by I. J. Parker
Shikata nodded when he saw Akitada’schoice. “You have good taste. I ordered that forty years ago as a gift for oneof the Uesugi ladies. It was specially made, very fine work, very costly. It took all my savings then, and I’ve kept it as a warning to myself not to relyon young men’s promises nor on young women’s lives, but you shall have it.”
“Oh.” Akitada hesitated. Their finances were still severely strained after the expensive journey here. “How much is it?” he asked anxiously.
“A silver bar? It is worth muchmore, but I wish to be rid of it. It depresses me.”
Akitada agreed quickly and arranged to have the game delivered to the tribunal as soon as Shikata’s boy returned from the wrestling tournament.
“For which we are very late,”urged Oyoshi, getting to his feet. “If I am not mistaken, those drumrolls mark the beginning of the final matches.”
The contest was staged in the main courtyard of the temple. Brown-robed monksgreeted them and directed them to a space where the crowd was not as dense aselsewhere.
Akitada was familiar with theannual wrestling tournament at the imperial palace and liked the elaborateritual. It involved musical performances, religious rites to the ancient gods,and colorful decorations, but he had not expected anything like it in thisremote northern province. To his surprise, there was little difference in thearrangements.
In spite of the cold, theabbot, surrounded by assistant priests and guests, watched from the broadveranda of the great hall, much as the emperor did in the capital. Below the abbot sat the orchestra members with two great drums, two gongs, and assorted smaller instruments. Across from him, the provincial guard stood at attentionunder gaily fluttering banners. To one side, the contestants sat on cushions.Each man had stripped to his loincloth and placed his outer clothing neatlyfolded beside him. The referees, in formal white robes, and black hats, quivers slung across their backs and bows in their hands, stood near them, watching the ongoing match. It all looked quite proper and professional.
Akitada, who was taller than those in front of him, saw that two contenders had just entered the ring,marked out by thick straw ropes buried in a thick layer of white beach sand.Their loincloths formed short aprons in the front and disappeared between their huge haunches in the back to emerge in an elaborate bow at the waistband. Steam rose from their bodies in spite of the chilly air. When the closest refereeraised his hand, they stamped their feet, raised their arms to show they had noconcealed weapons, clapped their hands, rinsed their mouths with a sip from adipper on the water barrel, and spat. Then they took their places on eitherside of the dividing line in the center of the ring. At another signal from thereferee, they began to circle, then grasped each other, striving mightily topush each other across the ropes of straw and out of the ring.
The crowd began to stir, atfirst only muttering, but soon moaning or shouting their distress or triumph.
One of the wrestlers was ashairy as an animal, with a shaggy mane and ragged beard; the other, bycomparison, looked like a very large pale baby. Man against beast, thought Akitada, amused, and what a weak, naked, and vulnerable creature man was! A clearly uneven match. Only, suddenly the baby seized the animal by his hairy middle and tossed him out of the ring with one mighty heave. A tremendous cheerwent up from the crowd, and the big baby bowed, grinning from ear to ear.
Akitada blinked. The baby was Genba. When he had last laid eyes on his third lieutenant, they had partedcompany outside the city. Genba had always been tall and broad. With hishealthy appetite, he had gained weight rapidly after his lean years in thecapital, but this clean-shaven mountain of rosy flesh looked nothing like thethick-haired, bearded man he had parted from.
A drumroll marked another match, but Akitada paid little attention to it. His eyes were on Genba, now seated again by his bundle of clothes, waiting for his next, and final turn.The winner of the remaining contests would face Genba for the top prize.
“Good heavens,” muttered Akitada to Oyoshi. “You don’t suppose Genba will win and be sent to thecapital?”
“Certainly not,” snapped a baldfellow near him. “Nobody beats Tsuneya. He rips out full-grown pines with hisbare arms. He’s from my village and I’ve seen him do this myself.”
“Tsuneya’s strong and he’s alocal boy, but he has no technique,” cried a pockmarked man with a fiercemustache. “Genba will only have to use his foot to trip him, and when he’s offbalance, he’ll push him across the ropes. I’ve seen him use that move and manyothers besides. He’s a master at technique because he was a wrestling teacherin the capital.”
“You know nothing, fool,” criedthe bald man, raising a fist, and shouts broke out all around. For a moment itlooked as though a separate match would be fought in the crowd, but the whistleof the scorekeeper recalled attention to the official bout, and peace returned.
Akitada felt a touch on hissleeve. One of the young monks was bowing to him. “His Reverence asks the gentlemen to join him,” he said.
Akitada glanced across thebroad courtyard at the raised veranda of the main hall where Abbot Hokko wasseated with other dignitaries before brilliant red silk hangings. The abbot looked back and smiled.
So much for remaining ananonymous observer. Not only had the curio dealer guessed who he was, but now Hokko had seen him and was about to display him to the crowd.
They followed the monk to arear staircase and then walked to the front of the great veranda. Hokko gestured to two cushions. Akitada sat beside the abbot, and Oyoshi fartherback. Mercifully, the crowd below seemed too preoccupied with the contest topay attention.
“You must forgive me,Excellency,” murmured the abbot. “I think you wished to remain unrecognized,but I have an urgent message for you.”
Akitada was irritated. “Hereand at this time?”
Hokko pointed down into thecourtyard. “None better,” he said. “All eyes are on the final match.”
Below Genba had reentered thering. His opponent stood already waiting. Akitada had never seen a human beingof that size. He towered even over Genba by more than a head and he was allmuscle.
“Is that the man they callTsuneya?” Akitada asked, momentarily distracted.
“Yes. And he will win,”remarked Hokko. “Still, his opponent, a stranger to me, has been very good, and that means nobody will pay attention to us.”
Akitada resented Hokko’s calmassurance about the outcome. He frowned and kept his eyes on the contestants who had begun to circle, crouching low, looking for an opening to grapple withthe opponent or trip him. Genba’s adversary was huge. Bulging muscles rippled across his back and shoulders as he moved. He was also quick and tricky.Akitada saw him dodge, feint, and seize Genba several times. But again and again Genba managed to break his hold or step aside to seek his own opening. I tpromised to be an extraordinary match.
The confrontation took on a symbolic relevance for Akitada that far exceeded a mere exercise of skill and sportsmanship. In his imagination, Tsuneya, the local champion, stood for the forces pitted against Akitada in this mysterious and hostile land; Genba, the outsider, was the champion of distant imperial authority. The outcome of the match would spell Akitada’s success or failure.
“How can you be so sure Tsuneyawill win?” he asked the abbot without taking his eyes off the wrestlers.
“I know the boy well. His mindis pure,” said Hokko simply. Then he lowered his voice. “The message I have foryou was given to me by an unimpeachable source, so you may rely on itsaccuracy. You are to guard against an attack on the tribunal tonight or earlytomorrow morning.”
Akitada tore his eyes from thecontest just as Genba narrowly avoided being pushed across the rope in a mightyand roaring charge by his opponent. “What? Who sent this message?” he demandedangrily.
Hokko smiled and shook hishead. “I cannot tell.”
“Then the warning is worthless.”
Hokko sighed. “You will be well advised to prepare a defense, or you and yours will be lost.”
Aki
tada searched the other’sface. How could he trust this man? A Buddhist abbot? His last experience withprovincial clergy had taught him that pure evil could lurk behind the mask ofsaintliness. And why should he find an anonymous benefactor in a province wherehe had met with nothing but treachery? “How strong a force?” he asked.
Hokko responded with aquestion. “How many serve at Takata?”
Silence fell between them. ThenAkitada nodded. “Thank you,” he said. “I will take your advice.”
“Look, over there is CaptainTakesuke.” The abbot pointed to a small group of officers watching from theeastern gallery. “He has been most accommodating in helping with crowd controltoday. A very useful young man when one needs to keep peace and order.”
Akitada looked toward Takesuke,then at the abbot. Hokko nodded.
Thoughts racing, Akitada wondered about the size of the provincial guard and about the Uesugi forces.His information about the strength of either was sadly inadequate. The crisishe had feared was at hand, and he was unprepared. Dazedly he turned his eyes tothe courtyard again.
In the ring, Genba feinted,ducked under Tsuneya’s arms and grasped the waistband of his opponent’sloincloth. He gave a mighty heave upward to lift Tsuneya off the ground, butthe other man hooked a leg around Genba’s thigh. The two contestants strainedin the thin winter sun, their bodies locked together, steaming, their musclesbulging with effort.
And Akitada felt sick at hishelplessness. He had brought them all to this: Genba, Tora, Hitomaro, and oldSeimei. And worst of all: What was to become of Tamako and his unborn child?
The two wrestlers broke apart,and Akitada clung desperately to the hope that fate would be with them.
Hokko touched Akitada’s sleeve.“I almost forgot. There was another part to the message. I am to tell you thatthe boy is safe.”
Akitada blinked. He hadforgotten the missing boy over his own danger. For a moment, he did not knowwhat to say. When he found the words to ask about Toneo, a great roar went upfrom the crowd: “Tsuneya! Tsuneya! Tsuneya!”
Genba had lost the match.
SIXTEEN
THE SHELL GAME
It was only late afternoon, but lanterns swaying from the rafters of therestaurant already cast a smoky golden light over the flushed and shining facesof men; old and young, poor and well-to-do, laborers and merchants werecelebrating with the champions of the wrestling contest. Harried waitressesmoved among the guests, pouring warm wine and carrying heaping trays of pickledvegetables and fried fish. Someone was singing along with the folk tunes playedby an old zither player, and Tsuneya, the champion, was giving a soloperformance of a local dance on a sake barrel.
Genba was there also,surrounded by his own circle of supporters. It mattered little to Genba’s fansthat he had lost the final match; he had come very close to winning, and thatwas reason enough for them to celebrate. And there was always next year.
Akitada, a stranger to all butGenba, stayed well in the background. He had come to congratulate Genba andbecause he wanted to gauge the mood of the local people. Their light-heartedrevels reassured him, but his thoughts were on the coming night and hisattention on the door to the restaurant.
Genba did not look at allunhappy with his loss to Tsuneya and was soaking up compliments, food, and winein enormous portions. Akitada had put aside his fanciful notions about thecontest somehow forecasting his future and felt relieved that Genba had notwon. Winning the title would have meant his departure for the capital toperform before the emperor.
Thinking of this, Akitadaleaned toward Genba and asked, “Will you continue with your wrestling?”
Genba put down his cup andburped softly behind his hand. Then he grinned, patting his huge midriff. “Sorry,sir. I’ve had no wine during training and now it seems to put wind in my belly.As for the wrestling, well, I guess it’s in my blood. I was amazed how easilyit all came back to me. And that was a good match today, sir. Never think theyare yokels fresh from the farm or mountain men who live in caves the rest ofthe year. No, people honor the art hereabouts. Tsuneya has a very good chanceof becoming national champion.”
“I could see that.” Akitada’sheart sank at the thought that he was losing Genba after all. But he addedbravely, “I had no idea that you were so good. I was very proud of you.”
“Thank you, sir.” Genba lowered his eyes and scratched his shiny scalp, overcome with embarrassment.
The either player struck up another tune, and Akitada’s eyes wandered to the door again. Nothing. “So, I suppose,” he persisted, “you will not wish to take up your duties at the tribunal now?”
Genba stared at Akitada, his smile fading. “Why not? Don’t you want me anymore?”
“Don’t be foolish!” snapped his master, his nerves stretched as tight as the old man’s zither strings. “Of course I want you. I even need you. But you cannot serve as my lieutenant in the tribunal and at the same time engage in wrestling as a profession.”
“Oh!” The grin returned toGenba’s face. “In that case, don’t worry. I was afraid you were angry with mefor spending so much time away. I’ll be going back to the tribunal with Hito and Tora as soon as this party is over. My landlord’s already paid off, and my things are over there in that bundle by the door. Some more wine, sir?”
“Thank you,” said Akitada with feeling and held out his cup. His eyes went to the door again. He noted thebundle, then tried to control the sick panic that had been forming in his bellyever since the abbot’s warning. But the door finally opened and Hitomaroslipped in, brushing a dusting of snow from his jacket.
Akitada put down his cup andgot up to meet him. “Well?” he asked, his heart beating faster.
“No difficulties at all, sir.”Hitomaro took a tightly folded and sealed paper from his sleeve and handed itover. “The weather is changing,” he added. “The captain seems to think thatwill make it easier to hold the tribunal.”
Akitada felt almost dizzy with relief. He scanned the letter and nodded. “The abbot was right. Takesuke willhelp us. One hundred men. He expresses his eagerness to uphold imperial authority in this province. Very proper.” He gave Hitomaro the letter with atwisted smile. “Perhaps his fervent wish to ‘sacrifice his own life and that ofall his soldiers in this stand against the military might of traitorous warlords’ is a little unsettling, but I am grateful for his support. It seems we are not friendless after all. Come, join us for a quick bite and a cup of wine. I expect we have a long night ahead of us.”
Much later that night, past the hour of the tiger, Tora and Hitomaro, in partialarmor, sat dozing in Akitada’s office. They had spent several hours helping toprepare for the defense of the tribunal. Now there was nothing left but thewaiting. Akitada had sent Seimei, who was still weak from his recent illness,to bed.
The smell of wood smoke was inthe air, and a faint red glimmering showed through the closed shutters wheremetal cressets filled with oil-soaked kindling lit the courtyard. Now and thenone of the guards outside pulled his bowstring with a loud twang to show thatall was safe. Their master slept, wrapped in quilts and protected from thepervasive drafts by low screens. Genba snored in a corner.
“Go turn him over,” mutteredHitomaro, “before he wakes the master.”
Tora stumbled up, shook Genba,who grunted and rolled onto his side. From the courtyard came the muffledshouts of the sentries. Tora stretched and yawned. “I’ll take a look around,”he whispered to Hitomaro and slipped out.
Behind the screen Akitada said,“Hitomaro?”
“Yes, sir.” Hitomaro got up andwalked around the screen.
“Any news?” Akitada was proppedon his good elbow and looked wide awake.
“Nothing, sir. It’s been quietas a grave.”
“Not an apt comparison, I hope,”Akitada said dryly and threw back his cover. He was fully dressed under theyoroi which protected his torso and thighs, but the rest of the equipment-shin guards, neck guard, left shoulder plates, and helmet-lay in a corner ofthe room, where he hoped they would sta
y. “Is there any tea?” he asked, gettingup with some difficulty and sitting down behind his desk.
“I’ll get hot water, sir.”Hitomaro headed out the door, as Tora came in with Captain Takesuke.
Takesuke, in full armor, lightgleaming on the lacquered scales and the round helmet, saluted smartly. Helooked tense and excited. “I just received a report from my reconnaissancetroop, sir.”
“Yes?”
“A force of mounted warriorshas left Takata. Most of their banners have the Uesugi crest, but there arealso some strange banners with dragons and an unknown crest among them. We havecounted at least a hundred and fifty warriors. They are moving slowly, butshould get here in less than two hours.”
“Thank you, Captain. You havedone exceptionally well so far, and I have no doubt that you will hold thetribunal in spite of the lack of fortifications.”
Takesuke flushed and bowedsnappily.
Tora said with a grin, “Thecowardly bastards will turn tail when they see your flags flying over thetribunal, Captain. And if not, we’ll give Uesugi something to think about.”
“Those banners,” Akitada mused.“The dragon is a symbol of imperial power in China. I suppose the judge musthave suggested it to Uesugi as appropriate to the status of a ruler of thenorthern empire. But what is the other crest? Did you get a description,Captain?”
Takesuke handed over a scrap ofpaper. “It’s not very good, I’m afraid. My man was some distance away and it’ssnowing.”
Akitada spread out the scrapand looked at it. The brush strokes looked like something a very small childmight make for a tree, a heavy vertical central stroke which sprouted three orfour dashes angling upward on each side. “What is it, do you suppose?”
“A tree?” suggested Takesuke. “That’swhat my man thought it was.”
Hitomaro came in with asteaming teapot. He and Tora both peered at the strange symbol.
