She considered returning immediately to Maruyama, but such an action might offend Iida and increase his suspicions to the point of harming Mariko. She felt she must continue her journey: she was expected at Inuyama; messengers had already been sent. Iida would never be convinced by any excuses of sickness; he would only be insulted. She could do nothing other than complete the journey as planned-and continue to pretend.
Her journey led her through the heart of the Middle Country-the former Otori lands, which had been ceded to the Tohan clan after Yaegahara. The local people had resisted becoming Tohan and had borne the brunt of the Eastern clan’s cruelty and oppression. She overheard little on the road and in the overnight lodging places, for the formerly ebullient people had become taciturn and suspicious, and with good reason. She saw several signs of recent executions, and every village sported a notice board declaring penalties for breaking regulations-most of them involving torture and death. At the fork where the highway divided, the northern road leading to Chigawa, the eastern to Inuyama, the palanquin bearers stopped for a rest outside a small inn that served tea, bowls of rice and noodles, and dried fish. As Naomi alighted, her eyes fell on another notice board. Here, from its roof, a large gray heron had been suspended by its feet. It was barely alive; it flapped its wings sporadically and opened and closed its beak in weakened pain.
Naomi was deeply distressed by the sight, repelled by the unnecessary cruelty. She called to the men to cut the bird down. Their approach alarmed it, and it died struggling against their attempts to save it. As they laid it down on the ground before her, she knelt and touched the dulled plumage, saw its eyes film.
The old man who kept the inn hurried out and said in alarm, “Lady, you should not touch it. We will all be punished.”
“It is insulting to Heaven to treat its creatures so,” she replied. “It must surely bring bad luck to all travelers.”
“It is only a bird and we are men,” he muttered.
“Why does anyone torture a bird? What does it mean?”
“It’s a warning.” He would say no more, and she knew she should not insist for his own safety, but the memory continued to trouble her as she made the final stage of the journey through the mountains that surrounded Inuyama. The fair spring weather continued, but Naomi could not enjoy the blue sky, the soft southern breeze. Everything had been darkened by the dying heron.
She stayed for the last night, a few hours’ distance from the capital, in a small village on the river, and while the meal was being prepared, she asked Sachie to speak to Bunta; maybe he would be able to find out something in the village.
She and Sachie had finished eating by the time he returned.
“I met some men from Chigawa,” he said quietly, after he had knelt before her. “No one wants to talk openly. The Tohan have spies everywhere. However, these men told me a little: the heron is a warning, as the innkeeper said. There is a group-a movement-throughout the Middle Country. Loyalty to the Heron, it’s called. The Tohan are trying to eradicate it. There’s been a lot of unrest lately in Chigawa and the surrounding districts. It’s all to do with the silver mines. The movement is apparently very strong there: the lives of the miners have become more and more wretched; many abscond and escape to the mountains; young people, even children, are forced to take their place. The men say it is slavery, and under the Otori they were never slaves.”
She thanked him but did not ask any more. She felt she had heard too much already. “Loyalty to the Heron”-they could only be supporters of Shigeru.
Naomi rose early the next morning and arrived in the capital shortly after midday. She had made this journey many times now, yet she could never quite dispel the feeling of dread that the sight of Iida’s black-walled castle inspired in her. It dominated the town, the sheer walls rising from the moat, their reflection shimmering in the slow greenish water of the river. A narrow street led in a zigzag pattern to the main bridge. Here, even though she was a frequent visitor and already known to the guards, she and Sachie had to descend from the palanquins while they were thoroughly searched-though, Naomi thought resentfully, only the smallest and most loose-limbed assassin could have concealed himself there.
The search was insulting, yet Iida’s suspicions were well founded: many longed to see him dead-indeed, as she had said to Shigeru, she would kill him herself if she could. But she put all such thoughts from her and waited impassively and calmly until she was permitted to proceed.
She entered the palanquin again and the porters walked through the main bailey to the south bailey where Iida’s residence was built. Here she climbed out once more, to be met by two of Lady Iida’s companions. The porters and her men returned over the bridge to the town, and she and Sachie and their two maids followed the women through the residence gate, down the angled steps into the gardens, which extended away for a considerable distance as far as the riverbank.
The fragrance of flowers was everywhere: the purple irises around the stream that flowed through the gardens were just beginning to bloom, and heavy blossoms of wisteria hung like icicles from the pavilion roof.
Naomi and Sachie waited while the maids undid their sandals and brought water to wash their feet, then stepped up onto the polished wood veranda. It was newly constructed and ran around the entire residence, and as their feet trod over it, it responded with little cries like birds.
“What is it?” Sachie said in wonderment to one of the maids.
“Lord
