text: The village was relatively large as agricultural villages go, almost a town. There were a large house belonging to the landlord, a small tea-shop, several relatively prosperous houses, a hostler's, a community kiln, and the usual complement of common houses with neatly thatched roofs. Slightly outside the village, across a curving wood-and-stone bridge was a high gabled shrine nestled amidst a grove of ancient cryptomerias. Though the shrine was thatch roofed like all the other buildings, its thatch was new, its wooden walls well patched.
  
  The grove, the shrine, the way from the gateless square arch to the shrine, the very village itself were thronged with people. The peasants in celebration were wearing straw sandals, and their clothes were clean. The more prosperous townsmen brought out their finest robes, most of dyed cotton, some of silk. Gaily decorated booths lined the way to the shrine. Delicious smells of grilling dried squid, dumplings, and warming sake floated in the air. Long vertical banners snapped on their bamboo poles, declaring the festival.
  
  Satsuki looked on somewhat disapprovingly. There was little of the elegance she associated with festivals. Those of Miyako were very refined, exhibiting restraint and elegance. Here the festival goers shouted and danced, and the music was loud, with pipes and drums predominating. She followed Tsuneyoshi through the throng. People gave the yamabushi a wide berth. Their rough manners and haughtiness, as well as their magical powers, made them feared opponents, and few commoners cared to cross them.
  
  They came to a clearing just outside the shrine. Some of the yamabushi who had hurried ahead had staked out a broad area, which was free of merrymakers. A screen of white cloth, higher than a man's head, enclosed a small area off to one corner. The cloth was printed with magical Sanskrit characters. The yamabushi scattered to various corners of the bare area. Some set up large chests and began a series of rituals; others dispensed medicines. Two older yamabushi in white sat facing one another. One held a small wand tipped with streamers of white paper. As Satsuki watched, the man holding the wand started to tremble violently. The other grasped him firmly by the knees. Mutterings came from the trembling man. The other called out, and a commoner hurried over from the sidelines, marked with straw rope, and knelt to hear the shaman's words.
  
  Tsuneyoshi bowed her towards the enclosure. "That is for you," he said dryly.
  
  "Oh, thank you," she answered with a bright smile. "That is most considerate."
  
  He grinned sardonically. "I'm afraid you do not understand. You will entertain customers in there." Behind the enclosure she could see a small group of young and older men looking at her anxiously, licking their lips.
  
  "But of course!" she said brightly. "Of course I shall. So kind to ask me. I'm sure you have also arranged the necessities..." Her voice trailed off, gently chiding.
  
  "Necessities?" Tsuneyoshi gaped at her. "There's a mat in there. Don't forget to roll it up and strap it to your back when we leave. It is yours to use from now on."
  
  "Certainly—how silly of me. But I've forgotten to bring any paper and of course water... A brazier and tea makings would be so nice too. I'm sure you have supplied them," she added ingenuously.
  
  "I'll see to the supply," he promised, surprised at himself. He gave her one lingering and doubtful look before rushing off to fulfill her commission.
  
  She entered the enclosure. There was a grass mat spread on the ground. The space had been swept, but she was disappointed that no pains had been taken to at least rake the ground in a pleasing pattern, conducive to lovemaking. And some fresh sprigs or dried hollyhock leaves to indicate dalliance would do well too. She knelt on the mat.
  
  The first customer slipped through the opening. He was a rather hefty townsman, perspiring freely. She smiled at him sweetly and bowed to the ground. He would simply have wrestled her to the ground while exposing himself, but she held him off with a laugh.
  
  "Please, wouldn't you rather be comfortable? Please make yourself comfortable. Shall I loosen your robe?"
  
  She worked that entire day. The men were exceedingly unimaginative, Satsuki found. Mostly they wanted her to lie on her back while their pricks—long and short, fat and thin, young and old—dipped into her cunt as fast as they could and spewed the contents of their balls. Then they left, not even waiting a polite period of time for her to wipe them properly. At first she tried to offer more. She moved her hips in the intricate motions she had practiced as a girl, she whispered appropriate passages from classic poems in their ears, she admired their muscles and hair and skin with her hands. Few responded, and those who did, did so out of bemusement. As time went on she tried less and less, accepting them for what they were: poor peasants and townsmen out for a quick good time.
  
  Tsuneyoshi, true to his word, brought a supply of soft paper and a small brazier for tea. Few of the men cared for either. Tsuneyoshi or one of the other yamabushi was always within earshot, protecting their woman if necessary. Only once did a yamabushi intervene.
  
  The customer was thin faced, a deep scar across one side of his forehead. He limped into the enclosure. Satsuki had just brewed some tea. Her light gown was loose, falling off one shoulder, and her hair hung down, held only by a single ribbon. She glanced over her shoulder at him, presenting, as she knew, a charming vision of womanhood. He glanced at her and licked his lips. His eyes seemed to lose, their focus, and he stared at her blindly, as if lost in thoughts of long ago. He dropped his robes feverishly, and his loincloth followed. She turned to rise and help him, but he leaped forward and bore her back. She made some slight resistance to increase his pleasure. Instead of responding appropriately, he pummeled her roughly to the ground. He knelt over her, her thighs under his shins, and stared wide eyed at her spread figure. With a sob he slapped her half-parted thighs, and she spread them further, trying to indulge the poor man. His breathing was heavy, and saliva collected on his lips.
  
  He slapped her breasts again and again, muttering, "I've got you, woman; now I've got you," then plunged forward deeply into her. She stroked his shoulders as he began to move. He pulled out and looked at her, anger enlarging his eyes to frightening proportions. He grasped her hips roughly and forced her over on her belly. He pulled her back and entered her from behind. It was a pleasant variation on the monotony of the day, and Satsuki responded by moving her ass in a wide circle, something she knew was a good preliminary. He cried out something inarticulate, then slapped her ass. She knew some men preferred a bit of violence with their women and did her best to comply with his pleasure, ignoring the pain. He screamed at her this time, and withdrew from her again.
  
  Suddenly she felt the sticky knob of his cock poised at her rear entrance. Although she had no overt objection to that way of entry, she felt she should stand on her right to some preparation. She turned her head and started to say, "Dear sir, please—" when he grinned savagely at her and lunged forward. A burning pain, unexpected and therefore unbearable, lanced up her bottom. Satsuki responded by trying to pull away. He yelled in triumph and his blows rained down on her buttocks. Suddenly terrified, she heard the slithering-clinking sound of steel being drawn. Her calm shattered, she tried to pull away from the hold on her neck.
  
  There was rough cry, the sound of a blow, and the weight was gone from her back. She rolled over and away, conscious suddenly of the ridiculous figure she cut, stopped, and came to her knees. The scar-faced man was on all fours, one of the yamabushi standing over him. The yamabushi held his staff at the ready, while the man heaved with racking dry sobs and tried to crawl away. A short-sword lay on the mat.
  
  "Please let him go," Satsuki said in a low voice.
  
  "He was about to kill you!" the yamabushi responded angrily. "We do not allow this sort of treatment to a member of the band!"
  
  "Nonetheless, I beg of you, please let him go."
  
  The yamabushi looked at her doubtfully, then at the blade. He bowed his head once, then gave the cowering man a kick in the ribs.
  
  "Get out of here, animal! If you ever come round us again, that will be your end!" He took several threatening steps forward as the man scrambled away, rose to his feet, and hobbled off, bent over his hurting side.
  
  It was an exhausting way to make a living, she decided that evening, but the rewards were pleasant. And of course, it was infinitely more interesting than her previous effete life as a kuge noblewoman in the old city of Miyako. The yamabushi feasted that night on a rich vegetable soup and white rice. Satsuki ate delicately, knowing that greed would impair her faculties. She was somewhat piqued to note that none of the yamabushi required her services that night. Consoling herself with the thought that with training they would improve, she composed herself for sleep. In the morning they would be moving on through the mountains.