CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Aderyn made what seemed to be an endless journey to the bathhouse. She placed her foot on the first stone step and, by sheer will, forced one then the other up the stairs. A single maid guided her to the stool with a gentle hand then proceeded with her bath. The steamy building was a refuge where she had no qualms about the woman’s discovering what Matsumoto had done and could hide until the strength to face the world returned. She would not know the wounds’ origin, and would not ask, for Nihonese bathing etiquette allowed no information about bathers to be spoken of.
Trying to remove Matsumoto’s filth, Aderyn had her scrub a second time, harder, with more soap and hotter water. She merged with the steaming tub feeling only a little better--the maid could not cleanse her soul.
“Shall I send for Hamasaki-sama?” the woman whispered.
“Please,” Aderyn spoke no louder. She wondered where her omnipresent guard was. If he had not been dismissed by Sanematsu, Matsumoto would never have humiliated and hurt her! What had delayed him from returning to her side? With all the trouble he had taken to protect her so far, surely, the daimyo would have sent him back.
On her return, the maid announced, “Hamasaki-sama is outside.”
“Thank you.”
Normally, he would enter the bathhouse. Did the bath maid keep him out to maintain the secret of her wounds? How did she manage it, when he had shared the room so often before?
A pink tinge colored the water from the blood running from the arm wound.
“Tori.”
The maid approached her; it occurred to her for the first time that no one used honorifics with her name.
“Are you not to attend Lord Sanematsu’s evening meal?”
“Yes.” Aderyn did not even try to guess how she knew. The workings of the castle were such that very little went unnoticed. How long would she be able to conceal the injuries from Sanematsu? She had to try.
She could no longer hide. She came out of the bath and dressed in a clean osode. The bath maid treated her arm wound with ointment, wrapped it with a tight bandage and then smoothed the balm on the cuts on her face and chest. She gave the clay jar to her with instructions on its use before Aderyn departed the sanctuary of the bathhouse.
As she and Hamasaki walked to the women’s quarters, she draped her hair over her face.
“Tori, I am remiss in attending you,” he confessed. “Lord Sanematsu had another duty for me to perform.”
“I did wonder where you were.” She fingered her hair to insure it occluded her face. “Lord Sanematsu dismissed his guards when he entered the bathhouse.”
“He is an excellent swordsman. Since you were at his side, you were better protected by his katana than mine.”
Her bodyguard was a step ahead of her, a little at the side. Their height was identical.
“But he left me alone.” She swallowed hard and held her trembling chin in check. If she stayed with this line of conversation she would be in tears.
“Perhaps he was distracted when you parted,” he suggested, with more openness that she was accustomed to.
“It is of no matter. All is well,” she lied. If she told him what had taken place and of her wounds, he would be subject to answering with his life. She had learned that the answer for failure was dire. Was she worth it? Was a small amount of blood shed enough to merit his death? She could not have it on her conscience.
No one waited in her chambers. From the lacquered chest of beauty products, she took up a small hand mirror to inspect her face. How would she explain the injuries? They were not small enough she could hide them with makeup nor, except for her arm and beneath her breast, large enough to leave scars. Sanematsu would surely ask.
Nor could she tell him that Matsumoto had tried to rape her. It was her word against his, and Matsumoto’s carried more weight. He was samurai; he was karou; he was a lord in his own right.
He was a man.
Sanematsu would have to remain ignorant; but even if she had to die doing so, she swore she would have her revenge on Matsumoto. This would not break her spirit. She would keep the dignity and pride he had hoped to take from her, refuse to cower before him or avoid his presence. She would seek it out and show him how determined she could be. Never again would he see her cry!
Finished dressing, Aderyn combed her hair without energy. As she struggled with her thoughts, exhaustion came anew. How could she make it through the long hours of dinner with Sanematsu--seldom were their meetings short? Matsumoto’s assault had taken all the strength she possessed.
“Tori?” Sachi called from the outer room. “Are you there?”
“Yes, Sachi-sama.” Aderyn willed her voice to be steady. She shivered at the thought of confronting others with her wounded face. It was easy to be brave all alone in her room. Perhaps she should confess all to Sachi--the lady would hold it secret.
Then she thought better of it. She would tell Sachi some story about the cuts on her face and keep her from spying the ones hidden discreetly beneath her clothing.
“May I enter, Tori?” Sachi requested. There was a touch of urgency in her tone, as if she were fearful Aderyn would not let her in.
“Please do.” Aderyn pulled her hair back, away from her face. Let all see the gashes, especially Matsumoto, the only other person to know their origin.
“Lord Sanematsu has summoned his entire household to dinner,” Sachi said as she entered. “Are you ready?”
Aderyn finished the braid as Sachi watched from behind.
“I believe so.” She faced her. “I require your help with my outer robe.”
“Oh, Tori.” Sachi’s hands went to her mouth in astonishment. “What has happened?” She stared at the wounds.
“It is nothing.” Aderyn made an effort to sound nonchalant. Still weak, she tried not to sway when she stood. “You know how clumsy I am. I was coming across the garden and stumbled. I cut my face on the rocks, that is all.”
“It does not appear…Let me see to the obi.” Sachi tied the white girdle encircling Aderyn’s narrow waist with quick, efficient flips and tucks of the heavy silk. “The bright green enhances your eyes. I thought so when I had the seamstress make it.”
“I am glad I have some special occasion to wear my newest uchiki.”
The conversation sounded stilted, each of their thoughts on matters other than clothing.
“Shall we go to the audience hall?” Sachi put the finishing touches on Aderyn’s dress.
“Yes, I am starved.” She was becoming quite adept at telling untruths. She was, in fact, sore and fatigued. Actually on the verge of nausea, she did not want to face food, wishing only to crawl into her futon and pull the quilts over her head.
But she was duty-bound to attend Sanematsu’s banquet and determined to show Matsumoto her courage.
As they made their way to dinner, she attempted to add credibility to her story by joking about falling over if she walked too fast in the geta. It also gave her an excuse for her lack of energy.
“Why has Lord Sanematsu called everyone to dinner?” she asked to change the subject.
“I doubt our master would tell you himself. This is a special occasion. It is his birthday.”
“He told me when we first spoke that he had seen twenty-five ‘new years.’ What did he mean?”
“We celebrate and count age from the first day of the year. But, as he is our daimyo, we have a feast on his actual day of birth. It is really an excuse for a party.” Sachi giggled behind her hand.
Aderyn had never seen such a feast at Nishikata-jyo. The audience hall had been transformed into a festive place. Guests sat at low tables placed in rows along two walls. Screens hid a third row of tables. At the center of the back wall, where Lord Sanematsu sat, the table was elevated. Flanked by Lord Shigehide on his right and Lord Matsumoto on his left, he looked as if this was the last place on earth he wanted to be.
The members of the council sat to the right of his grandfather and the high-ranking samurai beyond Matsumoto. A dull-robed priest sat on the corner at the end of the line of warriors. Female servants sat behind and to the left, one to each male guest. Only men occupied the tables in view. Women retreated to their places off to the side, behind the painted screens.
While they waited their turn to greet the daimyo, Aderyn spoke to a maid and sent her on an errand. Sanematsu’s honor guard called them forward after several other guests. They knelt and prostrated their bodies. Aderyn’s spirits lifted when she rose. As their eyes met, Sanematsu’s dark, exotic ones fought not to crinkle into a smile. He cleared his throat and put on a sterner facade.
Sachi took Aderyn to the screened corner. The byoubu were the same as when she had sat before the council, except in these lattices small wedges spread the reeds and allowed the women to surreptitiously view the men.
“Tori,” Sachi told her before they took their places, “you must greet Lady Haru.”
Aderyn followed her past Sanematsu’s two oldest daughters, who acknowledged their father’s friend with subtle nods. They approached the woman who sat at the end of the table.
“My Lady Haru,” Sachi said with great politeness, “may I present Tori, our master’s guest?”
“It is a great pleasure to meet you.” Aderyn bowed. She did not like the now-familiar look of disdain she saw on Sanematsu’s sister’s face.
“I have heard much about you.” Haru nodded to Aderyn and Sachi.
There was little familial resemblance between brother and sister. In fact, they shared no feature. Haru was a short, fleshy woman, her thinning hair pulled back and streaked with gray. Her uchiki was full and billowing. The years she had above her brother showed--her round, flat face was lined with wrinkles and folds of fat. The court fashion of black ink on her teeth did not hide their yellowness and stains.
Because of the remoteness of Nishikata, most of the young women had foregone the teeth-blackening tradition, but the older women who had spent long years in Kyoto continued the practice.
White rice powder broken by red blotches painted on her cheeks and the scarlet outline of her lips made a garish mask of her face. High on her forehead, painted eyebrows replaced those she had shaved.
Haru dismissed them, and Sachi and Aderyn took their places. Looking over her shoulder, Aderyn lamented her distance from Sanematsu. They were halfway down the room from the dais where he sat, looking oddly solitary among the guests. The servants served appetizers and the traditional female drink of plum wine. Warm sake flowed in vast amounts on the male side of the screen. Pieces of raw fish with kelp and seasoned rice lay on dainty dishes in front of her.
The women could hear the salutations and poems composed for Sanematsu. Lady Haru spoke the birthday wishes of the women of the household through the silk. The servant Aderyn had dispatched returned and, at a break in the well-wishers, she called out, “My lord?”
A gasp filled the hall. Haru was the only woman permitted to speak from behind the screen.
“Yes, Ko-tori?” Sanematsu replied without hesitation, as if her action were quite normal.
“May I be allowed to approach you?”
Sachi shook her head in a fit of panic, frowning like a disapproving mother. And like a disobedient child, Aderyn ignored her, brushing her silent admonition away.
“Of course.”
She heard him swallow. This was the only hint that he was not as calm as he tried to appear.
Aderyn went around the screen and crossed the open area. She knelt very close to Lord Sanematsu’s elevated table. Inside the sleeve of her uchiki, she held a scroll.
“Lord Yoshihide…” She used the given name he had granted permission for her to use. “…in my country we have a custom of giving gifts for one’s birthday.”
She refused to look at Matsumoto, who glared at her from Sanematsu’s side. Her agitation increased. She would not let him see her fear.
“I wish to give you this.”
She pulled the scroll from her sleeve and offered it on extended palms. Sanematsu’s guard transferred it to her master’s hands.
“What could a barbarian have that our great master would want?” Matsumoto scoffed, though his voice held a hint of a leer. He quaffed a bowl of sake. Others joined his coarse laughter.
“It is a modest and unbecoming offering, but it comes freely, without persuasion.” She stared at him now, without flinching, certain he understood her meaning.