Dream of a Spring Night (Hollow Reed series) (13 page)

The Emperor cleared his throat.
 
He knew he was being flattered.
 
With his nephew in line for the throne, Kiyomori engaged in a little pandering.
 
No doubt, he thought that a new affair would preoccupy him and leave Kiyomori a free hand to arrange the government as he wished.

But winter was coming, and he felt old.
 
His mind drifted to the Oba girl.
 
She was fourteen, at the beginning of life.
 

“I am tired,” he said and dismissed Kiyomori.

At first, Toshiko’s shame and grief knew no bounds.
 
She wept all night, silently so that the others would not hear, and at daybreak, she did not emerge from under her covers until they had gone about their own business.
 

By then, she had had time to come to terms with her ruined life and stiffened her resolution.
 
All might be lost, but no Oba surrendered meekly.
 
She knew now that she was surrounded and outnumbered by her enemies.
 
Children of warriors, both male and female, were raised to fight to the death, and if the battle was lost and death did not come to them, they knew how to end their lives rather than live in shame.

Toshiko had thought of using the sharp dagger that rested, wrapped in a fine piece of figured silk, among her possessions in her trunk.
 
It had been her father’s gift to her when she was born and had marked his acceptance of her as his daughter.
 
Her brothers had received swords, but she and her sister got daggers.
 
She knew its purpose.
 
Both her father and her mother had explained it and shown her the place on her neck where the sharp point of the dagger must enter with a quick push.
 
They had explained the need for force and speed and warned against hesitation or half-hearted attempts, for these only prolonged the pain and revealed her cowardice.
 
Toshiko was not afraid, but toward morning she decided that the battle had barely begun and she had lost only the first skirmish.
 
To be sure, her defeat had been shameful because she had exposed her nakedness to a man, and that man the emperor, but with courage she might still regain some honor, and that would be better than to die now.
 
She had this small hope because the nun had been kind to her and had praised her song.
 

So she rose, determined not to let her enemies see her beaten.
 
A sort of sacred fervor seized her.
 
Gone was the Toshiko who played with kittens and even the one who yearned hotly for the touch of the man she loved.
 
All that was over.
 
Indeed, her love had been doomed before it had begun.
 
Her father’s words and her mother’s letter had made that very clear.

She also accepted that she was no longer the carefree girl who rode with her brothers along the river, though she would always owe obedience to her family.
 
She was an Oba, and no Oba was afraid to face what life demanded of her.

As she dressed, she swore to herself that she would never be caught off guard again.
 
A woman’s preparations were not unlike those of a warrior going into battle, though her “armor” was altogether more insubstantial:
 
gauzy silks in many layers, paints for the face, scented oils for her hair, and a cloud of incense to surround her.
 
In her silver mirror, she saw that her face was blotchy and swollen from crying and applied the white paste thickly.
 
Her eyes, she outlined in kohl and she brushed in the moth eyebrows above her real ones.
 
Then she painted small crimson lips over her own.
 
When she was done, the false face hid the real one as well as any visor.
 
She brushed her tangled hair, working in the oils to straighten the kinks left behind from lying on it while it was still moist, making it
shine
with a bluish, metallic gloss.
 
Finally, she dressed in one of her most flattering costumes, layering the colored gauzes carefully, tying a sash firmly around her small waist, and covering all with a finely embroidered jacket.
 
The colors were bright and cheerful, as if she were celebrating a special day.

The others glanced her way and whispered but they did not speak to her.
 
She was glad.
 
She was no longer of them.
 
She was Oba no Toshiko who fought her own battles.
 

Only Shojo-ben approached her a little later when they were served their morning rice.

“May I join you?” she asked a little shyly, bringing her tray with her.
 

This was not Shojo-ben’s usual manner.
 
They had become good friends and normally chatted easily.
 
But all was different now, and the new Toshiko welcomed the distance.

“Of course,” she said, moving aside politely to make room for Shojo-ben’s full skirts.

Shojo-ben knelt daintily and took a little sip from her bowl.
 
She did not seem to know how to start.
 
Finally she said, “Lady Sanjo told us that His Majesty sent for you to ask about songs.”

“Yes.
 
I know some imayo.”
 

Shojo-ben leaned forward to peer at Toshiko’s face.
 
“Is that what you have been humming?”

“Yes.”
 
Toshiko volunteered nothing.

Shojo-ben sighed and ate a little more.
 
Then she said sadly, “I envy you.
 
I wish I had a talent that might please Him.”

These artless words undid Toshiko’s resistance.
 
She put down her food.
 
“Oh, Shojo-ben,” she said, “you are very charming and much more elegant than I am.
 
Surely He takes notice of you.”

But Shojo-ben shook her head.
 
“You are the only one He has sent for in years.
 
Except, of course, Lady Sanjo, and her only because she makes her reports.”
 
She giggled behind her hand.
 
“She tries harder than any of us.
 
I have never been near him.
 
Sometimes at night I wonder what it would be like.”
 
She covered her face, and cried, “Oh, please forget I said that.”

Toshiko had also lain awake dreaming at night, but not of the emperor.
  
She said firmly, “It wasn’t like that, Shojo-ben.
 
There was an old nun there.
 
They talked about imayo and shirabyoshi.”

Shojo-ben brightened a little.
 
“He is so handsome,” she murmured, adding wistfully, “and you are so pretty.
 
He will soon send for you again and then you will be alone together.”

Toshiko felt the blush under her stiff make-up.
 
She said quickly, “His Majesty is nearly as old as my father.”

Her friend choked on some gruel and started coughing.
 
When Toshiko looked up, she saw that several of the others were watching them avidly.
 
The thought struck her that they had sent Shojo-ben to question her.
 
This suspicion stiffened her resolve.
 
She raised her chin defiantly and said, “Well, perhaps not quite so old . . . and perhaps . . .
”
 
She
let her voice trail off.

Shojo-ben dabbed at her lips.
 
“What does age matter?
 
Of course He will like you,” she said enviously.
 
“How could He not?”

Toshiko smiled and got up to take back her tray.
 
“We shall see,” she said lightly.

At this point, Lady Sanjo arrived for her morning inspection.
 
She stared hard at Toshiko’s elaborate costume and asked in an acerbic tone, “Do you consider those colors suitable?”

Toshiko bowed.
 
“I think so, Lady Sanjo.
 
I believe His Majesty is fond of this shade.”

Lady Sanjo flushed and moved on to someone else.
 
But later, when Toshiko was reading quietly in her corner, she returned and sat down beside her.
 
“What happened last night after I left?” she asked bluntly.

Toshiko gave her a startled look,
then
lowered her head.
 
“I had rather not say.”

“Nonsense,” Lady Sanjo said firmly.
 
“I am in charge of His Majesty’s ladies.
 
They have no secrets from me.”

Toshiko remained silent.

Lady Sanjo cleared her throat and tried again in a softer voice.
 
“My dear girl,” she said, “please
realize
that I am your friend.
 
Put your trust in me. I stand in your own dear mother’s place now.
 
Surely you would wish to discuss certain matters with your mother.”

Still Toshiko did not speak.

“A young woman at court encounters many difficulties,” Lady Sanjo said after a moment.
 
“You saw what happened last night.
 
If you had confided in me that His Majesty wished you to sing for him, I could so easily have spared you that shameful exposure.”

Toshiko bowed her head a little more and thought of the deceitful ways of fox spirits who tempted humans only to devour them later.

Lady Sanjo sighed.
 
“Well, no harm was done, I think.
 
In fact, His Majesty seemed to enjoy your song.
 
Am I right?”

Toshiko murmured, “His Majesty was very kind.”

Lady Sanjo’s eyes widened a little.
 
She studied the slight figure before her.
 
“He is a very kind man.
 
What exactly did He say . . . or do?”

“I . . . don’t remember much.”

“I am sure you were quite overwhelmed by the honor.
 
His Majesty’s visitor left, I assume?”

Something that the nun had said suddenly came back to Toshiko, and she looked up into the avid eyes.
 
“Her name is Otomae.
 
She told me that His Majesty particularly likes imayo and that I dance very well.
 
She said many years ago she herself used to dance for His Majesty but that she is too old now.”
 

Lady Sanjo was not interested in the old nun.
 
She smiled a little and nodded.
 
“And then?” she asked.
 
“She left you alone with Him?”

Toshiko knew what the woman wanted to hear.
 
She dropped her eyes.
 
“His Majesty honored me greatly,” she whispered so softly that Lady Sanjo had to ask her to repeat it.

“His Majesty honored me greatly,” said Toshiko a little louder, and not entirely truthfully.

Lady Sanjo gave a gasp.
 
“You mean . . .?”
 
She stopped and tried again, “My dear Toshiko, I wish to be of assistance in every way.
 
Only ask, I pray.”

“Thank you, Lady Sanjo.
 
You are very good, but I have no questions.”

“Surely if a very young woman, and you are barely past your childhood, were to receive the attentions, I mean the very particular attentions, of His Majesty, she might find the experience overwhelming at first.
 
I think you may have found last night confusing.
 
As a married woman, I can help you understand and guide you so that you will prove worthy of the distinction.
 
Do you understand?”

Turning her face away, her embarrassment now quite real, Toshiko nodded her head.
 
Lady Sanjo moved closer and put an arm around her shoulders.
 
“Come, my dear,” she said, “was it so very frightening?
 
Did His Majesty hurt you?”

Toshiko turned her head and looked at Lady Sanjo in surprise.
 
“Oh, no, Lady Sanjo.
 
His Majesty was very gentle.”
 

They were so close now that she could see the hot color under Lady Sanjo’s make-up.
 
The other woman moistened her lips.
 
“He was?” she asked, looking at her hungrily.

Toshiko nodded.

“I’m glad,” Lady Sanjo gasped -- her breathing was becoming quite rapid.
 
“In the case of His Majesty you may feel awkward speaking of such things but . . .
”
 
She
faltered and looked almost faint.

“Are you ill, Lady Sanjo?” Toshiko asked solicitously.
 
“Please do not upset yourself so.
 
You are very kind, but my mother has explained.
 
And as you say, it is not proper to speak of such things.”