In fact, Seikei had not really wanted to come. The entire affair had involved so much treachery that he didn’t want to revisit the scene. The judge, however, had told Seikei that no one could refuse an invitation from the imperial court.
Months ago, when Seikei had returned to Edo and made his report, the shogun had been greatly disturbed. He pointed out that Seikei really had no proof that Yabuta had helped to plan the rebellion. “All you know,” he told Seikei, “is what the ronin Takanori told you. He may have been lying, and now he is dead.” The shogun sent samurai to find Yabuta, but they could not locate him anywhere.
Seikei recalled the last time he had seen the spy chief, in the imperial lodge in the mountains. Reigen had sent the others out of the room and said he would make sure Yabuta did no more harm.
There was no way to ask Reigen what he had done, because after returning the emperor to the palace, he had disappeared again. Seikei had been busy returning the Kusanagi to its place in the shrine and had no chance to say good-bye. At the shrine, the priests still thought Seikei was the emperor, making it easier for him to return the sword without explaining where it had been.
“The shogun knows you did a good job,” the judge assured Seikei. “After all, the spring plowing ceremony will take place as scheduled. The shogun is only upset because he has to find a new chief for the Guards of the Inner Garden.”
“He should not
have
a chief to do that kind of work,” said Seikei.
“I am afraid that rulers always like to know what their subjects are up to,” said the judge.
A murmur went through the crowd of invited guests. Two stable hands led a water buffalo into the garden and began to hitch it to a plow. Seikei looked at the animal with some doubt. “I hope the emperor can handle such a huge beast,” he said.
“It was carefully chosen for its gentleness,” the judge murmured. “The ground to be plowed has been loosened beforehand and all stones removed. I don’t think the work will strain the emperor’s abilities.”
A priest rang a handbell, the signal for everyone to kneel. A moment later, the emperor appeared, with a minister on each side of him. The two officials were whispering in both his ears at once. Seikei was pretty sure their advice was worthless.
Finally the emperor stepped forward, and a priest handed him the reins and a whip. The whip was unnecessary. As soon as the emperor jiggled the reins, the water buffalo took exactly six steps forward and then stopped. The animal was as well trained as the emperor—perhaps better.
At any rate, a satisfactory furrow had now been cut into the ground. The emperor took some seeds from one of the priests and dropped them in, spaced equally apart.
Now another priest handed him a small spade, sparkling clean. Yasuhito used it to cover the seeds. Seikei knew that once the seeds sprouted, they would be transplanted into a water-filled paddy, where they could grow till the harvest. The emperor would have other roles to fill then, but for today, he had done his job perfectly.
The emperor knew it. Seikei thought he saw a smile pass over Yasuhito’s face as he stepped back from the furrow. And when the two ministers closed in to whisper additional instructions to him, he pushed them away. Not roughly—maybe no one but Seikei noticed it—but a very definite push. He knew he was emperor now.
The guests bowed deeply as the emperor left the garden, and then got to their feet. In a little while, they would enter the palace for a banquet.
Seikei saw Hato threading her way through the crowd. She wore the uniform of a palace servant. Seikei steeled himself, not knowing what she might say.
But all she wanted was to ask if they were staying for the banquet. “I made the porridge,” she said. “The emperor won’t allow anyone but me to make it. Sometimes his personal servants wake me up at night to make it.”
“So you finally accepted the fact that he is the emperor?” said Seikei.
She nodded. “Well, he’s given me a good job, so I follow orders.” She looked around to see if anybody was listening. Fortunately the judge was talking to another guest.
“But you would have made a better emperor,” Hato said with a wink. She disappeared into the crowd before Seikei could say anything.
Later, when the porridge was served, Seikei tasted a spoonful. No doubt about it: Hato was a great cook, at least if you liked ginkgo porridge. He ate some more.
The judge finished his own bowl and turned to Seikei. “You should be proud,” he said. “The success of this day is due to your efforts.”
“I had a lot of help,” Seikei said modestly.
“But I now have a criticism to offer.”
Seikei cringed. He knew there were many things he had done wrong, but he had corrected most of them. He had even managed to redeem his swords from the pawn-broker. Would the judge think it had been too disrespectful for him to pawn them in the first place?
“That young woman who spoke to you in the garden,” said the judge, showing once again that he missed nothing. “Was she the one who thought that you were the emperor?”
Seikei nodded. “I know it was wrong of me to let her think that, but—”
“And she made this porridge?” the Judge asked.
“Yes. That was what she came to tell me.”
“You should never have let her get away. I wish you had brought her home with you. She’s much too good to be cooking for the emperor.”
AUTHORS’ NOTE
The Japanese claim their nation has the longest continuous line of rulers in the world. The first emperor, according to tradition, was Jimmu, who reigned from 660 B.C. to 585 B.C., by the modern calendar. Official historians have listed each of the 126 emperors, down to the current one, Akihito, who was enthroned in 1989. Japanese emperors are not “crowned,” because the headgear they wear is not a crown.
Japanese emperors are known by one name when they are alive, but another name is applied to them and their reign after they have left the throne. Thus, most Americans knew the 125th emperor by the name Hirohito, but after his death his reign name became Showa.
The young emperor in our story, Yasuhito, ruled Japan in the early 1700s, coming to the throne at the age of eight. His grandfather Reigen had reigned from 1663 to 1687, when he retired. Reigen lived on for another forty-five years. Yasuhito’s reign name is Nakamikado, which is how you will find him on a list of Japanese emperors. All the events in our story concerning these two emperors are completely from the imaginations of the authors.
The story of Amaterasu and Susanoo is part of Japanese mythology. Prince Yamato, who used the Kusanagi to conquer rebellious tribes, is supposed to have lived around A.D. 100. His formal name is Yamato-Dake, or Yamato the Warlike. The Kusanagi is still in the Atsuta Shrine at Nagoya today. However, though you may visit the shrine, the sword is never displayed to the public.
There really were pawnbrokers, known as
tamamakiya,
in Japan in the 1700s. The Mitsui family, whose name can still be found on Japanese banks, insurance companies, and real estate interests, began as pawnbrokers in the early 1600s.
We have simplified our description of the ceremonies at which a new emperor is enthroned. He does, however, spend a night in a hut waiting for his ancestor Amaterasu to visit. What happens during that night is known only to the emperor.
As readers of
The Ghost in the Tokaido Inn, The Demon in the Teahouse
, and
In Darkness, Death
know, Judge Ooka was a real person whose reputation for wise and honest decisions won him promotion to high office. He served Yoshimune, the eighth shogun of the Tokugawa family, who ruled Japan between 1717 and 1744. Tales about Judge Ooka have remained popular, causing some to call him the Sherlock Holmes of Japan. The character of his stepson, Seikei, is the authors’ creation.