by I. J. Parker
He lay awake for a long time that night, torn by longing and ashamed. Somewhere among the muddle of thoughts and dreams and fears, he wondered what she would do if he asked her father for her.
It was conceivable that she would accept. She had spoken of her admiration for him. Mistaken though she was about his past, it might be enough for her to agree to marry a man who could be her father.
But he could not, would not do that to her. He would never ruin a young woman’s future simply because he had fallen in love with her. She deserved better than an elderly and low-ranking official without prospects, but with a family and a past. Kosehira’s oldest daughter could become an imperial consort, and if not that, the wife of a prince of the blood or a chancellor.
No, he could not do that to her. Especially not when he loved her.
And that meant his life here in Otsu, in Kosehira’s household, had become unbearable.
Chapter Seventeen
Raid on the Tribunal
Akitada was woken by one of Kosehira’s servants. When he felt the gentle touch on his shoulder, he turned toward it, thinking in his half-awake state that it was Yukiko. Perhaps … Yukiko in his bed … ready to come into his arms. He muttered something.
“Wake up, sir! There’s news from the tribunal.”
It was night, and he had some excuse for his confusion. Blinking, Akitada sat up. “What?” he asked. What happened?”
“There’s been an attack on the tribunal, sir. His Excellency said to get you up. He’s leaving for town now.”
“An attack?” Akitada scrambled up. The servant, a dimly seen figure by the light of the single oil lamp he must have brought and set down near the door, held out his trousers for him.
“Yes. On the tribunal. In the middle of the night. There are many dead.”
Akitada asked no more questions. With the man’s help, he threw on his clothes, stepped into his boots, and ran outside.
“In the courtyard, sir,” the servant shouted after him. “They’re waiting for you.”
It was still dark outside. Impossible to tell the time. The rain had stopped, but there was a thick cloud cover. The courtyard was lit by torches. By their light, Akitada saw some eight mounted men and a group of others on foot.
Kosehira called out to him, “Hurry! We have your horse.”
He saw that Tora, also mounted, held the rein. Saburo was with him. Akitada swung himself in the saddle and asked, “What happened? Somebody attacked the tribunal?”
Kosehira said, “Sohei,” and Akitada realized the magnitude of the mistake he had made.
“Dear heaven,” he said. “I’m sorry, Kosehira. I should have thought they’d try to get him out.”
Kosehira said gruffly, “You informed me. It was up to me to warn the tribunal. Let’s hope it isn’t too bad. They drove them off.”
Akitada guiltily recalled his self-satisfaction in announcing his arrest of the tattooed sohei. Kosehira had been delighted by the tale. It struck him for the first time that Kosehira’s faith in him was not only greatly exaggerated, but positively dangerous. But he said nothing. There was nothing to say and no time.
The gates to the tribunal opened, and armed guards clustered around them. In the courtyard, torches lit the scene, adding to the sense of disaster. The soldiers parted to let the governor and his people through.
Inside they found a scene of chaos. Blood spattered the gravel, and several bodies lay about as soldiers hurried to stand at attention. On the veranda of the main building clustered servants and clerks who had been stationed in the tribunal overnight.
The captain of the provincial guard met Kosehira and saluted. “There were about twenty of them, Excellency,” he said. “They forced their way in, claiming they were under orders to pick up the prisoner. Because they were from Enryaku-ji, the gate guards admitted them. They got all the way to the jail where Sergeant Okura met them and refused to release the prisoner. That’s when they drew their weapons.”
Kosehira’a eyes searched the courtyard. “How many hurt?”
“Two of ours are dead, sir. Sergeant Okura is severely wounded. He doesn’t look good. Fifteen wounded. Five of theirs are dead. They took their wounded.”
Sickened by what had happened here, Akitada dismounted.
Tora’s voice cut across the sober exchange between Kosehira and the captain. “Where’s Okura, Captain?”
The captain gestured toward the barracks, and Tora rode over, dismounted, and went inside. Akitada walked from body to body, forcing himself to look at what he had caused. In some cases, it was difficult to tell if the dead were sohei or guards. Only two wore the white cowl on their heads. The rest had the same armor as all soldiers and had not shaved their heads or facial hair. In a few cases, Akitada noted that their weapons were naginata, the halberds preferred over the sword by many sohei. Given that they had had no warning, the tribunal guards must have fought like tigers.
Kosehira joined him. “These men don’t look like monks,” he said.
“They don’t all take vows. And besides, Enryaku-ji may well have added mercenaries to its own army.”
Kosehira shook his head. “Terrible.”
Akitada straightened up from peering at the face of a very young soldier who had bled to death when halberds had severed his leg. “One of yours?” he asked.
Kosehira nodded. “I think so. He’s so young. What will his parents do?”
The elderly depended on their children to support them. Akitada had no idea how aged or needy this family might be, but the loss of even one promising son and his income would be a blow. He sighed. “I am to blame, and I will speak to the parents of the men you lost when your people tell me more about them.”
“Nonsense. You are not to blame. When provincial guards sign on for duty, they expect to risk their lives protecting the tribunal and those in it.”
“Nevertheless I must express my condolences. Apparently, the brutes got the prisoner.”
“A pity. Okura was a very brave man, and so were the others.”
“Yes, Tora likes Okura very much. Let’s go see the wounded.”
More dismal sights met their eyes there, but at least the men who lay side by side in one of the barracks rooms had been tended, and their wounds had been bandaged. Sergeant Okura was the most seriously hurt, having received two sword wounds and a slash from a halberd. Tora was kneeling by his side. On the other side crouched a young doctor Akitada recognized. He was pleased to see they had sent for Dr. Kimura.
Kosehira bent over the wounded man, “My dear sergeant,” he said, “how are you feeling?”
Okuro tried to smile and made a halfhearted attempt to sit up and bow but was firmly pressed back down by Kimura. “I’m all right,” Okura said, his voice croaking a little at the pain his movement had caused. “I’m sorry we lost the bastard.”
“Nothing to apologize for.” Tora said. “Nothing, when you resisted a force of some twenty men or more? It’s a miracle you’re alive. They’d better promote you for what you did last night.”
Akitada cleared his throat, but Kosehira nodded. “Well said, Tora. But first Lieutenant Okura must get well. Doctor, a word?”
Kimura rose to his feet and walked away a little distance, leaving his patient with Tora. Akitada and Kosehira joined him. Kosehira asked, “How is he really?”
“He lost a lot of blood and two of the wounds are deep. The third, to his shoulder, is minor since his armor protected him. The deeper wounds will become poisoned, I expect, and he’ll suffer a fever, but with great diligence to the dressings and to containing the fever, he should survive. If the leg wound worsens, he may lose his leg.”
Kosehira sighed and said, “Dreadful! I count on you, doctor. He’s a good man.”
“I’ll do my best, Excellency.”
Kosehira glanced around the room. “And the others?”
“The others should do well enough.” Kimura paused. “Judging by the bodies of your enemies outside, they must all be good men.”
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Kosehira smiled. “Yes. They are! They are all very good men! How lucky I am!”
Akitada did not see much luck in the event, but he said nothing. He felt depressed and discouraged.
∞
A strange thing happened that day. When he returned to his room at Kosehira’s villa many hours later, he saw that the servants had tidied it, rolled up his bedding and taken away his wet clothes. But on his desk lay something new, a letter folded many times around a flowering branch. The blooms were azaleas, but sadly crushed and wilted.
He picked it up. The letter had been crumpled as if someone had trodden on it. His stomach lurched when he realized it was from Yukiko.
How had it got here? Had she brought it while he was gone?
No, surely not. She would not have left such a thing in open sight for the servants to find. No, she must have brought it during the night and pushed it under the door, and neither he nor the servant who had come to wake him had noticed it. In the dark, they had stepped on it, and later a servant had found it and placed it on the desk.
Slowly, fearfully, he untied the letter and unfolded it. It was a poem.
“The drops of pattering rain did not wet my sleeves;
It was my loneliness … and yours.”
He swallowed hard, then raised the paper to his lips. Dear heaven, what was he to do? He could not answer, must not acknowledge this. He must not do anything to make things worse.
The pain of that restraint would be with him from now on, and every day would remind him how close she was, how easy it would be to go to her.
Her words told him she was lonely … no, that she was lonely for him. In vain, he tried to comprehend the astonishing fact that she loved him.
What could so young a girl know of love? Love brought with it pain, the fear of loss. He had lost the son he had loved more than his life and nearly gone mad with the grief. And then he had lost Tamako and had wanted to die. He knew the price of love.
He refolded the letter carefully and inserted it in the thin notebook he carried with him. It would be safer to destroy it, but that he could not do.
∞
Over the coming days, his despair did not exactly lift, but it moderated somewhat. The attack on the provincial headquarters by a large group of Enryaku-ji sohei had a number of major repercussions that were mostly desirable. At any rate, they kept both Akitada and Kosehira far too busy to spend much time at home.
Item: Both Kosehira and Akitada dispatched reports to the emperor. These resulted in numerous visits from senior officials to the governor as well as to Abbot Gyomei of Enryaku-ji.
Item: Abbot Gyomei for once left his mountain and visited Kosehira and Akitada to deliver his personal regrets. He told them that neither the attackers nor the prisoner had returned to the temple.
Item: Bands of sohei and other warriors left the mountain temple and departed to other provinces.
Item: As a result, a similar exodus took place from Onjo-ji, presumably because it no longer felt the need for an army to defend itself against Enryaku-ji’s troops.
Item: After due investigation, the court issued several strongly-worded proclamations against the raising of troops by temples or shrines.
This last item had merely symbolic significance; private estates could still hire men to protect themselves. In fact, the largest landowners maintained standing armies. And since many of the estates existed under the protection of temples in order to avoid taxes, it was merely a matter of calling up support when needed.
But there was no sign of the escaped sohei.
Still, Kosehira regained his sunny mood and congratulated Akitada on having struck a major blow against that pesky Enryaku-ji. It helped that the wounded tribunal guards made excellent progress. Even Lieutenant Okura was out of danger. This greatly pleased Tora who had spent most of his time by his bedside.
Throughout this time, more delegations from Enryaku-ji arrived, often led by the prior himself. Their intention was to declare their peacefulness and their complete support for the emperor and his representative, the governor. They also renewed apologies to Akitada, making him a present of a very fine horse. Akitada refused the gift, which struck him as close to being a bribe.
In this manner, nearly two weeks passed. During the entire time, both Akitada and Kosehira were so busy that they only spent the nights at the villa. Akitada slept the sleep of the exhausted and was relieved that his dreams did not involve Lady Yukiko. He saw her a few times from a distance. Once or twice she was standing on the veranda as they arrived or departed. He avoided the garden for fear of surprising her there.
Only one other thing troubled Akitada from time to time. He worried that, for all his bravado and cheerfulness, Tora had suffered some lingering physical damage. His movements had become slower and there were times when he grimaced at some exertion, such as getting on his horse or rising up from the floor. After nearly a week, he and Tora took up their sword practice again, but Tora seemed listless uncomfortable. They practiced behind the kitchen building where no one saw them except the cook and his staff.
After their second bout since Tora’s stay on the mountain, Akitada asked, “Are you sure you are feeling all right? Should you be checked out by Kimura?”
“I’m fine, sir,” Tora said, turning away. “Forget it. I’m just getting old and useless.”
Sorry that he had spoken, Akitada said, “Nonsense,” and did not mention it again. But he sent Tora home for a while to look after things and rest.
He saw Takechi several times. The prisoner had been identified by temple authorities as Kojo and said to be an ex-soldier who had taken vows. On the governor’s orders, wanted posters were put up all over Otsu and along the highways east and west. So far there had been no results.
Among the gestures of apology extended by Enryaku-ji was also the promise to help in the conviction of the criminal sohei and mercenaries. The temple wished to disassociate itself completely from the incident. A delegation of monks paid a visit to Kosehira to inform him that Kojo had been officially dismissed and would be unwelcome on Enryaku-ji if he should seek assistance there..
Kinzaburo had been returned to his small farm. Reunited with his family, he still faced a legal battle for his freedom. The noble lord who held sway over Kinzaburo’s farm had turned over his authority to the temple to avoid taxes. Kinzaburo’s small portion of land had somehow become part of the great estate.
But on the whole, Tora’s adventure with the sohei had ended well.
Chief Takechi said as much to Akitada, adding, “I wish I could report progress for the two murders. However, a strange story’s just come to my ears.”
Akitada, who had not given Takechi’s murders much attention, said, “Really? Something to do with the judge?”
“Not the judge. Or the jailer for that matter. No, it’s about that Jizo figurine. Something happened in the Echi district east of here. They had two unexplained, and so far unsolved, deaths. Two elderly peasants, best friends, were found dead within days of each other. They interrogated the families but found no motive, though in the first case, which was clearly a murder, they briefly arrested the man’s daughter-in-law. In the end they couldn’t prove anything. But when they were searching the area where it happened—the old-timer was drunk and on his way home when someone struck him from behind—they found one of those carvings among the weeds beside the road.”
Akitada sat up and stared at the chief. “You don’t say? The same carving? The same sort of figurine as the one in the judge’s room and on the body of the jailer? And both men were old, you say?”
Takechi nodded. “Yes, it’s very strange.”
A silence fell as Akitada tried to understand how a cheap and common little thing like the Jizo carving could suddenly appear near the bodies of murdered men in distant locales.
Takechi scratched his head. “It could be a coincidence. Those Jizo figures are common enough along the great highway. Many travelers buy them. And besides, it may have b
een lying there for days before the murder.”
“I don’t like this, Takechi,” Akitada said. “We have to look into it. When were those two men killed?”
Takechi reached for a document. “More than a month ago. The peasant called Wakiya died on the night between the twelfth and thirteenth day of the second month, his friend Juro three days later, on the evening of the fifteenth day. Mind you, they found no Jizo with the second man. And his death may have been an accident. He was drunk and fell into a gorge.”
“For purpose of discussion, let’s include him. The judge died … let’s see, that was this month, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. On the second day. And Tokuno died on the fifth day of this month.”
Another silence fell. Finally Takechi asked, “What are you thinking?”
“It seems inconceivable, but it looks as if someone is going around killing elderly men and leaving small Jizo carvings near their bodies.”
“But why?”
“If we knew that, we’d know how long it has been happening and how many more will die. It may be significant that they are all old and all men.”
Takechi shook his head. “But to kill people just because they are old? That’s terrible.”
“Yes. And if it is their age that makes him kill them, it will go on. This person won’t be satisfied with the deaths of the four men we know about. Since you have only just heard about the two peasants, there could have been other deaths. Perhaps they remained unsolved, or worse, an innocent person was convicted.”
“We must find out, but where to begin?”
“The connection between Nakano and the jailer is weak. Now we have two more deaths that may be linked to each other but don’t connect to the ones here. The best solution would be if there were a connection because then we might know why they were killed and by whom.”
“The two from Okuni were ordinary peasants, sir. They’ve lived in the village all their lives. What could link them to Otsu and a judge?
