Akitada felt more like himself the next morning, but Seimei was still feverish. Akitada had more medicinal gruel and herbal infusions prepared, helped the old man again to the latrine, and then got dressed for work. He was already late. The sun was rising and he should have been at the ministry hours ago. After checking again to make certain Seimei was comfortable and giving the cook instructions about his care, Akitada sought out his wife.
Tamako was waiting for him in her room. The bedding had been put away, and she knelt fully dressed in the center of the room, her eyes downcast and her hands folded in her lap.
“Good morning,” he said formally, making her a slight bow.
“Good morning,” she answered, bowing also.
“I wished to speak to you before I leave,” he said, feeling ill at ease before such calm expectancy.
She bowed again. Since she did not raise her head, he could not make out her mood.
He sighed and sat down. “I was disappointed in you yesterday,” he said. “It seemed to me that you were neglecting both our son and a sick old man. I have heard your explanations and cannot accept them. Therefore I thought it best to explain how I wish my family’s affairs conducted in the future.”
She said nothing, but bowed her head a little more. In the uncertain light it was hard to see, but he thought she looked pale. He decided on a gentler approach. “Tamako, I know you have been past reason worried for our son’s life because of the rumors of another smallpox epidemic.” She looked up then and opened her mouth to speak, but he raised his hand. “No, let me finish. You cannot know what happens outside this house. You spend your life here with our child and hardly ever see anything of the world.” He remembered Lady Yasugi’s impassioned protest of such a cloistered life and went on quickly. “I realize that this limits your awareness, and such ignorance can greatly multiply one’s fears, but you must trust me in this. I have been both in the Greater Palace and in the city. Your fears are groundless. Besides, our lives are in the hands of the gods and there is little we can do to guard against fate.”
She raised her chin defiantly. “I have been told that the disease is even among the highest ranking nobles; that, in fact, His Majesty has contracted it.”
“Nonsense. Who has said such things?”
“I may spend my days here,” she said, a little tartly he thought, “but I receive visitors. Yesterday, your sister Akiko stopped by with Lady Koshikibu. Lady Koshikibu was the empress’s nurse, and it was she who told me the news from the imperial household. Akiko came to tell me that she is making preparations to leave for the country with her children. I meant to tell you last night, but…” She compressed her lips.
He had stormed out of the room, furious that his son could not read yet and worried about Seimei. Now he covered his compunction with bluster. “That is dangerous gossip indeed. Lady Koshikibu must be deranged to pass along such information. You are not to pass it further.” He envisioned the panic that would strike the capital-no, the nation-if such a thing became known. “Furthermore,” he added, “it cannot be true, or I would have heard.”
Tamako looked away. “As you wish.”
“Very well. Now there’s the matter of Seimei. He’s still feverish this morning. I wish him to be cared for in my absence. If you’re too afraid to visit him, you may delegate one of your maids to tend to his needs, but someone is to watch over him all the time. If his condition worsens in the slightest, you will send for me and for a doctor.”
She bowed. “I had intended to do so,” she said stiffly. “He sent us away yesterday and we were afraid to disturb his sleep, or you would not have found him alone.”
It might have happened that way. Seimei was very stubborn about accepting help. Akitada unbent a little more. He would give Tamako the benefit of the doubt. “I’m very glad,” he told her. When she did not react, he added, “I did not know what to think yesterday when I found him in an overheated room without so much as a drop of water. I couldn’t imagine how my family could have forgotten their obligation to Seimei, of all people. He has served my family from his childhood and has been like a father to me. He’s part of my family.”
Tamako’s eyes had widened. “Oh,” she said, “now I see. You thought I would let Seimei die for fear of infection.”
Aware that he had somehow offended again, he said briskly, “Well, I’m very glad I was wrong. Let’s say no more about it. And when Seimei is well again, he can take Yori’s lessons in hand.”
“There is another problem. I am told that both Tora and Genba are occupied with your errands. We are out of supplies and I had sent Genba for them last night when you countermanded my orders.”
He realized that she was very angry with him. Perhaps he should have explained the situation. “You know what Tora’s doing. I had to send Genba to stand watch at Lady Yasugi’s villa. She is the young woman who was nearly raped. Yesterday I caught one of her attackers creeping into her home. Since she is young, beautiful, and alone except for a maid, her need was greater. Send your maid to the market for today. Genba should be back soon.”
There was a pause. Then she said, “Very well.”
He felt relief at having settled the matter so easily and was about to rise and leave for the ministry, when Tamako spoke again.
“Perhaps,” she said, her voice as tight as the clenched hands in her lap, “as you have lost all confidence in me, it is time for you to consider taking a second wife. It would be a wise thing to do. You no longer trust me to supervise your household or to teach our son, and I have not given you any other sons, which you must wish for when life is so uncertain. You and Yori are the last of your father’s line and. ..”
Seized by a sudden rage, Akitada bounded up. “No!” he shouted. “I do not want another wife or more children. I want order in my household.” And he stormed from the room.
All the way to the Greater Palace, he muttered under his breath.
Women! The very idea of having to deal with more than one. The Great Sage had warned men against over-familiarity because it made females dictatorial. Tamako was punishing him for his just reproof of her behavior by threatening to withdraw her affections. For that was what the suggestion of taking another wife amounted to. Go ahead and see if I care, was what she had implied. He stalked along, rehearsing in his mind what he would tell her that night, and became more and more miserable in the process. He could not recall a time in their years of marriage when they had had such a quarrel.
Tamako had changed. She no longer cared for his company as she had in the days before Yori had begun to capture all her attention. Perhaps he had been more abrupt lately than usual, but there had been many serious matters on his mind. A wife should make allowance for a husband’s greater responsibility. He felt alone and hurt by her words, and that angered him some more.
Sakae awaited him at the ministry. “Have you heard, sir?” he cried. “The emperor is sick. He may die.” He was practically hopping about in his excitement.
Akitada stopped. “What do you mean?” he demanded. The emperor was barely thirteen years old, and a healthy young man. The possibility of his dying seemed completely remote.
“He has smallpox.”
Akitada sucked in his breath. Could it be true? Could the disease really have entered the sacred inner palace itself and infected the emperor? He glared at Sakae. “How do you know this?”
“Someone working in the chamberlain’s dormitory told someone in the headquarters of the inner palace guards. The page who carries messages between bureaus stopped by this morning and told us. It was still quite early.” This last Sakae added to show that they had been at work long before Akitada arrived.
“You are a clerk in the Ministry of Justice,” Akitada said sharply. “I would have thought that you might have learned about the unreliability of hearsay evidence. Until we receive official word about His Majesty’s condition, I will not permit you to bandy about such dangerous gossip. Do you understand?”
He brushed by the gaping Sakae and went into his office. Nakatoshi was bent over the usual pile of correspondence. He rose and bowed. “Good morning, sir.” He added with a smile, “You look more yourself today, sir.”
Akitada touched his eye. It felt normal. He had almost forgotten about it. It seemed a long time since he had tangled with the three thugs. The thought gave way to the vivid image of Lady Yasugi lying on the ground, her clothing tangled about her legs. At the time he had been preoccupied with the villain who had meant to rape her. Now the image suddenly became powerfully erotic. He curbed his imagination firmly, smiled at Nakatoshi and said, “Good morning, and thank you.”
“Has Sakae told you the news about the emperor?”
Akitada felt the smile fade on his face. “Surely there is no truth to that?”
“His informant wasn’t the only one, sir. I was told the same story by the senior clerk of the crown prince’s office. I’m afraid he’s a very reliable source. It’s disturbing news, not only because of His Majesty’s life being in danger, but also because there are apparently already plans for change in case the worst happens.”
Though Nakatoshi’s words referred to matters of national importance-how the next emperor would deal with matters of government and who would take the most cherished positions upon his accession-Akitada’s first thought was that he had once again put himself in the wrong with Tamako. And to be fair, if even the sacred person of the emperor was not safe from this terrible contagion, Tamako could be forgiven her fears. “Dear heaven,” he muttered and sat down, staring blankly at the pile of paperwork awaiting his attention.
“I mentioned it, sir, because Minister Soga would have called at the palace to present his wishes for His Majesty’s recovery and to offer prayers on his behalf at the temple.”
Of course, and Soga would have been thrilled at the opportunity. Or would he? With smallpox in the imperial household, Soga would surely have made his excuses. Akitada was struck by an unpleasant suspicion. “Surely I’m not expected to fill in for him?” Access to the imperial residence was restricted to nobles of the fifth rank and above, and he did not qualify.
“I’m afraid so, sir. I’ve taken the liberty to send a message that His Excellency is away and that you’re taking his place. I expect that you’ll be given special permission.”
“Dear heaven,” said Akitada again and glanced down at himself. “But I cannot go like this.” When Nakatoshi did not reply, he got to his feet. “I suppose I’d better go home and change into my court robe.”
“I shall take care of business here, sir.” Nakatoshi gave him an encouraging nod, perhaps because Akitada’s lack of enthusiasm was so manifest.
Akitada reentered his home less than an hour after he left it. The first person he encountered was Tamako. She looked pale and drawn and-shockingly-very sad. Bowing, she asked, “Is anything wrong?”
He tried to gauge her mood. Had she been crying? “It appears the emperor is really ill. I must change into my court robe and call at the palace.”
“How terrible,” she murmured. “I hope he will recover. Allow me to be of assistance.”
Feeling guilty, he protested, “That’s not necessary. Seimei…” But Seimei was ill. There was no way to avoid her company. The court robe was a very awkward costume to get into and out of.
She said, “Seimei is resting. I believe he is better, but not well enough to get up. I am sorry that I can offer only my own clumsy services.”
Tamako was not clumsy about anything she did. Such phrases were common in polite exchanges between married people who merely tolerated each other. He felt his stomach twist with misery. “Thank you.”
In his room, he undressed silently while she lit incense in a long-handled burner. The room filled with the heavy aromatic scent of expensive male perfume. Akitada wrinkled his nose at it. She lifted the court robe, the train, and the full white silk trousers from their trunk and spread them over a wooden stand.
“I tore the trousers and the robe,” he said. “Did someone mend them?”
“Yes.” She took the incense burner by its handle and passed it back and forth under the stand, letting the faint spiral of scented smoke rise into the folds of the clothing. “It was not too bad. The robe only needed re-stitching, and the tears are hardly noticeable in the fullness of fabric.”
“Thank you.” He stood there, feeling helpless and uncomfortable in his underrobe and stockinged feet. Belatedly he remembered his cap. Risking a glance at the mirror, he winced, took off the cap, and studied his eye. The bruises, though they had faded, were still there and made him look like a hooligan.
“I have some cosmetics,” she said. “They should hide those bruises.”
“I’m not wearing powder and paint,” he said, shocked by the notion.
She bowed her head. “I am sorry. I should not have suggested it.”
They fell silent again as he waited for her to finish perfuming his clothes.
After a long while, he said, “I should not have spoken so harshly to you earlier. Especially when it turns out that you were quite right about the emperor.”
“It does not matter,” she said listlessly.
She held out the silk trousers, and he put his hands on her shoulders as he stepped into them. Their physical closeness was an irritant, and he stepped away from her as soon as he could. Feeling guilty, he searched for something else conciliatory to say. “Let Yori practice his reading until we can buy more paper and brushes.”
“As you wish.” She helped him with the gown and seemed to avoid touching him, then turned to get his sash, his elaborate headgear, and his baton of office. Kneeling before him, she placed these articles at his feet and bowed. “Do you wish for anything else?”
“N-no. Thank you.” He watched as she rose and left the room-so silently that he was aware only of the softest rustle of silk and the slightest whisper of her feet on the polished boards. The door closed noiselessly. It was as if his wife had dissolved into air. Putting on the sash by himself was a struggle.
His progress on the way back was awkward, as always when he was forced to wear formal dress. Nakatoshi awaited him with the official pass that would admit him to the Imperial Palace. Sakae hovered in the background, looking smug. Akitada took the opportunity to apologize for having doubted him earlier. Sakae’s smug expression turned into a smirk. He accepted the apology with a humility that was as excessive as it was false.
At Kenreimon, the central gate to the Imperial Palace, Akitada presented his pass to an officer of the palace guard, a man much younger than he and well above him in court rank. He was waved through without so much as a curious glance. No doubt a stream of well-wishers had already paid their respects, and Akitada was of less significance than any of them.
Before him lay the inner wall and another gate, Shomeimon, nicknamed the “Bedroom Gate.” It was thatched with cypress bark and only slightly smaller than the outer one. He climbed the three steps, had his credentials and costume inspected by two stern-faced officials, and descended on the other side.
He now stood in the South Court of the Imperial Palace. The Audience Hall, known as the Purple Sanctum, rose directly before him. It was very large but as simple as a Shinto shrine, unpainted and roofed with thick cypress bark. A wide staircase led up to its veranda.
To his right and left were other halls, and beyond the Audience Hall rose more roofs in bewildering succession. Akitada looked around the courtyard, scene of many imperial festivities and sacred rituals, and at the famous cherry and orange trees on either side of the grand staircase. These things he had only heard about. Then he gazed at the people in the courtyard, some walking, others standing about in groups. They were either not afraid of contagion or valued the opportunity to show their devotion more highly. Palace servants in white with tall black hats mingled with courtiers and senior Imperial Guard officers carrying bows and arrows.
Akitada caught some surprised glances at his own robe and retreated nervously. He saw now that the inner wall was a double covered gallery that led off to the east and west, but he did not know where to turn.
One of the officials at the gate had waved casually toward the left. Akitada began to walk that way along the covered gallery. Men passed him, giving him curious stares; he was a stranger here. All of them outranked him, and he did not dare ask them for directions. When he reached another set of steps into the courtyard, he saw that the gallery continued into a separate enclosure and stopped. He looked doubtfully at the two halls ahead. Most visitors seemed to be headed toward the second of these. Akitada followed them into the graveled courtyard and walked under the trees, looking for one of the palace servants. Alas, there were none.
He had just made up his mind to risk interrupting one of the small groups of nobles, when he recognized a face. His old friend Kosehira stood chatting with several others, his pudgy hands fluttering and his round face unusually serious. Akitada stopped.
One of the men with Kosehira noticed him and said something. Kosehira turned, cried out, “If it isn’t Akitada!” and rushed over. Good old Kosehira. He had always treated Akitada as a friend, even if he had long since outstripped him by several ranks.
They embraced. “What did you do to your face?” demanded Kosehira. “Been in the wars again?”
“Just a disagreement with a thug. How are you, Kosehira?”
“Never better. My family grows and my garden is beautiful just now. You must see it. I have moved the waterway and built a charming poetry pavilion in the far corner. It’s so inspiraenve you would have poetry flowing tional that even you vould have poetry flowing from your lips
“Kosehira,” said Akitada nervously with a glance at his friend’s companions, “surely this is not the time and place, when His Majesty is so ill. And aren’t people afraid to come here?”
“Oh, that. Well, we’re not likely to be admitted to his presence. Everyone is very concerned, but I hear he is not too bad. Young people seem to shake these things off so easily. They say he’s hardly marked at all. Dreadful disease, of course. A lot of people have left for the country. All is well at your house, I hope?”
“Yes,” Akitada said, bemused, “and yours?”
“Of course. I’ve added three more children to my brood. Two sons and a puny little girl. I seem to spoil my little ladies more than the boys. And how fares your family? Any new lovely ladies?”
Akitada smiled. “No. Both Tamako and Yori are well.”
Kosehira cocked his head. “Only one child? In all those years? Come, that is too bad of you. I know of any number of well-born young women who would eagerly join your household and provide you with a large family. As a matter of fact, one of my own cousins…”
“Please, Kosehira, not now. I’m here to pay my respects and have no idea where to go.”
Kosehira looked puzzled. “But how did you get in?”
Akitada produced his pass. “I’m representing Soga.”
“Is he ill or dead?” Kosehira asked hopefully. He knew Soga, and he also knew of Akitada’s troubles with the minister.
“Neither. He’s gone to the country.”
“Pity.”
“How serious is this epidemic?”
Kosehira’s face lengthened. “Serious. Kinnori has died and now his son and two of his wives have it. The great minister of the left has moved to his second wife’s home, because his first wife’s father and uncle are both ill. The crown prince’s mentor is at death’s door and has taken Buddhist vows. And there are others. It’s hard to tell who’s sick and who’s in hiding; they just don’t come to court or they have left the capital. It’s said that Takaie brought it back with him from Tsukushi when he returned to court early this year. His retainers and servants have spread it among the common people. Apparently the young get it first.”
Akitada stared at him. This passed belief. “But what about all these people here? And why haven’t there been announcements and proclamations? Why just let the disease spread without so much as a word?”
Kosehira raised his thin brows. “You must have heard something about it.”
“I didn’t take it seriously. Not until I was told about His Majesty’s illness today.”
“Actually, the place is pretty empty today. You should see it when all is well.” Kosehira sighed. “We’re all in the hands of Buddha.”
They fell silent. Akitada wondered if Tamako worried that he would bring the disease back with him. She had expected him to take his family to their farm in the country. But Seimei was too ill to travel, and Akitada could not leave the ministry. Worse, Tora had disappeared, and Genba was at the Yasugi mansion.
Kosehira slapped his shoulder. “Come, cheer up. You’re safe enough. All will be well. Now go and take your wishes for His Majesty’s complete recovery to the chamberlains’ office. I’ll show you the way. The head chamberlain is on duty now; he will receive you.”
Kosehira left to explain matters to his friends and then walked with Akitada to the chamberlains’ office. Akitada felt a shiver of awe. He had never set foot in the Imperial Palace, let alone penetrated as far as the handful of nobles who associated daily with the emperor in his private apartments. But he had prepared his speech and must deliver it. It was now part of his duties.
“I’m not looking forward to it,” he confessed when they stopped at the bottom of the steps.
Kosehira laughed. “You’re only the hundredth visitor today. They won’t pay much attention. Just say your bit, and creep back out. Backward, mind you.”
Yes. He had almost forgotten about that. Much depended on his not placing a foot wrong or neglecting proper protocol. He felt the sweat breaking out on his forehead. Better get it over with before he started dripping all over the chamberlains’ shining floors. He started up the stairs.
As it turned out, Kosehira was right. When he gave his name and purpose to a guard at the door to the chamberlains’ office, he was conducted into a large room where three formally attired nobles awaited him. He entered, knelt before the one in the center, and touched his forehead to the polished wooden boards.
“You are Sugawara, acting Minister of Justice?”
“Acting Minister of Justice” sounded very grand, but Akitada felt thoroughly inadequate to the present situation and merely murmured his assent.
“Why have you come?”
At this he sat up and delivered his prepared speech. He managed to do so without stammering, then bowed and immediately returned to his previous position.
“Very dutiful, Sugawara,” said one of the great men-Akitada was not sure who any of them were-“Your wishes will be delivered to His Majesty. He is grateful for the prayers of the nation.”
Akitada did not know how he was to respond to that and therefore remained perfectly still. There was a brief silence, then another voice said impatiently, “That is all. You may now proceed to the temple.”
Akitada rose to his knees, bowed again, and retreated backward, hoping he would not miss the doorway and fetch up against the wall. A hand touched his shoulder, and the guard motioned him to rise and depart. The worst was over.
Kosehira waited outside. “I’ll come with you to the temple,” he said. “It never hurts to pray.”
A practical attitude. They walked the short distance together, exchanging news about their families and their work. It was a measure of Kosehira’s worry that he was unusually subdued.
No monks were sweeping the steps of the temple gate today. All was quiet and neat until they had crossed the temple garden. When they were climbing the steps together, they heard the soft hum of sutra chanting. They stepped into the shadowy solemnity of the temple hall and the heavy scent of incense. The only light came from the tall tapers that burned before the monumental figures of three golden Buddhas. Smaller statues of the celestial generals danced in front of them. Each of the Buddhas wore swirling gilded robes and stood before a large gilded nimbus. By a trick of the flickering candlelight and the haze of incense against the shimmering gold, it seemed as if the statues were alive. The generals turned and dipped and the Buddhas smiled as they emerged from the divine fire.
The chanting monks-dark-robed and seated in the shadows-were almost invisible against the side walls, but a gorgeously attired priest in purple silk and a rich brocade stole occupied the central mat before the altar. He sat cross-legged, apparently in prayer. Kosehira approached him, bowed a greeting and murmured, “My friend Sugawara and I came to pray for His Majesty.” The priest turned his head, gave Akitada a long glance from under heavy lids, and nodded.
They knelt side by side on another mat, performed the customary obeisances, and then assumed the posture of meditation.
Akitada had been raised in the faith and was familiar enough with its rituals, but his true spiritual center was with the ancient gods of Shinto. At heart, he did not approve of the foreign faith, though it was not wise to say so when it was practiced with such devotion by those in power. He listened to the hum and throb of the chant and stared up at the image before him. Judging by the small jar of ointment in the statue’s left hand, this was Yakushi Nyorai, the Buddha of healing. Akitada concentrated on saying a prayer. After all, he was praying for the sovereign and he wished the young emperor well. Indeed, he had been glad to hear he was not dying.
But his mind drifted to worldly matters. He would have to go home to change again, and that meant meeting Tamako to report on the emperor and discuss the problems of sending her and Yori into the country. The complications involved were beyond him. She would leave without him, and he could hardly stop her. Given her feelings at the present time, this separation was likely to deepen the breach between them. As he thought of her words again, they seemed to him a rejection of who and what he was. He could not bridge the distance between them without changing himself into someone he did not want to be.
Defeated, he turned his mind to Tomoe’s murder. Lady Yasugi’s stunning confession that they were sisters had opened new possibilities. He considered their conversation. Something was wrong about it. Her sadness-and there had been a very deep sadness behind their strange exchange-troubled him. Even grief for her sister did not account for it. Besides, he was not convinced that the two women had been very close. They had only met again recently, and Tomoe’s way of life must have shocked the fastidious Lady Yasugi. And why the fatalistic acceptance of a joyless marriage in so young and beautiful a woman? Yasugi was a much older man. Could she truly be so attached to him that his coldness caused her hopelessness? Akitada did not think so. He decided to pay her another visit and ask more questions. There was, for example, Tomoe’s husband who had abandoned her because of her blindness. The sisters had been very unlucky in their husbands. As had been the parents who had raised their daughters to be dutiful. Neither girl had turned out to be the meek, obedient creature they had envisioned. If he approached the past carefully, Lady Yasugi might confide in him.
Perhaps they could walk together in the garden. She was a woman of great beauty and grace and capable of strong affections. Her defiance of her husband in order to help her sister proved that. When looked at in that way, her rebellious spirit seemed admirable. She had certainly shown courage. He smiled at the memory of the noble beauty dressed in that unattractive nun’s garb and mingling with the common crowd in the courtroom.
A touch on his sleeve brought him back to his surroundings. Kosehira signaled some warning. He glanced up at the image of the Buddha and then over to the priest. The priest was glaring at him. Puzzled, Akitada looked at Kosehira.
“You are smiling,” whispered his friend.
Akitada guiltily rearranged his face, but the priest still glowered. Putting on a rapt expression, Akitada said in an audible undertone, “I thought I saw the Holy Yakushi nod his head. No, I’m sure of it. I take it to mean that he has heard my prayer.”
The priest cleared his throat. “Blessed be Amida. A sign! Thank you, young man. You must have a very pure mind to break through the barrier and receive an answer. I have only once been blessed in that manner. What was your name again?”
Akitada stuttered his name.
The priest nodded. “A good omen. A Sugawara praying for His Majesty. A very good omen.”
Akitada quickly performed the closing obeisances. He and Kosehira left after bowing to the priest, who graciously bowed back.
Outside in the temple garden, Kosehira doubled over in laughter. “You liar,” he gasped. “I know you too well. Do you know who that was?”
Akitada glanced back nervously. “No. I just assumed he was someone important. That fine robe…”
“It was the late Emperor Sanjo’s brother, the present emperor’s uncle.”
“Dear Heaven. No wonder he looked outraged.”
“You made a good recovery. He was impressed by your spirituality.” Kosehira burst into more giggles. “And by the fact that the great Michizane’s descendant is praying for the emperor. If he remembers, chances are excellent that he will put your name up for promotion.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” It was true, his ancestor was routinely blamed for every catastrophe. The notion that he had broken the curse made Akitada laugh also, and they passed out into the street in a lighter mood. Akitada asked, “Kosehira, do you know any Yasugis? This one seems to own vast estates somewhere but spends part of his time in his mansion here in the capital.”
“Yasugi? Fat old fellow who looks apoplectic?”
Akitada was pleased with this description. “I’ve never met him, but I, er, ran into one of his wives. The youngest. Apparently he left town without her.”
Kosehira’s eyebrows almost met his hairline. “You ran into one of his wives? After her husband left her behind? Come, there’s a story there. If it’s the man I’m thinking of, she’s said to be a beauty.” Before Akitada could deflect his curiosity, he clapped his hands in delight. “So that’s what’s been on your mind. Would that explain the smile? Pure thoughts indeed!” He roared. “You philanderer! Better watch out, though. Yasugi controls some very influential people and maintains a small army on his estate in Tsuzuki.”
“Nonsense.” Akitada flushed and, aware of it, made matters worse. “We only met once and she had a maid with her, an ill-tempered, hateful woman loyal to the husband.”
Kosehira grinned. “Ingenuity gets rid of troublesome servants.”
“Please be serious, Kosehira. Tsuzuki is just south of here, isn’t it?” Akitada calculated, with some dismay, that Yasugi could already have fetched his wife home.
“About thirty miles from here. Come to think of it, someone mentioned his going home. Afraid of the disease like everyone else. Strange he would leave one of his wives behind.” Kosehira regarded Akitada thoughtfully. “Will you be… meeting her again?”
Akitada snapped, “This is no romance. I’m investigating the murder of a blind woman, her sister’s, as it turns out.”
“A murder? You don’t say.” Kosehira seized Akitada’s arm. “I can’t wait to hear. Will you come to my house tonight? We can have a quiet dinner with some good wine, and you’ll tell me all about it. It will be like old times.”
Akitada regretted thoroughly having mentioned the Yasugi name. “I’m sorry, Kosehira. I can’t. The case is urgent, and I am tied up at the ministry every day. Besides, Seimei is ill-no, not the smallpox-and Tamako is afraid to stay in the capital with Yori. I will come as soon as I can.”
Kosehira looked disappointed. “I could help,” he offered hopefully.
Akitada hesitated. “Well, do you know the Murata family? The parents of the two women?”
“Murata? Bureau of Divination?” Kosehira shook his head. “Not really. Yasugi’s third wife was said to come from humble circumstances. Some scandal, I think. I can ask around.”
Akitada looked at his friend gratefully. “Would you? And I promise to tell you all as soon as I can.”
They parted then, and Akitada turned toward home. He had not gone far when a voice hailed him. Kunyoshi, the archivist, was running down the street, his skirts flapping around his skinny calves. He seemed in an almighty hurry to catch up. Akitada wondered what he could want now.
Kunyoshi trotted up, puffing. “Sorry,” he gasped, “didn’t want to miss you.”
He took a few rattling breaths while Akitada patted his back and said loudly, “Take your time. I’m in no hurry.”
Kunyoshi gestured at Akitada’s court robe and said humbly, “You are very kind, my lord. It was rude to shout and run after you, but I’m afraid this foolish old person has made a mistake.” He paused to catch his breath again, peering up at Akitada from rheumy eyes. “I thought, how dreadful if Lord Sugawara should set out on such a long journey and then find out that it was all a silly mistake made by a senile old fool. I was quite desperate to find you when I happened to see you just now outside the temple. It was as if the Buddha himself had answered my prayers.”
“Surely you exaggerate. What mistake?”
Kunyoshi wrung his hands. “Do you recall asking about the Utsunomiyas?”
“Yes.” How remote that seemed now. Tora had been charged with murder, a smallpox epidemic was raging, and his family was in turmoil.
But Kunyoshi knew none of this. He stood there, trembling with anxiety. And now tears were beginning to course down the sunken cheeks. People cast curious glances at them.
“Kunyoshi,” said Akitada, taking the old man’s arm and leading him aside, “I was not going anywhere, so no harm is done. What exactly did you remember?”
“I told you that the land was in Hoki Province. Do you remember?”
Akitada frowned. “Izumo, I thought. Something about the shrine being involved in the land dispute. I could not have gone there in any case. It’s much too far.”
“I am glad you did not go, but I was afraid you would. I could see it meant a great deal to you. And people say that you always solve a mystery.”
Akitada was getting a little impatient. “So, if the land is not in Hoki or Izumo, where is it?”
Kunyoshi was wringing his hands again. “That is what I cannot remember. I know it was to do with a shrine. A very important shrine. Only it was not Ise or Izumo.” He wiped away tears. “I’m getting worse. My mind remembers nothing. I’ll have to resign.” He heaved a ragged sigh, bowed to Akitada, muttering, “So very sorry,” and stumbled away.
Akitada looked after him. Poor old man. Everything conspired to bury Haseo’s past and there was nothing he could do about it, at least not now. He must go home and deal with more urgent problems.