Текст книги "The Emperor's Woman"

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

That pleased her, and she did not object when he pulled her into an embrace and led her to the bedding her maid had spread out.

Tora and the Cook

Early the next morning, dressed neatly but in ordinary clothes, Tora walked to Minamoto Masaie’s house. He glanced in through the open gates, noting the armed guards without pausing in his walk. At the next corner, he paused and watched the street for a while, but he saw nobody entering the compound. No doubt, the forbidding presence of Masaie’s soldiers discouraged social calls.

He continued along the compound’s walls to the rear of the property. Here, in a small side street, the back gate stood open as well, but there were no guards. Instead a large handcart had stopped, and an elderly man unloaded crates and baskets of food from it. These he set down in the dust of the street as a short, round woman berated him.

She gestured at the unloaded goods and pointed inside the compound. The old man shook his head and went on unloading. As soon as the cart’s contents were piled on the ground, he took his empty cart and trotted away. The round woman ran after him, shaking her fist.

Tora grinned. Perfect.

The delivery man from the market had refused to carry the goods all the way to the kitchen, and the woman, probably Maseie’s cook, had no help at hand. Now she stood there, staring at the pile and muttering to herself.

Putting on his best smile, Tora approached. “Good morning, dear lady. Why so glum on such a pretty spring day?”

She glowered at him, then at the new green leaves on the trees and the pale blue sky above. “It may be a good day for you,” she said bitterly, “but some of us have to work.” She bent for a bundle, but straightened up again to give him a sharp once-over. “Never mind. Move on. You’re in my way.”

Her accent sounded familiar to Tora. If he was right, luck was indeed with him. “I think you need to carry all those things inside,” he said, “and you don’t want to leave them in the street for thieves. Allow me to help. My name’s Tora.”

She still hesitated, but relaxed a little after giving him another careful look. Tora’s handsome face and neat clothing clearly impressed her. Here was a courteous, friendly young man who was certainly strong enough to carry all the abandoned cabbages and turnips, bags of rice and beans, and kegs of sake and oil. Well,” she said dubiously.

Tora put on one of his dazzling smiles.

She blushed, smoothed her hair back, and straightened the cloth apron covering her blue gown. She was middle-aged, near the same age as the Sugawara’s cook, but unlike that shrew she had a pleasant face with apple cheeks and laugh lines at the corners of her eyes.

Tora said, “Look, dear lady, I have some time on my hands, and you cannot be expected to do such rough work. That’s for men. I’ll gladly give you a hand.” He reached for a large basket of vegetables with one arm and scooped up a heavy bundle with the other. “Lead the way, my dear.”

“Well, if you’d just take the big stuff inside the gate, that would be a big help. The master doesn’t allow strangers inside and makes us keep the gates closed. I’d hate to leave all this outside. There are a lot of thieves in this city.”

“It wouldn’t last long enough for you to take one basket to the kitchen and come for the next.” Tora deposited his vegetables inside the gate in what appeared to be a service yard and turned back for another load.

With both of them moving parcels and bags inside, it was done quickly. Tora had identified the kitchen by the fact that smoke came from the one-story building. “Well,” he said, glancing at it, “I think that’s still a long way for you to carry all these heavy things.”

“It’s all right,” she said, holding the gate open for him to leave. “I can manage now.”

He hung his head. “I see you still don’t trust me. I don’t blame you. My guess is you’re not from here yourself.”

She blushed and hesitated. “It’s true. I’m from Sagami.”

“What if I told you a bit about myself?”

“Well …”

“You see, I work for a man called Juntaro. He’s a dealer in grass mats and cushions in the fourth ward. This morning, he sent me to drum up some business from your master. He heard his lordship had come to town and he told me to ask the steward if they needed any mats. I tried at the main gate, but they wouldn’t let me in.”

She nodded. “It’s not a good time to sell anything.”

“You sound a bit like my people back home. I was born and raised in Shimosa province. My people were farmers.”

Her round face lit up. “You’re from Shimosa? So am I, from near the coast. Near Chiba. My people were fishermen.”

“You don’t say! Have you been to Asakusa?”

“Oh, yes. When I was young girl. We went to the beautiful temple there.”

They regarded each other happily for a moment, then Tora asked, “So, what do you say? Since our people were practically neighbors, maybe cousins? Back home a dainty female didn’t have to lug around heavy things.”

She giggled at that “dainty female,” then cast a look around. There was no one in sight. “All right, then. But we must hurry so nobody sees us, or I’ll be in trouble for letting you in. You’re very nice to offer, Tora.” She slammed the gate shut.

Tora chuckled. “Least I can do. You remind me of home. I miss it a lot. It was beautiful there. All green woods and fields and the blue sea.”

“Yes, not like this big dirty city.” She glared at the gate as if it kept out all the filth of the great city. “Let’s get everything inside the kitchen over there. I’m Hanishi, the cook. We’re short-staffed, because the master rushed up here and left all the servants behind. He only brought soldiers.”

“A bit strange, that.” Tora loaded up again and started toward the kitchen.

“You’d think he was about to start a war,” she grumbled, following him. “And me having to feed the big louts all by myself.” They reached the kitchen, and she pointed. “Put those vegetables over there.”

Tora sniffed the air. A large iron pot simmered over the open fire, filling the room with the aroma of seafood. He gave her another smile. “I bet you’re a great cook, Hanishi. That smell reminds me of my mother. I miss her cooking something terrible.” He tried to look hungry as he said this.

She laughed. “When we’re done, I’ll let you sample my fish stew.”

“Fish stew?” Tora, smacked his lips and dashed back outside.

When all the supplies had been brought in and put away, Hanishi found a bowl and ladled stew into it. She gestured at the earthenware ovens that heated two rice cookers. “Sorry, the rice isn’t done. Ran out of wood after making this fire.”

Tora tasted the stew. It was good. He did not have to pretend pleasure, and started gobbling it. “Who needs rice with something like this,” he said with a full mouth. “Oh, that brings back memories. You’re a wonderful cook, Hanishi.”

She preened herself a little. “Well, I like to feed hungry men like you. Do you have a wife, Tora?”

She gave him a very considering look, and Tora thought of lying, but in the end he said, “Oh, yes. A wife and a son. I’m a family man.” He gave her another grin, hoping he had not discouraged her altogether. “But my wife’s been raised here. She doesn’t know how to make fish stew like this.”

“Oh,” she said, a little deflated. “I suppose I could tell her easily enough. Another bowl?”

He made her a bow. “You’re a generous woman in addition to being the best cook in town. But let me go out first and bring you some wood to fire up the rice cookers. Where do you keep it?”

She positively glowed with good will again, showing him the huge wood pile behind the kitchen. Tora worked hard, and when he had carried in enough kindling and logs, he helped her lay the fire. Then he sat down with a sigh of relief; he had done more work for Masaie’s household this morning than he normally did at home.

“So,” he asked her when she brought him his second bowl of stew, “do you like it here? Do you have a good master and mistress? They say this Lord Maseie is a very wealthy man.”

“He is that. He’s got three wives, but they’re meek as mice, no trouble at all. Now his daughter, she was something! The spirit of that girl.” She heaved a sigh. “Poor thing. I loved her, no matter what they say now.”

This was going better than Tora had expected. He raised his brows. “Oh? There’s a story there. Why do you call her a poor thing?” He got up to help her carry a pail of water to the rice pot.

“Thanks. Lady Masako’s dead. She was her father’s favorite and entered the palace last year. Her father really doted on her. It’s funny the way the meanest men turn soft as goose down when it comes to little girls. She was always beautiful. A little princess even then.” Cook stopped what she was doing to look dreamily into the distance. “She’d come running to me for sweet dumplings and oranges all the time. Oh, she was something. And beautiful! She grew tall, but slender and quick. The master taught her how to ride and use bow and arrow, and he took her hunting. She was much better at those things than the young lord. He’d come home in a mighty temper, that boy.” She laughed at the memory.

Tora smiled. “Can’t blame him. But I wish I’d had a sister.”

“What’s your family like?”

Tora preferred no distractions from the flood of reminiscences and said, “There’s no one now. They all died.” It was true enough.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Tora. Well, the lady Masako died this past winter. She killed herself, except we’re not to talk about it. They say she brought shame on the family.” She turned away, overcome with emotion. “It’s hard to stop loving her.” Her voice broke, and she sniffled. “I have no children. I was very fond of her.”

“You’re a soft-hearted woman. What happened?”

“A man, what else?” she said bitterly. “And it wasn’t His Majesty. The young emperor didn’t want her, poor child. She came home in despair to tell them. Her father raged because His Majesty hadn’t bedded her yet. Every time she came for a visit—you know His Majesty’s ladies have to leave the palace when it’s their time of the month—his lordship would talk to her. She cried and cried. It wasn’t her fault.” Hanishi heaved a deep sigh. “I wish my lord hadn’t been so hard on her. Or that her mother had taken her side. My young lady was so unhappy. Well, she went back to the palace and met another man. If you ask me, His Majesty should’ve taken better care of her.”

Tora listened with rapt attention. “You don’t say?” he breathed. “What a love story! I thought men weren’t allowed near His Majesty’s ladies.”

“That’s what you think,” Cook said darkly. “Turns out it’s a very good place to meet men. All those parties every day.” She paused, suddenly nervous. “But don’t you go talking about it. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.” She sat down abruptly on an upturned basket and started weeping softly. “Her father and her brother, they both say terrible things, call her a slut, and worse.”

“Don’t cry,” said Tora, jumping up and putting an arm around her shoulder. “I won’t say a word, but I’m thinking it must be a terrible thing when a father won’t help his child. And she was just a girl.”

Cook wiped her face with a sleeve and nodded. “A terrible thing. He drove her to kill herself, that’s what her father did. And when they told him, did he care? Oh, no! Him and the young lord went hunting as if nothing had happened.”

To make sure he had his facts straight, Tora said, “I suppose it took a long time for the news of her death to get to Sagami.”

“We were here then. Had been for months. The master was waiting for the good news from the palace.” She said bitterly, “Some good news!”

At that moment, the kitchen door flew open and in stalked a burly soldier in half armor, his boots shining with polish, and his long sword swinging from his sash. He stopped when he saw Tora. “What the devil’s this? What’s he doing here? He didn’t come in through the front gate.”

The little round Hanishi jumped about two feet and started gabbling about deliveries and fire wood.

Tora interrupted her. “I’m Tora. I’ve come on a visit from her family back east,” he told the soldier, making him a bow. “Hanishi’s people asked me stop by and see how she’s doing.” He stared back at the man.

For a moment, nobody said anything. The soldier’s gaze faltered. He turned to the cook and asked, “Is that true?”

Tora frowned. “Are you calling me a liar?”

Hanishi cried, “No trouble, please, Tora and Tomogoro-san. The master wouldn’t like it. Yes, it’s true. He comes from my home.”

The armed man relented. He gave Tora a sour look. “I see she’s been feeding you,” he grumbled. “That’s more than she’s doing for us. Where’s our grub, woman?”

It was a good thing that Lord Masaie’s retainer had restrained his appetite until now. It would have been even better, had he waited until after Tora’s departure. “I see you don’t show women much respect here,” he remarked. “Or maybe it’s only the custom in Sagami. Hanishi needs help. You should show some appreciation for a fine cook like her. I found her trying to carry heavy baskets and barrels, and she had no wood for the fire to cook your rice. Does your master know she’s not getting any help from you?”

The man reddened. “We have out duties, and carrying wood isn’t one of them.”

“Well, just remember, without a fire or supplies, there isn’t going to be any food.”

They glowered at each other for a moment, then the warrior said to the cook, “I’ll mention it to my sergeant.”

“Thanks, Tomogoro-san. The rice’ll be ready in an hour. Do you want some stew now?”

He nodded. “Just a bowl. I’ll tell the others their food is coming later.”

As she filled his bowl, Tora said, “Well, Hanishi, I must be going. It’s a long journey back. I’ll give them your messages and tell them not to worry. And I hope they’ll be treating you as well as you deserve.”

He gave the soldier a meaningful glance. The man took his stew and said nothing.

Hanishi walked him to the back gate. “Thank you, Tora,” she said. “That was smart thinking. He can be a nasty one. And thank you for your help.”

“Think nothing of it. Thanks for that delicious stew. I’d like to check back to make sure all’s well with you. I didn’t like the way he treated you.”

Her eyes moistened. “Better not. They might want to know how come you didn’t go back home.” She grinned, then reached up and patted his cheek before closing the gate behind him.

Tora smiled, too. He had got what he came for.

Good News and Bad News

After his chores, Genba set out to give Ohiro the good news that his master had promised his help. His heart overflowed with gratitude as he walked through the warm dusk. Had Akitada been in mortal danger at that moment, Genba would have thrown himself in the way of the fatal spear, arrow, or sword. He thought himself blessed by such goodness when he was worthless himself. Or if not worthless, then not clever and brave like Tora, and not nearly as useful as Saburo with his secretarial skills. He, Genba, could not keep the master’s accounts or wield the brush with skill. As for Saburo’s stranger talents, he felt nervous just thinking about them. He had almost been relieved when Saburo had met someone better than himself.

But then, that attack also meant the loss of the contracts. Genba had sworn to himself he would pay his master back for buying out Ohiro.

In spite of such drawbacks, Genba reached Ohiro’s tenement with a spring in his step.

He had heard the music and laughter from some distance away and wondered at it. When he turned the corner, he saw a crowd in festive clothes, singing and dancing among paper lanterns as if this were a fair at one of the great temples celebrating a holiday. The colored lanterns competed with the fading rosy light in the sky, and men and women wore costumes almost as colorful as the lanterns. There was much laughter and perhaps happy drunkenness.

It could not be a holiday. No, he would not have missed that. So why have a fair here among the tenements of the poor?

Vaguely uneasy, he sped up a little. Most of the lanterns and people were in front of Ohiro’s place. Someone was playing a flute, and a woman’s voice was raised in song. Raucous laughter and shouts accompanied it.

A dirty ditty. Sung by one of the girls from the Sasaya.

Genba was a good deal more straight-laced than Tora and frowned at the blunt language. Still, this was where many of the prostitutes kept rooms, and such things must be expected. But it shamed him again to bring a woman from this life into his master’s house. He had seen the expression of distaste on Akitada’s face, heard the hesitation before he had assured Genba that Ohiro would be welcome.

Ohiro was not like these women who flaunted themselves in gaudy costumes before men they would not accept as customers because they were too poor but who often kept them as lovers when they were not working.

That was really all he was: Ohiro’s man.

Shame washed over him. He pushed through the merrymakers without looking at them and made for Ohiro’s door. He had almost reached it when he heard a woman shout his name. He did not turn, but she caught him just as he laid his hand on the latch.

Shokichi.

Red-faced with drink and smiling broadly.

“Genba, have you heard? The most wonderful thing has happened. Ohiro was dancing with happiness. And so was I. Look!” Shokichi wheeled about, tattered silk gown and sleeves all aflutter and her hands waving in the air.

Genba looked at her, dazed. What wonderful thing? She must mean Tokuzo’s death. It was not proper to celebrate a man’s death even if he had mistreated them. Maybe the new owner would be a better man. “What wonderful thing?” he asked.

“Oh, go in. Let Ohiro tell you herself.” She gave him a push, laughing.

Ohiro must have heard, because she opened the door. Her face broke into a wide smile when she saw Genba, and then she flung herself at him, babbling with joy.

He held her and lifted her over the threshold, closing the door firmly behind them.

“Oh, Genba,” she breathed, still clutching him.

Her embrace stirred his lust. “So eager?” he asked with a smile, setting her down.

“I got the contract! It’s mine. Someone returned all the contracts of Tokuzo’s girls. See!” She swept up a crumpled sheet with writing on it and waved it happily in the air.

The news dumfounded Genba. He snatched the paper from her hand and smoothed it out. Frowning with concentration, he deciphered the writing, the signatures, Ohiro’s name, the money owed.

She giggled. “I danced on it when I saw what it was.”

The document looked authentic. It must be part of the haul taken from Saburo last night. But stealing the contracts to return them to the women who had worked for Tokuzo made no sense. The contracts were valuable. Did such a document become illegal if acquired by theft?

On the other hand, who could prove the contracts hadn’t been sold legitimately? Or that the women had not bought themselves out? Improbable though that was.

Genba sat down abruptly and looked at Ohiro. She’d never been prettier, he thought. Her happiness made her face glow. He swore to himself he would try to put that look on her face as often as he could. “How did you get this?” he asked, half afraid.

“Shokichi got it, along with her own, from one of the begging monks. He told her it was a gift from the Buddha and to thank him. Isn’t it wonderful? Isn’t it a miracle?” She came to kneel beside him and hugged him. “Oh, Genba, you look worried. Say you’re happy, too. Say you’ll marry me now. Say we can finally be happy together.”

“A begging monk?” Had Saburo’s attacker returned the papers to the women? And what did it mean for Ohiro and himself?

He put one arm around her, held her, and said, “I love you, Ohiro. I’ll marry you with or without this contract. We will be happy together somehow and sometime, but I don’t know if this is legal. The contract was stolen. All of them were stolen. What if Tokuzo’s heirs claim you back because they were stolen?”

“Stolen? How could that be? Maybe Tokuzo made a will. That’s why a monk brought them back. Maybe he was trying to make up for his bad life. Or his heirs are trying to make up for his sins. Can they really force me to work for them again?”

“Ohiro, there’s no will. At least not one leaving the contracts to you and the others. The heirs own your contract, and they’ll either keep you or sell you to someone else.”

Tears rose to her eyes. “How do you know they were stolen? The others outside are celebrating with the silver they’d saved up to buy themselves out. I gave them some of our money for my share.” She wailed, “Oh, Genba, you must be wrong.”

“Never mind, Love. You did right to pay your share.”

They sat close together, arms around each other’s waists, and grieved the unreliability of good fortune.

After a while, Genba said, “I forgot. I came to tell you that the master will help us. So you see, all will be well after all.” He smiled down at her.

“How very good he is! But Genba, if only we didn’t need to borrow the money from him. Do you know that most of the girls are going to sell themselves again? To a better master, they think. They want the money. And they like the life. They say while they’re young and pretty and men will pay to lie with them, they’ll make as much money as they can. They think there’s time enough to settle down with a husband when they’re no longer young. By then they’ll have a good dowry, and a husband will be found easily, even if they’re no longer pretty.”

Genba frowned. “That’s foolishness.” He paused, then asked, “That’s not what you would do, is it?”

Ohiro’s eyes grew round. “Of course not. I love you. I could never do such a thing.”

He held her close and kissed her, but he thought he might not be able to pay back what he owed. It was such a very large amount of money. And he also worried about bringing Ohiro into the Sugawara house. Even if the master and mistress made her welcome, the others would surely remind her where she had come from. He pictured her tears to himself and sighed deeply.

“Oh, stop it.” Ohiro jumped up and stamped her foot. She waved the contract in front of his face. “I don’t care what you say, Genba. We don’t need your master’s money. I’m free. See?” And before his eyes, she tore the document into a lot of small pieces.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said weakly.

She fetched the oil lamp and fed the pieces, one by one into the flame until nothing but ashes remained. “Now who is going to prove Tokuzo owned me?” she demanded triumphantly.

Genba just shook his head. But he could see she had a point. The contract was gone. His spirits lifted. Surely it was fair she should be free. She had paid for her freedom many times over and been beaten black and blue for her efforts. A smile broke out on his face.

Outside, the festive noise subsided. He listened a moment, then got to his feet and went to the door. Opening it, he peered out and saw that Ohiro’s neighbors had gathered at the street corner.

Ohiro came to join him. “What happened?”

“I have no idea. Should we go take a look?”

They stepped outside just in time to see Shokichi detaching herself from the group to run toward them.

“Police,” she gasped when she was close enough. “They’re coming for you. You’d better run.”

“Police?” Genba stared at her. “Is this still about Tokuzo?”

“Yes. They want both you and Ohiro. Oh, those cursed contracts!”

Ohiro giggled. “All gone,” she cried. “No proof! You’d better go right now and burn yours, Shokichi.”

Genba saw the crowd was breaking apart and red coats appeared. The red coats marched toward them.

Shokichi shook a fist at them. “Too late. Somebody told them where to find you.”

Ohiro looked up at Genba. “Can they arrest us?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, Genba.” Her face crumpled. The bruises showed clearly even in the fading light.

Genba waited with his arm around Ohiro. Shokichi disappeared.

The redcoat in front was the senior policeman, a sergeant to judge by his head dress. He grinned and waved his constables, five of them, armed with cudgels and chains, forward. “You’re the one they call Genba?”

“I am.” The constables surrounded Genba and Ohiro. For a fleeting moment, Genba considered fighting them. Six altogether, but he was much bigger and those little cudgels wouldn’t help them. But he rejected the idea. There was Ohiro to be considered.

“And she’s the prostitute Ohiro?”

“She is my wife Ohiro.”

The sergeant barked a laugh. “Wife? You must be joking.”

The constables sniggered.

“Ohiro is my wife. How can we help you?”

The sergeant grinned at his men. “He’s a cool one, isn’t he?” He mimicked, ‘How can we help you?’”

They laughed.

“And he’s taken the harlot for his wife.”

Genba clenched his fists and started forward, but Ohiro snatched his arm. “No, Genba. Please, no! You’ll make things worse.”

She was right.

“Mind your tongue,” he growled at the sergeant. “What do you want?”

They still sniggered. The sergeant fished a piece of official-looking paper from his sleeve. “You, Genba, and you, Ohiro, are both under arrest for the murder of the businessman Tokuzo and the theft of his gold and his contracts with the women belonging to his house.” He folded it and returned it to his sleeve. “Chain them!” he ordered his men.

Genba pulled Ohiro closer and stepped back. “There’s some mistake. That matter’s been cleared up.”

It did no good. The constables wrapped them in chains in a moment.

Genba did not fight them. He pleaded with the sergeant, “I didn’t kill him. And Ohiro wasn’t anywhere near Tokuzo’s place.”

“Ah! But we just got new evidence!” The sergeant grinned and pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the celebrants, who were watching anxiously from the distance. “Seems like you two stole the contracts and handed them around to the other girls.”

“That’s not true.”

The sergeant ignored this. “Search her place,” he commanded. Two of his men went into Ohiro’s room. Genba thanked the Buddha Ohiro had burned the contract. Of course, the other women probably had not. Who had pointed the finger at them?

Ohiro voiced her own suspicion. “Who told you such lies about us?” she demanded.

“We’ll soon find out if they were lies,” the sergeant told her. “We’ve got ways of dealing with scum like you.”

The constable emerged empty-handed. “Not there.”

“Search them!”

What followed was humiliating and painful. The five constables conducted a body search of Genba and Ohiro that was both thorough and rough. In the case of Ohiro, it was also sadistic. They stripped off most of her clothes and groped her, squeezing and joking about a woman’s secret places. Genba writhed helplessly in his chains, turning his wrists and ankles bloody. Ohiro bore it silently, but she wept.

Then they marched them away, past the crowd of silent watchers. Ohiro still half-naked, and Genba bloody and glowering. As they passed the others, the sergeant said, “We’ll come back for you thieving hussies later.”