Before the sun set that very day, I had begun working on the most complicated design I had ever attempted. It was so ambitious, a request for six months seemed rather conservative than excessive. I took confidence in the instinct that had inspired the request for time. The design’s inspiration had come to my mind with the direct communication my creative genius always delivered. And even a penalty of death would not alter my commitment to trusting this inspiration. I would adhere to it and suffer the consequences.
I had no confidence in privacy, however. And so it followed. Once making a reasonable beginning, courtiers, perhaps spying for the Princess herself, began to peek inside my quarters to view my loom, and then disappear as quickly as they had come. Sometimes they were so sly, the only thing announcing their presence was a slight vapor of perfume.
I had no feedback from which to draw any conclusions of approval. As yet, my design was so complex, and I had completed so little of it, I felt certain of disapproval, and I regretted again my lack of privacy.
With the exception of a daily bath with the courtiers and tea, I limited my interactions with others. Eventually, at bath or at tea, I could gauge the Princess’s approval of my work by the warmth the courtiers showed to me on either occasion. Suddenly, it seemed, they communicated more than formula. There were invitations to hear a poetry reading, or to participate in a dance. I declined every invitation but one. That one came from the Princess herself, and I couldn’t reject it.
She had invited me to take tea with her. This pleased me, but I hated to go. It would mean another uncomfortable confrontation with royalty, perhaps more than the Princess, and I would be again scrubbed and shaved and painted. But a relationship with the Princess might also delay my work, and this was well, because my increasing confidence had sped my performance slightly ahead of the timeline I was trying to keep.
When I knelt once again across from the Princess and her companions, I remembered Madame Sato and her story of the suspended katana. I thought I sat as though a great katana were dangling above me, suspended by a single strand from a horse’s mane, but I knew better than to doubt the existence of a blade above the Princess’ head as well, and it must be at least as sharp. The imperial family had already seen their interests carved up by the victory of the Okugawa Clan years ago. Their importance at Eastern Capital was reduced to a symbol, and they held even this symbolic position only at the doubtful mercy of war loving men. The whole family, together, bore the shame of mere figurehead preservation.
As we shared a quiet tea, I let myself wonder further what the more intimate concerns of a figurehead princess could be. My thoughts being as they were, it was without shock that I received her invitation to join her for a private walk in the garden after tea.
“The fall colors are beautiful in our garden. You have not quite the same exquisite variety of foliage in the outer court,” she said, as she led me intimately on her arm. She kept her comments safe and uninteresting, for the sake of her attendants watching, but when we had created a little distance from her watchers, she spoke more frankly.
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“It was a chilly reception I gave you last month,” the Princess said.
I couldn’t contradict her.
“We invite a number of guests to court, both artists and craftsmen. Some of them behave abominably, bringing with them infection and vermin. In those cases, we have had to dismiss them rather quickly. You understand.”
“Yes, Highness.”
“Not that I expected the same from you. Your family is noble, after all. It is rather a novelty to have a weaver’s accomplishment in a noble.”
“Is it, Highness?”
“Yes. I have not been to see your loom, but I am very curious. Reports have been quite exciting. Shall we go and have a peek now?”
She asked me as though I had a right to say no, but I knew better.
“Yes, of course.”
She gave a signal to a companion following at a distance, and within a few seconds, the way was clear for the Princess to follow me to my loom.
I always fitted the loom with a large covering when not working, and The Princess commanded her companion to remove the draping with a wave of her royal fingers.
Once removed, the Princess gave a gasp.
“Why, sakura!” she exclaimed at the exposed silk. “And it will be finished for the annual festival?”
“I hope so,” I said, though in reality, I fondly wished to never finish it.
“I have never seen anything to equal it.” Her eyes shone with pleasure.
“You honor me, Highness.”
“Not at all. I shall have a challenging time awaiting its completion. And of course, I will come again soon. I suppose there is no point in pushing its completion any faster, since the only fitting occasion is so far beyond us. But oh! I will not be able to let you go.”
I had not been so bold as to expect this kind of favor from the Princess, but this was a chance I could not let pass by.
“I beg Your Highness, then, to do as you say. Please, don’t let me go!” My voice cracked with emotion.
“What do you mean?”
“Keep me as your private weaver.”
Her eyes widened.
“But surely you have a life to return to? Surely you have a betrothal to keep?”
“No, indeed. My family was stricken, and my betrothed as well.”
“You have no one?”
“Only my mother survives. And I have no ambition to marry.”
The Princess covered a slight smile with her fan.
“This is a maidenly wish I believe I understand. But perhaps you will not feel so always. Many high-ranking men might wish to marry you.”
I lowered my eyes.
“If I do not marry, I will be here to serve you always.”
The Princess averted her eyes.
“You want to withdraw from society like a monk? Well. I will make a request of the Emperor, and give you an answer.”
This was a strategic play, but it was not one I had not already well considered. If there was any threat I feared, it was an approach or proposition by a high-ranking man. Would I fight and kill him also? How could I? And how could I not?
If I could persuade the Princess to keep me as her servant, I might avoid being cornered in at least one way, and I might be able to rely upon the rigid rules of court for every other form of protection. I might, but it seemed unlikely. All around me seemed to fall back upon secret alliances and clandestine liaisons to fortify their positions. Were I to do the same, I might learn of threats in advance and avoid them. I might even discover some information about Ansei.
Having obtained the Princess’s favor, I might realistically make such an attempt at life. With the Princess’ approval, I had new social credit to trade upon. And I began to see that failing to leverage that credit would be a mistake.