The Harsh Cry of the Heron (70 page)

‘His speech came back
in the end,’ Chiyo murmured. ‘Shock took it away, and shock brought it back.’

Some time later, Dr
Ishida came to talk to Chiyo about brewing a special tea to help Kaede sleep.

‘Doctor, look who is
here,’ Haruka said, indicating Miki, who was still huddled in one corner of the
kitchen, pale and shivering.

‘Yes, I saw her
earlier,’ Ishida replied distractedly. ‘Don’t let her near her mother. Lady
Otori is overcome by grief. Any further stress could push her into madness. You
will see your mother when she is better,’ he told Miki somewhat sternly. ‘In
the meantime you must not be a nuisance to anyone. You can give her some of the
same tea, Haruka; it will calm her down.’

Miki was confined to
a solitary store room for the next few days. She heard the sounds of the
household around her as her Kikuta hearing increased in intensity. She heard
Sunaomi and Chikara whisper to each other, subdued yet somehow excited by the
death of their little cousin. She heard the terrible conversation between her mother
and Hana, and longed to run to them and intervene, yet she did not dare open
her mouth. She heard Dr Ishida remonstrate with her mother in vain, and then
tell Haruka that he would go himself to Inuyama to meet her father.

Take me with you, she
wanted to call out to him, but he was impatient to be on his way, wrapped up in
many concerns, for Kaede, for his own wife Shizuka, for Takeo. He did not want
to be saddled with a child, dumb and unwell.

She had plenty of
time in the long hours of silence and solitude to go over, in remorse, the
journey with Yuki and the revenge the ghost woman had exacted on her mother.
She felt she had known all along what Yuki’s purpose was, and that she should
have prevented it. Now everything was lost to her: her sister, her mother - and
she dreamed every night of her father and feared she would never see him again.

Two days after Ishida
left, Miki heard the sound of men and horses in the street. Her mother, Hana
and the boys were leaving.

Haruka and Chiyo had
a brief, fierce argument about her, Haruka saying Miki should see her mother
before she left, Chiyo replying that Kaede’s mood was very fragile; there was
no telling how she would react.

‘This is her
daughter!’ Haruka said in exasperation.

‘What is a daughter
to her? She has lost her son; she is on the verge of madness,’ Chiyo replied.

Miki stole into the
kitchen and Haruka took her hand. ‘We will watch your mother’s departure,’ she
whispered. ‘But stay out of sight.’

The streets were full
of people, milling in vague alarm. Miki’s sharp ears caught fragments of what
they were saying. Lady Otori was leaving the city with Lady Arai. Lord Otori
had been killed in the East. No, not killed but defeated in battle. He was to
be exiled, his daughter with him . . .

Miki watched as her
mother and Hana came from the house and mounted the horses that were waiting
outside the gates. Sunaomi and Chikara were lifted onto their ponies. Men
bearing the emblems of Shirakawa and Arai closed around them. As the group rode
away, Miki tried to catch her mother’s eye, but Kaede stared straight ahead,
unseeing. She spoke once, giving some prearranged order. Ten or more foot
soldiers ran into the garden; some had blazing torches, others armfuls of straw
and dried kindling. With swift efficiency they set fire to the house.

Chiyo ran out to try
and stop them, beating at them with feeble fists. They pushed her roughly away;
she threw herself on the veranda, wrapping her arms around one of the posts,
crying, ‘It is Lord Shigeru’s house. He will never forgive you.’

They did not bother
to try to remove her, but simply piled the straw around her. Haruka was
screaming beside her. Miki stared in horror, the smoke bringing tears to her
eyes as the nightingale floor sang for the last time, the red and gold carp
boiled to death in the pools, the art treasures and the household records
melted and shrivelled. The house that had survived earthquake, flood and war
burned to the ground, along with Chiyo, who refused to leave it.

Kaede rode to the
castle without looking back. The crowd swept after her, carrying Haruka and
Miki with them. Here Hana’s men were waiting, armed and also carrying straw and
torches. The captain of the guard, Endo Teruo, whose father had surrendered the
castle to Takeo and had been killed on the stone bridge by Arai Daiichi’s men,
came to the gate.

‘Lady Otori,’ he
said. ‘What’s happening? I beg you to listen to me. Come inside. Let us reason.’

‘I am no longer Lady
Otori,’ she replied. ‘I am Shirakawa Kaede. I am of the Seishuu and I am returning
to my clan. But before I go I command you to surrender the castle to these men.’

‘I don’t know what
has happened to you,’ he replied. ‘But I will die before I surrender Hagi
castle while Lord Otori is away.’

He drew his sword.
Kaede looked at him with scorn. ‘I know how few men you have left,’ she said. ‘Only
the old and the very young remain. And I curse you, the city of Hagi and the
entire Otori clan.’

‘Lady Arai,’ Endo
called to Hana. ‘I brought your husband up in my household with my own sons. Do
not allow your men to commit this crime!’

‘Kill him,’ Hana
said, and her men surged forward. Endo wore no armour, and the guards were
unprepared. Kaede was right: they were mostly boys. Their sudden deaths
horrified the crowd; people began to throw stones at the Arai soldiers and were
beaten back with drawn swords and spears. Kaede and Hana turned their horses
and galloped away with their escort while the remaining men set fire to the
castle.

There was some random
fighting in the street as the Arai men escaped, and a half-hearted attempt to
put out or contain the blaze with buckets of water, but a stiff breeze had
sprung up; sparks blew onto roofs as dry as tinder and the fire soon took hold
inexorably. The townspeople gathered in the street, on the beach and along the
riverbank, silent in shock, unable to comprehend what had happened, how
disaster had struck in the heart of Hagi, sensing that some harmony had been
lost and that peace was at an end.

Haruka and Miki spent
the night on the riverbank with thousands of others, and the next day joined
the streams of people fleeing from the burning city. They crossed the stone
bridge, walking slowly so Miki had plenty of time to read the inscription on
the stonemason’s grave.

The Otori clan
welcomes the just and the loyal. Let the unjust and disloyal beware.

It was the ninth day
of the seventh month.

‘Let me go with Lord
Otori,’ Minoru begged as Takeo prepared to leave for Yamagata. ‘I would prefer
you to stay here,’ Takeo replied. ‘The families of the dead must be informed,
and provisions arranged for the next long march: Kahei must take our main army
back towards the West. And besides I have a special task for you,’ he added,
aware of the young man’s disappointment.

‘Certainly, Lord
Otori,’ the scribe said, forcing a smile. ‘I have one request, though. Kuroda
Junpei has been awaiting your return. Will you allow him to accompany you? I
promised I would ask you.’

‘Jun and Shin are
still here?’ Takeo asked in surprise. ‘I had expected them to return to the
West.’

‘It seems the Tribe
are not altogether happy about Zenko,’ Minoru murmured. ‘You will find many of
them still loyal to you, I suspect.’

Is it a risk I can
take? Takeo wondered, and realized that he cared little about the answer. He
was half numb with grief and exhaustion, anxiety and pain. Many times in the
hours since Ishida had brought the terrible news he felt he was hallucinating,
and Minoru’s next words added to his sense of unreality.

‘It is only Jun; Shin
is in Hofu.’

‘They have fallen
out? I would not have thought it possible.’

‘No, they decided one
should go and one should stay. They drew lots. Shin went to Hofu to protect
Muto Shizuka; Jun stayed here to protect you.’

‘I see.’ Ishida had
told Takeo briefly about Shizuka: how rumours spread that she had lost her mind
after her son’s death and sat in the courtyard of the temple of Daifukuji,
sustained by Heaven. The idea of the stolid, silent Shin watching over her
moved him.

‘Then Jun may ride
with me,’ he said. ‘Now, Minoru -I depend on you to present a faithful record
of our journey to Miyako, Lord Saga’s promises, the provocation that led to the
battle, our victory. My daughter, Lady Maruyama, will be here soon. I charge
you to serve her as faithfully as you have served me. I am going to dictate my
will to you. I don’t know what lies ahead of me but I expect the worst: it will
be either death or exile. I am relinquishing all power and authority over the
Three Countries to my daughter. I will tell you who she is to marry and what
the conditions must be.’

The document was
swiftly dictated and written. When it was finished and Takeo had affixed his
seal he said, ‘You must put it into Lady Shigeko’s hands. You may tell her I am
sorry. I wish things could have been otherwise but I am entrusting the Three Countries
to her.’

Minoru had rarely
showed his emotions in all his years with Takeo. He had faced the splendour of
the Emperor’s court and the savagery of battle with the same apparent
indifference. Now his face was contorted as he struggled to hold back tears.

‘Tell Lord Gemba I am
ready to leave,’ Takeo said. ‘Farewell.’

The rains had come
late and were not as heavy as usual; a brief storm occurred each afternoon and
often the sky was overcast, but the road was not flooded, and Takeo gave thanks
now for the years of careful development of the highways of the Three Countries
and the speed with which he was able to travel. Though, he reflected, the same
roads were open to Zenko and his army, and he wondered how far they had
advanced from the southwest.

On the evening of the
third day, they crossed the pass at Kushimoto and stopped to eat and rest
briefly at the inn at the head of the valley. It was barely a day’s ride from
Yamagata. The inn was full of travellers; the local landowner learned of Takeo’s
arrival and came rushing to greet him, and while he ate, this man, Yamada, and
the innkeeper told him what news they had heard.

Zenko was reported to
be at Kibi, just across the river.

‘He has at least ten
thousand men,’ Yamada said gloomily. ‘Many of them have firearms.’

‘Is there any news
from Terada?’ Takeo asked, hoping the ships might launch a counter-attack on
Zenko’s castle town, Kumamoto, and force him to withdraw.

‘It’s said that Zenko
has been given ships by the barbarians,’ the innkeeper reported, ‘and they are
protecting the port and the coastline.’

Takeo was thinking of
his exhausted army, still ten days’ march away.

‘Lady Miyoshi is
preparing Yamagata for a siege,’ Yamada said. ‘I have already sent two hundred
men there, but it leaves no one here; the harvest is nearly due, and most of
the Yamagata warriors are in the East with Lord Kahei. The city will be
defended by farmers, children and women.’

‘But now Lord Otori
is here,’ the innkeeper said, trying to raise everyone’s spirits. ‘The Middle
Country is safe while he is with us!’

Takeo thanked him
with a smile that hid his growing sense of despair. Exhaustion brought a few
hours’ sleep; then he waited restless and impatient until dawn. It was the
beginning of the month, too dark to ride at night with no moon.

They were barely on
the road, a little after daybreak, going at the fast lope that was easiest on
the horses, when hoofbeats sounded in the distance. It was grey and still, the
mountain slopes sporting their great banners of mist. Two horsemen were
approaching at a gallop from the direction of Yamagata. He recognized one of
them as Kahei’s youngest son, a boy of about thirteen years old; the other was
an old retainer of the Miyoshi clan.

‘Kintomo! What news?’

‘Lord Otori!’ the boy
gasped. His face was white with shock, and his eyes bewildered under the
helmet. Both helmet and armour looked too large for him, for he was yet to fill
out to his adult stature. ‘Your wife, Lady Otori... ‘

‘Go on,’ Takeo
ordered as the boy faltered.

‘She came to the city
two days ago, has taken command of it, and intends to surrender it to Zenko. He
is marching from Kibi now.’

Kintomo’s gaze turned
to Gemba and he said in relief, ‘My uncle is here!’ Only then did the tears
spring to his eyes.

‘What about your
mother?’ Gemba said.

‘She tried to resist
with such men as we have. When it became hopeless, she told me to leave while I
could, to tell my father and my brothers. I believe she will take her own life,
and my sisters’.’

Takeo turned his
horse away slightly, unable to hide his shock and confusion. Kahei’s wife and
daughters dead, while their husband and father had been fighting to defend the
Three Countries? Yamagata, the jewel of the Middle Countries, about to be
handed to Zenko by Kaede?

Gemba drew up
alongside him and waited for Takeo to speak.