Shike, Robert J. Shea [ebook reader that looks like a book TXT] 📗

rigid, weeping unashamedly. If only he and I could have had such a son, she thought. In a way, this is our son. Jebu rescued him from death and gave him to me.

Sametono made a little speech thanking his mother for the gift of Higekiri and expressing his hope that he would be worthy of the long line of ancestors who had worn it. “But the time will soon come for both the honoured Higekiri and the noble Kogarasu to be retired among our national treasures. The holy monk Eisen, with us today, is collecting subscriptions for the rebuilding of the Todaiji, the great Buddhist temple at Nara which was tragically burnt to the ground during the War of the Dragons.”

Sametono did not mention that it was his great-grandfather, Takashi no Sogamori, who had caused the burning of the temple. Listening to Sametono but unable to take her eyes off Jebu, Taniko noticed that he was now looking at the boy with an ironic smile. She wondered what special meaning the Todaiji had for Jebu.

Sametono continued, “I propose, after we have been victorious in this war, to donate both swords to Eisen Roshi, to be kept among the most precious objects in the Todaiji. I take this occasion to humbly ask that the monks of the Todaiji, as well as all other people of high and low rank, pray unceasingly to the Buddha, the saints and all the gods and goddesses for victory.”

Again there were loud cries of approval from the warriors and officials gathered in the hall. Taniko looked at Jebu and saw that he was weeping again. He did not bother to wipe his eyes with his sleeves, as most people did, but let his tears flow openly down his hard brown cheeks and into his white beard. If he cares that much for Sametono, she thought, can he not find a place in his heart for Sametono’s grandmother?

Now the guests rose and formed a line to present themselves to the Regent and the Shogun. Taniko could have left the hall, but she stayed behind the screen, watching Jebu, who towered over all others in the room, patiently waiting his turn.

Finally Jebu knelt and prostrated himself to Munetoki, identifying himself. “Welcome,” Munetoki rumbled. “I have heard much about you, shik��, from my honoured cousin, the AmaShogun.” Taniko watched Jebu eagerly for a reaction to Munetoki’s mentioning her. The white-bearded face remained mask-like.

“Shik�� Jebu!” Sametono exclaimed before Jebu could kneel to him. The boy Shogun stood up and, in spite of .his eight layers of robes bounded down the steps to throw his arms around Jebu’s waist. There were gasps of astonishment from all over the hall at this unseemly behaviour. Taniko noticed that Eisen, who stood near by, beamed approvingly.

Munetoki, as Regent, stood in place of father to Sametono. “You must return to your place at once, Your Highness,” he said in a reproachful voice.

“I am Supreme Commander of the samurai,” said Sametono. “I do as seems best to me, not as ceremony dictates. Cousin Munetoki, this good Zinja monk saved me from being murdered years ago. I told him I would never forget it, and I won’t. Come up, Shik�� Jebu, sit on the dais near me.” There was wonder and a little anger among the other guests at a Zinja monk’s receiving this unusual honour. There was even more murmuring when Sametono added, “You, too, Uncle Moko.” Only a few people knew that Moko was a close friend of Taniko and that Sametono had known him very well for years. Jebu and Moko seated themselves a little uncomfortably on the dais below Sametono. The boy now conducted a disjointed conversation with them while greeting other guests. This Zen spontaneity that Eisen encourages in his students could go too far, Taniko thought, but she recalled how Kublai Khan did whatever he wanted, without fear of censure. If a leader couldn’t make his own rules, how could he truly lead?

“Not only do I owe you my life, shik��,” said Sametono, “I owe both these swords to you.”

A cloud passed over Jebu’s face. “I should ask your forgiveness, Your Highness, considering how I came by the swords.”

“My honoured mother told me about the death of Takashi no Atsue, Master Jebu. I know very well that war makes enemies of people who should be friends.”

“Your mother is most kind,” said Jebu, glancing over to the screen where Taniko sat, sending her heart whirling upwards like an autumn leaf caught in the wind.

Sametono said, “It’s true that the blood of three great Takashi gentlemen flows in my veins, but in my own humble person I represent the union of the contending clans, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Bosh,” said Eisen, a twinkle in his eye, having come up to the Shogun. “Sametono is Sametono. Takashi and Muratomo are names and nothing more.”

Sametono laughed, a clear, metallic sound. “No matter how high I climb on the ladder of Truth, Eisen-sensei is always above me.”

“Look up at my rump,” said Eisen, “and you’ll see the face of the Buddha.” He turned casually to Jebu, ignoring the shocked stares of Munetoki and Moko and said, “We meet again, Monk Jebu.”

“My father recommended that I see you, sensei,” said Jebu.

“How is the aged, honoured Taitaro?”

“Dead,” said Jebu flatly.

Eisen smiled. “The tide rises, the tide falls. We must talk when there is more time, Monk Jebu.” He patted Jebu’s hand, bowed to Sametono and turned away.

“There’s something I’ve always wanted to ask a Zinja monk,” said Sametono. “I’ve heard that you Zinja monks can kill at a distance just by pointing a finger at an enemy or shouting at him. Can you really do that? Could you teach it to me?”

“Those are old stories that go all the way back to the martial arts schools of China, Your Highness,” said Jebu with a smile. “We Zinja train very hard, but we can’t kill by magic.”

But he looked at Hideyori, Taniko thought, and Hideyori fell off his horse and died. Sitting behind her screen, watching Jebu in conversation with Sametono, Taniko felt a surge of hope. Jebu was his old self, kindly and intelligent. The day before, when he had entered the Shogun’s castle for the first time after Yukio’s death, he must have felt he was putting himself in the hands of his enemies. Now he knew that all here were his friends, anxious to have his help. Perhaps, next, he would relax a little towards Taniko herself.

So, let us try again, she thought. She would invite him to have ch’ai with her in her chambers tonight. One more conversation might not rekindle the love he had once felt for her, but at least it could put an end to hate, and that would be a beginning. With her invitation there must, of course, be a poem. As she stared longingly at Jebu she began to compose one in her mind:

Lonely waterfowl

Lilac branch bare of blossom, Together again.

He came to her chambers just before midnight, escorted by a giggling maidservant. As she looked into his face her heart sank. Even though there was now no screen between them, his eyes were as cold and hard as they had been this morning. After he had stared at her for a moment his eyes fell, and he sat there as if alone. The silence seemed to stretch on endlessly. She watched him hungrily, thinking that if he would not talk to her at least he could not prevent her from enjoying the sight of him.

But at last she could stand the silence and the yearning no longer. “Jebu. Why did you come to Kamakura if you hate me so much?”

The grey eyes were watchful, unsympathetic. “I do not wish to hate any person. It is not the Zinja way. I came to Kamakura because to refuse to help in this war would be a betrayal of all Yukio fought for.”

She did not know how to answer this. A silence fell again, which she filled by preparing ch’ai. As she handed his cup to him, she noticed with anger at herself that her hand was trembling. She saw him looking at her hand as he took the cup from her with polite thanks. He leaned back on the elbow rest beside him and drank.

Although he seemed perfectly at ease, the intimacy of the chamber, which she had hoped would draw them together, was making her oddly uncomfortable, as if she had disrobed to seduce him. She looked at the verse Sametono had inscribed on green paper years ago, which now hung on a scroll above her private altar: “Though we speak of goodness, the Tathagata declares that there is no goodness. Such is merely a name.”

What would Jebu make of that if he noticed it? Probably that she was a wicked person who did not believe in goodness, which was apparently what he thought of her already. More than anything else in the world she wanted him to love and respect her. And here he was, so close, but he despised her. The need for him was unbearably insistent; for it to be thwarted was intolerably painful. If only he would talk about the reasons for his hatred of her, instead of sitting there in that dreadful self-contained silence.

“You think what I did was a betrayal of Yukio, don’t you?” she said at last.

He glared at her. “Must we speak of this? I’m here. I’ve agreed to help. Let the rest of it alone. Don’t write me any more poems.”

How could he be so cruel? “I can’t help it. I love you.” She was close to tears.

He stood up instantly. “This conversation must end now. To continue will only cause great pain for both of us, perhaps make it impossible for me to serve you.”

She held out her hand. “Wait. At least let me hear from your own lips what it is you hold against me. Give me a chance to defend myself.”

He sat down again. “Very well. If nothing else, perhaps hearing it will convince you to leave me alone. I will tell you what you have done to me, and you will send me to Kyushu, where we will never have to see each other, and you will never again be so foolish as to mention love to me. Love? Apparently you were able to forget that love for ten years.”

He paused as if collecting his thoughts and took a deep breath. Then he began to speak in a hollow voice, as if he were describing ancient history. He began with their parting, which had happened at her insistence. He reviewed everything that had happened since then, as he saw it. Einally he said, “What you really love is rank and power. When you saw a chance to get them, you forgot about Yukio and me. You did nothing to help us. When Hideyori began to draw his net about Yukio there was no help, no word of friendship, no warning from you. There was only the news that whenever Hideyori appeared in public, you were always at his side. Out of blind ambition you married the man who murdered Yukio and tried to murder me. Can you see now why it is painful for me to be near you? I ask you respectfully, if you want my help, to send me somewhere far away from you.”

By the time he had finished speaking, sobs racked her. Her tears were as much for him and what he had endured as for herself. But she was also astounded at how different his view of events was from hers.

He seemed to have the notion she could have left Hideyori any time she wanted to.

“You have no conception of what a