When Akitada opened his eyes, he looked again at the slain Kumo. The golden helmet had fallen off, and his face looked younger in death. The eyes were closed and the lips had relaxed as if he had merely fallen asleep. Akitada got up to make certain he was dead and disturbed the first fly on the bloody armor. Akitada felt neither triumph nor regret, only immeasurable exhaustion.
Staying on his feet took all the strength he could muster. He stumbled over to where Tora sat with Haseo. Tora had fashioned some sort of pad for Haseo’s belly wound. When Akitada gave him a questioning look, he shook his head. Belly wounds were fatal. Always. They were also agonizingly painful. Haseo’s eyes were closed, his lips compressed.
Akitada sat down on his other side. “How are you, my friend?” He took the big man’s callused hand in his.
Haseo’s eyes flicked open. He managed a smile. Akitada would always remember Haseo smiling. “A great fight,” Haseo murmured. He paused and added, almost inaudibly, “Wonderful!”
Akitada felt helpless. “Yes,” he said, glancing around with rising sickness at the scattered bodies and noticing for the first time that some of the peasants were timidly peering around corners and from windows. Life would go on.
But not for Haseo.
Tora said to Haseo, “I saw you fighting two of the bastards at the same time. People say it can’t be done, but you did it. I meant to ask you to teach me.”
Haseo smiled. “Thanks. You’ll learn. You’re not bad yourself.”
Akitada had been too hard-pressed to see him fight, but he remembered how Haseo had wished for a sword on the mountain and later longed for Tora’s weapon, and he wondered about his background. “I never asked your name,” he said.
There was a long pause, and he repeated his question. “What is your family name, Haseo?”
Haseo unclenched his bloody hand long enough to make a dismissive gesture. “Gone. Taken away. Sentence.” So they had not only sentenced him to exile, but stripped his family of their ancestral name. “What was it?” Akitada persisted.
At first it seemed that Haseo would not answer. But then he whispered, “Utsunomiya.”
“Utsunomiya. I’ll find your family and try to clear your name. Your sons will want to know of your courage.” Haseo opened his eyes then and looked at him. “It is too much to ask,” he whispered.
Akitada shook his head. “Not among friends.” He was about to ask more questions but there were shouts in the distance.
Someone was coming. Tora jumped up and ran to the road, while Akitada struggled to his feet and seized his sword. What now? More of Kumo’s soldiers? He had no strength left.
But Tora, shading his eyes, was looking toward the south.
He waved to Akitada to come. The distance suddenly seemed very great; Akitada shuffled like an old man, with small uncertain steps.
“It’s the governor, I think,” said Tora when Akitada reached him. Akitada shaded his own eyes. Yes, he could make out the banner flying in front of the cortege. “I thought he’d lost his power,” Tora remarked in a tone of surprise. “Wonder how he got anyone to come with him.”
They were on foot, probably some forty men, foot soldiers with halberds and bearers carrying the governor’s sedan chair. And now that they approached a town, they began to chant the traditional warning, “Make way for His Excellency, the governor! Make way!” Slowly the local people gathered by the roadside and knelt as the banner and sedan chair passed them.
The soldiers’ shouts became more urgent when neither Tora nor Akitada would step aside. Then they caught sight of the bodies of men and horses and lowered their lances.
Akitada raised his hand. “Halt! We have business with His Excellency.”
The column faltered and stopped. The woven curtain of the sedan chair parted and Mutobe stuck out his head.
“What’s going on?” he shouted. “What do these people want?”
“Governor?” Akitada started toward the sedan chair, but a small forest of sharp halberds immediately barred his way.
“Who are you?” asked Mutobe.
“Sugawara.”
Mutobe’s jaw dropped. “Good heavens!” Then he cried, “Put me down! Put me down, you fools.” The sedan chair was lowered and opened. Mutobe climbed out and came to Akitada with outstretched hands. The halberds parted and the soldiers stepped back. Mutobe’s steps faltered. “Is that really you, Sugawara?” he asked uncertainly. “All that blood. Are you hurt?” Belatedly his eyes fell on the carcass of a dead horse, then on human bodies. “What has happened here?” he asked, his eyes wide and his voice hoarse.
“Kumo caught up with us. May I introduce Lieutenant Tora? If he had not found me in time, we would not be speaking to each other now.”
Mutobe looked at Tora, turned a little green at the amount of gore on Tora, and nodded. “Yes. We met. Are you telling me that you two killed all these men?” His eyes counted. “Four mounted soldiers? All by yourselves?”
“No, there were three of us. My friend was wounded. He is dying.” Akitada led the way to the farmyard, where Mutobe counted more bodies, pausing in astonishment beside the corpse of the late high constable.
“It’s Kumo,” he said, picking up the golden helmet. “You killed Kumo. Wonderful! It’s a miracle. Finally we are free of the monster. Oh, we will celebrate this day!” He clapped his hands together like a small child.
Akitada did not feel like celebrating. He knelt beside Haseo.
Mutobe came to lean over him. “Who is he?”
“Utsunomiya Haseo. My friend.”
“Don’t know him. How did you meet?”
“He was a prisoner as I was. In Kumo’s mine.”
“Oh, a convict. He looks dead.”
Akitada was holding Haseo’s hand, willing him to open his eyes, to smile. Tora joined them. He reached down and felt Haseo’s neck. “Gone,” he said bluntly. “Better this way.”
“Yes,” said Akitada dismally, tears blurring his eyes. “But I had so much to ask him still.”
“Well.” Mutobe straightened up and looked about. “The locals will take care of him and the others. Cheer up. He’s only a convict. Would have been executed anyway for escaping.” Akitada felt like striking the man. Even if it had been some other convict and not Haseo, he would have flared up in righteous anger. Mutobe had not confronted Kumo to stop the abuse of prisoners and mine workers. He had been engaged in a miserable private struggle to solidify his and his son’s authority against the increasingly powerful high constable. But Akitada was too exhausted to be able to say more than, “No. He will return with us for an honorable burial in Mano. Whatever he was, he fought bravely in an honorable cause.” Mutobe was distracted. “Oh, very well. Whatever. But where are the ladies?”
“The ladies?” Akitada put Haseo’s hand back on his chest and got to his feet. He saw now that they had been joined by two other men. One was Yamada, looking shocked and anxious, the other the governor’s son. “Toshito?” Akitada gasped. “What are you doing here? I thought you were with Kumo.”
“With Kumo?” Yamada and his son-in-law cried in unison.
“Why would my son be with Kumo?” the governor asked.
“He ran most of the way from Ribata’s hermitage to tell me of your escape and to ask me to bring help in case Kumo came after you. He took quite a risk. I’m sorry we did not get here sooner, but my men were reluctant to obey me.” Akitada said quickly, “Never mind. I’m grateful you’re here.” He glanced toward the governor’s soldiers. An elderly officer was directing his men to collect the bodies and clear the road of dead horses. Mutobe must have had an impossible task. It was a miracle he had appeared with such numbers. And Akitada had been wrong about Toshito and owed the obnoxious fellow an apology. There were more important matters in life than a moment’s humility. Bowing to the governor’s son, he said awkwardly, “I beg your pardon for my mistake, Toshito. I thought when you left last night . . . Ribata is close to Kumo’s family and you were very hostile. When we woke up and saw Kumo and his men coming, there seemed to be only one explanation.”
“Damn you to hell!” Toshito spat. “How dare you call me a traitor? You ran like the coward you are, leaving two helpless women to the attentions of . . . soldiers, low creatures without principle.” He waved at the bodies which still lay about the courtyard and had attracted a small crowd of jabbering villagers.
Akitada bit his lip and said again, “I am sorry. It was a mistake.”
Mutobe stepped between them. “Toshito,” he said sharply,
“you forget yourself. Lord Sugawara is under imperial orders and has done us a great service. Apologize.” His son compressed his lips and glared.
Yamada asked, “Do you really think they hurt the women?” Suddenly Akitada had had enough. He told Mutobe coldly,
“Tell your son to take the sedan chair and some of the men to bring the ladies here. Meanwhile, there are other matters to discuss. Inside. It is hot out here and stinks of blood.” The farmer, his wife, and several female relatives or maids prostrated themselves when they entered the house. Mutobe demanded use of their main room, and a place for them to wash themselves. Akitada was grateful for the last, for the clothes he had borrowed from Tora were stiff with drying blood, and his skin and scalp itched under layers of sweat and filth.
One of the women brought a large bowl of water and hemp cloth for drying, but he asked for the well. There he stripped and poured bucket after bucket of clean water over himself, scrubbing his face, beard, hair, and body until he felt clean again. Someone brought him a silk robe-one of the governor’s, to judge by its quality and size-and he ran his fingers through his hair and twisted it up into a topknot. When he went back into the house, Mutobe and Yamada both looked relieved at his changed appearance.
“Have some of this wine,” offered Mutobe. “It is only ordinary, but it will give you some strength.”
Strength. Yes, he could use that. The cold water had temporarily dispelled his exhaustion, but now he sank down on the wooden planks of the farmer’s best room and gulped the rough wine gratefully.
Yamada and Mutobe watched him expectantly, too polite to burst into excited questions, but clearly hopeful that the wine would loosen his tongue.
Akitada’s first thought was Haseo. “What has been done about my friend’s body?”
“He will be taken back to Mano,” said Mutobe quickly. “My men are building a stretcher. I hope that is satisfactory?” Akitada nodded. “Where is Tora?”
“Your lieutenant suddenly recalled having left some people behind. He took horses to get them.” Akitada had forgotten the wretched Wada and the strange little man with the crippled leg. “One of the men he left behind is the police official Wada,” he told the governor. “I assume you know him?”
Mutobe made a face. “Er. Yes. Not perhaps what one could wish. There have been some complaints.”
“You have, of course, investigated them?” Akitada asked.
Mutobe flushed. “Why? Even if they proved true, what would you have me do about it?”
Akitada snapped, “Well, he could receive a reprimand and warning. Or he could be arrested and tried and sent to jail. Or he could be sent back to the capital as unsuitable. I gather you took none of these options. Wada was working for Kumo when he waylaid me. He had me beaten half to death by his constables, and when Kumo interfered he took me to a gold mine where I was left to die.”
The two men stared at him.
“A gold mine?” asked Mutobe.
“My mistake. I meant to say silver mine.”
“Terrible,” cried Yamada. “My dear Taketsuna, I wish I had known. Oh, dear! Forgive me. Lord Sugawara, I mean. You will have to do something about that man, Governor.” Mutobe stiffened his back. “Certainly. I will have him arrested immediately. I had no idea. Up until now there were just a few concerns about his rough treatment of criminals and vagrants or prostitutes. . . .” Seeing Akitada’s expression, he flushed again. “Well. I tried to discipline him, but Kumo stepped in to stop me. Then this business with Toshito happened.” He faltered miserably. An uncomfortable silence fell.
Mutobe asked diffidently, “I trust we can settle my son’s affairs once and for all now, my lord? It was suicide, not murder?” Akitada did not think much of the way Mutobe had carried out his duties, but there were extenuating circumstances. At least now that his son’s name would be cleared, the man should have the time to tend to business, and Akitada needed his cooperation. He started to explain Okisada’s death when he had second thoughts.
From what everyone had said about fugu poison, such a death was painful. Would a spoiled prince like Okisada really choose this method to end his life? Especially when his reason was to avoid the pain of a stomach disorder? How ill had Okisada really been? He had been well enough to travel and attend the gathering at Professor Sakamoto’s house. And had not his fellow conspirators, with the exception of the alcoholic professor, been rather complacent about his death and the failure of their enterprise? Only the professor had been truly upset. And perhaps Shunsei. The monk’s faith in his beloved’s achieving Buddhahood might have overcome his grief. But Kumo, Taira, and the physician had only been concerned with getting young Mutobe convicted.
And then there were Kumo’s strange final words. Something about making a sacrifice for his emperor.
Mutobe cleared his throat. “May I ask, my lord, what it is that you found out?”
Akitada was spared an answer. From outside came the sound of voices, and then the door flew open and revealed one of Mutobe’s men trying to bar Tora’s way.
“Let him in!” Akitada snapped.
Mutobe gave him a reproachful glance and nodded to his guard. The small incident reminded Akitada of his awkward position. He no longer had his imperial orders and had to depend on Mutobe’s cooperation.
Tora looked slightly shaken. He bowed to them, then addressed Akitada. “I went back for Turtle and that swine Wada.” Akitada nodded. “I hope you tied up Wada. He is under arrest.”
Tora shook his head. “He’s dead, sir.” Akitada gave him a sharp look. “How?” Tora hesitated. “Er, it wasn’t me, sir. I found him dead when I got there, sir. Turtle claims the soldiers did it.”
“Nonsense! We would have seen them stop. Kumo was in such a hurry to catch up with us that he did not bother to slow down.” Akitada frowned. And that was strange. Wada must have been dead already or unconscious, or he would surely have cried out to Kumo. Getting to his feet, he said, “Excuse me, gentlemen. I think I’ll have a word with my lieutenant’s servant.
Come, Tora.”
Outside, he found a grinning and whistling Turtle holding the reins of the three horses. One of them had the corpse of Wada slung over its saddle. Blood dripped slowly into the dust. Akitada lifted the dead man’s head and saw that his throat had been slit. It did not look like a sword wound, and his eyes went to the servant’s waist. There was a bulge under his jacket.
“Show me your knife!” he ordered.
The smug expression on the small cripple’s face changed to unease. After a moment, he reached into his jacket and produced a small, sharp knife.
Akitada inspected it. The blade was clean, but traces of blood still clung to the joint between blade and hilt. “Did he give you trouble?” he asked mildly, gesturing toward the corpse.
A nod and a small cringing wiggle were his answer.
“You thought he might alert the soldiers?” Akitada was rewarded with a more energetic nod and a tentative grin.
“That took courage. The soldiers might have caught you.” Turtle cried, “I was quick, your honor. He was sitting up and looking at the soldiers coming toward us. I could tell he was glad to see them. I pulled my knife and reached around him like so.” He gestured vividly. “Then I jumped behind a bush like my master told me to.” Turtle straightened his shoulders proudly and gave Tora a wide smile. When Tora remained impassive, Turtle turned back to Akitada. “I did right, didn’t I, your honor?”
“You did right.” Akitada returned the knife. “Put Wada with the other corpses, Tora. I’m glad your servant spared you the trouble.”
Tora growled. “He deprived me of the satisfaction. The bastard should’ve died before he was born.” And with that peculiar logic, Tora slung the corpse of Wada, once the most feared man on Sadoshima, over his shoulder and walked away.
Akitada looked after him with affection and then retraced his steps to the passage where he had fought Kumo. The body was gone, though large bloodstains still marked where it and the other slain men had lain. How quickly it had been over! All those weeks in the mine he had thought of what he would say and do to Kumo when they finally met face to face. It had turned out very differently. They had exchanged few words, and those had been mostly Kumo’s, accusing Akitada of bloodlust.
He knew now that Kumo had been wrong, that a man may feel a certain exhilaration in fighting for his life or for a righteous cause, but that he would never kill for mere pleasure.
Surely Kumo must have known that he might die. He had simply not been a sword fighter. Akitada did not pride himself on special expertise and he had been exhausted, yet he had known immediately and with astonishing disappointment that the man was not much of an adversary. Kumo had talked about sacrifice and bowed with great reverence-as if he were about to carry out a sacred duty. Strange! The puzzle nagged at him.
Akitada went where Kumo had stood. As he recalled, the man had turned slightly toward his right. All that could be seen in that direction were two of the farm buildings and between them a narrow slice of the sparkling bay. No temple. No small shrine. No flying banners. Just a bit of water with a few fishing boats, some gulls, and that ship at anchor.
It was odd that there should be such a large ship outside a fishing harbor. What was it doing here? Why was it not at Mano?
He walked back up to the highway and looked across the houses of this small town. There was nothing of any significance on the waterfront. All the more substantial buildings-a temple and a few large farms like this one-were on higher ground. He shook his head in confusion and decided that he did not want to talk to Mutobe yet, not until he settled some of his uncertainties, some of the niggling suspicions in the back of his mind. And so he started walking along the road.
Something about the way Okisada had died still dissatisfied him. Shunsei had told him that Okisada habitually consumed fugu and had done so the night of the dinner because he had claimed to get relief from his constant pain by eating a small amount of the poison. It was Shunsei’s testimony which had convinced Akitada that the prince had died by his own hand.
Sakamoto had also thought that Okisada poisoned himself and that he had done so in order to throw suspicion on Toshito.
But Sakamoto had not been in the others’ confidence. No, Akitada was convinced the true conspirators were Kumo, Taira, and Nakatomi.
According to Haru, the expert in matters pertaining both to fugu and to men, the poison could make a man feel as though he had entered heaven and give him back his sexual strength. What was more likely than that the self-indulgent Okisada had also become an expert in those properties of the fugu poison? Would such a man kill himself with it, intentionally or accidentally?
Akitada became transfixed in the middle of the roadway, much to the consternation of a group of peasants who had to pass him in order to visit the site of the battle. They eyed him with fear, this bearded, gaunt creature in silk robe and trousers but with bare feet and a scowl on his face. Wondering perhaps if he was some supernatural creature, they kept to the shoulder of the road, bobbing deep bows as they edged past him.
Akitada had been seized by an awful suspicion. He swung around suddenly to look past the peasants to the ship in the harbor and cried, “Hah, they think they have been clever, the scoundrels. But by heaven, they shall not get away with it!” The peasants squawked and took off running.
Akitada walked back to the farmhouse, turning matters over in his mind before speaking to Mutobe. Nakatomi’s role had been crucial. And Taira had had a very good reason to refuse visitors at the manor. But he could not make out Shunsei. The monk had seemed too simpleminded for such an enormous deception. Amazingly, the clever plot had almost worked.
And then another thought came. Kumo and his men had worn their finest armor and ridden silk-trimmed horses. Their bows and arrows had been purely ceremonial. They had never been meant to be used in combat. Kumo was not chasing a couple of convicts, even if one of them was an imperial official. He had come here to serve “his” emperor and had only attacked because Akitada got in his way. That was why Kumo had faced battle with Akitada, claiming that he was sacrificing his Buddhahood for his emperor. He had been willing to kill Akitada even though that would prevent his salvation.
Whatever the true state of affairs, no time was to be lost.
Mutobe must board the ship immediately. They must search the town. Akitada glanced again at the substantial roofs of the temple. That was where he would start.
Full of purpose again, he strode into the farmhouse and confronted the others with his suspicions.
“You cannot be serious!” gasped the governor, turning pale.
“But how is this possible? And after all that time!” He rose and paced. “What will I do if it is as you say? How can I arrest him?
What do I charge him with? I have no such authority. And you have lost your documents.” He stopped and stared accusingly at Akitada. “What will we do? This is a very delicate matter.”
“Delicate?” Mutobe’s continuing self-interest appalled Akitada. Did the man not know that there were duties he could not shirk? It was obvious that he could not expect much help from the man. But Mutobe was quite right about one thing.
Without his papers, Akitada had no authority whatsoever and was dependent on Mutobe’s support. He took a deep breath. A shouting match would solve nothing. “It seems the ship in the harbor is a pirate craft. If you will board it and arrest the captain and crew, I will do the rest. I will need a few of your men. Please instruct them to obey Tora’s commands.”
Mutobe nodded reluctantly. “You will take the responsibility, then?”
“Yes.”
Mutobe still looked unhappy, but he agreed. “Very well. Let us go and get it over with.”
Akitada took eight of the soldiers and Mutobe the rest.
Then they set off, Mutobe with his banner carried before him, Akitada without such marks of authority, though he pushed Kumo’s gilded sword through the silken sash of Mutobe’s spare robe, and smoothed his hair a little. Tora put on a little show of snapping commands at his troops, and they were off, followed by a gaggle of curious peasants.
The temple was a very modest one. It had no pagoda and only one main hall and some low buildings to house the local priest and visiting monks. An old man was sweeping the courtyard, but otherwise the scene was peaceful. Doubts began to stir in Akitada’s mind. How Toshito would mock if it turned out that Akitada was wrong again. And he could offer nothing but a far-fetched argument based on a fishwife’s tale! Sending a detailed report about Akitada’s activities to the emperor would be the perfect revenge for the governor’s son.
The old man stopped his sweeping, stared at them, then bowed. Perhaps he thought they were expected. Akitada took it for a hopeful sign. He made straight for the hall and took the stairs to the double doors, Tora and the soldiers at his heels. Throwing wide the doors on empty space, he shouted, “Is anyone here?”
The light was dim inside. Across from him was a long dais, and on the dais rested a Buddha figure. Behind the statue a lath screen extended across the hall. Lights flickered beyond and a shadow moved behind the screen.
His heart pounding, Akitada quickly crossed the hall and passed around the end of the screen. Here grass mats had been spread and more screens placed to create a series of smaller chambers. The first of these was empty, though a candle burned in a tall holder. Two silken cushions still held imprints.
Akitada flung aside a flimsy screen, saw that the next enclosure was also empty, and rushed across it to tear aside the final screen.
Two old men huddled in the center of this room, their arms about each other and their eyes looking fearfully his way. Tora and the soldiers quickly surrounded them.
One of the two was Taira of the snow-white hair and beetling black eyebrows.
“Who are you? What do you want?” he quavered, hugging the other man to him.
Akitada’s eyes were on his companion. At first glance this man had appeared as senile as Taira, but Akitada now saw that he was only slightly past middle age. He looked much older because his skull was shaven, he was fat, and he had the unhealthy pallor of a sick person. He had changed greatly with the years, but there was no doubt in Akitada’s mind that this was Okisada, the Second Prince, formerly crown prince and heir to the imperial throne. Not dead, but very much alive.
He had the round face, small nose, and thick lips of his imperial and Fujiwara relatives, and once, years ago, on the occasion of an imperial procession, Akitada had seen him ride past in all the pomp and glory of his former exalted position. His present condition made a shocking change from those happier times, but Akitada had never forgotten his face.
He bowed deeply. “Your Highness,” he said, “My name is Sugawara Akitada. I regret extremely to find you under such circumstances. I am afraid that it is my duty to place you and Lord Taira under arrest for attempted treason.” Okisada said nothing. His lower lip trembled and he clutched convulsively at Taira. Taira detached himself gently and said, “Let us resume our seats, Highness, and hear what this person has to say in explanation of such outrageous charges.” Passing Akitada and the staring soldiers, he led his master back to the cushions in the first room. The soldiers put up the screen again. On a gesture from Akitada, they remained. A brazier full of glowing coals made the area hot and stuffy on this late summer day. Nobody invited Akitada to sit. He knelt formally, found that his knee hurt abominably, and sat back on his heels.
He addressed Okisada. “I have no doubt that you already know who I am and why I am here on Sadoshima, but to observe the formalities, I serve as temporary imperial envoy with powers to inquire into certain irregularities among the exiles here. More specifically I was sent to investigate Your Highness’s alleged murder. Would you care to explain why you performed this extraordinary charade?”
Okisada’s lower lip began to quiver again. Taira put his thin hand on his arm and said angrily to Akitada, “How dare you address His Imperial Highness in such a tone and with such words? Where are your credentials?”
“My lord, I believe you know very well where they are.
Besides, since both of you are exiles here, I do not owe you any explanations. We are wasting time. I suppose you expect the arrival of the rebel Kumo before leaving on the ship at anchor in the harbor? I regret to inform you that Kumo is dead, and that Governor Mutobe is at this moment boarding the ship to arrest its captain and men. Your supporters will shortly be rounded up and tried for their involvement in this plot.” Okisada cried out and clutched at Taira again. Taira turned very pale. He snapped, “You lie.”
Akitada removed the gilded sword from his sash and placed it on the mat before Taira. “I told you the truth,” he said. “I killed Kumo myself and took his sword off his body not an hour ago.”
They both looked at the sword in horror. Taira bit his lip, then his eyes searched Akitada’s face. Okisada began to weep.
“All for nothing,” the prince blubbered. “It was all for nothing. Poor Shunsei starved to death, and all my suffering wasted.
Oh, why is this world so cruel to me?” Taira murmured something soothing and stroked the prince’s back.
So Okisada’s lover had died, expecting to join his beloved in another world. Akitada sighed. There was little pleasure in confronting this man with his guilt. He was weak, spoiled, and self-centered, but he had been raised expecting to be emperor.
The disappointment apparently had destroyed whatever good qualities the prince might once have had. He said, “I think you took a carefully measured amount of the fugu poison during the professor’s dinner in order to induce a deathlike trance. You did this to cause the governor’s son to be arrested for your murder and to cover preparations for your return to imperial power.
Your charade worked because neither Sakamoto nor Mutobe’s son were familiar with this particular effect of the poison.”
“What you are pleased to call a charade, Lord Sugawara,” said Taira in a tired voice, “was no more than an accident. We all thought His Highness dead. It was his physician, Nakatomi, who discovered that the prince had fallen into a state approximating nirvana. He remained like that for days. We thought it a miracle when he returned to life, and we were, of course, overjoyed, but . . .” He paused, searching for words.
Akitada snapped, “In that case, why did you pursue the murder charge against young Mutobe? And why allow the monk Shunsei to die of grief?”
Okisada buried his face in a sleeve and sobbed.
Taira sighed. “You don’t understand. We had hoped for better treatment from the authorities here. Instead Mutobe and his son began a systematic campaign of persecution against us and
our sole protector, the high constable. Don’t forget that you are in the presence of the rightful emperor. Our lives are dedicated to returning him to the throne.”
“And so you would have let young Mutobe die for a murder which did not happen?”
Taira raised his brows. “Certainly not. Exile is the worst that could happen to him. He is an irritating young man. A period of military service in the north might make a man of him.” Akitada found himself agreeing with that. Having wronged Toshito by misjudging him had worsened his dislike for the young man. There was something about Toshito that made him the perfect target for false accusations. But it would not do to let Taira know of his feelings. He said coldly, “I do not believe you. Many people have spoken of the prince’s fondness for fugu. I expect he knew the effects of the poison very well indeed. But Sakamoto, Shunsei, and young Mutobe all thought the prince had died. You had the presumed corpse taken to Nakatomi, who pronounced death by poison. Then you staged a cremation and afterwards you, my lord, left for your mansion with the prince hidden in your sedan chair. There you and the prince waited until Toshito would be found guilty and Mutobe would be recalled. But two events interrupted your plans. First I arrived on the scene, and then Toshito escaped from prison.”
Taira growled, “Kumo always was too devout. He should have killed you.”
“Yes. I wondered why I was buried alive in his mine. I take it that the thief Genzo brought you my papers?” Taira did not answer.
“Well, as I said, Toshito’s unexpected escape from prison caused another delay, and that is why you are still here now.
With your ship at anchor in the harbor.”
The prince whimpered. Taira was very pale, but his black eyes burned. “Prove it! We have done nothing.”
“The proof is waiting. The governor is about to arrest the ship’s captain and crew. Then we will question Nakatomi. I doubt they will hesitate to speak under the circumstances. And with Kumo dead, your connections to the mainland and ties with the Ezo rebels are broken. Your contacts there will also be arrested. It is pointless to persist, my lord.” There was a long silence. Then Taira said, “I wish to see Kumo’s corpse.”
Akitada dispatched Tora with four of the soldiers to bring the body. Then he turned to Okisada. “You must have been afraid of dying, Highness.”
Okisada sat up a little and dabbed the tears from his face.
“Nonsense,” he muttered. “I was very careful. There is not another person in the world who knows as much about the fish as I do.” Akitada heard the boast and believed it. But he still thought Okisada had been lucky. Or perhaps not. For what would happen next was in the hands of the emperor and his advisors, and it would hardly be as pleasant as Okisada’s exile on Sadoshima.
As for Taira, a second attempt at rebellion meant the death penalty.
More to the point, Okisada had just admitted his guilt, though he would not think of himself as being either culpable or foolish. Taira compressed his lips, but did not chide his master.
“I have been wondering how you smuggled the fugu fish to the dinner,” Akitada went on. “Everyone said that you ate only Toshito’s stew and the dishes served by Sakamoto’s servants.”
“I have been in the habit of preparing my own fugu for years. It has certain properties which ease pain and produce a pleasant sense of well-being. That evening I brought a small amount of the so-called poison with me in my sleeve. Nobody noticed my adding it to the stew.”
Heavy steps sounded in the hall beyond the screen, then a dull thump. After a moment Tora appeared and asked, “Where do you want him?”
Before Akitada could answer there was a shout, and then a slight figure in fluttering white robes slipped past Tora. Ribata.
A few steps into the dim room she stopped uncertainly. Her eyes found Okisada. She cried, “Cousin! It is true. You are alive. A miracle! Oh, praise the Buddha!” She went to him, knelt, bowed deeply, and then raised her shining face, taking his hands in hers. “Oh, my dear. How happy I am to find you alive after all! I was lonely for you, my almost-brother.” Ribata’s being another member of the imperial family was no complete surprise to Akitada. After all, Kumo’s grandmother, the senile Lady Saisho, had addressed her as Naka no Kimi, Princess. But if anything, Ribata’s imperial blood made her presence on this island of exiles an even greater mystery.
Okisada leaned forward to embrace Ribata. “Dearest cousin.
It is not a happy occasion, I am afraid. Is it true that Kumo is dead?”
Ribata’s face lost some of its joy. “Yes. His body is outside.
The soldiers said you wished to pay your last respects.” With her help, Okisada struggled to his feet. Together they walked to the front of the hall, followed by Akitada, Taira, and Tora.
Kumo had been dropped carelessly on the wooden planks, one arm flung over his face and a leg bent awkwardly at the knee. Ribata knelt and gently rearranged the body. Dark blood disfigured his brilliant armor, but he was handsome in death.
Okisada made a face, then bent to peer at him. When he straightened, he said, “A pity. He was a great man. And he could have been an even greater one under my rule.” Taira also took a
long look and nodded. They stood for a moment in silence.
Then Okisada reached into his fine robe and handed Akitada something before turning to take Taira’s arm. Together they went back to the room they had left.
Akitada looked down at what he had been given and saw that the prince had returned his imperial mandate. It had been done without explanation or apology for the theft. Of course, as the present emperor’s brother and, in his own opinion, the rightful emperor himself, he probably felt that he had a right to the documents. But Okisada’s voluntary surrender of the papers meant that he had accepted defeat. He had allowed Akitada to complete his assignment. He heaved a deep breath and turned to Tora. “Stay with them. They are to see or speak to no one without my permission.”
Ribata still knelt beside Kumo’s corpse. She was praying, her beads moving through her thin fingers with soft clicks. Akitada waited. When she finished and rose, he said, “Forgive me for troubling you, but I gather that you, too, are a member of the imperial family.”
She bowed her head. After a moment, she said, “Only a handful of people know why I am here. I ask that you keep my secret.”
Akitada hesitated. “It may become relevant to the case against your cousin.”
“No. I swear to you, it has nothing to do with poor Okisada’s case. It is my story alone. Nothing but tragedy will come to innocent people if it becomes known in the capital that I am here.”
“Very well. If what you say is true, I promise to keep your secret.”
“Thank you.” She sighed. “I am . . . was the third daughter of Emperor Kazan. He died when I was only eight. Okisada’s mother and mine were sisters, married to different emperors.
My cousin and I grew up together until my marriage to a high court noble was being arranged. But I was sixteen and in love with a low-ranking officer of the guards. We were found out, and he was sent here into exile. I followed him, disguised as a nun.” She fell silent, as if that explained all.
Perhaps it did, but Akitada was not content. After a moment’s silence, he said, “You must both have loved very deeply to give up so much. And Toshito?”
Now she smiled. “How very perceptive of you, my lord. I suppose you saw the resemblance?”
“Yes. And your . . . husband?”
The sadness returned. “There was no future for us. They would have killed him if I had become his wife. After my son’s birth, I shaved my head and took the nun’s habit for good.
Toshito was formally adopted by Mutobe.” So Mutobe had been the lover? It explained his permanent appointment. No doubt the emperor who had sent him to Sadoshima had made him its governor on condition he stay there. And she had become a nun rather than bring down the wrath of the emperor on the man she loved. Young Toshito probably knew or suspected that she was his mother. No wonder his bearing was haughty. The imperial lineage was in his blood, though it would hardly make him welcome at court.
“Thank you, Princess. Your confidence honors me,” said Akitada, bowing deeply. And, even though he still had his doubts about her, he added, “I ask your pardon for having suspected you of supporting Kumo.”
She gave him a very sweet smile. “Call me Ribata. I am an old woman now and a nun. And you were wise to be suspicious.” She turned to look down at Kumo’s corpse. “I knew him when he was a mere boy. In those days I could not visit my own son, and Sanetomo became like my own. We used to talk about his love for the Buddha’s teachings and for all who suffered injustice in this life. I loved him dearly, but even then I feared and distrusted him. He was . . . too passionate. I often wonder if this place makes some men pursue grand schemes because their world has become as small as a grain of sand.” She turned back to Akitada. “You are a good man and a man of honor. May you find happiness in the small things.” Akitada bowed deeply. As he left the hall and the temple compound to walk back to the farmhouse, he thought about Okisada, Kumo, and even Mutobe. All three were weak men, and all three had become obsessed with dreams of power.
Even little Jisei had bargained his life for an impossible dream.
Akitada suddenly felt a great need to be with Haseo, who had been his friend and protector. Without him he would not have survived. He remembered his face again, shining with the happiness of being free-for too short a time. Haseo had fought joyfully against their enemies and been a better man than any Akitada had met on Sadoshima.
The sky was clouding up a little, and the brightness of the afternoon sun had become like light shining through gossamer silk. The sea, instead of brilliant silver and blue, now stretched before him faintly green, pale celadon fading to the color of wisteria. He looked at the softened greens of the mountains, themselves turning to a bluish lavender, and at the russet houses below, and found the world both sadder and more beautiful than before.