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Princess Teiko, even though Tagako couldn’t have been more than six or so at the time. I was years gone before her appointment as saiō and had heard nothing of it, but then my attendance at any shrine outside Kamakura had been spotty at best.
    Morofusa spoke up then. “With your permission, Lord Yamada, there’s a small village not too far from here where the saiō traditionally rests both on her way to the shrine after her appointment and upon her return to the Capital. The temple there keeps a garrison of sohei , so it should be secure.”
    “That sounds perfect.”
    Our stop was a fishing village built next to an inlet on Ise Bay. The temple Morofusa mentioned, since it served as a waystation for the high priestess, had guest quarters. Nothing opulent, but more than adequate for our needs. That evening I found myself again watching the shoreline, this time from the western veranda of the temple, but this time the ghost light did not appear. Kenji found me there.
    “As I suspected,” he said. “Have you seen any sign?”
    “Nothing. And I am not sure whether I am more relieved or saddened.”
    Kenji said nothing for a moment or two, but I knew there was something on his mind. He finally spoke it. “Princess Teiko is dead, Lord Yamada. Her ghost, for whatever reason it has chosen to remain in the mortal realm for now, no longer belongs here. She should be exorcized.”
    “No!” Even I was startled by the force of my denial, but Kenji didn’t blink.
    “I anticipated your reaction, but you needn’t concern yourself, as I doubt this step will be necessary. I believe, once you or we have accomplished her desire, she will wish to depart on her own. You should be pleased for her, and yet?”
    “I am torn,” I said. “I would know she was at rest, but . . . ” I didn’t finish. Kenji did it for me.
    “She will be really gone this time, for good and all? Yes, I thought so. Yamada-sama, ghost or no, she is already gone, in every way that should make a difference to you. There may come a time when she is truly ready to depart and it is only your clinging to her memory that will, perhaps, hold her here. Will you be prepared to let go, to really let go, when the time comes?”
    I gave him the only answer I had. “I do not know.”
    Kenji’s expression was as serious as any I had ever seen on his face. “Then I suggest you consider the question, for there may come a time when the answer will matter more than Teiko’s last wish for her son does now.”
    We set out early the next morning, and as Morofusa had predicted, we came in sight of the Bamboo Palace at Saiku well before sunset. As a residence it was little worse than most noble mansions in the Capital, with a main hall and two wings connected by walkways, plus several outbuildings for storage, kitchens, and workshops, all within a walled compound within the village. I knew there was little reason to proceed on toward the Grand Shrine before nightfall, so we set up camp on a small hilltop overlooking the village while a runner was sent ahead to offer our greetings to the saiō . Even I knew that one simply did not present oneself unannounced in such circumstances. Yet the attendants had barely begun their preparations before the runner, a young man named Hiroshi, returned and kneeled before me.
    “Yamada-sama, I was instructed to give this to you personally,” he said.
    Hiroshi held out both hands palm up, and resting there was a small sheet of washi neatly folded into the form sometimes referred to as a “lover’s knot,” since it was nearly impossible to re-fold properly once opened and so had the virtue of making it extremely difficult for anyone else to read the message without the intended recipient knowing that the communication had been compromised. I took the paper and unfolded it carefully to read:
Autumn wind rushes past
An empty garden where once
The peony bloomed.
    After the poem, there was a simple message: “I would speak with you in