Both immediately plunged into the street and ran alongside their horses. One put her hands familiarly on Takehira’s knee. “Welcome,” she cried in a high voice. “We know first-class lodgings where your lordships will be treated like princes. Please follow us.”
Hiramoto reached for his sword. “Away, scum!” he roared.
The women shrieked and scattered.
Takehira looked after them regretfully. “What’s your rush? We should stop and find lodging before we make our bow to His Majesty.”
But his father only grunted again. A long bridge spanning the Kamo River took them out of the old city and into the green eastern hills where new temples and palaces with shining blue-tiled roofs and gilded pagodas beckoned from the trees.
They had been told that the Retired Emperor resided in His current residence until the Hojuji Palace was being built next to the temple by the same name. Like His predecessors and any number of princes of the blood, He planned take the tonsure. That time, Oba no Hiramoto feared, was near. He had been praying that his daughter would find imperial favor before it was too late.
Takehira hoped that she had already succeeded and that fortune would fall on his family like summer rain, fortune beyond the wildest expectations of provincial gentry, fortune which would increase their power and influence in Settsu province for generations.
The perfumed fops needed the military power of the warrior families, and the warriors needed the political power that lay in the hands of emperors, ex-emperors, and chancellors of the realm.
But most specifically and immediately, Takehira expected an appointment with officer’s rank in the imperial guard. That would bring with it a nice income, friends among the nobles, an endless series of entertainments, and all the women he could wish for.
At the enormous covered gate to the cloister palace, they identified themselves and their errand to guards, and passed into an equally enormous courtyard surrounded by many galleries and halls. The midday sun shining on glossy tiles, red painted columns and balustrades, and the white gravel underfoot blinded them.
“Amida!” breathed Takehira.
They reined in and blinked at the scene. Carriages, as many as thirty of them, waited along both sides of the rectangle, their oxen unharnessed and their drivers and escorts sitting cross-legged in the shade of the ornate two-wheeled vehicles. Soldiers walked about, their bows in hand, to keep an eye on things. Black-capped and silk-robed officials held up their trains as they stepped gingerly in their full trousers. Palace servants, in tall black caps and white clothing under brown cloaks, ran with messages and documents, and Buddhist priests stood in small groups.
“What happens now?” Takehira asked eagerly.
His father bit his lip, then called one of his men to his side. “Go announce us!”
The soldier saluted, then looked around at the many halls. “Where?” he asked.
Hiramoto muttered a curse. “Idiot. Over there.” He pointed to the largest hall.
The man trotted off and returned quickly. “Master, they say they don’t know us. They say to go away.”
Hiramoto cursed again and hit the man on the head with his wooden baton. “You and the others go wait over there.” He gestured toward the carriages. “Come, Takehira.” He spurred his horse and galloped to the stairs leading up to the building, coming to a halt in a shower of gravel. Swinging down from the saddle, he took the stairs two steps at a time. A court official wearing a pale green silk robe and small lacquered court cap took a step back.
“You there,” Hiratomo roared at him.
Takehira grinned. His father had attracted the attention of the entire courtyard. He decided to follow suit. More galloping and another rearing, splattering, whinnying halt later, he joined his father on the veranda. The official, who had sent their man away only moments ago, glared at them.
Hiramoto advanced on him. His heavy boots made the boards of the veranda tremble. His large sword swung and his heavy armor flapped and clinked as he moved. Takehira followed gleefully.
The official retreated farther. “Stop! You cannot come here like this,” he squeaked.
Towering over him, Hiramoto put his hand on the hilt of his sword and raised his voice. “I am Oba no Hiramoto, son of Oba no Kageshita and nephew of Oba no Kageyoshi, descendants of Oba no Kagemasa, the hero of the five-years’ war, and I am here to see the cloistered Emperor and my daughter who is in his service. Announce me instantly or I’ll find the way myself.”
The official paled. “Your pardon, sir,” he stammered with a bow. “Your soldier, er, servant, did not mention your errand.”
“He’s an idiot,” growled Hiramoto. “And so are you to offend strangers without knowing their business.”
The official bit his lip and stared in despair at their dusty clothes. Takehira put a frown on his face and a hand on his sword. The courtier gave up his resistance. “You will have to remove your weapons and boots.”
Disarmed and in their stockings, they were passed on to another official.
Inside the great hall, more men were waiting, but these were nobles, high-ranking clergymen, and senior officers of the guard. Takehira eyed their uniforms and court dress with admiration and interest, but his father still glowered.
“I have written,” he grumbled. “Why this delay?”
Officials came and went. They wore black slippers and moved along in stiff, softly hissing silk robes. Their faces were powdered, and a faint scent of perfume accompanied them. Hiramoto wrinkled his nose in distaste. They both stood stiffly, in their dusty clothes, their helmets under their arms. Finally another official, more polite than the first, asked their business and departed. When he returned, he told them that he regretted but His Majesty was in a meeting of national importance. If the gentlemen would wait in another room, his Excellency, Counselor Tameyazu would come to speak with them.
Hiramoto’s face relaxed. He said, “A great man, Counselor Tameyazu. I know him well. He came to my house with His Majesty.”
The official bowed more deeply, then led them to a small room under the eaves.
Here Takehira eyed the thick, springy grass mats under foot and the fine green shades that kept the sun out. “A comfortable place,” he observed. “Wonder where our Toshiko sleeps.” He lifted the shade and peered out at another courtyard and more large buildings. “I haven’t seen any women, have you?”
His father grunted and sat down on a cushion, crossing his legs.
“I expect she looks as beautiful as an angel these days,” Takehira continued. “Can you imagine our Toshiko behaving like a real lady?” He laughed. “A grand lady, with other ladies waiting on her hand and foot. I bet this palace is full of beauties.”
“Quiet,” growled his father.
Takehira sat down and fell into happy musings about graceful maidens in many-colored silk gowns. In his mind, they flocked around him and looked admiringly at his armor. From this delectable image, his mind wandered to the delights of being a guard officer, participating in drills and performing on horseback with bow and arrow. He was a fine rider and an excellent marksman and pictured himself the center of applause, stripping off his sleeve to reveal his fine arm and shoulder muscles as he stretched the bow and placed the arrow in its groove. Ahead would be the ringed target, and his arrow would hit its center. Perhaps even the Emperor would see him, and all his women . . .
The door opened abruptly, and Counselor Tameyazu came in. Tameyazu was a middle-aged courtier, clearly of high rank. Takehira stood and saluted. Hiramoto simply stood and nodded. Tameyazu inclined his head with a thin smile but he did not sit down nor invite them to do so.
“Ah, Oba,” he said in an affable tone. “Good of you to come. All is well in Iga, I hope?”
“All is well, sir,” said Hiramoto stolidly.
“Good, good.” Tameyazu waited.