The Old Men of Omi (24 page)

This was astounding. It was unheard of that a nobleman would bother to educate a maid even if he enjoyed her in bed. And surely such preferential treatment would have aggravated his wife’s resentment. Clearly, it had been a painful shock for this girl to leave all that behind to wash clothes in a peasant’s yard. He asked, “Did you love Lord Sukemichi?”

She nodded. “He was very good to me. When I was a child, he used to carry me around on his shoulders. And now he’s gone and I am nothing.” She looked at her work-reddened hands and shuddered.

Akitada exchanged a glance with Masaie, then asked her, “Could you be with child by his lordship?”

She stared at him, turning first white and then red. Forgetting her position, she shouted, “That’s a horrible lie! He was like my father. I would never … I used to think of him as my father. He would never have done such a thing. Never! You dishonor his memory!”

Akitada felt contrite. “Forgive me. I was trying to understand his wife’s anger at you. Do you truly have no family? What about your real father and mother?”

“I don’t have a father. My mother came to work at the Taira manor in the old lord’s time. She died when I was still small.”

Akitada turned to Masaie. “It should be possible to find the mother’s family. I have to return to Otsu, but I think you might talk to people here and at the estate. Someone may remember where her mother came from. There might be relatives.”

Masaie nodded. “I have asked some questions and will ask some more, but I’m afraid there’s nobody. Her mother was a slave, bought by Lord Sukemichi’s father.”

The girl listened with bowed head and murmured, “Thank you, sir,” then turned away to continue her work. Akitada had rarely seen a more poignant gesture of hopeless acceptance of a dire fate. He did not know what to say. He had no right to give her assurances of a better life when he could not promise such a thing. But the sight of her figure bent over her chore haunted him all the way back to Otsu.

In Otsu, work had piled up. They were nearing the completion of their assignment. He was expected to assemble the facts and documents his clerks had gathered and arrive at a legal argument that would settle the continuous litigation between the two temples once and for all.

Over the next two days, he had barely time to eat and sleep, and he slept very little, because at night the ghosts of his failures came to haunt him.

Yukiko, whose love he had rejected;

The weeping maid in Okuni, who had no one in the whole wide world and would surely come to harm;

The dead—Judge Nakano, the sweeper Tokuno, the two peasants Wakiya and Juro, and now also Taira Sukemichi—whose murders remained unsolved;

And the poor fool who had confessed to the Taira murder and would pay the price.

He had failed them all, and all he had left was his duty as an imperial official. And there he had little faith that a decision about the cases would change anything about the war being carried on between the different Buddhist factions and temples. Meanwhile, the dead found no peace and the living, who deserved his help, suffered. Yes, even Yukiko who would marry a man she did not love and who most likely would not love her.

Before dawn on the third day, as he lay awake once again counting up his failures and searching for ways to solve at least one of the problems, he suddenly remembered a conversation with Kosehira. Kosehira had spoken of Sukemichi’s father and mentioned that he had almost missed out on his appointment to the imperial reserve because someone had accused him of having murdered someone. It had all come to nothing, to mere malicious gossip, when the real killer had confessed. The tale was old and probably meant nothing. It must have happened decades ago. But he had nothing else, and he and Takechi had wondered about some old case that might somehow have involved both the judge and the jailer. He had similarly wondered about the connection with the two old peasants in Okuni. It seemed a little far-fetched, but at this point the old murder was the only event that might connect the new murders in Okuni and Otsu. Yes, and it could also link Sukemichi’s death to the others.

Filled with new energy, he jumped out of bed and got dressed. He must wake Kosehira and ask him more questions about this old murder. But when he opened the shutters to the veranda, he saw that it was still dark. Dawn was barely breaking. The sky had turned a silvery gray, but the trees and roofs of Kosehira’s villa stood like black outlines against the shimmering light. Kosehira would still be fast asleep.

Akitada debated the matter for a moment, then decided to go sit on the veranda outside Kosehira’s room to wait for him to get up. Stepping down to a garden path that led from his pavilion to the main house, he found the darkness not quite so impenetrable after all. The first birds were making small, sleepy noises in the branches overhead, and Akitada could feel the cool dew through his slippers as he walked across the moss.

He had almost reached the main house when it occurred to him that he could not very well sit outside his friend’s sleeping quarters. It would be too embarrassing if Kosehira had invited one of his wives to sleep with him. It was not likely, since husbands generally sought out their wives in their own rooms, but such things could happen. He slowed his steps in indecision, then turned around and retraced his way to where another path led to the overlook. He would go there and watch the sun rise over Lake Biwa.

To his dismay, he found he was not the only one who had come to see the sunrise. She was there already, a slender figure with her back to him. He could not retreat without making a sound, and she would surely hate to see him flee like coward. He cleared his throat.

She turned. He could not see her face because the light was behind her. His heart was beating in his throat and he barely managed a whisper: “Forgive me. I didn’t know anyone would be here so early. Shall I go away?”

“No, of course not. I was just about to leave myself.” She sounded tense.

He did not believe her. “I came to see the sun rise and expect you did, too. Could we watch together?”

She hesitated, then stepped aside to make room for him. “If you wish.”

He came to stand beside her at the railing. She was quite close; he could smell her scent but was afraid to look at her.

The view was lovely, much more beautiful than in the daytime, he thought. The colors were softer. All those greens and blues and browns of land, mountains, and city had a silvery sheen—mist perhaps?—and the sky, a much brighter, iridescent silver, was reflected by the lake’s surface as if in a mirror. A thin line of gold had appeared along the ridge of the eastern mountains.

There would not be much time. In a little while, the sun would appear, and they would part. He finally turned his head to look at her.

She had come directly from her bed. A blue silk gown was loosely draped around her. It had caught her long hair, still slightly disordered from sleep, underneath, and one heavy strand half covered her cheek. She held the blue silk together with her hands at the waist, and he guessed that she only wore her thin undergown beneath. She was totally desirable, but only a husband should be allowed to see her like this. The blood pounded behind his temples, and he clenched his hands to keep them from touching her.

In his agitation, he burst out, “I hear you are to marry the chancellor’s son.”

She stared at him. “Did my father tell you?”

“No. Is it a secret?”

“It was meant to be. Who told you?”

“Lord Nakahara. I assumed it was common knowledge in the capital.”

She covered her face with her hands, and the blue gown fell open. He had been right. She was in her bedclothes. A part of him reminded him of the impropriety of his being there, but he could not leave.

“Is it not true, then?” he asked, half hopefully.

She lowered her hands. “He is my cousin. We grew up together. Our parents talked about how well suited we were for each other. I think the idea has been raised again. My father has asked me about it.”

“And will you marry him?”

She turned her face away. “I suppose so.”

Neither had noticed the sun come up, but at that moment, Yukiko was bathed in gold: a golden daughter promised to the heir of the most powerful man in the land.

He found nothing to say. Wishes of good fortune and happiness would have been a lie. After a painfully long silence, he said, rather hoarsely, “You are very beautiful, Yukiko. I shall always remember you this way.”

Then he bowed and left.

The day after Tora and Saburo came to their decision to hunt down Kojo and as many of his cohorts as possible, Saburo claimed that he needed to visit the Sugawara farm to look into some problems with their bookkeeping. He departed on horseback early in the morning.

Tora knew he had gone into the Hiei Mountains and worried himself nearly sick. He did not want Saburo’s life on his conscience; he feared Akitada’s fury when he discovered their disobedience and dismissed Saburo again; and he felt guilty because the knowledge of his previous, ill-considered adventure rested heavily upon him.

Even while he knew he should rise above his mistake and bear his humiliation at the hands of the
sohei
as fair punishment, he could not rest. If Kojo were killed or rearrested, then the bastard would at least be punished, the dead could rest more easily, and the injured could take some satisfaction from it. He had a duty to himself and to others.

Still, there was Saburo. He claimed to be acting on his own behalf, but he had not made any effort before, and his torture on the mountain was by now many years old.

In the end, he tried to concentrate on what he must do. It was important that no one find out about their plan or they would be stopped. They would leave after dark, and Tora hoped their venture would be finished the same night. He fidgeted and paced restlessly, until Hanae was in the main house and Yuki was with the master’s children at their lessons. Then he hurried to secrete his half armor, sword, short sword, and boots under some straw in the stable. After that he could do little but wait.

Saburo did not return by nightfall, but Hanae confronted him.

“What are you up to?” she demanded.

He tried to look innocent. “Nothing, my love. You look very charming when you put your hands on your hips like that and raise your pretty chin.”

“Don’t lie to me. I’m your wife and I know you’re up to something. First you come home all beaten up and sit around looking miserable, and then you’re suddenly different, nervous like a cat in heat. For days, I haven’t been able to get a word out of you and you barely looked at your son when he showed you proudly what the schoolmaster had written on his essay. You’ve been neither a husband nor a father!”

Her words wounded him; she confirmed what he had thought to himself: he was no good to them any longer. He tried a smile and failed. With a sigh, he said, “I’m sorry, love,” hanging his head and hoping she would not probe further. To his relief, she came, stood on her tiptoes, and put her arms around his neck.

“Oh, Tora, I didn’t mean it. We love you. Don’t look like that. Tell me what’s wrong. We’ll find a way.”

He was so deeply moved by her words and her embrace that he almost burst out with the whole story, but he had promised Saburo who feared for his job. So he took his wife in his arms, lifting her slight body, and nuzzling her neck. “I love you, too. More than anything, both of you. It hurts me to have you doubt me.” Good! Counter complaints might distract her.

Not so.

Hanae released herself. “So what’s wrong, husband?” she demanded again.

He sighed. It would have to be lies. He didn’t like lies. Hanae had a way of seeing through them. Perhaps a half truth might work. “It’s just that I’m such a failure,” he muttered. “I let them capture me, and the master saw how useless I was and sent me home.”

“Oh.” She was taken aback. “But that’s silly. You couldn’t help it, and you’re wrong about the master.”

What did women know about male pride?

Tora nodded. “I just realized it myself. I’ll be all right. And where’s Yuki? I’ll take him into town and buy him a new kite to show how proud I am of him.”

Hanae brightened. “Oh, he’ll like that. And there’s a nice breeze. Maybe you can find an open space and fly it? You’ll both enjoy that.”

And so Tora and his son spent the afternoon together, shopping for the most gorgeous dragon kite and then flying it on the shore of the Kamo River. It was most enjoyable and Tora decided that he would spend more time with Yuki, who was growing up so fast and was already taller than his dainty mother—and much smarter than his father.

But he did not forget about Saburo and what lay ahead in the immediate future.

Night came and with it rain. Saburo had not returned. Tora kept watching the gate anxiously. Eventually, he joined his family for their evening rice, but he kept an ear out for any sounds of Saburo. Before they went to bed, he made one more round to look for him, claiming that he was checking that all was secure for the night. Alone in bed with Hanae, who was more than usually affectionate, he thought of their plan and somehow found that he needed to make love to her before it was too late. Afterward he held her until she was asleep. But he lay awake and fearful, listening to the rain.

He did not know how much later he finally heard a soft rustle outside their room. Then there was a “ssst”, and he almost laughed out loud with relief. Slipping carefully from under their shared quilt, he scooped up the pile of his clothing which he had left conveniently close to their bedding, and tiptoed to the shuttered door. This he eased open carefully and soundlessly. He was about to step outside, when Hanae murmured, “Be careful!”

He paused in shock, then said, “I will, because I love you.”

Outside, huddled under a dripping roof, Saburo waited.

“How did it go?” Tora asked softly as they hurried toward the stable.

“All right.”

“You picked up a trail?”

“Yes.”

A strange peace filled Tora’s heart. Somehow, overnight, he had found his courage again. Hanae trusted him; his son loved him; and he was about to get his honor back.