only grunted again. A long bridge spanning the Kamo River took them out of the old city and into the green eastern hills where new temples and palaces with shining blue-tiled roofs and gilded pagodas beckoned from the trees.

  They had been told that the Retired Emperor resided in His current residence until the Hojuji Palace was being built next to the temple by the same name. Like His predecessors and any number of princes of the blood, He planned take the tonsure. That time, Oba no Hiramoto feared, was near. He had been praying that his daughter would find imperial favor before it was too late.

  Takehira hoped that she had already succeeded and that fortune would fall on his family like summer rain, fortune beyond the wildest expectations of provincial gentry, fortune which would increase their power and influence in Settsu province for generations.

  The perfumed fops needed the military power of the warrior families, and the warriors needed the political power that lay in the hands of emperors, ex-emperors, and chancellors of the realm.

  But most specifically and immediately, Takehira expected an appointment with officer’s rank in the imperial guard. That would bring with it a nice income, friends among the nobles, an endless series of entertainments, and all the women he could wish for.

  At the enormous covered gate to the cloister palace, they identified themselves and their errand to guards, and passed into an equally enormous courtyard surrounded by many galleries and halls. The midday sun shining on glossy tiles, red painted columns and balustrades, and the white gravel underfoot blinded them.

  “Amida!” breathed Takehira.

  They reined in and blinked at the scene. Carriages, as many as thirty of them, waited along both sides of the rectangle, their oxen unharnessed and their drivers and escorts sitting cross-legged in the shade of the ornate two-wheeled vehicles. Soldiers walked about, their bows in hand, to keep an eye on things. Black-capped and silk-robed officials held up their trains as they stepped gingerly in their full trousers. Palace servants, in tall black caps and white clothing under brown cloaks, ran with messages and documents, and Buddhist priests stood in small groups.

  “What happens now?” Takehira asked eagerly.

  His father bit his lip, then called one of his men to his side. “Go announce us!”

  The soldier saluted, then looked around at the many halls. “Where?” he asked.

  Hiramoto muttered a curse. “Idiot. Over there.” He pointed to the largest hall.

  The man trotted off and returned quickly. “Master, they say they don’t know us. They say to go away.”

  Hiramoto cursed again and hit the man on the head with his wooden baton. “You and the others go wait over there.” He gestured toward the carriages. “Come, Takehira.” He spurred his horse and galloped to the stairs leading up to the building, coming to a halt in a shower of gravel. Swinging down from the saddle, he took the stairs two steps at a time. A court official wearing a pale green silk robe and small lacquered court cap took a step back.

  “You there,” Hiratomo roared at him.

  Takehira grinned. His father had attracted the attention of the entire courtyard. He decided to follow suit. More galloping and another rearing, splattering, whinnying halt later, he joined his father on the veranda. The official, who had sent their man away only moments ago, glared at them.

  Hiramoto advanced on him. His heavy boots made the boards of the veranda tremble. His large sword swung and his heavy armor flapped and clinked as he moved. Takehira followed gleefully.

  The official retreated farther. “Stop! You cannot come here like this,” he squeaked.

  Towering over him, Hiramoto put his hand on the hilt of his sword and raised his voice. “I am Oba no Hiramoto, son of Oba no Kageshita and nephew of Oba no Kageyoshi, descendants of Oba no Kagemasa, the hero of the five-years’ war, and I am here to see the cloistered Emperor and my daughter who is in his service. Announce me instantly or I’ll find the way myself.”

  The official paled. “Your pardon, sir,” he stammered with a bow. “Your soldier, er, servant, did not mention your errand.”

  “He’s an idiot,” growled Hiramoto. “And so are you to offend strangers without knowing their business.”

  The official bit his lip and stared in despair at their dusty clothes. Takehira put a frown on his face and a hand on his sword. The courtier gave up his resistance. “You will have to remove your weapons and boots.”

  Disarmed and in their stockings, they were passed on to another official.

  Inside the great hall, more men were waiting, but these were nobles, high-ranking clergymen, and senior officers of the guard. Takehira eyed their uniforms and court dress with admiration and interest, but his father still glowered.

  “I have written,” he grumbled. “Why this delay?”

  Officials came and went. They wore black slippers and moved along in stiff, softly hissing silk robes. Their faces were powdered, and a faint scent of perfume accompanied them. Hiramoto wrinkled his nose in distaste. They both stood stiffly, in their dusty clothes, their helmets under their arms. Finally another official, more polite than the first, asked their business and departed. When he returned, he told them that he regretted but His Majesty was in a meeting of national importance. If the gentlemen would wait in another room, his Excellency, Counselor Tameyazu would come to speak with them.

  Hiramoto’s face relaxed. He said, “A great man, Counselor Tameyazu. I know him well. He came to my house with His Majesty.”

  The official bowed more deeply, then led them to a small room under the eaves.

  Here Takehira eyed the thick, springy grass mats under foot and the fine green shades that kept the sun out. “A comfortable place,” he observed. “Wonder where our Toshiko sleeps.” He lifted the shade and peered out at another courtyard and more large buildings. “I haven’t seen any women, have you?”

  His father grunted and sat down on a cushion, crossing his legs.

  “I expect she looks as beautiful as an angel these days,” Takehira continued. “Can you imagine our Toshiko behaving like a real lady?” He laughed. “A grand lady, with other ladies waiting on her hand and foot. I bet this palace is full of beauties.”

  “Quiet,” growled his father.

  Takehira sat down and fell into happy musings about graceful maidens in many-colored silk gowns. In his mind, they flocked around him and looked admiringly at his armor. From this delectable image, his mind wandered to the delights of being a guard officer, participating in drills and performing on horseback with bow and arrow. He was a fine rider and an excellent marksman and pictured himself the center of applause, stripping off his sleeve to reveal his fine arm and shoulder muscles as he stretched the bow and placed the arrow in its groove. Ahead would be the ringed target, and his arrow would hit its center. Perhaps even the Emperor would see him, and all his women . . .

  The door opened abruptly, and Counselor Tameyazu came in. Tameyazu was a middle-aged courtier, clearly of high rank. Takehira stood and saluted. Hiramoto simply stood and nodded. Tameyazu inclined his head with a thin smile but he did not sit down nor invite them to do so.

&nb
sp; “Ah, Oba,” he said in an affable tone. “Good of you to come. All is well in Iga, I hope?”

  “All is well, sir,” said Hiramoto stolidly.

  “Good, good.” Tameyazu waited.

  Hiramoto cleared his throat. “My son and I have come to return His Majesty’s visit and to see how my daughter fares.”

  Tameyazu nodded. “I see. Very kind of you to wish to repay His Majesty’s favor, but not at all necessary. I shall inform Him of your courtesy, of course.”

  Hiramoto reddened. “My daughter Toshiko? She is well?”

  Tameyazu frowned. “Your daughter? I’m not sure . . .”

  Hiramoto tried once more, a little desperately. “It pleased His Majesty to invite her to serve him. I . . . we wondered if her service has been satisfactory.”

  “Dear me,” Tameyazu said blandly. “I wouldn’t know. She is probably in the women’s quarters. You must inquire there. I shall send someone to take you. Now, you must excuse me, it is a very busy time. Enjoy your visit to the capital.” He inclined his head again and was gone.

  “What the devil is this?” snarled Hiramoto, after a moment’s stunned silence.

  “What was that all about?” Takehira was confused. “When will we see His Majesty?”

  “We won’t. But I shall want to know the reason why before we ride home from here like beaten dogs. This must be your sister’s fault. I shall get to the bottom of it.”

  A servant arrived. They put on their boots again and walked to another building. Here they were asked to wait again.

  This time, they were in an inner chamber. Takehira had no opportunity to see any females, but he could hear women’s voices and the rustling of long gowns across the floors of the corridors outside. Now and then someone giggled. Somewhere a door slid open, and lute music sounded faintly from the distance.

  When their door opened, he expected to see his sister. But it was another lady. She was his mother’s age but not nearly as handsome. When she lowered her fan to adjust her train, he saw that she had a narrow face with a sharp nose. She bowed to his father in a perfunctory manner, then knelt, announcing in a prim nasal voice, “My name is Lady Sanjo. I am mistress of His Majesty’s women’s quarters. They tell me that you are the father and brother of Oba no Toshiko?”

  Hiramoto glowered at her. “That is so. And I wish to speak to my daughter. Please bring her.”

  Lady Sanjo drew herself up in disapproval. “That is not usually permitted. But as I may take this opportunity to warn you that your daughter has proved less than satisfactory in her manner and appearance, I shall make an exception. You may wish to discuss arrangements with her, as I assume she will shortly accompany you home.” She rose and, with another meager nod, swept out of the room.

  From Lady Sanjo’s Pillow Book:

  I knew it would happen. The arrival of the new girl did not remain a secret long. It has attracted curious males. Any new female at one of the courts is like a dish of honey to the young officers and the sons of court nobles.

  I recall when I was an object of interest and, if I do say so myself, they kept coming even after the novelty wore off. I suppose they could not “drink their fill from water sweeter than another well.” Of course, I was always careful to hide, or at least raise my fan when in public view during the brief times when we entered or left our carriages or attended Her Majesty. But one cannot always know when one is being spied on, and perhaps one’s fan does not open when it should. These young gallants are very daring and persistent when they hear of a particular beauty, and it would be rude not to answer their admiring poems. These days my position with His Majesty protects me from unwanted attentions, I am glad to say. Nowadays, they gaze at the moon, “and fondly think of the vanished past.”

  But to return to that brazen Oba hussy. It has been stiflingly hot lately, and we have kept all the doors open and the lattices raised. All the ladies wear their thinnest gowns and few layers of them. In this undress, the girl managed to show herself off to the Captain of the Right Guards, who had just left His Majesty. He told all his friends that there was a new lady in His Majesty’s women’s quarters and heaven knows what else. I was unaware of her shameless behavior until it was too late and we were plagued by constant visitors asking about her. What an irritating girl! She is truly like “the ceaseless cry of the cicadas.”

  Of course, I should have suspected it would not end there. Far too many young men lost their way and had to be chased from the women’s quarters like pesky gnats. Far too often did I find one of them seated outside the shades conversing with someone and lingering with the moon until dawn. As a rule, one assumes that a lady has received a visit from a brother or that the visitor carried a message from her parents or husband, but alas, people tell lies.

  One day, I caught her. She was in one of the eave rooms, kneeling just inside the lowered shade and pushing something under it to the outside. And there on the veranda, clearly outlined by his shadow, sat a man. Their hands must have touched. No, worse. The exchange of poems speaks of intimacy, of shocking night time visits, of bodies touching and hands caressing, of burning flesh.

  It had to be stopped. Heaven forbid His Majesty should discover her betrayal. Or one of the other ladies should find out. Such affairs cannot be kept secret for long. And what if there were results? In either case, the blame would fall on me. The thought of His Majesty’s disappointment was an agony and I prayed for deliverance.

  Thank heaven, my prayer was heard: Her father and brother arrived, and instantly I saw the path to salvation. They must be made to take her away with them. The “tears she sheds in parting” will turn to dew and refresh me in the days to come.

  They were country boors, both of them, just as I expected. Crude, gross men with dark faces. They even wore armor – inside an imperial residence! After all the horrors that soldiers have committed in this city, and even to the person of His Majesty, these two wore their armor! Not even the Taira and Minamoto generals dare to do that.

  To be fair, the brother, being young, was not without a certain attractiveness. He had a handsome set of shoulders and very good legs. I was reminded that it will soon be time for the Sumo matches. His muscles would make an excellent showing there. For all his roughness, my poor woman’s heart beat a little faster at the thought. There is something most pleasing about masculine strength when tamed by a woman’s gentle touch. I must try for a verse on the subject. The pine and the wisteria? A rocky promontory jutting into a softly lapping sea? A hawk, diving for a dove?

  But I digress.

  The father was the usual type. He addressed me rudely, demanding to see his daughter. Demanding! It made me angry to see such country scum behave as if they owned us all. I countered his bad manners by becoming very ladylike and reminding him that his daughter came here only by His Majesty’s excessively generous invitation.

  Then the idea came to me in a flash, a moment of true enlightenment. I added that by now she had outstayed her welcome -- a crooked branch in His Majesty’s flower garden.

  It was only a little lie, really. The girl would have been sent home sooner or later. Making her leave now will spare His Majesty embarrassment.

  I saw that my small stratagem was working when the father’s face filled with shame and righteous anger at his offspring.

  So I sent her in, certain that her mortified relatives would instantly pack her up and remove her to whatever rough hovel they inhabit in their wilderness. Once she was back in her rustic dwelling, His Majesty would hardly send for her again. No doubt he has already awakened from that “brief dream.”

  I planned to inform him that she had begged most urgently to visit her ailing mother. Women her mother’s age are always ailing with something. As His Majesty is a most understanding man and respects proper filial behavior, he would leave well enough alone, I thought.

  But alas, they did not take her. She came back and crept into her corner like a beaten dog.

  A Daughter’s Duty

  When Lady Sanj
o informed Toshiko of her visitors, she was so happy that she forgot the woman hated her. She mistook the satisfied smirk for kindness, the glittering eyes for empathy, the rapid steps for eagerness to see Toshiko’s pleasure.

  All she could think of was that her father and brother had come. As yet she dared not hope they that had come to take her home with them. No, that would be a joy too great to bear. But they had come to see her. It was enough. In her grief and homesickness, she had grown afraid that she would never see them again, that in time she would even come to forget what they looked like and the sound of their voices. She had felt abandoned and as if she were dead to them. Now life stirred again in her veins.

  As she hurried after Lady Sanjo to the distant room where visitors were taken, she thought of the letter to her mother. She had broken a rule that one time only, because of her great fear that her mother was ill and dying. That nightmare had been so dreadful that she had moaned in her sleep. When Lady Shojo-ben touched her shoulder, she had woken drenched in perspiration and with tears running down her face.