Behind the main house was a small overgrown garden, and beyond that an area of shrubs and trees from which rose another, smaller pitched roof. The music was louder here. The zither player plucked the strings tentatively, halfheartedly, putting long pauses between clusters of notes so that the cheerful folk song struck his ear like a lament.
Someone had made a rudimentary path through the small wilderness, and Akitada took it, skirting thorny vines and dusting his boots and the skirts of his traveling robe with yellow pollen from wildflowers. Bush clover bloomed here among buzzing bees, and saffron flowers, and small pink carnations almost suffocated by ferns. Many years ago, as a small boy, Haseo must have played in this garden.
Like Yori.
She was sitting on the wooden porch of a vine-covered garden pavilion, her attention on the zither before her. He almost did not recognize her in a peasant woman’s gray cotton robe and trousers, and with her long hair braided into a single plait. Her face was bare of cosmetics, but her beauty made his heart contract at the futility of his desire.
Reminding himself of her lies, he strode up to the stone step of the porch and demanded, “Are you alone?”
She started and the melody splintered. Then her eyes widened and her face softened into joy. “How did you find me?” she asked.
He said coldly, “By accident. I had planned to call on you at your husband’s house, but this will do very well. How do you come to be here, and where are your people?”
The joy faded. “I have been banished. Yasugi sent me here.”
“You mean you are a prisoner?”
“Something like that.” She studied his face anxiously. “You have changed, Akitada. You look… ill.”
He brushed that away. “I’m well enough.” He glanced into the building behind her. It was empty except for a straw mat and the sort of bundle people make of a change of clothes when they travel. “You stay here? Why didn’t they at least open the main house for you?”
“They say it’s haunted. Someone was murdered there.”
“Yes,” he said harshly. “I know, and so do you. This used to be your home. You lied to me.”
She opened her mouth to protest.
“No, don’t deny it. Your first husband was the Tomonari heir. He died in exile for crimes he didn’t commit. Tell me, did you believe him guilty? Is that why you accepted so eagerly the rich man’s offer? Did you at least wait until the authorities confirmed your first husband’s death before you leapt into Yasugi’s bed?”
She had turned very white. The ivory plectrum in her right hand jerked across the zither, and a string tore with a loud, dissonant twang. She dropped the plectrum and bent her head, hunching her shoulders as if she expected him to strike her. “Please don’t.”
He was unmoved. Life was full of horrors, and he had no time for pity; he wanted answers. He said fiercely, “Your husband was my friend and died in my arms. His last thoughts were of you and the others, of the children. He believed you would stay together, and I promised I would find you. But I found only you, married to a rich man and living in luxury. Where are the others? Where are his children?”
She shuddered but did not answer, and that angered him. He went to her, seized her shoulder, and shook her until she raised her head and met his eyes. “Damn you, woman! You will speak and you will not lie to me this time, for I shall have the truth somehow. Your personal feelings no longer matter to me.”
She flinched as if he had struck her, but her eyes remained dry. “No,” she said softly, “I see that now. I think I knew it when I first saw your face. You’re changed. But I have never lied to you, whatever you may think. You never asked about my first husband.”
“You lied about your relationship with the murdered street singer,” he thundered. “I checked your family records. You are an only child, yet you claimed she was your sister and told me a string of lies about your parents abandoning her for making an unsuitable marriage. You even embroidered the tale by making out that her husband was an unfeeling brute who divorced her when she got smallpox. Who was Tomoe really?”
“I did not lie. One may call one’s husband’s wives ‘sisters.’ ”
That stopped him. “Tomoe was Haseo’s wife?”
“She changed her name because she had to earn her living on the streets.” Hiroko looked at him reproachfully, and he wondered if she was feeding him another elaborate lie.
“Even if this is true, the rest was a pack of lies.”
“It was all true. The Atsumis rejected her when she decided to accept the offer of a common gate guard. She and the children lived with him for a year, but when she became ill and blind, he threw them out. She was too proud to ask her parents for help after that.”
Akitada felt as if the ground were shifting beneath him. If this was indeed finally the truth, it was monstrous. He sat down abruptly on the stone step. She rose to fetch a cushion for him, inviting him to sit beside her.
“Please tell me about Haseo,” she begged.
He obeyed. When he was done, there was a long silence. Then she nodded. “Yes, that was like him. He could be very kind. And it’s good to know that he did not forget us in the end.” She sighed. “I have been angry with him for too many years.”
It was hard to know how women felt about their husbands. Apparently she had blamed Haseo for their abandonment. Akitada changed the subject. “How long have you been here?”
“Since we returned from the capital. Don’t look so shocked. I much prefer it to the company of my present husband.”
“You have your maid with you?”
“No.”
“Surely you’re not alone?”
“Someone brings me food once a day.”
He felt outrage at Yasugi’s treatment of her. At least two of Haseo’s wives had been abandoned to fates worse than exile. Uncomfortably aware of the offer of marriage he had made her, he said awkwardly, “You cannot stay here. Do you have relatives?”
She bowed her head. “Only a great-uncle in the capital. He doesn’t want me.”
Akitada felt wretched, but he simply could not bring this beautiful creature into his household now. In truth, he no longer wanted her there.
She guessed his thoughts and twitched a shoulder impatiently. “Don’t worry. I’m not your responsibility.”
“I wish I could offer you my home-” He broke off helplessly.
“I know. Once the cherry blossoms have fallen, not even Buddha can reattach them. We are not the same people any longer.”
He felt constrained to explain. “My little son has died.”
She raised her eyes in dismay. “When?”
“Four days ago. I left the morning after the funeral.” As he said it, he felt as if the suffocating pall of smoke from the pyre once again darkened the sun, and his tongue tasted the acrid stench.
She was still staring at him. “You left? But what about your wife? Your other children?”
“There are no other children. And Tamako is quite strong.”
She moved away a fraction. “Oh, yes. She will need her strength. Left all alone to grieve the death of her only child.”
Akitada detected a note of reproof. “You don’t understand,” he snapped.
She gave a small bitter laugh. “Oh, I understand only too well. You wanted to get away, to turn your back on an empty house, to immerse yourself in your work in order to blot out the pain. All men please themselves. Haseo did, too. I suppose that’s what makes women strong.”
He eyed her resentfully. “You think I’m pleased? You cannot possibly know what it feels like to lose your only son. Besides, my behavior is not for you to judge.”
She rose, her pale face flushed with anger. “I know your grief only too well, my lord. I lost my son. And you have judged me all along.”
He stumbled to his feet. “You lost a son?”
“Yes. He was my only son also, though I still have a daughter. He was barely two years old.”
“Yasugi’s child?”
“I have no children by my present husband.” She twisted her hands, and for the first time her eyes filled with tears. “My daughter is no longer with me. Yasugi keeps her from me. She’s almost eight, and he threatens to sell her into prostitution unless I submit to him.”
“Dear heaven!”
“I no longer have any choice,” she said bitterly. “You do.”
Akitada was dumfounded. “You mean you have refused Yasugi all these years? But why did he marry you if you had no intention of living with him as his wife?”
She leaned against the wall and hid her face in her hands. “He hoped to break down my resistance. I agreed to accept his protection for myself and my children if I could live undisturbed in separate quarters. He was eager to help and very solicitous in those early days, and I was young and afraid, and foolish enough to think that he would be like a father to me.” She shuddered. “Once he tried to rape me. I screamed and servants came. After that he only beat me. When that didn’t change my mind, he took my children away.” She drew a deep shuddering breath. “I think he killed my son. He said it was an accident. That he fell and broke his neck.”
Akitada sat down abruptly and muttered again, “Dear heaven.”
She fell to her knees beside him. “What am I to do? I’ve tried to protect my children and failed. I tried to help Tomoe and she was murdered. I have no strength left. He has won.”
Their eyes met-hers swimming with tears, his shocked. “Do you suspect Yasugi of murdering Tomoe?”
She cried, “I don’t know. Tomoe wanted me to leave him. Only what could I do to support myself and my daughter? There is only prostitution. Tomoe said prostitution was better than having our children killed one by one. And the next day she was found dead. I think my maid told Yasugi what she said.”
Akitada felt a great surge of love and pity for her. He wanted to touch her, console her, but knew he must not. “You’ve been wronged, Hiroko,” he said. “All of you were cruelly wronged. Haseo first, and then his family. None of it is your fault. We shall get your daughter back and find the others. When I return to the capital, I shall file a suit on your behalf. Haseo was innocent and the Tomonari land belongs rightfully to Haseo’s oldest son.”
She dabbed her eyes with her sleeves. “His name is Nobunari. He must be twelve. I don’t know where he is or if he is alive. Tomoe wouldn’t tell me. She was afraid Yasugi would force it from me.”
Akitada remembered the silver coins in Tomoe’s box and the two names written on the slip of paper. Nobunari and Nobuko were her son and daughter, and they were both alive, or had been when she died. If only Hiroko had not accepted Yasugi’s protection! But Akitada had offered the same not too long ago. Alone in the world, a beautiful woman was subject to the selfish whims and desires of men. “What happened to the third wife, Sakyo?”
“She returned to her family and took her little girls with her.”
Akitada thought of those three abandoned wives and their children. One married a rich man, one fled to her family, and the third ended in the gutter. “Haseo thought all of you would stay with Sakyo.”
Hiroko said bitterly, “The Katsuragis didn’t want their name tainted by the scandal. They took only Sakyo and were thankful she had no sons who would have borne their father’s name. Sachi-Tomoe-married quickly. I took my children and went to my great-uncle, who convinced me to accept Yasugi’s offer because he didn’t want to be burdened with us.”
“Do you know where your daughter is?”
She nodded. “With one of Yasugi’s managers, not far from here.”
“Then we shall get her. Is there anywhere you both can stay for a few weeks?”
“Perhaps we could stay with the shrine maidens at the Hachiman Shrine.”
Akitada thought of the smiling priest Ki and shook his head. “It wouldn’t be safe.”
“There’s a temple that has quarters for a few nuns. One of them is an elderly cousin of mine.”
“Yes. You should be safe there until you can return to your own home.” He glanced toward the roofs of the mansion behind him.
She nodded and gave him a tremulous smile. “Yes. Now that we have someone to remember us. Thank you, Akitada.”
His heart twisted. He did not want to pursue that dangerous path but could not help himself. “Tell me about you and Haseo.”
She flushed and looked down at her hands. “I was very young when the matchmaker came. She asked if I was healthy and felt my hips and belly through my gown. I knew I was chosen to give children to this strange man. I hated Haseo then, but I fell in love with him later. Haseo was always gentle. And he was very handsome.” She sighed. “We were all in love with him, but he loved fighting more. He left us for long months to live in the capital. At first I thought he was visiting the courtesans, but he went to study sword fighting and to keep company with soldiers. I soon learned that I was nothing to him.”
Akitada heard the bitterness, but he had learned that wives expected a great deal more than their husbands could give them. He asked, “What about his parents?”
“His father was very stern. Haseo avoided him. I think that angered his father. They both had tempers. Haseo’s mother was kind and timid. She tried to make peace. Haseo loved his mother.”
“Do you remember the day of the murders?”
She looked at him doubtfully. “That day, we-the wives-were not in the main house. We didn’t see or hear the quarrel, but I knew Haseo was planning to do something… he looked angry when he left.”
“You saw him just before the murder?”
“He left me in the morning.” She blushed.
“The crime happened at midday. Haseo was arrested at the scene. What was he doing until then?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he take his sword? This sword?” He showed it to her.
She looked and recoiled slightly. She answered so softly that he almost did not hear, “Yes, he had his sword.”
Akitada began to suspect that Hiroko had believed her husband guilty. “How did you find out about the murders?”
She looked away and let the words pour out. “They brought us the news. First a servant, weeping. Then the steward to tell us that Haseo had killed his father and his mother. We didn’t believe it, but Yasura had been with Haseo’s mother and she saw it all. Yasura used to be Haseo’s nurse. They said she was like a madwoman, crying, ‘He did it. I saw it. He killed them both.’ Later the constables led Haseo away. I ran after him. I saw blood on his clothes, and the look on his face was terrible. They took me away then, and I never saw him again.” She sighed and wiped away tears. “So long ago and still so terrible.”
He waited a moment, then asked, “You did not attend the trial?”
“No. There was a hearing at the Yasugi mansion. Yasugi is the senior district official. A judge asked all of us questions and made us put our names to our testimony.” She paused. “Yasugi was very kind to me that day.”
So Yasugi had been involved in Haseo’s trial and had been solicitous of his beautiful young wife. That the biggest land-owner should hold the top administrative position in his district was common practice, but it raised more suspicions in Akitada’s mind that Yasugi had hatched a plot to incriminate Haseo. He had had a double motive: Haseo’s beautiful third wife and the Tomonari Estate. But it did not explain how the murder happened, and Hiroko was no help there.
She was calmer now that she had poured out her story, and he said, “Your husband… Haseo was innocent. A man called Sangoro may help us prove it. Do you know him?”
She frowned. “Sangoro? He grew up with Haseo and tried to be like him. Haseo’s father was amused and let him strut about when the boys were young, but later he could see that it put ideas in his head and that Sangoro was becoming disrespectful, so he put a stop to it. But Sangoro left for the capital and only came to visit his mother sometimes. There’s a distant cousin living at the farm. I think Sangoro works for Yasugi now.”
“Does he indeed?” Akitada wondered just what sort of work he did. He was no farmer. He glanced past her at the bundle inside her room. “Could you leave now? We could stop at Sangoro’s farm on our way to get your daughter.”
“Now?” Apparently she had not thought what her next step would have to be and how quickly it must be taken, but she was still the same Hiroko who had disguised herself to attend Tora’s trial. She went inside to pick up her bundle and rejoined him. “I’m ready,” she said.
He helped her onto his horse, tied her bundle to his own saddlebag, and mounted behind her. There was no sign of Yasugi’s people, and they left the Tomonari manor unchallenged.
A narrow footpath led from the manor over the crest of a low wooded hill into the next valley. Intensely aware of Hiroko, Akitada made himself think of Matsue instead. He hoped he would finally learn what role he had played in Haseo’s tragedy.
Sangoro’s farm consisted of a wooden house and two sheds, the whole surrounded by a low stone wall. Its fields were poorly cultivated, some having gone to weeds, and others showing only thin crops. Near the house, a few vegetables struggled in a small plot. But there were many chickens and, surprisingly, a horse tied up beside one of the sheds.
When Akitada saw the horse, he stopped in the shelter of the trees. “You’d better wait here. Can you ride?”
She nodded and let him help her down. “What are you afraid of?”
“I have a notion that Sangoro has come home.” He led her to a grassy spot where she could sit and wait. “If there is trouble, take my horse and flee. Get your daughter and head for refuge.”
Her eyes went to Haseo’s sword at his side. “Please be careful.”
When Akitada reached the farmhouse, he saw that the area inside the stone wall was littered with a number of dead chickens. He had no time to investigate, because the live ones began to cluck noisily, and the door swung open. The man on the threshold shaded his eyes against the sun, but Akitada knew him instantly. They had met. On three separate occasions.
In the broad sunlight the resemblance was not pronounced. Matsue’s features were coarser and fleshier, the eyes colder and more calculating. Akitada saw that his right hand was no longer bandaged; the stumps of the missing fingers had scabbed over by now, but he held the hand awkwardly as if it still pained him.
Akitada approached until only the length of two swords separated them. Matsue’s expression was unwelcoming. “Yes?” he asked, frowning.
“Are you Sangoro?”
“I am.” The frown deepened. “You look familiar. Have we met?”
“Not precisely, though I know who you are. In the capital you pass under the name Matsue. I’m Sugawara.”
Matsue’s eyebrows rose. “What do you want with me?”
Akitada put his hand on the sword. “During a recent raid of a robber’s den in the capital, the police found this sword in a room you used to occupy. It belongs to the Tomonari family. How did you get it?”
Matsue took a step forward and extended his left hand. “That’s mine. Hand it over!”
Akitada stood his ground. “By what right do you claim it?”
“More right than you have.” Recognition finally dawned and Matsue flushed with anger. “It’s you again.”
Akitada kept his eye on Matsue’s good left hand, but it was the other, the wounded right hand, which suddenly lashed out. The blow landed on Akitada’s temple and would have knocked him out, if it had not been injured. Still, Akitada lost his balance, stumbled, and fell to one knee. His sight darkened long enough for the sword to be snatched from its scabbard. He heard the soft hiss of the blade and scrambled to his feet and out of striking range, realizing that he had fallen for a child’s trick that was about to cost him his life.
But Matsue stepped back, the sword in his left hand and a lazy smile on his face. Akitada realized that he was trapped against the stone wall. He waited for Matsue’s attack. Akitada had hoped for death. Now he was about to have his wish.
“Don’t try to run,” Matsue drawled, strolling into striking distance. “You’d lose your head in an instant. I find I’m getting almost as good with my left hand as with my right.” He lashed out and neatly decapitated a chicken that had strayed within his reach. The headless fowl walked about drunkenly before falling on its side, twitching a couple of times, and lying still. “You see? Now what’s all this business about the sword? Why are you following me? The Tomonaris are dead and gone.”
“Except for you.”
Matsue’s eyes flickered. Akitada watched him, wondering vaguely if there was a chance he could get the sword back by keeping him talking.
Matsue looked at Haseo’s sword and smiled unpleasantly. “Nowadays I’m my mother’s son, not my father’s. It appears the Tomonari name has fallen into disrepute. Still, this sword is mine by rights. It should’ve been mine from the start. I’m the older, even if the spoiled brat got the teachers, the money, and the attention.”
Akitada began to inch along the wall. “Your mother was a peasant. At best you were a bastard.”
Matsue’s eyes flashed. He cried, “My mother came of good stock and was serving his first wife when my father took her as concubine. I was born three months before my pampered half-brother.”
Akitada shifted his position a little more. “So? Dalliance with maids is common. The resulting children have no claims unless their father legitimizes them. Tomonari did not recognize you.”
“You lie.” Matsue swept up the point of the sword until it touched Akitada’s throat. “He acknowledged me. Ask anyone around here.” He made a sweeping gesture with the sword. “He gave my mother this farm. Why else would he do that?” The sword point returned to Akitada’s throat.
So Tora had been right about the document. Akitada did not doubt that Matsue was Tomonari’s son, but a man who was so determined to protect the succession that he had forced a rebellious Haseo to accept his family duties would hardly legitimize a bastard child. Still, such casual relationships could leave deep emotional scars. Akitada would have felt some sympathy, had he not been convinced by now that Matsue was the killer. Dodging the sword point by stepping aside, he said, “If it is as you say, why did Tomonari not keep you and your mother in his household instead of sending both of you away when you started making claims on him?”
Matsue glared. “Maybe my mother didn’t want to stay. Maybe she wanted her own place. This place. But we were welcome in the great house anytime. My mother nursed my half-brother along with me and we grew up together. It was our home as much as theirs.”
“Ah. The nurse Yasura was your mother.” Ki’s secretary had mentioned that she lived close enough to walk to work every day. And if Matsue was the murderer, she had the strongest reason of all to lie. “She lied to protect you,” Akitada said. “Because it was you who killed them.”
Matsue’s face hardened. “You made a mistake hounding me,” he said softly. “What you guess won’t matter, because you won’t live to tell it. Yes, I killed them. And then I hid and I watched as my brother found their bodies. Sometimes the gods do right a wrong.”
Akitada said angrily, “You let him go to trial for something he had not done.”
Matsue laughed and raised the sword a little to caress Akitada’s jaw. “My honored brother wasn’t a bit grateful that I rid him of our father and made him Lord Tomonari. He wept like a child; he clutched his mother’s corpse; and he pulled his sword-this sword in my hand-from our father’s chest. My mother was wailing her head off until he shook her and asked her who’d done the deed. For a moment I was afraid she’d tell, but she didn’t, and that’s when I knew I was safe. All I had to do was disappear and let things take their course.”
Akitada was sickened. “Why did you kill them?”
Matsue’s face darkened. “They pushed me too far. I’d come home to ask my father for a little money to pay some debts, but he laughed at me. I reminded him that I was his son and that he’d given a hundred times as much to my half-brother. He got angry and called me names. Our shouting brought his wife and my mother. When they turned on my mother, blaming her, it was too much. I saw my precious brother’s fine new sword lying there, and I killed them both.” Matsue raised the sword into the sun and squinted along the blade. “I could never afford a fine weapon like this. Not a nick in it, and it sliced through her neck bones without a sound.” He lowered the blade and chuckled. “Can you imagine, her head stayed on. You should have seen her face. But she put her hand to her throat and it looked like she pushed it off herself. It was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.” He gave a high-pitched laugh.
He was a madman, Akitada thought, one of those demonic creatures who take pleasure in killing. He discovered, with mild surprise, that he did not want to die, especially not here, not like this. He would not wait to be cut down, perhaps after a desperate cat-and-mouse game of dodging Matsue’s blade. He would attack and get the sword back. He would almost certainly take a sword wound, perhaps be killed, but if he was quick, he would be inside Matsue’s reach before the other man could execute a fatal strike.
He gathered himself, set his eyes on the hand which grasped the sword hilt, and charged.
But Matsue did not react the way he had hoped. Instead of striking out, he sidestepped and tripped Akitada, who ended up prone. Putting a foot on Akitada’s back, Matsue placed the sword’s point just where the jawbone joins the neck and laughed.
“That was stupid,” he drawled. “Of course I can’t let you live.”
With his face pressed into fresh chicken droppings, Akitada prepared to die. Death was never pretty, but better in chicken dung and by the sword than the way poor Yori had died. Better in a fight like a man, not like a blind woman running from a maniac’s knife. He thought of Tamako and braced himself.
But Matsue did not strike. Somewhere in the distance Akitada heard the sound of a galloping horse. He twisted aside, felt Matsue’s foot slipping, and grabbed for his legs. Matsue came down on top of him and knocked the breath out of his lungs. Akitada had only one thought, to get the sword back. A violent struggle ensued, but this time it was Akitada who rose with the sword in his hand.
The rider came to a halt in a cloud of dust and squawking, fluttering chickens. The slender figure in gray straddled the horse, controlling the animal with expert ease. Hiroko was certainly no obedient female.
“Is he the murderer?” she demanded.
Wiping the dung off his face, Akitada thought she looked as magnificent as those ancient warrior goddesses who rode and fought like men. “Yes,” he said wearily.
Matsue got up and stared at the fierce woman on the horse.
She looked back at him and her face contorted into a mask of fury. “Then what are you waiting for?” she cried. “You’ve got the sword back. Use it.”
Matsue exploded into action and flung himself at Akitada with a howl. Again they struggled for the sword, again the chickens scattered and cackled. Hiroko shouted. The horse snorted and danced just feet away. Matsue was desperate, but this time Akitada hung on to the sword and managed to free his arm. He started to back off, when Matsue delivered a vicious kick to his stomach that sent him staggering backward to the ground.
Hiroko screamed shrilly, and Akitada scrambled to his feet.
The horse burst past him, tossing him aside, its hooves barely missing him. He heard a shout, the sound of a thudding impact, and a howl of pain. Matsue was down. He lay moaning and twitching, as Hiroko spun the horse around in a spray of gravel and rode over him a second time. This time, Matsue lay still.