For a time, I believed I had evaded Morofusa and walked the city alone, but when I paused to watch a rising moon from Shijo Bridge, the Minamoto bushi very casually walked up to stand beside me.
I sighed. “Have you been there all along?”
“Mostly,” he confirmed. “But Master Kenji had told me where I might find you, which made tracking you much easier. Now then, Lord Yamada, must we have this conversation again?”
“No, Morofusa-san. I owe you an apology, I know. It was foolish of me, and I know that, too.”
“And yet you still did it,” he said, “so now I find myself wondering why.”
I was afraid he was going to ask me that. I didn’t have a good answer for him, and said as much. He seemed to consider.
“When I do something, usually I know why I do it,” he said. “Either an order, or duty, or sometimes my own best interests. Even a mere whim, now and again. The idea one could do such things and not know why seems strange to me.”
“An opinion we share, Morofusa-san.”
“With your permission, Yamada-sama, I would like to suggest, if not a reason, perhaps an explanation. You need neither agree nor contradict. I merely offer it for what little it may be worth.”
“I would like to hear it,” I said, though a flash of fear made me wonder if what I had just said was true.
“I think, on some level, you do know the reason but cannot bear to admit it. So, perhaps, by placing yourself in physical danger, you are protecting something that is not physical, but can still be harmed?”
I took a long breath. “It is an interesting idea, Morofusa-san. I will consider it.”
He bowed. “I would appreciate this. I might not find you next time, which would not be good for either of us. Shall we return?”
“Not just yet,” I said. “The moon has finished waning and is new again. The sight of it makes me happy.”
It was only a little lie. I did enjoy the view from this bridge, and I always had. But I was not happy, not there. Perhaps especially not there.
“Then, if you do not mind, I will guard your back while you do so. This will make me happy.”
I stood there a while longer. I’m not sure how long. It was a pleasant enough night, cool as one would expect this time of year, but not yet holding the edge of winter. That would happen soon enough, but for now it was pleasant to stand on this bridge, viewing a sliver of a moon, remembering some of the times I had done this very thing. On the first night I had met Teiko’s brother, Prince Kanemore. And another night, when he had brought her letter for me to read, the one she had written just before she had taken her own life to plant the seed that, perhaps now, I would finally see bear fruit. On that day my service to a memory would finally be over, and perhaps I would have reason to contemplate what the rest of my life could or should be.
It’s a foolish thought.
Morofusa had the right of it. I knew why I was there on a lonely bridge staring at the moon. I had come to Kyoto to complete a task, and the part of it all I did not want to admit to myself was I did not think this task would ever be done. I would likely be serving a memory and chasing ghosts for the rest of my life. My time with my son and daughter was perhaps as close as I ever would come to having something resembling contentment, but I could feel even this slipping away from me now. I never really believed the Kamakura fief and the revival of the Yamada Clan had changed anything, and every event since I had left Kamakura had proven it. If Princess Shigeko’s troubled spirit was now at peace and Lord Yorinobu had sided with the emperor’s faction as a result of my efforts, all well and good, but if his clan still found it necessary to remove Teiko’s son from the throne, they would look for and find another way.
It would never be over.
The sooner I accepted my fate, the better. This was my life and likely always would be. Still, as I gazed at the moon my thoughts drifted back to Princess Tagako, a place they surely did not belong and never could.
“Morofusa-san, I am ready. Let’s go home.”
A week passed, and still Prince Kanemore had not returned. I was beginning to find his absence personally annoying, since I knew there were questions he could answer, and the plot against Princess Tagako might have been the least of them.
“I’ve said this before, but it was not a coincidence Prince Kanemore arranged that extra detachment of bushi for her escort. He knew something.”
Kenji frowned. “Lord Yamada, with all due respect, perhaps you are overthinking this. Tagako herself said Prince Kanemore was an old friend. Why would he not want to show her a token of respect, now that she was to return to the Capital? You must admit, that is the sort of thing he might do.”
“Also true. Yet I still find it hard to believe the prince would leave the Capital at such a critical juncture in the emperor’s reign.”
Kenji wasn’t finished. “Yes, but his sister’s son is now emperor. Whether this continues depends on karma. As for Kanemore, he’s said all along his one goal, other than seeing his nephew Prince Takahito take the throne was to renounce his title and found a new clan. Now that the first is accomplished, perhaps the second is in motion? Such a process would surely remove him from the Capital for an extended period.”
Everything Kenji said was certainly possible, even sensible, but I also did not believe it to be true.
“If such were the case, I would be pleased for my friend. I hope one day it will be true, but I do not believe that day has come. If the threat which summoned us to the Capital in the first place still exists, there is simply no way he would abandon his obligation to his nephew until it was settled.”
Kenji’s exasperation with me was obvious. “Kanemore himself said his absence was at the emperor’s command. The reasonable conclusion is he is on the emperor’s business, something more important than his presence in the Capital.”
“Very reasonable,” I said.
“You do not believe it, do you?”
“No.”
“Fine. Let us consider your view—Prince Kanemore is indeed in the Capital, has never left, is deliberately lying to you and avoiding you, and is keeping you dangerously uninformed about crucial subjects. Why on earth would your friend of many years do such a thing?”
Stated so baldly as Kenji had just done, the possibility seemed even more unlikely.
“I have no idea,” I said.
“Which is another way of saying the idea is nonsense,” Kenji said.
Kenji’s words spurred a different line of thought. “Another thing makes no sense—if Prince Kanemore suspected a conspiracy to compromise Sadahito’s mother and thus remove him as crown prince—as related by Lady Kuzunoha—why would he not inform me of any details of his suspicions? It is not as if I have freedom of movement within the imperial compound. Without his assistance, I have none at all. As things stand, we don’t even know where to start looking for the structure of such a plot. So there are two aspects of this situation which make no sense, and yet we know one of them is true.”
“I assume you are referring to Kanemore’s message via Lady Kuzunoha?”
“His letter to me when we arrived in the Capital confirms she was his messenger, and I have no reason to doubt the message itself. So if one thing that makes no sense is true, what conclusion can we draw about the other?”
“None,” Kenji said, “without more information, which at the moment we likely have no way of getting. So here we are in the Capital, as yet unable to leave because the reason we’re here in the first place still remains—and will until Prince Kanemore either releases us or gives us some direction.”
“Which, it would seem, he is either unwilling or unable to do,” I said. “I have said that there are two aspects of this situation which do not make sense. I must reluctantly amend my conclusion—none of this makes any sense, the threat to Princess Tagako included. Sometimes I think we move among wheels within wheels, only a handsbreadth from being crushed at any moment, and no clear idea at all of what is happening.”
“Again, I believe you are overthinking this,” Kenji said. “But even if you are right, for the moment there is little we can do about it. The situation with Lord Yorinobu’s daughter appears settled, so if we must remain in the Capital rather than return home, I say we amuse ourselves as best we can until Prince Kanemore resurfaces, as surely he must.”
“I could ask you to behave yourself, but I know better,” I said. “I would ask you refrain from causing trouble in my household or getting yourself killed or forced into hiding. I may have need of you yet.”
“Your concern is touching. I will do my best. In the meantime, you are free to visit Princess Tagako as often as she can tolerate you.”
I did not think I would be doing that. The idea was simply too painful. So after Kenji took his leave, I turned my mind instead back to the current situation. I went over the events that had led us, step by step, to the present.
If Prince Kanemore had told me I was to travel to Ise to meet with the sadaijin, I might have been reluctant. So I wasn’t told. I came on to the Capital with the understanding I was needed here immediately, and yet my absolute first priority turns out to have nothing to do with the reason I was initially given. And the one person I would have expected to clarify the true state of things is nowhere to be found.
I thought back to my conversation with Lady Kuzunoha, and considered what had been explicitly stated, and what had been implied only. And what she had said when I asked straight out if Prince Kanemore knew of such a conspiracy to discredit the empress.
“If so, he did not relate it to me . . . ”
Baka.
Sometimes I really was an idiot. I had taken the bit in my teeth and charged ahead, simply upon an implication, as Prince Kanemore knew I would. The message was as well-honed as an arrow, and aimed directly at me. While there had been moments along the journey from Kamakura when I had wondered if another hand was behind some of Prince Kanemore’s actions, I had no doubts about the message itself. He knew me, and what it would take to get my attention without saying more than needed. There was a conspiracy, true, and more than one. But at that moment I would have wagered a year’s production of my estate a plot to remove Sadahito from the succession by slandering the empress was not among them. Which led to the inevitable question.
“Why am I really here?”
I had no way to answer the question, but I did know of places I might look.
I think I might visit Princess Tagako after all.
Our visit took some time to arrange, as the protocols had to be observed, but when Morofusa and I presented ourselves at the gate to Prince Kanemore’s compound, I asked first to be taken to the Taira shōshō in charge of the house guard. He greeted us in one of the outbuildings near the western wall.
“It is an honor, Lord Yamada. My name is Toshihide.”
Toshihide was a deceptively gentle and stolid-looking man of about forty, and the reason I considered his gentle appearance to be deceptive was I knew something of him. Prince Kanemore had told me more than one story of the fierceness of the man when the situation called for it, so people often tended to underestimate him. I was careful not to do the same.
“Prince Kanemore speaks of you highly. I am glad to finally meet you.”
He merely smiled and waited, serene as a buddha.
There was nothing for it but to come to the point: “I asked to meet you because I was present when Princess Tagako was attacked previously, and so you can understand my concern. Have there been any further attempts?”
Toshihide was clearly uncomfortable discussing security with an outsider, yet he knew of my association with Kanemore and I was someone his master trusted. He finally came to a decision. “No, and considering what we knew of your return journey, Lord Yamada, I find this more than a little worrying. It would be extremely strange if the former Governor of Kawachi was the primary instigator.”
Toshihide’s reputation was not undeserved. “I see you share my opinion the removal of the provincial governor would not lead to a cessation of the attacks.”
He smiled again. “Let us be honest with one another, Lord Yamada. The governor, on his own, would have no discernable reason to desire Her Highness’ death. He was acting on behalf of someone else. That someone still exists, and so we must presume their reason also still exists, whatever it might be. I think we both know which faction was holding the man’s tether.”
No doubt, but the reason is as elusive as ever.
“Then we need not speak of it. Have you any theories as to why there have been no further attempts?”
The smile faded, and the man looked weary. “I wish I did. Perhaps to lull us into complacency, in which case I can assure you anyone wishing the princess harm will be brutally and permanently disappointed.”
“I see Prince Kanemore’s faith is not misplaced. Thank you for speaking with me. I wish to see Princess Tagako now.”
“Of course. She is expecting you.”
Toshihide had two of his bushi escort us to where Princess Tagako was waiting. The weather had turned somewhat blustery, so Tagako’s kicho had been set up within the main hall on a raised dais. Someone was playing the koto, but I didn’t see the musician. Then I realized the music was coming from behind the kicho itself. Morofusa and I kneeled on the cushions provided while the Taira bushi withdrew to either side. I knew, if either Morofusa or myself chose to make a sudden movement toward the kicho, we likely wouldn’t live to reach it. I found this knowledge reassuring.
“Well?” A familiar voice said behind the screen. “Have you nothing to say?”
I bowed. “I was going to compliment you on your playing, but I didn’t wish to interrupt.”
“I can speak and play at the same time,” she said, “although this instrument is somewhat complicated. I had plenty of time to practice at Ise. It seems I have the same idle time here in the Capital.”
“Toshihide-san informs me there have been, as of yet, no further attempts.”
I thought she smiled then, though through the veil it was impossible to tell. “You sound disappointed.”
“Not at all, Highness. Say, rather, surprised. A sentiment Toshihide-san shares.”
“Perhaps the danger is past. As we cannot discern the reason for the danger, how could we in turn recognize when it is gone? Shall I wait behind these walls for the rest of my years for an attack which never comes?”
“If it is within my power to prevent this, I will do so. Yet I will admit myself at a loss. The most puzzling thing about the attempts on your life is there still appears to be no reason for them. Yet we know there must be. With all respect, there are those in the halls of power in this city who would poison their own mothers.”
She laughed. “As a child of the court, I am well aware of this. However, they would not do so on a whim. In someone’s mind, there is a reason, and failing a personal grudge, that reason would be about advantage. Status, power . . . to gain or prevent a loss of either. There is very little aside from these things which courtiers care about.”
“Indeed, which is one reason I came to see you today, though I must thank you for the concert. I studied music as well, in the Daigaku-ryō, but quickly learned I had no talent for it. Yet I do regard it highly and your playing was more than I had any right to expect.”
“You are too kind. So, you did attend the imperial university? I am not surprised. Still, I cannot claim any great skill for myself. I do like to play, Yamada-sama. It helps take my mind off of my . . . situation.”
“Yet all I do is remind you of it, so again I must ask your forgiveness.”
“Baka,” she said. “What did you want to ask?”
I accepted her gentle reprimand and got to the reason for my visit. “When last we spoke, you mentioned you are now betrothed. I realize this is a personal question, but are you yet prepared to name your groom?”
“What would be the point, Yamada-sama? It’s not important.”
“It might be very important, Highness. Far more than we realize.”
There was a slight hesitation then which led to a sour note, but she quickly recovered. “What do you mean?”
“I have been going around and around like a dog chasing its tail trying to discern why anyone would wish to harm you. What I keep coming back to, time and again, is the realization there is simply no reason, none.”
“But someone does want to harm me. I think this is well established.”
“Indeed. The realization of which leads me to the conclusion the reason has nothing to do with you personally. You said it yourself—all princesses marry for reasons of state. You are to be married. What if it is the marriage itself that creates a perceived threat, so much so someone would be willing to do almost anything to prevent it?”
“Oh,” Princess Tagako said, and for a while no one said anything. It was Morofusa who broke the silence.
“But . . . when we traveled through Kawachi province, even Her Highness did not know a marriage had been arranged. How could word have reached anyone? Who would have known?”
I glanced at Princess Tagako. “Aside from His Majesty? I bow to your expertise concerning imperial matrimony.”
“Well, normally I would say the members of the Daijo-Kan—the Great Council of State—would know, and so the entire court would soon learn of it. But it is also true that Takahito—excuse me, I mean Emperor Go-Sanjo—has an independent streak. They were likely not consulted on such a trivial concern. Even the late Emperor Go-Reizei was known to ignore them at times, much to their annoyance. It is likely that Prince Kanemore knew, as he is the emperor’s uncle and they have a close relationship. Otherwise, I wouldn’t think the knowledge of an arranged union would travel far.”
“Thank you,” I said.
She stopped playing then. “I don’t understand. Why are you thanking me?”
“Highness, while I did spend some time at court in my early years, I wanted the perspective of someone raised there. Now I know what appears strange to me, as one looking in, has what seems to be a perfectly reasonable explanation, and Morofusa’s question is a valid one. If no one knew about the marriage—meaning no one outside the emperor’s immediate circle—this likewise makes it very unlikely the marriage is an issue.”
She sighed. “A pity, in a way. A marriage not advantageous to one faction or another would be a reason. Now we are back to where we started.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not. I said there was a reasonable explanation. I said it was unlikely the marriage was a factor. Yet what if, despite all that, it was the primary cause? Suppose word of the alliance—for such it would be—had somehow reached beyond the emperor and his closest confidantes. Then let us further consider your marriage would be a threat to someone, in whatever capacity, and the betrothal really is the reason you are in danger. If you died before the betrothal was even announced, no one would connect the two events and so obscure the trail of the guilty party. It would make sense to arrange an assassination before the announcement.”
“You have an interesting mind, Lord Yamada,” she said. “And certainly some of what you say makes sense to me. Yet I am having a great deal of trouble imagining why my marriage would be a threat to anyone . . . save my future husband. I am reliably informed that I can be difficult.”
I bowed, resisting a smile. “That answer, too, is eluding me at the moment. Yet if I knew who your betrothed is, the knowledge may indicate the right path for me to follow.”
She sighed. “So we are back to this again. Honestly, Lord Yamada . . . ”
“Your Highness, I know this is a very personal subject and I understand your reluctance, but this may be crucial to your safety—I need to know who your betrothed is.”
“You do not understand, Lord Yamada. I am not being coy. I am being embarrassed.”
“Embarrassed? How?”
“Because I have no idea who I am going to marry.”
I was stunned. I can only assume Morofusa was in the same state, as neither of us said anything for a long while.
“You don’t know?” I finally said. “Honestly?”
“That is the embarrassing part, the humiliating part,” she said. “That is why I didn’t want to say, to admit I am of so little consequence the emperor didn’t even bother to tell me my betrothed’s name. That is why I cannot entertain the notion my marriage is a reason for anyone to kill me, Lord Yamada. It has been made quite clear to me that I am of no consequence, and so neither is my marriage.”
There was not a lot left to say after this. Princess Tagako pleaded fatigue and we took our leave. When I returned home, I sought out Kenji immediately and related my conversation with the princess.
“Something I had not considered,” he said. “Also, not normally the sort of thing that would trigger such an extreme reaction as attempted assassination. Yet I must side with Princess Tagako—this scenario does not appear likely.”
I thought about what he had said for a moment before replying. “Kenji-san, in general I would agree with you, but one issue that neither of us has taken into account is this: these are not normal times. Rather, they are quite extraordinary, when you stop to consider. We have a high-ranking member of the Fujiwara siding with the emperor. Then, as Princess Tagako related, an emperor possibly bypassing the Daijo-Daijin altogether in the matter of a state marriage. And—despite Princess Tagako’s dismissal—her marriage is a matter of state. Back in Chancellor Michinaga’s time, his merest frown could force an emperor off of the Chrysanthemum Throne. Now they cannot even expect all members of the clan to back their leaders.”
“While it’s true that Michinaga’s sons are not the men their father was,” Kenji said. “In order to present a united front they would have to be, well, united.”
I frowned. “Have you heard something else?”
He laughed. “Yes, when I wasn’t chasing you around the city on one crisis or another I did learn a few things, which I think you will find of interest. It should not surprise you that the temples of this city keep a close eye on affairs at the imperial court, as their livelihoods and sometimes even survival depends on it. It seems, at the moment, the Fujiwara clan leadership is at war with itself.”
“I knew that much,” I said.
“Yes, but did you know why?” I had to admit I did not, so Kenji continued. “When Prince Takahito ascended the throne, the chancellor was Fujiwara no Yorimichi, the eldest son of the legendary Michinaga. Yorimichi resigned in favor of his slightly younger brother, Norimichi, who is now chancellor. Apparently, it was understood that Yorimichi’s son, Morozane, would in turn assume the office once Norimichi stepped down. However, Norimichi had other plans. He wants his own son to succeed him.”
“Lord Yorinobu did speak of a family squabble, but I had no details,” I said.
He smiled. “Yet seldom do such squabbles have such immediate consequences. Yorinobu has made good on his promise—he has appointed his adopted son, Yoshinaga, plus a member of the Murakami Genji, to the Daijo-Daijin. These two, in turn, are appointing other more minor but very important officers, and all from the emperor’s own faction, bypassing the sekkan-ke altogether. The Fujiwara were powerless to stop it, all because their two supposed leaders are at each other’s throats.”
I took a few moments to let what Kenji had told me sink in. “Well.”
“Well, what?”
“I was merely taking time to appreciate a brilliant piece of strategy. I remember when I first heard of Princess Shigeko’s passing. Six years ago, was it not?”
Kenji frowned. “About. What is your meaning?”
“Just if Prince Kanemore, and at the time, Prince Takahito wished to be of service to Lord Yorinobu—and I would think they would, as my understanding is that Lord Yorinobu has long supported Takahito’s ascension—why would they wait until now? I flatter myself and you as well we could have been of some use once the haunting was discovered.”
Kenji stroked his chin. “My instinct tells me Prince Kanemore wouldn’t wait, but such an act would bring His Majesty no immediate benefit, as Yorinobu was already committed to his faction. No, Lord Yamada, I think we were held in reserve, like a squad of mounted archers during a battle, until the time to strike had come.”
Perhaps His Majesty takes after his mother even more than I realized.
“I no longer care what he is or is not doing,” I said. “I need to find Prince Kanemore.”