by I. J. Parker
Open doors to a veranda overlooked a part of the private garden. There, too, improvements had been made. The shrubberies were neatly trimmed; an elegant pagoda-like roof with gilded bells rose above them – by its size and decoration it was probably a garden pavilion in the Chinese style – and water glistened between tree trunks where he could not remember seeing any before.
Akitada sat for a while, pondering this visible wealth and the power that went with it, and felt his anger fade to despair. Ostentation was meant to impress, but now he saw that it also intimidated. The best he could hope for in the coming encounter was that he might convince Kiyowara that it was better to sacrifice someone else to his ambition. There had probably been nothing personal in Kiyowara’s actions. The irrational notion that somehow Soga’s vengeful spirit had taken possession of Kiyowara’s body in order to continue his persecution was ridiculous. He bent his thoughts to making a convincing argument for reinstatement.
The sudden appearance of another visitor interrupted this. He was an older man, as formally dressed as Akitada, but with rank ribbons that caused Akitada to kneel and bow deeply. The other man gave him only a casual glance, nodded, and sat down. After a moment, Akitada did the same. He knew Prince Atsunori, Minister of Central Affairs, from the official meetings he occasionally attended. A son of the late Emperor Reizei, the prince was said to be reserved, efficient, and trusted by the young emperor. He also appeared to be haughty, for he refused to speak or look at Akitada beyond the first glance.
How important was Kiyowara if he could make a man like the prince wait? It was not a long wait, however, for the door opened again and a harried-looking Fuhito dashed in, bowed very deeply, and muttered, ‘Sincerest apologies, Your Highness. The stupid servant made a mistake. My master asks that you join him.’
The prince rose, lips compressed with irritation. Both left without speaking to Akitada.
Time began to hang heavy, especially when Akitada’s thoughts turned again to Tamako’s condition and their precarious finances. After a while, he rose and stepped out on to the veranda to distract himself with a look at Kiyowara’s grounds.
He saw now that the water was an artificial lake, fed by a small stream that seemed to meander around the various buildings that made up Kiyowara’s villa. It was the sort of stream where nobles would gather during poetry month to compose verses and drink cups of wine sent floating downstream by servants.
The sound of a woman’s laughter made him look towards the pagoda. A moment later, the figure of a gentleman appeared on the narrow path that skirted the stream. He was about Akitada’s age and handsome in the smooth-faced way that was much admired at court. As he strolled closer, he glanced back over his shoulder and smiled. He touched his narrow mustache, perhaps to make sure that the encounter with the woman had not left tell-tale traces.
Akitada turned away, embarrassed, but the gentleman suddenly exclaimed, ‘The crickets cry: I sense the coming cold.’
Akitada swung back, but the stranger was not looking at him – was, in fact, unaware of him. He stood, his arms spread a little and his head cocked as if he were listening. Then he nodded. ‘Yes. Not bad.’ He walked closer to the small stream and paused to stare into the water. After a moment, he raised his hands once more and declaimed, ‘Everywhere the wind moves through dead grasses, and I shiver in the darkening night.’
It seemed a madman’s comment on this hot and humid summer’s day, and Akitada watched him nervously. Just then the man looked up from the stream and saw him. Far from being embarrassed, he called across, ‘Hello, there. I’m Ono. Well, what do you think? Will it do? What about “darkening night”? Is that too repetitious? I was thinking of loneliness and thoughts of death.’
Not a madman then, but a poet. Perhaps there was little difference. Akitada suppressed a smile. He had never been consulted about poems before, because his lack of talent and interest in that direction was too well known among his friends. After a moment’s hesitation, he said, ‘I like it, but how do you find the inspiration in this weather?’
Ono looked astonished. ‘What does the weather matter?’ he asked and walked away.
Akitada returned to his cushion. So this was Ono Takamura, the famous poet who was said to be working on a collection of poetry to be presented to the emperor this year. What had he been doing in Kiyowara’s women’s quarters? But it was none of his business.
Surely the prince’s visit could not have lasted this long. The sun was already high in the sky, he was hungry and thirsty, and he had been kept waiting for almost two hours. That was insulting. Even high-ranking nobles could at least dispatch a servant to express their regrets at the delay. Clearly, Kiyowara had no intention of receiving Akitada and did not care how rude he was. Akitada was tempted to leave, but sneaking away like a beaten dog did not sit well with him. He jumped up again and stalked angrily to the door, flinging it open to call for a servant.
The gallery outside was empty. To his right lay the way to the entrance courtyard; to the left, a pair of elaborate doors must lead to Kiyowara’s quarters. Akitada opened his mouth to shout for a servant, when he heard raised voices behind Kiyowara’s door. At least one of the voices was male; the other, slightly higher, might belong to either a man or a woman. Both sounded very angry, but he could not make out words.
Akitada hated to be caught eavesdropping and ducked back into the reception room, closing his door softly. He considered that his errand had just become even less likely to be successful. Kiyowara would be in a bad mood.
A door slammed and steps rushed by outside. Then there was silence. He waited a few moments longer and peeked out again. The gallery was empty, the doors closed just as they had been before.
It would be best to leave and return at a more auspicious time. Akitada tiptoed away and quietly left the Kiyowara compound. Someone in the courtyard saw him pass and called after him, but Akitada simply walked faster until he regained the street outside. There was little point in telling a servant about his futile visit and why he had decided not to wait any longer.
UNDER SUSPICION
The rest of that day and the following one passed without bringing any hope of positive change. The heat continued, and there had been too little rain to assure a good harvest. Tamako was feeling feverish, and Akitada and Tora set about hanging wetted hemp panels over curtain stands in her pavilion, while the maid Oyuki plied a large fan to cool her mistress.
Akitada was increasingly anxious about Tamako, even though she kept assuring him that she felt quite well again now that the room was so much cooler. He placed his hand on her forehead and found it still very hot and dry. Jokingly, he said, ‘Let’s hope this heat doesn’t mean our son will turn out to be a hothead.’
She did not smile. In fact, he thought she looked near tears. Perhaps his words had reminded her of Yori. Yori had not really been a hothead, just a very lively and clever child. He had been born in the bitter cold of northern Echigo, where the three of them had survived despite the extremes of climate and hardship. It was ironic that the comfortable life of the capital should have proved so much more dangerous.
Back in his study, Akitada was looking through old correspondence for the name of some past friend who might be willing to speak up for him when Seimei appeared with tea and news.
‘There has been another fire,’ he said as he poured. ‘They say the people will petition His Majesty to appease the anger of the gods.’
Akitada was cynical about such superstitious delusions. ‘Fires happen all the time, and the emperor is still very young and no doubt busy with his wives and concubines. His first duty is to give the nation an heir. And the chancellor supports him in this. His granddaughter has just joined the emperor’s ladies.’
Seimei looked disapproving. ‘The petition asks that the first prince be declared heir because the gods have turned against the second prince.’
‘Not very likely to be successful,’ muttered Akitada, sipping his tea.
Seimei switched to
another topic. ‘One of the new appointees died very suddenly yesterday.’ He paused to see if his master was interested. ‘It seems even the nightingale in the plum tree cannot escape misfortune,’ he pointed out.
This was a mistake because it put Akitada in mind of his dead son and the possibility that this time he could lose both Tamako and his unborn child. He snapped, ‘What are those people to us? Less than nothing. Rather tell me that an old friend has come to town, or that there’s a promise of a good harvest.’ Or, he thought, that my wife has given me another son.
Seimei said defensively, ‘This Kiyowara Kane was the Junior Controller of the Right. He was one of your superiors. When he is replaced, it might mean some changes in the ministry.’
Akitada stared at him. ‘Kiyowara Kane has died? You must have misheard. I was at his house yesterday. He was alive and well.’
‘Nevertheless, he is dead today.’ With a certain morbid satisfaction, Seimei went on: ‘A man’s karma is a turning wheel. You can no more stop it than flowing water. And he had just achieved high office, too. They say Heaven never bestows two gifts at the same time. He may have been given wealth and power, but what is that if he has not life?’
The subject had brought forth a spate of Seimei’s sententious sayings, and Akitada interrupted quickly: ‘When did he die?’ And then, remembering the overheard quarrel: ‘And how?’
‘The servants found him yesterday in the afternoon. They say he fell and hurt his head, but people are already muttering that the gods struck him dead for having had a hand in passing over the first prince for the succession.’
Akitada did not believe that the gods had struck Kiyowara dead. Still, it had nothing to do with him, especially when he was on a leave of absence. His only regret was that he could not get Kiyowara to withdraw his censure.
Seimei sighed heavily. ‘Fate is with Heaven.’
Akitada gave him a look. ‘And man must adjust to the blows of misfortune. Let’s discuss ways of raising funds for the Sugawara household or of reducing its expenses.’
The discussion proved unproductive, and the rest of the day passed uneventfully until sunset, when Seimei brought in Kobe. The superintendent of the capital police was Akitada’s friend and sometimes rival. They had known each other for a long time and had frequently worked together on criminal cases. These days, Kobe was in the habit of dropping by from time to time for a cup of wine and a friendly chat.
Akitada greeted him with a smile, and Seimei busied himself with wine and cups as they exchanged greetings.
‘How fares your lady?’ asked Kobe.
Akitada sighed. ‘She’s very uncomfortable. I hope it won’t be much longer. I suppose you know how it is.’ Kobe had two wives and five children by now and would be familiar with the worries over childbirth.
‘My best wishes to her and to you.’ Kobe gave him an encouraging smile. ‘Come, all will be well. Perhaps it will be another son. An heir to the Sugawara name.’
‘We must hope, but life is uncertain.’ Akitada thought he was beginning to sound like Seimei. ‘How is your family?’
‘Thank you, thriving. My oldest wants to be a soldier. It would be safer to attend the university and become an official like his father, but a part of me is proud of him.’
Akitada laughed. ‘Only a part of you?’
‘To sons!’ Kobe raised his cup with a smile.
Seimei slipped out and closed the door. The two friends drank, and a brief silence fell. Akitada thought of his impending dismissal, but decided not to mention it. There was nothing Kobe could do.
Kobe watched him for a moment, then said, ‘And how is the estimable Tora – and his family? And Genba?’
Akitada was grateful for the change of topic. ‘Genba’s gone into the country, but Tora is here, resting after an unpleasant encounter with hoodlums and a fire two nights ago. His wife and baby son are glad to have him home for a while.’
Kobe looked surprised. ‘Hoodlums? Why, what happened?’
‘He was attacked and knocked out by some youths in the street. When he came to, his money was gone. Then he smelled smoke. He went to investigate and found a business and home in flames on the next street. He tried to save an old man, but it was too late.’
‘I heard about the fire. Probably carelessness – an old man falling asleep and knocking over his candle. We don’t need any more unexplained fires.’
‘True enough.’
Another silence fell. Akitada sensed that something was wrong. Perhaps Kobe had heard of his troubles and was too polite to ask, waiting for Akitada to tell him. He sighed.
Kobe leaned forward a little. ‘Is something else on your mind?’
‘Yes. I expect to be dismissed. I’m on a leave of absence because I told the minister a little too frankly what I thought of him.’
‘Ah.’
The ‘ah’ disconcerted Akitada. It suggested that Kobe already knew, but surely a friend should say more than ‘ah’ to such news. He waited.
‘Go on,’ said Kobe.
‘There is no more. Someone close to the chancellor and regent blackened my character, and in response the minister gave my position to an idiot. It reminded me of Soga and his persecution – the same story all over again — and so I lost my temper. Yes, I regret it now, but I’m afraid it’s too late.’
‘The someone close to the chancellor was Kiyowara Kane?’
Akitada raised his brows. ‘Yes. How did you know?’
‘According to his servants, you went to see him yesterday.’
Akitada still felt out of his depth. ‘Yes, I waited quite a long time and finally left without speaking to him. Seimei says he died later the same day.’
‘Can anyone prove that you did not speak to Kiyowara?’
‘What do you mean? I was seen to arrive and to leave. By Kiyowara’s servants. Prince Atsunori and Ono Takamura also saw me in the waiting room. I exchanged a few words with Ono, but frankly, he didn’t strike me as the sort of person who’d pay much attention to anything but his poetry. And the prince did not deign to take notice of me. Why do you ask?’
‘Kiyowara Kane was murdered.’
‘Murdered? How?’
‘Someone hit him on the head. It would help if someone knew you left without seeing him.’
‘Look, Kobe, my visit was embarrassing enough. I certainly didn’t want to draw special attention to myself. I left as soon as I realized that I’d come at a bad time.’
‘A bad time? How so?’
‘Kiyowara was quarreling with someone. They were shouting. I decided to speak to him another time.’ Akitada stopped. The reason for this interrogation had finally hit him. ‘Do you suspect me of murdering him?’ he asked incredulously.
Kobe’s lips twitched, but he did not smile. ‘Someone certainly does,’ he said dryly. ‘I was told of several people in your ministry who are willing to testify that you were furious when you heard that Kiyowara was behind the loss of your position and that you took great pains to find out where he lived. Shortly afterwards, according to Kiyowara’s servants, you arrived at his villa and demanded to speak to him. And when you left, much later, you rushed away in an almighty hurry.’
Akitada shook his head. ‘But that’s ridiculous. I don’t know Kiyowara, and I never saw him yesterday.’
‘Are these people lying?’
‘No.’ Akitada was becoming angry. ‘You should know that all sorts of interpretations can be put on a man’s actions. It is true that I went to see Kiyowara in hopes of clearing up a mistake, but I never got a chance to do so. Killing the man was surely the last thing I would have wanted to do. Now that false report will never be corrected. And apparently I have many enemies.’ He took a deep breath, then said accusingly, ‘I would not have expected you to doubt me, though.’
Kobe relaxed a little. ‘I don’t. Mind you, you do have a temper. In any case, it was my duty to come and ask you about this.’ He lifted his cup, found it empty, and put it back down.
Akitada r
efilled it and his own. His hand shook a little. They drank. He was shocked at being suspected and wondered if he should mention that the poet had visited Kiyowara’s women’s quarters, but decided against it. His business there might have been as harmless as his own presence. Perhaps he had flirted with one of the maids. ‘That quarrel I heard. It wasn’t long after the hour for the midday rice. Did you find out who was arguing with Kiyowara?’
Kobe shook his head. ‘Apparently, you’re the only one who heard it.’
‘I know that the prince went in to see Kiyowara.’
Kobe shook his head. ‘A man like Prince Atsunori doesn’t need to go to someone’s house to kill him. He has the power to ruin men and send them to their deaths quite openly. And if he killed Kiyowara in a fit of anger, we could not prosecute anyway. Are you sure they quarreled? What did you hear?’
‘I don’t know if the quarrel was with the prince. And I only heard raised voices, not words. One voice was higher than the other. It could have been a woman’s. I’d been there a very long time by then – perhaps as much as an hour after the prince went to see Kiyowara. It might have been someone else by then.’
‘There you are then.’ Kobe looked glum. ‘I would ask you to look into the matter, but I’m afraid that might implicate you further. Someone doesn’t like you. You are the suspect of choice.’
An uncomfortable silence fell as Akitada wondered what other disasters were awaiting him.
Kobe sighed and got to his feet. ‘Well… I must be on my way. Best wishes on the impending birth.’
Akitada walked the superintendent to the steps into the courtyard, then returned to his study. People were in a great hurry to lay the blame for the murder on him. It proved how powerful and dangerous the resentment against him was. The progress from implicating him in the murder to his arrest, trial, and exile required only small steps for those in power. He had relaxed too soon, thinking that his former enemies had either died – like Soga – or lost interest in him. Apparently, recent shifts in the administration had once again created an atmosphere where he became a handy scapegoat for the offenses committed by others.
