hand in the dark. Her voice quavered. “I wish we had asked the monk to see her. She is very ill. I have seen this before. I don’t believe this is her spirit out of balance with her body. This pain and swelling on the side of her abdomen, it is poison collecting, I’m sure. I’m afraid for our daughter.”
Kogami felt a growing sense of alarm. Ashigaru had assured him it was only a sickness of the sea and Kogami had believed that—he had needed to believe it. But what if the priest was wrong? What if this
was
poison collecting, as his wife said, and his daughter needed more help than this Tomsoian priest could give?
Ashigaru was the Emperor’s man, as was Kogami Norimasa. And the monk, if not the Emperor’s enemy, was at least perceived as a threat—though in some way that Kogami did not understand. There was no love between the followers of Botahara and the followers of Tomso. Kogami knew that the priest would be more than insulted if he suddenly were to ask him to step aside so that the monk could practice what the followers of Tomso called “heretical medicine.”
“We must give the priest a little time, my faithful one,” Kogami whispered. “If there is no improvement, we will ask the monk to see her.”
“But…” Kogami held up his hand and his wife choked back a sob. “I apologize for this lack of control. I am not worthy of your respect. I will remove myself from your sight and sit with our daughter.”
She turned to go, but he stopped her, his voice soft. “If she grows worse…send the servant to inform me.”
He was alone again in the moonlight. The sea had eased its motion since the wind had abated, but Kogami did not notice—inside of him a storm grew.
The moon emerged from behind an almost perfectly oval cloud and took its place among the stars. The constellation called the Two-HeadedDragon appeared on the horizon, first one eye and then the other, peering out above the waves. A sail began to luff and two crewman hurried to tend it. Men went aloft to set a tri-sail as the wind fell off and a reef was let out of the main. The ship began to make way at renewed speed.
Around the iron tub that contained the charcoal fire, men gathered to brew cha. When they spoke at all, it was in whispers, the formality of cha drinking reduced, of necessity, to mere nods and half-bows aboard ship. In a most deferential manner, a sailor went to offer a steaming cup to the Botahist monk, but the young Initiate shook his head. If he spoke at all, Kogami could not hear him.
Kogami had approached the monk himself, earlier in the voyage, and had met with a similar rebuff. Having known the ways of the Botahist Brothers since his earliest days, Kogami had sought out the monk at a time when they could not be overheard and offered to make a “contribution” of fine cloth to the Brotherhood in return for a blessing. There was nothing uncommon in this and if the offer was made with tact (one did not go with the gift in one’s hands), a refusal was unusual. Yet when he had finished his carefully worded speech, the monk had turned away, leaving Kogami in a most humiliating situation. Then without even looking at him, this boy-monk had said, “Give your fine cloth to someone who has need of it, then you will be blessed.”
Kogami could not believe he had been witness to such a display of bad manners! He had been forced to walk away, his parting bow unreturned. What if that had been observed! He had never known such anger and shame. Even now he felt the humiliation as he recalled the event. The Botahist Brothers were capable of such hypocrisy, Kogami thought.
Botahara had taught that humility was the first step on the path to enlightenment, yet the monks who professed to walk this path displayed an arrogance that would shame a Mori prince. It was clear that this young monk needed some education, away from the confines of Jinjoh Monastery, for he did not yet understand the practices of his own Order.
Kogami tried to
Kogami felt a growing sense of alarm. Ashigaru had assured him it was only a sickness of the sea and Kogami had believed that—he had needed to believe it. But what if the priest was wrong? What if this
was
poison collecting, as his wife said, and his daughter needed more help than this Tomsoian priest could give?
Ashigaru was the Emperor’s man, as was Kogami Norimasa. And the monk, if not the Emperor’s enemy, was at least perceived as a threat—though in some way that Kogami did not understand. There was no love between the followers of Botahara and the followers of Tomso. Kogami knew that the priest would be more than insulted if he suddenly were to ask him to step aside so that the monk could practice what the followers of Tomso called “heretical medicine.”
“We must give the priest a little time, my faithful one,” Kogami whispered. “If there is no improvement, we will ask the monk to see her.”
“But…” Kogami held up his hand and his wife choked back a sob. “I apologize for this lack of control. I am not worthy of your respect. I will remove myself from your sight and sit with our daughter.”
She turned to go, but he stopped her, his voice soft. “If she grows worse…send the servant to inform me.”
He was alone again in the moonlight. The sea had eased its motion since the wind had abated, but Kogami did not notice—inside of him a storm grew.
The moon emerged from behind an almost perfectly oval cloud and took its place among the stars. The constellation called the Two-HeadedDragon appeared on the horizon, first one eye and then the other, peering out above the waves. A sail began to luff and two crewman hurried to tend it. Men went aloft to set a tri-sail as the wind fell off and a reef was let out of the main. The ship began to make way at renewed speed.
Around the iron tub that contained the charcoal fire, men gathered to brew cha. When they spoke at all, it was in whispers, the formality of cha drinking reduced, of necessity, to mere nods and half-bows aboard ship. In a most deferential manner, a sailor went to offer a steaming cup to the Botahist monk, but the young Initiate shook his head. If he spoke at all, Kogami could not hear him.
Kogami had approached the monk himself, earlier in the voyage, and had met with a similar rebuff. Having known the ways of the Botahist Brothers since his earliest days, Kogami had sought out the monk at a time when they could not be overheard and offered to make a “contribution” of fine cloth to the Brotherhood in return for a blessing. There was nothing uncommon in this and if the offer was made with tact (one did not go with the gift in one’s hands), a refusal was unusual. Yet when he had finished his carefully worded speech, the monk had turned away, leaving Kogami in a most humiliating situation. Then without even looking at him, this boy-monk had said, “Give your fine cloth to someone who has need of it, then you will be blessed.”
Kogami could not believe he had been witness to such a display of bad manners! He had been forced to walk away, his parting bow unreturned. What if that had been observed! He had never known such anger and shame. Even now he felt the humiliation as he recalled the event. The Botahist Brothers were capable of such hypocrisy, Kogami thought.
Botahara had taught that humility was the first step on the path to enlightenment, yet the monks who professed to walk this path displayed an arrogance that would shame a Mori prince. It was clear that this young monk needed some education, away from the confines of Jinjoh Monastery, for he did not yet understand the practices of his own Order.
Kogami tried to
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