Akitada was no wiser, but now Hanae came to place a small silk-wrapped bundle in his arms. ‘Welcome your daughter, sir,’ she told him.

He looked down at a tiny red face and moist dark hair. The baby’s eyes were closed, the nose a mere button, and the rosy lips a flower bud. As he watched, the mouth opened slightly, and lips and tongue made wet sucking noises. Then a minuscule hand emerged from the folds of fabric. His heart contracted with a great surge of love. ‘Oh,’ he said, and ‘oh’ again, then he bent over the child and kissed her small head. ‘A daughter.’ He looked at Tamako with tears in his eyes.

His wife had stopped sobbing and looked back. A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. ‘A daughter, Akitada. Do you mind so very much?’

He smiled, rocking the baby gently. ‘Look, a daughter. Isn’t she beautiful?’ he said to the others. ‘Who would have thought we’d have a daughter?’

Relieved laughter filled the room. They called out their well-wishes for the child’s future health and happiness.

Through Akitada’s head danced visions of a pretty little creature in colorful clothing skipping through his house, tugging on his hand, begging to be picked up, bringing her dear Papa small gifts of flowers and stones from the garden.

He muttered endearments and stroked the child’s silky hair with a finger, admiring the perfect little hand. ‘I have a daughter,’ he said again, with such evident joy and satisfaction that Tamako laughed aloud.

‘A little girl,’ she said, her voice still thick from weeping. ‘A little girl who will steal all your love from me.’

‘Never,’ he said fervently and reached for her hand.

FLOATING CLOUDS

Tora’s wound worsened overnight. He had ignored it in the excitement of the birth, and the others had been too busy. He woke feverish and in pain. Hanae was spending the night in Tamako’s pavilion to look after her and the newborn, and Yuki was with his mother.

Tora got up with a groan and went to their small kitchen to quench his thirst with some water. Then he unwrapped his arm and saw that the wound was oozing and surrounded by a swollen and angry redness. He soaked some rags in cold water and laid them on his arm. This soothed the pain a little, but did nothing to clear his fuzzy head. He needed Seimei to take a look and work some of his magic with herbs or salves or whatever, but he did not want to draw attention to himself at a time when the household was exhausted and when any extra care should be devoted to its mistress and the little baby girl.

Eventually, he rewrapped his arm as best he could and ventured outside to sweep the courtyard and clean up the garden. The sweeping proved impossible with only one arm, so he confined himself to whatever he could do in terms of tidying up. But even that was exhausting. He could not remember when he had felt so weak and tired. Eventually, he sat down on the steps to Akitada’s study, leaned his head against a post, and closed his eyes.

Seimei found him there. ‘What are you doing?’ he scolded. ‘Sleeping when so much is to be done? The courtyard looks terrible. Go and sweep it immediately. We will have company.’

Tora opened his eyes blearily. ‘Can’t,’ he said.

‘What? Did you drink yourself into a stupor?’

Tora sighed and got to his feet. He felt awful. ‘What do you need me to do, old man?’

Seimei peered at him. ‘What is the matter with that bandage?’ He came closer, looked at Tora’s face, then reached up to touch it. ‘Amida,’ he murmured. ‘Here, sit down again. You have a fever.’

Tora obeyed gratefully. Seimei undid the bandage, pursed his lips, and shook his head. ‘That looks bad. It may have to be cut again.’

Tora’s heart sank. ‘Not that. Can’t you wrap some of your herbs around it, or dab on that stinking paste that draws out the poison?’

Seimei sighed. ‘I can try, but we had better call the doctor. Now, back to bed with you.’

Tora would have preferred to doze fitfully through the morning but, true to his word, Seimei came to treat him with evil-smelling ointments, bitter infusions, and painful squeezing of the oozing wound. He was followed by an anxious Hanae, who hid her panic behind anger. She accused him of wanton carelessness in seeking out trouble, of allowing himself to get stabbed, of not caring for his injury, of not caring about her or his baby son.

Just when the worst storm had blown over, and he was trying to find a comfortable position to rest in, Seimei returned with the doctor. The bandages came off again; there was more painful poking and squeezing, much head-shaking and pursing of lips, and then the doctor left, promising to send a good barber along to cut into the festering wound.

They left, and Akitada took their place. Here at last, Tora found some sympathy.

‘Does it hurt a lot?’ his master asked, looking worried. ‘Why didn’t you tell us? You did far too much yesterday. I blame myself. I should have known that you needed to rest, but my head was full with preparations. I’m sorry, Tora.’

That brought tears to Tora’s eyes, and he turned his head away. ‘No, no, sir,’ he muttered thickly. ‘It’s nothing. It doesn’t even hurt.’ That was a lie, of course. ‘And I had a lot fun.’ That was true enough. The memory dried his tears, and he turned back to Akitada with a grin. ‘They were great, those fellows, weren’t they? Oh, the racket we made! I swear we made the roof shake over Her Ladyship.’

‘There wasn’t an evil spirit anywhere near our place. I expect they’ll keep their distance in the future, now that you’ve taught them some respect.’

‘Right.’ Tora chuckled weakly. ‘And how’s your lady today? And the little one? What will you name her?’

His master’s face broke into one of his rare smiles. ‘Both are well. You saw her. Isn’t she the most exquisite little creature? It’s miraculous that we should have produced something so very beautiful. I don’t believe there’s ever been an imperial child to compare with her. We’ve decided to call her Yasuko. It’s one of the names approved by the doctor of divination. What do you think?’

‘It’s a fine name, sir. And your daughter is as beautiful as her parents.’

Akitada laughed happily. ‘As her mother, perhaps, but certainly not anything like the long-faced, scowling old dog who is her father.’

‘Well, perhaps girls aren’t supposed to take after their fathers.’

His master seemed to think this very funny also. ‘Her mother tells me that she has an enormous appetite. Surely that means she’s a strong child.’

He sounded a little uncertain about this. Tora knew that he would always fear losing another child. ‘I could hear her voice all the way into the garden,’ he said. ‘I think she screamed louder even than Yuki did when he was born.’

‘Really? Yes, she does have a very strong voice.’ His master chuckled again.

Seeing so much happiness where there had been none for so long, Tora almost forgot the pain in his arm and the fierce headache that had developed over the past hour, and smiled back.

His master patted his good arm and said, ‘You must rest now. Genba will be home soon, and meanwhile we’ll manage quite well. I’m perfectly capable of raking the courtyard, and the women are busy sweeping the reception room and preparing festive delicacies for the guests. I’ll stop in again a little later.’

Akitada had almost finished raking the courtyard. He liked the activity; it allowed him to think of his little daughter and of having once again a family. One of the first things he had done this day was to send a courier to the farm to inform his people there of the birth of the child and to call Genba home. In his joy, expense was nothing to him. The following days would bring many visitors.

There would be many happy times ahead: playtime with Yasuko, excursions into the countryside with Tamako once she was recovered, shared books, time spent on the veranda to admire Tamako’s garden in its summer greenery as the baby played between them. He would play his flute for them…