Kosehira was not the only one of Akitada’s friends who was puzzled by his monogamous state. The fact that Akitada had resisted taking secondary wives to make certain of a large number of sons-hedges against the many diseases and mishaps that killed young children-fascinated Kosehira. He enjoyed all of his wives and his large brood of children and considered Akitada’s arrangement not much better than monkish abstinence.
He thinks me a dull dog, mused Akitada as he walked homeward. The beautiful profile of Lady Yasugi leapt into his mind, and he wondered what it would be like to make love to her. To his shame, he felt a surge of desire. Except for a single lapse, he had been faithful to Tamako, but lately he missed the easy friendly companionship they used to have. People grew apart after several years of marriage, and certainly that was when some men took secondary wives. Often such an arrangement was welcomed by the first wife because it meant that she was no longer plagued by her husband’s physical demands or continuous pregnancies. In fact, had Tamako not voiced that very thought only this morning, even though he had not been unduly demanding in his visits to her room? Her rejection had felt both cruel and disloyal. The breach between them was intolerably painful, and he tried to ease the hurt with angry resentment.
The truth was that he wanted affection, not many children. He wanted to come home and lose himself in some gentle cosseting, some laughter, and only afterward in the arms of a pretty wife.
As he left the Greater Palace enclosure, he saw a small silent group gathered around the notice board and went to see what had happened. It turned out to be the first official warning by the Great Council of State about the smallpox epidemic. A little late, thought Akitada bitterly, when half the officials and a good portion of the populace had already fled. The notice advised against contact with those who were suspected to have the disease. It also listed symptoms and recommended treatments. Such announcements were, of course, intended for those who could read. It was assumed that they would explain matters to the rest of the populace.
A young official, rumored to be both capable and ambitious, recognized Akitada and came over. “Ah, Sugawara,” he said with a smile, “I hear you’ve taken on Soga’s job. How exciting for you. Is he still alive?”
“Certainly he is,” said Akitada coldly, “and expected back any day.”
The younger man looked amused. “You don’t know Soga then.” He gestured at the proclamation. “All this good advice about taking boiled onions and ginseng when we all know that doesn’t work. Soga, like many others, has taken to his heels to save himself, leaving those of us behind who are willing to risk our lives in hopes of benefiting from the flight of others.” He gave a barking laugh, slapped Akitada’s back, and walked away.
Akitada stared angrily after him. Was that what people thought of him? That he had remained because he hoped for promotion-as if he had the glimmer of a chance at Soga’s rank and title. He turned away from the proclamation and walked home in a glum mood. Not far from his house, he encountered a funeral, an important one to judge by the long and solemn procession, on its way to the cremation grounds at Toribeno. It was not yet dark, and that meant that the fires at Toribeno must be burning day and night. Apparently the nobles who had remained for whatever personal reasons were paying a heavy price for their decision, and so were the ordinary people who had no choice in the matter.
He could risk his own life-the possibility of dying of smallpox still did not strike Akitada as very likely-and he must do so because of Soga’s absence, but he had no right to endanger others. Tamako and Yori must leave the city. If Tora had returned, he could take them to Akitada’s sister. Or if Lady Yasugi had left for her husband’s home, Genba could do so. If neither was available, he must go himself. He shook his head at the problems that would cause at the ministry.
Yori opened the gate for him, proud of his new role as gatekeeper, and Akitada’s heart lifted. Swinging the boy up in his arms, he said, “I see you’re making yourself useful. That’s a very good thing. I may have to rely on you to look after the whole family.”
Yori clung to him. “That’s what Mother said. She said you didn’t have time for us anymore.”
Akitada put the boy down abruptly. “That’s not true,” he said harshly.
Yori gave him a frightened look. “I’m sorry,” he said in a small voice.
Akitada tried to control his anger. Apparently Tamako had wasted no time letting the child know his father cared more for others than his family. Then he saw Yori’s eyes fill with tears, and something twisted inside him. Crouching down to bring his face level with his son’s, Akitada said, “No, Yori. I am sorry. I know I haven’t had much time for you lately, but there have been so many worries. Seimei is sick. Tora’s in danger of going to prison. A lady was attacked by evil men and I had to send Genba to watch over her. People are falling ill and dying everywhere in the city. I’ve had a great deal of work. You do understand, don’t you?”
The boy nodded, but then said, “Do you have time now?”
Akitada rose with a sigh. How could you make a five-year-old understand? He took the boy’s hand. “Yes. Will you help me change out of my court clothes first?” Yori brightened and nodded eagerly. “Then let’s walk through the garden, and you can tell me what you’ve been doing lately.”
His reward was a broad smile and an excited and disjointed report on varied activities. Yori had caught a mouse, but the mouse had bitten him and he had dropped it. He showed off a tiny red mark on a finger and was praised for his courage. He had also helped the cook to make dumplings and his mother’s maid to shake out the bedding. Then he had fed the fish in Akitada’s pond. Akitada thanked him gravely. He had tried to practice with his sword, but the straw man had fallen apart and neither Tora nor Genba were there to fix it.
“And have you had your lessons with your mother?” asked Akitada, who was wondering what mood Tamako might be in.
“Oh, Mother said I didn’t have to do them. I wanted to go to the market with cook, but she wouldn’t let me. She won’t let me go anywhere. Will you take me with you sometime?”
Akitada felt sorry for Yori, cooped up for days now without playmates or anyone in the household paying attention to him. He tried to explain about smallpox and how people could pass it to others. Yori gave him a worried look and asked, “Have they passed it to you, Father?”
“I hope not.”
The boy gently removed his hand from Akitada’s and stepped away a little. “Is it a very bad illness? Is it like what Seimei has?”
Akitada did not attempt to take the boy’s hand again. Fear raised walls between people, and this one had been thrown up between them by Yori’s mother. “It’s bad,” he said, “but not at all like Seimei’s. How is Seimei, by the way?”
“All right. Can we have some sword practice?”
“Perhaps later.” They had reached the center of the garden, and Akitada-at a loss for words to make his son understand-looked around him. The last light of the sinking sun still gilded the treetops, but below the bright colors had softened. Spring was gradually passing into summer, and the warm air was filled with the scent of a thousand blossoms. His was an old garden and had become somewhat unkempt in the exuberance of its new growth and recent neglect. He tried to find some hope in this proof of burgeoning life and beauty, but knew that beyond these walls and towering trees there were men, women, and children tossing with the fever of the disease or dying in dark incense-filled rooms, surrounded by chanting monks and weeping families.
Or perhaps, given the general fear of infection, they suffered and died alone.
Within his house, things were not much better. No one was dying, but he was alone all the same.
Akitada paused outside his room to look into the fish pond. The koi, replete with an overgenerous feeding by Yori, rose sluggishly to the surface. “Thank you for feeding them,” Akitada said. “I’ll understand if you would rather not help me with my clothes.”
Yori looked stricken. “If you would like me to help, Father, I will. I’m not afraid.”
Akitada smiled and tugged his son’s hair. Yori, like all children his age, wore his hair parted and looped over each ear. He was a handsome child, with perfect skin, large long-lashed eyes, and dimples when he smiled. He was smiling now, and Akitada’s heart melted. “Come inside then,” he said. “I have not been near anyone who is likely to be infected. Besides, we must not let our fear drive us away from each other.”
“No, Father.” Yori took his father’s hand and together they climbed the steps to the veranda and went inside.
But as they entered Akitada’s room from the garden, Tamako came in from the corridor.
“Oh,” she cried, her eyes on Yori. “I was busy and missed your return.” She made her husband a formal bow. “You are welcome.”
Seeing her worried glance at Yori, who was clinging to his robe, Akitada doubted the last, but he bowed in return. “Do not trouble yourself. Yori has offered his assistance.”
“But I’m here now. Yori, please go and read to Seimei.”
Yori clung harder and cried, “I promised.”
Akitada disliked subterfuge. “Why can’t he stay?” he asked his wife. “Are you afraid that I might infect the boy? And if so, are you not afraid for yourself?”
Her eyes blazed. “Sometimes it’s wiser to keep our thoughts to ourselves. It seems to me that lately we have both said more than was wise… or kind.”
Akitada seethed, but Yori tugged at his sleeve. “Please don’t be angry again.”
Akitada made an effort to smile at his son. “I’m not angry with you. Here, you may help me take off the train and hang it up neatly on the stand.” He began the laborious process of un-tying, unwinding, and peeling off the many layers of stiff silk.
Tamako stayed, but said nothing else. When Akitada was putting on his ordinary robe, she asked tonelessly, “You are staying in the city?”
He did not bother to turn around. “Yes. I gather neither Genba nor Tora have returned?”
“No.”
“I think it best for you to take the whole household to stay with Akiko in the country. If neither Tora nor Genba is available, I will accompany you. Perhaps you could be ready to leave tomorrow?”
There was a long silence, and he turned to look at her. Her face was pale and expressionless. “You will not stay with us at your sister’s?”
“You know I cannot leave my post.”
He watched her eyes move from his face to Yori’s. “Let Yori and the others go,” she said. “I will stay here.”
The notion was ridiculous. He frowned and said, “I cannot imagine what good that will do. In the country you and Seimei can continue with Yori’s lessons and you can be a companion and help to my sister. We cannot just saddle her with a child and an old man, not to mention two servants who won’t know what they’re supposed to do in a strange household.”
She lifted her chin stubbornly. “I shall stay.”
“Absolutely not.” He turned his back on her and left his room, furious at her defiance of his orders.
He found Seimei on his veranda, sitting placidly in the last rays of the sun and sipping tea. Thank heaven, the old man looked much stronger. Seimei was instantly apologetic for taking his leisure. “I had planned to begin lessons with the young master again,” he said, “but your lady insisted that I must rest today.”
“Quite right.” Akitada sat down next to him. “I want you to be well enough to travel to the country tomorrow. My sister has enough room, I think, and you’ll all enjoy a little vacation.”
Seimei blinked at him. “Is the smallpox so very bad then?”
“Yes, I think so. I hope Tora’s all right. It’s not like him to be gone this long. Two days and two nights without a message.”
Seimei smiled. “Ah, Tora is like the flea between the dog’s teeth. He will come to no harm.”
Akitada had seen enough in his much shorter life to distrust Seimei’s optimism, but it was good to see the old man in better spirits. On an impulse, he said, “I must stay here, of course, but it seems that Tamako fears the disease, yet refuses to leave.”
Seimei nodded complacently. “Man is the pine tree, and woman the wisteria vine.”
There was certainly nothing of the clinging vine about Tamako. At least not nowadays. There had been a time when they had exchanged love poems tied to flowering wisteria branches and Akitada had planted a wisteria in his garden for Tamako. The plant was enormous now. He could see a part of it climbing through a pine tree outside her pavilion. It was purple, like the one in her father’s garden had been.
The one in Lady Yasugi’s garden was white, a much rarer plant, its long, glistening blossoms almost ethereal among the feathered leaves.
He rose abruptly. “I’m glad to see you are better, but I must go now. There is a great deal to do and I have promised Yori some sword practice.”
Seimei nodded with a smile. Akitada did not go back through the house but through the garden again. He found his son waiting in the courtyard.
The following day, Akitada dealt with paperwork at the ministry. The claimants in the front hall were few these days, a very good thing because most of the scribes were absent. Sakae continued in Akitada’s old capacity-no doubt in hopes of promotion, like that other ambitious young man at the notice board-and Nakatoshi was Akitada’s usual faithful attendant. By midday he had finished most of his work and decided to check on Genba.
The Yasugi mansion lay silent and somnolent in the warm sun. Here the troubles which had befallen the city seemed remote, and Akitada inhaled deeply the scent of flowers drifting over the wall. His heart started beating faster and he wished foolishly that he could hear the sounds of the zither again. He pictured her, seated under the fragrant blossoms of the wisteria, slender, graceful, her oval face bent over the instrument, lips curving into a smile.
And then, as if by magic, he did hear the zither and stopped. He knew the tune, had played it himself not too long ago on his flute. It was “Dream of the Night,” and the words expressed a woman’s yearning for the lover who had just left her bed. When the music ended, he swallowed hard and went to knock on the gate.
Genba peered out, then opened the small door. He looked guilty, but that had become Genba’s ordinary expression lately. And he was eating again. When Akitada stepped through, he saw Lady Yasugi’s unpleasant maid standing there with a silly smirk on her round face. Two folding chairs had been set up against the wall of the gatehouse, and a basket filled with food and wine flasks stood between them.
“Hmm,” Akitada said pointedly, giving Genba a frown. “Anything to report?”
Genba gulped down a mouthful of food and croaked, “Nothing, sir. All quiet.”
Akitada turned to the maid. “And your lady rested well?”
“Yes, sir. She’s in the garden.” She shot Genba a glance, then led the way. As soon as they stepped out into the sunshine of the garden, she pointed, “Over there,” and left to continue her tryst with Genba. Akitada decided to forgive Genba, and walked toward the woman who had so quickly taken possession of his thoughts.
She was leaning over the railing of the small bridge, tossing bits of food to the fish below, making a charming picture in spite of her severe gown of dark grey brocade and the fact that her hair was looped up at her neck in a rather matronly fashion.
When she heard his steps on the gravel, she jerked around, her face pale and her eyes wide with fright. The fear passed quickly into a rosy blush. She had not painted her face today and looked more delicate.
Perhaps his surprise at her appearance showed, for her hands flew to her face and hair, and she gasped, “Oh. I did not expect to see you again, my lord.”
“I’m sorry I startled you. I only came to make certain all was well.” His eyes drank her in hungrily.
“Thank you. I expect my husband any moment.” An expression almost of despair passed over her face and she looked down. “You must want Genba back. There is no need for him to stay any longer.”
“I have not missed him at all,” lied Akitada. She looked up then, and he became lost in the faint pink flush just beneath her pale skin. Before he could stop himself, he said, “This morning you are as lovely as the roses.” To his delight the color deepened and her eyes widened with pleasure.
Instinctively they moved closer to each other. “You have been very kind to me,” she said softly, her eyes searching his face as if she were trying to memorize it. “I had almost forgotten how kind a man can be.” Her eyes filled with tears. She turned and started walking away from him.
“Wait,” he cried, his voice hoarse and the words tumbling out without thought. “I came to speak to you, to ask you to trust me. I know you fear your husband. I saw the look in your face when you thought I was he. There is a way for you to escape that bond… if you wish.”
She stopped, but did not turn around. Shaking her head, she said, “No. Please do not press me. I cannot leave my marriage, and you must not speak to me this way.”
He went to take her by the shoulders and turn her toward him. “Why not?” he asked. “I’m only a senior secretary in the Ministry of Justice, and not at all wealthy like your husband, but my family is old and respected. I offer you my protection. My love.” He felt strangely lightheaded at having spoken words he never intended to say. He marveled how suddenly he had made this drastic change in his household arrangements, in his life, and in the lives of his family. And he waited, holding his breath, for her answer.
She stared up at him, frozen in surprise. Then her color deepened again and her eyes softened. “Oh,” she whispered, “if only I could.” Her hand crept up to touch his cheek.
Feeling triumphant, he pulled her against him. “It’s simple. Just say ‘yes,’ ” he murmured against her hair, thinking how much he liked her scent, the feel of her body against his, her caressing hand on his face.
For a moment they clung together, then she began to fight free. He saw that tears were running down her face and released her. “What’s the matter?” he asked anxiously. “A woman may leave her husband in the same way in which a man may divorce his wife. You need not even see him again. Come with me now. You can write to him, and I can see to it that everything is made legal. I’m quite good at law,” he added with a smile.
But she shook her head and looked at him through her tears. “It cannot be. Now or ever.” She snatched his hand and pressed it against her wet cheek. “My dear Akitada, you have given me the strength to go on, and for that I shall always be deeply grateful. If you care for my well-being, please do not ask again.” She released his hand gently.
He opened his mouth to protest, to argue, but such an expression of intense pain came into her face-still so beautiful even with tears glistening in her eyelashes and sliding down her cheeks-that he could say nothing.
“Please give me your word,” she insisted.
He hesitated. “If you promise to call on me when you need help.”
She nodded. “But,” she said, “we must not meet again. It is dangerous for you to be here now. My husband may arrive at any moment.”
“What could he do? Surely he doesn’t beat you?” demanded Akitada angrily.
She sighed. “Sometimes. But he has better ways to punish me.”
“How can you stay with a man like that?” he raged.
She gave him a reproachful look and he relented, consoling himself with the conviction that she would soon enough be driven into his arms. He knew now that she was not indifferent to him.
He could not take his eyes off her, and after a moment he realized that she wanted him to go. Casting about in his mind for ways to prolong the meeting, he recalled that other matter, her relationship with the murdered blind woman, her sister. But he did not know how to question her about their parents and asked instead, “Will you miss the capital?”
Her eyes softened. “I was once very happy here as a child, but that was a long time ago. I married and moved away, and for a short while I was happy then also. Now there is only grief.”
“Yasugi’s estate is in the Tzusuki district, I think?”
She looked a little taken aback. “You are well-informed.”
“I care about you. And I’m not convinced you’ll be safe with him.”
Her face paled. “Oh. You must not follow me. Promise you won’t!”
“I cannot promise. You may need me.”
She stamped her foot, eyes flashing. “No. I forbid it. I shall deny knowing you.”
She was very beautiful in her temper, and he laughed. “Very well,” he said. “When we meet again, I shall not admit knowing you unless you give me permission.”
She relaxed. “Thank you,” she murmured with a look that was almost flirtatious.
He stood gazing at her, wanting her, and trying to think of something else to say. But there was no more time. The maid came rushing down the path, shouting and waving her arms.
“Dear heaven,” breathed Lady Yasugi and looked around frantically. “My husband is here. He must not see you. What shall we do?”
They had no chance to discuss the matter, for the maid arrived and poured out her excited report. From the gate building came the sounds of horses and the shouts of men.
“I must go,” Lady Yasugi cried, and before Akitada could stop her, she had gathered up her skirts and was running back toward her room. At that moment, her husband set foot in the garden and took in the scene with a sweeping glance.
He gave a single roar. “Hiroko!”
She faltered and stopped as abruptly as a deer hit by an arrow, then walked slowly toward her husband, her head lowered and her hands folded against her breast. When she reached him, she knelt. Akitada could not hear what they said to each other, but he knew from her husband’s gestures that he was angry, and from the way she hunched her shoulders that she was desperately afraid.
Enough! Seeing her like this was unbearable. Setting his face, Akitada went to meet the man whom he already hated with every fiber of his being.
Yasugi, a short, squat figure in a fine blue hunting robe and white silk trousers, awaited him, his broad face flushed with anger. He was said to be in his early sixties, but age had not been kind. He had too much soft, lax flesh: a misshapen belly, small hands with fingers like fat white worms, and heavy jowls that pulled down the corners of his mouth before joining a triple chin. He straddled the narrow path and scowled, as if to signify that the master of the mansion had returned and caught the adulterers red-handed.
Bristling inwardly, Akitada bowed. “Do I have the honor of making the acquaintance of Lord Yasugi?”
Yasugi glared. “What are you doing here? And what have you and my wife been up to?” His voice was loud and insulting.
Akitada was offended and decided to show it. His own pedigree was much better than this man’s, and money was not everything. He drew himself up and said coldly, “I beg your pardon. I must have made a mistake. Please direct me to your master.”
Yasugi stared for a moment. Then he growled, “I’m Yasugi. Your man says your name is Sugawara. That does not explain what business you have with my wife and in my home.”
“Ah,” said Akitada, raising his brows. He let his eyes travel over the figure of his host, then remarked coldly, “You really should take better care of your property. I had the good fortune to protect your valuables and your lady from an attack by bandits yesterday. I came back today to make sure the villains had not returned, but now that you have finally found the time to see to matters yourself, I shall be glad to be on my way.” He nodded to Yasugi, whose eyes had narrowed, then bowed to his still kneeling wife. “I wish you a safe journey, my lady.”
Without raising her head, she murmured, “Thank you, my lord.”
Apparently her husband had second thoughts. “Perhaps I’ve made a mistake. I’ve had a long and thirsty ride. Will you join me in a cup of wine?”
Akitada said stiffly. “Thank you, sir, but I have neglected my own affairs too long and shall not trouble you further. Your maid will explain what happened.” He brushed past Yasugi, who had to move aside, and walked quickly back to the gate, where Genba was helping with the horses.
“Leave that!” he shouted, glowering at Yasugi’s men, and stalked out through the gate.
When Genba caught up, his face was anxious. “Is something wrong, sir?”
“That man’s an unmannered brute,” Akitada raged. “We’re well rid of him and his people.”
But not all of his people. Not the slender woman who had knelt on the gravel path before her monster of a husband and trembled at the brutal punishment awaiting her for having entertained a man in his absence. Akitada clenched his fists in impotent fury. Why had the cursed man arrived just then? Another few minutes and she would have agreed to come with him or he would have been gone.
Perhaps fate was punishing him for the sins of a past life-though he had enough fresh ones to choose from. If he had not pursued her for his own pleasure, she would not have to suffer now. Instead of protecting her, he had exposed her to even more vicious treatment.
Genba trotted behind him, puzzled by his master’s mood. After a while, he said timidly, “I hope I haven’t done wrong in striking up a friendship with the maid, sir. I thought she might have some information.”
Akitada stopped and turned. “Really? That was good thinking. I owe you an apology. What did you learn?”
Genba flushed. “No need to apologize, sir. I enjoyed the food she offered. Her name’s Anju and she’s worked for Lord Yasugi all her life. Her grandmother was his wet nurse. She’s very loyal to him, but
…” Genba paused, giving Akitada an uncertain glance, “she doesn’t like her mistress much.”
“I gathered as much. Come, let’s walk on while you report. Did she reveal any private matters between her master and mistress?”
Genba’s color deepened. “Matters of the bedchamber, you mean?”
“No, of course not,” Akitada snapped, though he had meant that also. “I refer to their daily life together. Her position in the household. Do they live together like a normal couple?”
It was badly put and Genba said instantly, “I wouldn’t know how normal couples behave to each other, but according to the maid, this lady is disliked by everyone in the household, and her husband is often angry with her. The servants think she’s either been unfaithful or refuses to… give him a child. Anju says the lady drives her husband crazy with her bad moods. Sometimes she makes him so angry that he shouts and beats her.”
Genba paused when he saw his master’s bleak face.
“Go on.”
“That’s all. It must be a terrible life for both of them, sir. Why do you think they are still together? Why doesn’t he divorce her?”
Akitada said bitterly, “More to the point, since the man beats her, why doesn’t she leave him?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
Akitada sighed. “I don’t know either, Genba. I was hoping you could explain it.”
He was in an impossible situation: She would or could not leave an abusive marriage, and he had promised not to interfere unless she asked for help. He could only hope for a future when she would change her mind and come to him.
They were approaching a private home, when its gate opened suddenly, and a harried servant appeared. “There you are, doctor,” he cried. “Come in quickly. The master’s having the bloody flux, and the third lady is covered with boils.”
Akitada said quickly, “I’m no doctor,” and pulled Genba away.
“This smallpox is a terrible disease,” offered Genba, looking back at the servant who stood wringing his hands and looking up and down the street.
“Yes. Tomorrow you will take the family to my sister’s country place.”
“People have been leaving in droves. I hope they have wagons and oxen left at the rental stable.”
Akitada had not thought of that. “Do the best you can, but be careful whom you deal with. If you see someone in ill health, leave quickly and go elsewhere. Tora’s not back yet, and I’m worried about him.” He stopped at the corner of Suzako Avenue. “I have another errand, but will be home soon.”
Akitada’s errand concerned Lady Yasugi’s parents and took him to the administrative offices of the capital, where he asked to see records of families with the surname Murata. Since he now knew that Hiroko had been raised in the capital, he planned to contact her parents for information about her sister Tomoe. He also hoped to get their support in a more personal matter: to free their other daughter from a hateful marriage and to take her as his wife.
But when he finally located the information, he faced a more disturbing problem than he could have imagined. Her father was the late Murata Senko, hereditary master of yin-yang and one of the scholars who devised the annual calendar that listed all the taboo days, directional prohibitions, auspicious days, and planetary conjunctions that governed most people’s lives. He had been a middle-rank official and had worked for the Bureau of Divination in the Greater Palace, so Kosehira had been quite right. Murata had sired only two children, a son and a daughter. The son had died in infancy. The daughter’s name was listed as Hiroko. Since by marriage she had passed out of the Murata family, the records did not bother to give her husband’s name. Her mother was also dead. The Murata family had ceased to exist.
Which raised two questions: Who was Tomoe? And why had Hiroko lied about her?