Free The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai by Barbara Lazar Page A

mindfulness, speech, action, diligence, concentration and livelihood. He emphasised Right Action to me. Master Isamu taught us more about the Way: loyalty, justice, courage, politeness, truthfulness, honour and benevolence. Loyalty was the most important. Benevolence meant I could not kick, hit or grab at any of the boys, no matter how much they teased me, especially Uba.
    Tashiko did not like Uba. I could not talk about him without her sulking for the rest of the day. I found that confusing too.
    Once Proprietor Chiba came to the fields himself, which was unusual, with a smile on his face, also unusual. He only smiled if he wanted something, was eating, or when he thrashed me and Tashiko. Master Isamu reminded me, in the middle of an archery lesson, ‘The bow teaches the archer.’ I remembered this, because Proprietor Chiba laughed and talked with Master Isamu.
    ‘The Tax Collector has just left. I told him that because we are of the Taira Clan, we need not pay any tax at this time. But I encouraged him to watch my samurai practise.’ Proprietor Chiba laughed loudly, his hands on his hips. ‘With you we have no need to pay, have we? No need to travel to Heian-kyō, heh? No need to protest at the Grand Council?’
    Master Isamu smiled at Proprietor Chiba.
    ‘There are many advantages to having warriors around me.’ Proprietor Chiba gave a wide smile, then laughed again. I did not recall ever seeing him so happy, except at Tashiko’s shrieks.
    I did not realise until years later that I had witnessed his downfall.

BOOK 4

I. Flaw
    Tashiko hunched over me in Lesser House, as breathless as if she had just finished the Lion Dance, and arranged her irritated face into a neutral expression. ‘Again. I show. You copy.’
    This time would be successful. I studied and held my breath. I thought of needlecraft and that last day with my family. Fourth Daughter had demonstrated for me many times, but I could never make my stitches look like hers.
    But I would not fail at this: I needed to write the poems I composed. The samurai expected it of me, and Proprietor Chiba had ordered me to learn, with threats of the usual punishments.
    Tashiko leaned over my shoulder, making the character. ‘See?’ she said. ‘Now you.’
    I took the brush. Dipped it in ink. Wiped the brush and checked the moisture. Ready.
    Silent prayer to the Goddess of Mercy, to the God of the Brush, if there was one. Akio had told me that samurai were skilful poets and musicians, as well as expert fighters.
    Tashiko adjusted my fingers around the brush and pushed my wrist into position.
    ‘Down, up and out,’ she murmured, for the fifteenth or fiftieth time.
    Down.
    Up.
    Out.
    A mess. Almost a whole month on one character, and it looked as if a bird had written it with one claw.
    Red in the face, Tashiko blew moist strands of hair from her eyes. ‘I do not believe it!’ She stood up and tramped away. ‘I taught three other girls. You are the worst!’
    ‘Three? Did they all do well?’
    ‘Yes. All. Are you not even trying?’
    ‘I am! I am!’ I put my hands over my face. A diversion might help. ‘How long have you been here with Proprietor Chiba?’
    ‘Five years.’
    ‘A long time. Were you alone?’
    ‘No. Two others.’
    This was not about writing, and her face was returning to its normal nut brown. ‘You all danced?’
    She nodded, with that sad shake of her shoulders. ‘Sold, too. All were.’
    ‘How old were you when you were sold?’ I asked.
    ‘Five.’
    ‘I’m sure you know I was over six. My family has new land because of me.’ I sat up straighter.
    Tashiko’s lips formed a weak smile. ‘A new ox. My family can plough fields faster . . . and by now the ox has bred enough for my older sister’s dowry.’
    ‘How many older sisters?’
    ‘Five. The two eldest are married. Two went to convent, but the convent would not take another without dowry.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘Too greedy?’
    ‘How did you get here?’
    ‘Prettiest one