Текст книги "Dream of a Spring Night"

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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From Lady Sanjo’s Pillow Book

A dreadful day!

Lady Dainagon’s cat returned today.  I was on the rear veranda at the time, when the creature, looking half dead and disgustingly dirty, walked up the steps and laid a half-eaten rat at my feet.  The rat was mangled, its pale intestines poking out of the slimy brown belly.  The cat looked up at me with the most malevolent expression.

I screamed.

That brought the others.  They were as horrified as I.  Lady Harima fainted and Lady Ukon was sick all over the floor.  I pulled myself together and shouted for servants when the new girl pushed past me, picked up the rat by its long tail and flung it over the balustrade into the shrubbery.  The cat bounded after it, found it, and proceeded to devour its prey – head, tail, and pink feet – before our horrified eyes.  With more shrieks, we rushed back inside.  Only the new girl, uncouth creature that she is, remained on the veranda, leaning on the balustrade and watching the cat.

After we had calmed down a little, Lady Dainagon thought she had recognized the cat.

“Was it my darling Mikan?” she asked.  She had named the kitten that because its color used to resemble that of an orange.  I had a sneaking suspicion that it might indeed be the nasty creature – come back to haunt me.  Of course, in its present condition it looked more like a dirty rag.

I said firmly, “It is not.  There is no resemblance whatsoever.  This is a very ugly wild cat with an ear missing.  No doubt it is diseased.  I had better send for servants and have it destroy—, er, taken out of the palace.”  I almost made the mistake of shocking Lady Dainagon into another fit of tears but caught myself in time.

“Oh,” said Lady Dainagon sadly.  “It would have been such a lovely miracle if it had found its way back to me.  Imagine, a poor lost kitten, roaming all over the land, facing untold dangers, nearly starving, but persisting until it is reunited with its mistress.  Animals are capable of amazing loyalty.”

Really, the woman is demented when it comes to cats.  I pointed out, “This creature came to me, not to you.”

Lady Dainagon sighed and said, “I am sure you are right, Lady Sanjo.  I was only dreaming a little.”

Just then the new girl came back inside, carrying the nasty animal in her arm.  “Poor kitty,” she said to no one in particular.  “Just look at it.  It has had a rough time lately.  It’s covered with wounds and pitifully thin.”

“Out!” I cried, rising and pointing to the door.  “That filthy thing is repulsive.”

The stubborn girl did not obey me.  She looked at the others and pleaded for the cat.  “We could clean it up.  Once it was a very handsome kitty.  It only needs a home and regular meals.”

“No,” I cried, but in vain.  Lady Dainagon got up and ran over.

“Oh,” she quavered.  Then she extended a hand and touched the nasty fur.  “Mikan?” she asked with a little sob, and the miserable cat started to purr.

“Why, it knows you.”  The new girl laughed with delight and passed the cat to Lady Dainagon.  “How wonderful!  Is it yours?”

Lady Dainagon held the cat and wept with joy and grief over its condition.  “Oh, what happened to you, my little love?” she crooned.  “Please, someone, fetch a physician.”

A physician!  The scene turned my stomach.  The disgusting thing still slavered bloody bits of rat from its mouth, and its orange fur was matted with dirt and dried blood.  One eye was closed completely under a crust of yellow pus, but Lady Dainagon and the new girl made it a nest from a pair of silk hakama and called for water to wash its wounds.

All morning, they kept the servants running back and forth.  They consulted a physician about its condition, and a soothsayer cast the miserable animal’s future.  There was so much commotion that the story came to His Majesty’s ears and he arrived Himself, unannounced, in our midst to ask what had happened.

Ah, what were my feelings to see Him, who had “grown distant as a cloud in the sky.”  I was all aflutter, having had no time to arrange my costume or comb my hair or put the plums in my cheeks.  No doubt He was shocked at my appearance.  Of course, I went immediately to kneel and explain the incident, but He hardly glanced at me and brushed past as if I were no more than a servant.  Instead He went to where Lady Dainagon and the new girl were still fussing with the miserable cat.

“And is this the faithful cat who returned after amazing adventures?” He asked with a smile.

Lady Dainagon quite properly bowed to the floor, but the new girl picked up the horrible creature and held it out to His Majesty as if He were just anybody.  Showing Him the cat’s wounds, she said quite brazenly, “Indeed, sire.  Just see how many battles he must have fought.  A most heroic cat.”

“He?” He asked, smiling more broadly at the silly girl.

To my horror, the girl raised the cat’s hind leg and said without a blush, “Oh, yes.  As you can see:  A veritable tiger of a he-cat.”

I could tell His Majesty was shocked by such country manners, because He turned to Lady Dainagon to ask, “And is he truly your lost cat?”

Lady Dainagon said softly, “Yes, sire.”

The new girl, not about to be prevented from making a complete fool of herself, said, “He purred as loud as thunder when Lady Dainagon came up to him.  But before that happened, when he first arrived, he approached Lady Sanjo and presented her with a gift.”

I gasped.  His Majesty turned to look at me.  Surely she would not go on.

She did.

“He brought Lady Sanjo the largest rat you may imagine, sire, no doubt to buy himself back into her good graces,” she announced in ringing tones, finishing up with an unmannerly peal of laughter.

For a moment we all held our breaths in horror.  Then His Majesty, always kind and gracious, deigned to join in the laughter.  He said to me, “Why, Lady Sanjo, what have you done to the poor cat to make him pay such a heavy fee to be readmitted to your presence?”

I did not know what to say.  His question came so unpleasantly close to the truth that I thought the groundskeeper must have talked and His Majesty had somehow found out that I had paid the man to drown the cat.

His Majesty left after saying a few pleasant words to the other ladies, and I slipped into my corner to calm my beating heart.  Oh, “to find shelter in some mountain village where I can sink from sight,” I thought.

The girl must go!  She is a demon, sent to torment me, yet I cannot get rid of her as long as His Majesty approves of her.  I must think what to do.  It will take time.  Patience, patience!

I spent the rest of the night “wringing my tear-drenched sleeves.”  I stared into the darkness, thinking of ways by which I might make His Majesty feel such disgust toward her that he would send her away.  Considering her crudeness of speaking openly about her visit to His Majesty’s apartment with the other ladies, she could be made to overstep the boundaries of decency quite easily and irretrievably.  But He has made me responsible for her.  If she offends, I too will be punished.

Oh, I must be cursed.

The Physician

Yamada Sadahira was raised in the South, the only son of a provincial lord who owed allegiance to the Taira clan.  During the Hogen rebellion, he became an unlikely hero at fifteen and broke with his family.

The abdicated Emperor Sutoku had taken up arms against the new emperor, and young Sadahira answered Taira Kiyomori’s call to arms because his father was too ill to come.

The war tragically pitted brother against brother and father against son, as the four most powerful families in the nation, the imperial family, the Fujiwara court nobles, and the Taira and Minamoto warrior clans chose sides.

At fifteen, Sadahira thought of battle as an adventure.  He donned his armor and rode off to the capital at the head of a contingent of Yamada soldiers.

Filled with a wild joy at the idea of winning fame, his excitement was fed by much older and more experienced warriors who treated him with respect because he commanded a hundred mounted fighters and another hundred foot soldiers.  Never mind that he was a mere boy who had never fought, never killed a man, never handled a sword with any kind of expertise.  It did not matter.  He was a Yamada and represented his house.

Sadahira’s moment of glory came unexpectedly and with unexpected results.

The abdicated emperor and his supporters were holed up in the Shirakawa palace across the Kamo River from the imperial palace.  During a night of frantic meetings, the reigning emperor and his Taira and Minamoto generals decided that they must attack quickly and force a decision.  In the pre-dawn hours, Sadahira set out with the rest of their army.  He wore his father’s fine armor, carried his best bow (he was quite a good archer), and rode his father’s big black stallion.

When they were within shouting distance of the west gate of the Shirakawa Palace, they delivered a series of challenges to the enemy.  Each of the commanders rode up, stopped a small distance from the gate, and called out his offer to fight any man who thought himself good enough.  For a while these challenges went unanswered.  The enemy refused to engage.  Eventually,  Sadahira took his turn.  He spurred the great black horse and charged toward the gate.  Reining in in a cloud of dust, his heart pounding with pride, he announced his name and descent and delivered his challenge.

At fifteen, Sadahira’s voice had not quite changed, and when he demanded that one of rebel warriors meet him in single combat, the answer from within the walls was a burst of laughter.  Shaking with humiliation at this insult, Sadahira galloped closer and called out his challenge again.  This brought more laughter, as well as shouts that Lord Kiyomori must be a coward if he sent babies to fight his battle.

Sadahira wept with fury and shame as he turned his horse to ride back.

But behind him the laughter stopped and the gates creaked open.  Through the

gate rode a single warrior.  He wore armor braided with grass green silk over a blue-patterned robe and gripped a black-lacquered bow.  Walking his bay horse forward, he watched the boy through the slits in his helmet.  Then he stopped.

Half-blinded by tears, Sadahira turned back and placed an arrow into the groove of his bow.  “Please, Lord Hachiman,” he prayed.  “Please let me be steady, so I can show them.  Please make my horse hold still and make my arrow find its target.”

The distance between them was not great.

Looking past Sadahira at the gathered troops, the warrior demanded in a deep

 voice, “What sort of men would send a child to do a man’s work?”  Then he told the boy, “Go home, Sadahira.  This is no place for you.”

Sadahira saw red.  He raised his bow, strained hard to pull it, and released

the arrow.  It whirred away.

At the last moment, the warrior raised his bow and tried to take evasive action,

but he was too late.  Sadahira’s arrow struck the front pommel of his saddle, passed through it and then through his belly and into the back of the saddle.  The horse capered as its rider slumped over with a cry, his nerveless hand dropping the bow.  Behind him, foot soldiers rushed through the gate, followed by shouting horsemen.  The wounded warrior on his horse galloped away.  He died pinned to his saddle.  His corpse was still sagging sideways on the running horse when battle was joined.  The Hogen rebellion was over.

And Sadahira was a hero.

But the man who had died that agonizing first death was Toshima no Jiro, a close

family friend who had once saved Sadahira’s life.  His second effort to save Sadahira cost him his own life.

When Sadahira realized whom he had killed, he returned home and told his father

that he would never fight again.  He would become a monk.

Because he was the only son in a military family, his father stormed, argued, begged, and finally compromised.  Sadahira would enter the university and become an official.  His reasonable hope was that in time his son would change his mind or that another war would break out and he would be forced to take up arms.

And so Sadahira had attended the university and studied medicine.

*

Now, ten years later, he was a junior doctor of medicine.  He was highly

trained and eager but sadly lacking in paying patients, when a call summoned him to the sickbed of the Retired Emperor’s favorite cook and gave him hope that this would soon change.

Being unfamiliar with the palace layout, he took a wrong turn among the warren of buildings, courtyards, and galleries.  He opened a small door in one of the walls, expecting a shortcut to the next courtyard.  Instead, he stepped into an enclosed garden adjoining the wing of a larger building.

It was only a small area, nicely planted with a stand of golden bamboo, a few clipped shrubs, and some ferns.  The plants clustered around three large rocks surrounded by patches of moss and large round pebbles.  The rest of the ground was covered with the same fine pale gravel that formed the surface of the palace courtyards.  It looked like a very private, almost forgotten, corner of the palace, enclosed by high walls on three sides and the veranda of the building on the fourth.

On this veranda knelt a young girl, singing softly as she bent over some furry creature.  She made a charming picture.

But the animal suddenly gave a loud yowl, leaped from the girl’s hands, and

flew off the veranda and into the garden.

“Oh, you bad cat,” cried the girl, putting a bloody hand to her mouth.  “Come

back here, stupid.  I’m just trying to help.”  She got up to look for the cat and caught sight of Sadahira.  “Oh.”

Sadahira wanted to withdraw quickly, afraid that he had intruded into a restricted

area, but she was very young and she smiled at him.  That smile twisted his heart.  Just so his little sister used to smile at him, long ago when he still lived at home.

“Forgive me,” he said with a bow – she wore rather rich robes for a mere child – “I’m afraid I am lost.”

She laughed.  Her laughter sounded like bells to Sadahira.  “I’m Toshiko,” she said, “and being a stranger here myself, I cannot direct you.  Since you are here, could you help me catch a cat?  He has a very bad ear and refuses treatment.”

“Really?”  Enchanted, he walked to the veranda and looked up at her.  “It so happens I’m a physician.”

She clapped her hands.  “Wonderful.”  And without further ado, she jumped off the veranda in her billowing gowns and full trousers and pounced on a shrub.  “Quick,” she cried, “I have him, but he’s strong.”

Sadahira set down his bamboo case and went to her aid.  Together they pulled the fighting, hissing, scratching animal forth.  He carried it back to the veranda.  “Heavens,” he said, looking at the cat more closely, “he’s not very attractive, is he?”

“Shh.  He’s a very vain cat.  I tell him that he looks heroic with all those scars from his battles.”

They smiled at each other.

“It’s his right ear,” she said helpfully after a moment, and he took his eyes from her face – a very pretty face – and examined the cat.

“I see what you mean.  Will you hold him for a moment while I get my case?”

When he returned, she had the cat in her lap and was stroking him until he purred and closed his eyes.  “He belongs to Lady Dainagon,” she confided as he rummaged in his case, looking for a salve.  “He ran away and when he came back he was like this.  Only the ear got worse.”

Lady Dainagon?  Perhaps she was a young relative or companion of one of the Emperor’s women.  He cast an anxious glance around.  They were alone, and the shades of the room beyond were down.  He hoped no one was inside.

“The cut is inflamed and festers,” he said, “I am going to apply a soothing salve made of ground sesame seeds, but it should be cleansed frequently with vinegar or some wine in which ginger root has been boiled.  I don’t have any with me.  Perhaps you can do this yourself?”

She nodded.  “Easily.  I have treated animals at home.”

“Good.  In that case, a tea made from figwort and cloves and allowed to cool will also clean his eyes nicely.  Wash them and the ear once a day.  I shall leave the salve for you.  If you apply it to the ear, it will heal quickly. ” He found the little jar of salve and showed her what to do.  The animal twitched once or twice but then settled down to let him check the other wounds.

“You have gentle hands,” she said approvingly.

“Thank you.”  He was done but saw the oozing scratch on her hand.  “In that case,” he said lightly, “please let me treat the scratch while I’m here.”

“Oh, it’s nothing.”  She blushed and hid the hand in her skirt.

“The cat has dirty claws.  Why not let me at least have a look at it?”

She brought forth her hand as if she were ashamed of it – a small hand, still childishly soft but capable and strong, he thought, with tapering fingers and lovely nails.  He held it reverently.  The scratch had bled but did not look deep.  He took a soft paper tissue from his case and another jar of ointment and carefully and gently cleansed the wound.  Her hand was warm and trembled a little in his.  It feels, he thought, like holding a small, trusting animal.  When he was finished, they looked at each other.  He felt warm and quickly laid her hand in her lap.

“Thank you.”  She pulled the purring cat a little closer as he repacked his case.

“It was my pleasure.”  He stood to make her a bow.  “My name is Yamada Sadahira.  My family is from Kii province.  I am delighted to have met you . . . and Lady Dainagon’s cat.”

Her eyes widened.  “Kii province?” she cried.  “My mother is from there.  My father is Oba no Hiramoto.  We live in Iga province.”

He bowed again.  “You are far from home, Lady Toshiko.”

To his dismay, her tears spilled over.  She put the cat aside and got to her feet.  As they stood side by side, he realized that she was quite tall.  She smiled a little, brushing her tears away with both hands like a child.  “Yes,” she said.  “But it cannot be helped.  Only I have not heard from home in such a long time and I’m worried about my mother.”  She paused and then confided in a rush, “I had a dream, you see.  A dreadful dream.  I’m afraid that she is dying.”

He saw the panic in her eyes and his heart melted.  “If you like, I could take a letter to her and report back to you.”

Her face lit up.  “Oh, how kind you are!  But it is too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all.  I’m going home shortly anyway.  It will be on my way,” he lied.

“Oh . . . in that case . . .”

            “Shall I return tomorrow for your letter?”

“Yes.  If you are sure.  Nobody comes here as a rule.  The first half of the hour of the hare?  It’s the time of the morning rice, and I can slip away then.”

He bowed again and left.

Later in the day, he asked someone about the Oba family and was told that Oba’s daughter was the Retired Emperor’s newest acquisition.  Shock and pain struck with equal fierceness: shock that he had mistaken one of the imperial women for a mere child and conversed freely with her, even touched her – and pain that she was not for him.  She was fourteen, it appeared, old enough to be bedded and bear an imperial heir.  The thought sickened him, and he wished they had not met.

But he had given his word, and the next day, dressed in his best silk robe and court hat, he returned.  The courtyard was empty.  He waited a little, nervous about being seen, and was just turning to leave, when the green shade moved a little and a small hand gestured.  Climbing quickly to the veranda, he asked softly, “Lady Toshiko?”

“Yes,” she whispered.  “I don’t have much time.  You are so kind to do this.  I have thought about it all night.”  The hand reappeared and pushed a pale blue folded letter his way.  Then, before he could respond, she gave a little gasp and whispered, “I must go.  Thank you.”

He took the letter and left quickly.

Lady Oba

Toshiko’s mother was startled when the visitor was announced.  With her husband and oldest son away, she had expected a quiet day.

The visitor’s name was Yamada.  She once knew someone by that name, but this visitor had come from the capital.  Perhaps, she thought hopefully, he was bringing good news about Toshiko.

Her husband was getting impatient and angry because no invitations had come from His Majesty.  Their oldest son, Takehira, was looking sullen.  He had expected to join the imperial guard long before now.  When his younger brother, Yasuhira, brushed off Takehira’s complaints with the comment that only a fool would want to live in the capital among the perfumed dandies, Takehira had punched his face.

But Lady Oba worried mostly about Toshiko.  Her daughter was alone at court, without her family’s support or even her own maid, and Toshiko’s father refused to allow her a visit home or her mother to go to her.  Only this morning, he had made his feelings clear to his wife.  He wished no contact with Toshiko until she achieved success.  Lady Oba had tried to argue but that only made matters worse.  He and Takehira had stormed off to drown their frustration in pleasure.

She knew where they went because this was not the first time.  They were with women in the nearby town, and she was glad to have them gone.

But now this Yamada had come, and she felt hopeful.  She put on a gown of crimson brocade over pale violet silk and prepared to receive him.  The formal reception hall was an old, dark room.  Its heavy timbers rose from black, polished floors and thick shutters protected it from winter storms and the rain torrents of summer.  It was rough and plain – like the men of the Oba family – but it was the most formal room they had, and she did her best to give it a touch of elegance.

The southern sets of shutters stood open to the veranda, where her husband had entertained the Emperor and his nobles.  The view from there was famous, because the Oba manor overlooked a wide valley of moving grasses, a winding river, and blue hills beyond.  The sun was bright, and the greens and blues outside were as intense as the colors on the painted screen she had her maid place behind her.

She was seated on a thick grass mat bound in black and white brocade, and the layers of her many gowns spread handsomely around her.

When the tall young man came in, her first reaction was disappointment.  He was

too soberly dressed – in dark grey silk brocade with a small white pattern – and he wore an ordinary cap.  Surely, she thought, a message from the Emperor would be brought by an official in court costume or a senior officer of the guard.

The young man approached, bowed, then seated himself on the cushion she gestured to.  She guessed his age to be about twenty-five.  He had a nice face, clean-shaven and a little too long and thin, but his eyes were large and gentle, and stirred a memory.  She was still searching his features, when he addressed her.

“My name is Yamada Sadahira, Lady Oba,” he said.  “My people are by way of being former neighbors of yours.  And since I planned to pay them a visit, the Lady Toshiko asked me to stop here on my way to make sure that you are well.  She has suffered from bad dreams and was worried about your health.”

Lady Oba’s heart began to beat so she barely heard the end of his speech.  Of course.  This must be his son.  Her eyes searched the young face again and found there, after so many years, the faint image of the man who had courted her, who had sought in vain to marry her – and she tasted again the bitter despair of her youth.

There were differences, of course.  Sadamori had looked fiercer than his son.  When she had been scarcely older than Toshiko, she had loved this fierceness and his protectiveness of her.  But her family had promised her to Oba Hiramoto.  A woman’s duty is obedience, and she had obeyed and become an obedient wife to a man she cared little about.

Her visitor was puzzled by her silence.  He repeated, “I bring a letter from your daughter, Lady Oba.”

She took a quick breath and said, “Yes.  Thank you.  How kind of you.  You must forgive my rude staring.  You are a great deal like your father, you know.”

He looked astonished and then smiled very sweetly, and her heart nearly burst.  Just so had his father smiled at her and made her knees turn to water.

“Ah,” he said.  “You knew my father.  That is good.  I could not be sure you would remember.”

That brought color to her face.  She changed the subject.  “Toshiko should not have worried.  I am quite well, as you can see.  I think of her often.”  She wanted to ask about his father, if he still thought of her, but that would be improper.  So she waited.

He nodded, still smiling.  “When I met your daughter, she was tending to an injured kitten.”

“You saw Toshiko?”  She could not keep the astonishment out of her voice.  Customs were more casual in the country, but Lady Oba knew that at court a young woman must not be seen by men who are not close blood relations.

Or lovers.

Fear seized her, and she looked at him with new eyes.  Had her daughter’s heart been touched by him – as her own so many years ago by his father – and had this young man, who might have been her son, already seduced Toshiko?

“I am a physician, Lady Oba,” he said, meeting her eyes earnestly, “and was called upon to treat the kitten.”

“Oh, I see.”  The relief felt like a cooling breeze on her hot face.  Perhaps he thought Toshiko a mere child – no wonder when he must be nearly twice her age.  Tending to a kitten!  Toshiko’s playful manner evidently had not yet left her.  She hoped there was no trouble over the kitten incident.

But this particular young man was much too personable to have ready access to her daughter.  Lady Oba decided to speak bluntly.  “It was very kind of you to offer your assistance and to come and bring me news of her.  As her mother, I am worried.  Toshiko is only fourteen and has spent all her life at home.  She must find it very difficult to adjust to her new duties and to behave with circumspection.  I am sure you are aware she serves in His Majesty’s household?”

Young Yamada’s smile faded abruptly.  He straightened his back and bowed.  “Yes, of course.  To be sure, I was not aware of it when I treated her cat, but I have since been informed of the great honor His Majesty has done your family.  My felicitations.”

He did not look at all as if he thought it a fortunate thing.  Lady Oba inclined her head.  “Thank you.  I fear that my daughter may suffer criticism if it should become known that . . . she has received your visits.”

He flushed to the roots of his hair.  Perhaps it was only his pride she had hurt but with two young sons she had a sharp eye for the signs of infatuation.  He reached into his robe and brought out a folded letter.  This, too, Lady Oba thought ominous.  Why not carry the letter in his sash or sleeve?  Why so close to his body?  Extending it to her with both hands, he said very stiffly, “Your daughter sent this.  I was going to offer to take your reply, but perhaps you will wish to employ another messenger.”

Ah, so he had taken offense.  She should have been more circumspect in her reproof.  Regretting her bluntness, she turned the letter over in her hands and sighed.  “That was ungrateful of me.  Please forgive my poor manners.  I am terribly worried about her because she has neither friends nor family to protect her.”

He opened his mouth, closed it again, then said merely, “I understand, Lady Oba,” and prepared to rise.

“No, wait,” she cried.  “I am sure you will honor a mother’s concern for her child’s future.  If you will accept our hospitality, I would be grateful if you would carry my answer back to her.”  She bit her lip.  Her husband would be in another fury if he found out about this.  “It will be best if we don’t mention the matter to anyone else,” she added, blushing with embarrassment.

If he was surprised, he did not show it.  He said, “Thank you, Lady Oba.  I am completely at your service.”

It was a vague reply, but she did not have the heart to press him further.  “My husband is absent, but my son Yasuhira will see to your comfort.  And my letter will be ready before you take your leave in the morning.”

As he left, she looked after him, thinking how much she would have liked him if things had been different.  If he had been her son, hers and Sadamori’s.

Then she unfolded Toshiko’s letter and read.  It was a loving and dutiful letter but one that left too many things unsaid.  Her daughter did not mention His Majesty.  Did that mean that he had taken no interest in her, or that he had and she was too ashamed to mention their intimacy?  Instead, she wrote of insignificant events:  the cat, her assignments, the oil they used on their hair, her lovely new clothes, and her friend, Lady Shojo-ben.  Not a word either about Doctor Yamada.  Lady Oba put the letter in her sash and frowned.

Young Yamada’s manners were good, as were his clothes.  He was of good birth, yet only a physician.  Like the Obas, the Yamadas were military men and held provincial offices.  Why was such a very strong and healthy male a mere doctor, a profession not much better than that of a pharmacist or soothsayer?  How could Sadamori have allowed it?

She knew her own sons and their ambitions and felt a small pang of envy.  Warriors often died young and violently – unlike courtiers, bureaucrats, or doctors –  but neither Takehira nor Yasuhira were studious types.  Their lives were predetermined:  They learned how to fight and how to die.

Women learned how to obey.  Her daughters were raised to serve men who could advance Oba family interests.

Lady Oba knew that her husband had other women, but she was fortunate.  She was the only official wife.  He bedded his other women elsewhere.  In the early years of their marriage he used to come to her bed regularly because he wanted heirs.  She miscarried five times before giving him four healthy children.  And then she bore a son so sickly and malformed that he died a day after the long and painful birth.  Her husband stopped coming to her after that, and she was grateful, as she was grateful for the consideration he showed her by keeping his women in distant towns and villages.