The Emperor's woman

by I. J. Parker

  After the initial introduction to His Majesty, which dwelled in detail on the lady’s gowns, there were no more references to the emperor. To Akitada this implied that her hurt at being rejected by the young monarch was too great to allow her to make the slightest reference to Him.

  Akitada had progressed this far, when quick steps approached. Then the door opened, admitting Akiko and his wife. The ladies were wide-eyed with curiosity.

  “There you are,” said Akiko. “And you’re reading it. Why didn’t you wait for us?”

  Akitada frowned. “I intend to absorb the contents in peace and quiet. I can’t think when women chatter in my ears.”

  Akiko hissed. “Shameful! When I was the one who got the journal for you. You are the most ungrateful creature.”

  Tamako smiled and came to sit across from him. “You look tired, Akitada. I had the water heated for your bath. It will soothe your aches and pains.”

  He looked at her gratefully. “Thank you. I’ll bathe as soon as I’ve had a look at this.”

  “What about us?” demanded his sister. “You cannot keep it to yourself.”

  Tamako said, “She has a point, Akitada.”

  Akiko sat down beside her, her chin in the air. “I’m not leaving until I’ve read the journal.”

  Akitada sighed. “Very well. I’ll read it out loud. But don’t interrupt constantly.”

  The ladies smiled triumphantly and settled themselves comfortably on their cushions. Akitada turned to the beginning and started reading. They listened, sometimes exchanging glances and nods, but remained quiet. It was not until he was well past the middle of the diary and had reached a passage where a page arrived and passed a branch of flowering orange to the lady that his sister spoke.

  “A note from Prince Tametaka? Who is that? There is no Prince Tametaka.”

  Akitada gave her a reproving look. “She probably means Atsuhira; she’s hiding his true identity.”

  “Oh! How fascinating!” Akiko clapped her hands.

  Akitada ignored this and continued. It seemed to him Atsuhira had pursued Masako rather early in her career at court, but he said nothing of this.

  The writer passed over the incident of the flowering orange branch or the note attached to it, only composing the conventional poem in response. However, the poem was certainly suggestive: “The scent of orange flowers is welcome to one whose sleeves lack such perfume.”

  The ladies gasped. Akiko said, “That’s an invitation.”

  Tamako merely looked shocked.

  Akitada was beginning to enter into Lady Masako’s frame of mind. The rejected young woman wrote of her loneliness. No wonder she longed for love.

  The affair began soon after. The prince called on her and spoke to her through the lowered reed curtains. His poems suggested they make their dream a reality. She responded, “I dream sweet dreams; my sleeves are wet with tears. If I take the dark path alone, we will meet in paradise.”

  A few nights later, he slipped into her room, and they became lovers. He marked the occasion with a poem on the meeting of their souls. She told him, “The cuckoo’s song was full of pain; now it is summer and he sings with full-throated joy.”

  He paused. Had Lady Hiroko known of the forbidden meeting inside the palace? More than likely. And summer would soon be over.

  Akiko sniffed. “Hurry on. We still have nothing to point to murder.”

  Entries followed about more shared nights and exchanged poems. The meetings in the palace were deemed too dangerous, and the lady arranged outings so she could meet him in his villa. He talked of marriage. She worried about scandal. And still the time spent in the imperial palace hung heavy on her hands. She had no friends except Lady Hiroko, who appeared in the journal now and then as Lady Sakyo. Her father stopped his frequent visits but sent angry letters. At some point, he demanded she return home. She obeyed, but the journal contained nothing about the visit. It picked back up late in autumn, when she was back in the palace.

  At this point the tone changed. She had made up her mind to leave her service to the emperor in order to live with the prince. However, there appeared to be difficulties. Lady Masako did not specify what they were, but they seemed to have to do with the prince’s household.

  Having got this far, Akitada paused again. “My throat is dry. Let’s have some wine.”

  Tamako rose quickly to get it.

  Akiko said, “It seems strange nobody in the palace caught on. He managed to creep into her room a number of times, and then she was always going off on excursions. It must have been very dangerous. If he was so eager to take her to wife, he should have done so much sooner.”

  Her brother nodded. “Yes. I thought so, too. Prince Atsuhira has played fast and loose with young women before. Perhaps he got cold feet?”

  She nodded. “Men are such cowards.”

  “Not all men, surely.”

  “No, but there are enough of those like the prince at court. If you ask me, Masako was a fool. Even at eighteen, a girl knows better than to listen to such honeyed words.”

  Akitada thought back to his last encounter with the prince. “He seemed very distraught over her death. I wonder if it was Lady Kishi who found out about their plans and made difficulties.”

  “Kishi would have done more than make difficulties. She would have gone to the emperor.”

  “Really?” Akitada was surprised by this and wondered what might have happened if she had done so. But, no, he did not believe the palace would engage assassins.

  Akiko said, “No. Kishi doesn’t love her husband. You have to love a man madly to cause a scandal like that.”

  Tamako came back, followed by her maid with a tray containing a wine flask and three cups. The maid set this down and poured, then left again. Akitada drank thirstily and refilled his cup immediately. The ladies sipped.

  “Akitada thinks Kishi might have informed the emperor of the affair,” Akiko told Tamako.

  “Surely that would simply have meant sending Lady Masako home in disgrace,” Tamako remarked.

  “Exactly,” nodded her husband. “Still, might she have written to Masaie?”

  They pondered this but found no answer.

  “Go on with the reading,” urged Akiko. “If she did, we’ll find out soon enough.”

  In the middle of the Gods Absent Month, Lady Masako went home again. Akitada paused, looking at the women.

  “Strange,” murmured Tamako. “She couldn’t expect anything but more harsh reprimands from her father, yet it sounds as though she requested permission to travel.”

  Akiko cried, “I have it. She found out she was with child. It’s the only possible explanation. She couldn’t stay in the palace in that condition.”

  Akitada said mildly, “It wouldn’t have been noticeable under all those gowns you women wear.”

  Akiko snorted and Tamako smiled. “There are other signs,” she told her husband.

  He flushed. “Oh, but would anyone know beside herself and her companion?”

  Akiko said, “Certainly. In the imperial palace, there are ladies assigned to taking note of such changes.”

  Akitada was embarrassed and decided to go on with the reading rather than pursue such matters.

  As it turned out, Lady Masako returned to the palace a week before her death in the Frost Month. The entries were even shorter now. She noted the arrival of winter, perhaps because her visits to the mountain villa became more arduous. Somehow, Akitada sensed that a decision had been made.

  “I try to read your heart,” she wrote in one poem to her lover, “while snow falls on my melancholy days.”

  “It sounds as though she realized too late she couldn’t rely on him,” commented Tamako. “He’s not a good man. Could he have killed her?”

  Silence fell as they considered this.

  Akiko nodded first. “I like it. He’s never had a conscience when it came to women. I think he did kill her. How will you prove it though? Go on and read the rest. What does she say jus
t before the day she died?”

  “If he killed her, he didn’t try to cover up the affair,” Akitada reminded her. “It got him in all this trouble.”

  Akiko pursed her lips. “The trouble happened because your friend insisted on going to the police.”

  “True.” Akitada reluctantly gave Akiko credit for having seen this. “But his behavior seemed to be the reaction of an innocent man who was profoundly shocked by her death.”

  “Oh, you’re just stubborn. Go on and read.”

  There was not much more. Some court observances at the beginning of the Frost Month were briefly mentioned. The prince sent a note. She responded, “Are you also thinking of the moon over the mountain’s edge, lamenting how the days drag on?”

  The decisions had been made, Akitada thought. And he read the final entry.

  “’Oh winter storm! Your voice is thunder and my sleeves are soaked with tears.’”

  “There!” cried Akiko.

  Akitada said, “There is no more. She didn’t write another line.”

  “A storm. It means a bitter quarrel. She quarreled with the prince.” Akiko’s voice filled with excitement. “They quarreled, Akitada. She wanted marriage and he refused. So she threatened scandal. He made an appointment to meet her, and then he either killed her himself or sent someone to do it. There’s your proof.”

  Tamako looked troubled. “She doesn’t use his name. There is no real proof.”

  Turning the journal in his hands, Akitada nodded. “Yes, Tamako is right. There is no real proof, just suspicion.”

  Akiko jumped up. “Oh, you’re both blind. Can’t you see he’s the obvious one? What was simpler than to send her up to the villa and stage a suicide while he could claim to have been with Kosehira?”

  “It could have been as you say,” said Akitada. “But this must have happened while she was still supposed to live in the palace. It could also have been someone else.” He sighed and put down the journal. “And now I think I’ll go and have a nice long soak in the bath.”

  He did not mention that he had recognized a line in the journal.

  The Bathhouse

  Saburo was aware that his suspicion could be wrong and an embarrassing waste of time. Even given the two pieces of information which supported it, they could fit any number of different people. Yet he could not shake the feeling that he was right.

  He spent every free minute watching. This was complicated and expensive because he did not want to attract notice and scare his suspect off. He sat outside a wine shop to keep his eyes on a door farther down the street, hoping his man would emerge or enter. Eventually, he had to abandon his watch to go to work before he laid eyes on him.

  The following night, he was back at his spot, and this time he was in luck. His quarry emerged and walked away down the street. Saburo followed at a distance, watching, waiting for the other to make a mistake. Once or twice he thought he did, but he could not be sure.

  The next day, he met with Tora and Genba.

  He was surprised to see Genba free. They embraced and then walked to a nearby restaurant to celebrate.

  Genba and Tora took turns filling him in on all that happened since Genba had been released.

  “I don’t mind telling you,” said Genba, his face shining with joy, “I was flabbergasted. The superintendent himself came to set me free. It was almost like he meant to tell me how sorry he was except, of course, he didn’t do that.”

  Tora broke in, “He should’ve apologized. He had no business treating you or any of us who work for our master in this fashion.”

  “Well, I was glad enough, except there was Ohiro. I hardly dared ask about her, but I did, and he said to wait outside and she’d be with me. And it wasn’t any time at all before she came, looking just as confused as I felt. I can’t tell you how good it was to see her.”

  “So what are your plans?” Saburo asked, wondering if Genba really intended to make a prostitute his wife.

  “Oh, that’s the best part,” Tora said. “The master made her welcome. We’re on our way now to hire the carpenter. Genba will need a separate place for his wife and children. We’ll use part of the stables. There’s plenty of room there, and the master’s given us his blessing. Genba and Ohiro will have a cozy room or two with a small kitchen, just like Hanae and me.”

  “Ah, in the stable?” said Saburo, thinking this would mean losing the room he and Genba had shared.

  “Well, it’s the best place, and the two love birds can move in within a week. But I haven’t told you about the master’s accident yet.”

  Tora related the frightening hours spent on the mountainside. Genba spoiled the suspense by saying too quickly, “But the master’s fine. Just a pulled shoulder joint and some bruises.”

  “Don’t forget the cut on his head,” Tora pointed out. “He was unconscious for hours, lying there on that narrow ledge. I talked myself hoarse, telling him not to move.”

  Saburo shook his head. “A terrible accident… if it was one.”

  Tora frowned. “Of course it was. He says e slipped.”

  “Hmm. Did you and the master find out who killed the lady?”

  “Not yet, but we will. He has her diary. What about you? Any progress on Tokuzo?”

  Saburo hesitated. “Yes and no. I have an idea that’s pretty vague. Still it keeps nagging at me. I’ve taken to following someone.”

  The other two looked blank. “What are you talking about?” Tora asked

  Saburo explained.

  Tora said, “I know him, and I don’t believe it. He is what he is. And that means he couldn’t have killed Tokuzo.”

  Saburo glowered. “Really? Why not? For a shinobi it’s the best disguise in the world.”

  They gaped at him. Genba nodded slowly. “There was that smell. And I had hold of the guy. He was very strong and very quick. But I don’t see how anyone could get away with it for long.”

  Saburo said, “He mostly goes out after dark. One night I nearly ran into him. He stopped first. That’s what gave me the idea.”

  Tora said, “It proves nothing. Their hearing is very good.”

  Saburo sighed. “I know. It does make sense, though, especially when people are so used to seeing them about. I did check out the Satake family. They’d come down in the world and, in my experience, people like that have a good deal of pride. After the parents died, the grandparents raised the two children. The girl’s name was Nariko, and the boy’s Narimitsu. Shokichi said Miyagi could read and write.”

  “Didn’t do her much good,” Tora observed dryly. He still had trouble reading and his writing was nearly illegible.

  Saburo gave him a look. “What I meant was the son must’ve hated having his sister earn their living on the street. It explains why she didn’t write her brother until it was too late.”

  Genba asked, “You think he got her letter and came home only to find her dead? And then decided to kill Tokuzo?”

  Saburo nodded.

  “That would do it for me,” observed Tora. “But how do we prove it?”

  Saburo said, “We must confront him. He’ll deny it, of course, but I don’t see another option.”

  “All of us?” Genba asked, perhaps thinking of their errand and the waiting Ohiro.

  “It’s best. If I’m right, he’s dangerous and will be desperate.”

  Tora nodded. “Let’s go then. You know where he is?”

  “At work.”

  The Jade Arbor was doing a good business after hours. People usually came from work to relax before their evening rice and sleep. Or perhaps they planned a visit to the amusement quarter.

  They paid their fee to the woman at the door and walked toward the steamy rooms with the communal tubs. Smaller rooms opened off the corridor, their doors either open or closed for privacy. The bathhouse offered specialized services and kept a staff of masseurs and attractive women for this purpose.

  In a room with shelves and benches, they stripped, handed their clothing to the attendant,
a youth wearing nothing but his loincloth, his skin beaded with moisture from the steam in the next room. He stared when he saw their scars and became very accommodating.

  In a larger room filled with a hot white fog, three big wooden tubs served the bathers. Heads showed above their rims. Tora, Genba, and Saburo took small pails and bags of rice chaff from a shelf and crouched on the slatted wood floor to scrub themselves clean. Then they climbed into one of the tubs, muttering greetings to the two men who already soaked in the hot water.

  Nearby was a tub full of chattering and giggling women, but their two companions were content to doze with their eyes closed.

  Genba muttered, “This will be difficult.”

  When Saburo said nothing and Tora merely grunted, Genba fell silent. They sat, letting the heat loosen their muscles and relax their tension.

  The two men eventually left, and Tora said in a low voice, “We have to risk it, Genba. He’ll hardly agree to a meeting in some lonely grove someplace.”

  “Then let’s get on with it,” said Genba, heaving his huge bulk out of the water.

  The attendant brought dry hemp kimonos. They wrapped themselves into these and asked for the masseur.

  “All of you with the same masseur?” asked the youngster.

  “Yes. Bashan. He’s said to be the best. We’ll take turns.”

  The boy directed them into one of the small rooms where a narrow raised platform awaited customers.

  Saburo took off his kimono and lay face down on this, while Tora and Genba crouched against one of the walls.

  After a short wait, they heard Bashan’s staff tapping along the corridor. The door was pushed open.

  “Gentlemen?” Bashan asked, his half-closed eyes seeming to scan the room as he waited for a response. Saburo lay with his head turned to the wall.

  Tora said, “There are three of us. You can start with my friend. We’ll take turns.”

  Bashan bowed in his direction. “Just a regular massage or a treatment?”

  “Just the massage.”

  Bashan approached the platform, tapping with his staff and then leaning it against the wall. He set down the bamboo case he carried in the other hand, and touched Saburo’s naked back. “Do you wish me to give special attention to any part?” he asked Saburo.