by I. J. Parker
Akitada got up. “I suppose for the answer we must go to that village and find out, don’t you think?”
Chapter Eighteen
Poems
Neither Akitada nor Takechi could drop everything to travel to a small village called Okuni at a time when both were extremely busy. They merely agreed that they would have to go as soon as a chance offered.
Takechi returned to his regular duties, and Akitada immersed himself in the paperwork for Onjo-ji and Enryaku-ji.
One morning Akitada found another poem. It had also been slipped it under his door, but he found it before the servants could.
It was from Yukiko and the contents were upsetting enough.
“In the garden, the cuckoo called, but when I looked, I only saw the moon,” she had written, then added, “Why have you grown distant?”
He sighed in exasperation. What was he to do? Speaking to her would merely worsen things. Besides, he did not really trust himself. He could not write her. Exchanging love letters with his friend’s daughter under his own roof was reprehensible. For the first time, he considered taking flight and returning to the capital. In the end, he did nothing, knowing it was cowardly.
Kosehira had kept his promise of having his staff search the archives for cases handled by Judge Nakano during his years of service. These documents arrived in Akitada’s room at the tribunal the day after his conversation with Takechi. He regarded the number of boxes resting on his desk with a frown, then sighed and started on the first one.
By midday, he had only covered half of Nakano’s trials. If anything of note was in those documents, it suggested that Nakano was an indifferent judge who frequently ignored witnesses produced by the defendant and rushed to judgment without much regard to due process. But the cases were old, the defendants who had been found guilty were either patently guilty or most likely long since dead. From the dubious cases, Akitada made a small list of names. This included one where a woman was charged with drowning her newborn child. She confessed readily enough, saying that she and her husband were too poor to feed another child. A sad case, especially since her sentence of a public lashing was so brutal that it was fatal. Still, he made a note of it because it might account for the Jizo. The little god protected children who had died before hearing of Buddha.
The other cases concerned men who might have claimed mitigating circumstances, particularly where death was the result of a brawl. There was a lot of fighting in a harbor town.
He stopped at noon and decided to invite Takechi to a bowl of noodle soup. It would give them a chance to discuss the murders.
Takechi was at police headquarters, looking distracted as he sifted through the day’s new paperwork. He accepted the invitation eagerly, and they walked the short distance to the large and popular restaurant.
When they had given the waiter their order, Takechi asked, “Have you had any news of Kojo since the raid?”
“No. By all accounts, he’s an ugly customer. He took his fury out on his guards at the tribunal. I’m almost sorry that we no longer have the same customs Tokuno enjoyed.”
Takechi grinned. “Me, too. Too bad we don’t have a confession.”
“What about the witnesses? They can identify him, can’t they?”
Takechi nodded. “Yes, but without the four men, we don’t have enough to go to trial. Still, the governor will be glad to be rid of the fellow. Those sohei make dangerous enemies.”
The waiter returned with two large bowls of noodles and smaller bowls of pickled radish. The noodles were in an appetizing broth, and several large slices of fish rested on top. They began to eat. The soup was delicious.
Takechi lowered his half-empty bowl first. “If they catch Kojo or the others, we’ll have to bring Kinzaburo back for the trial. The aged neighbor woman got a good look at Kojo. She was positive he was the ringleader of the four who abducted Kinzaburo. She was pretty sure he was also with the three that returned to take their turns raping his wife. Unfortunately, the wife will not testify. She’s frightened and ashamed.”
“Given what a brute he is, it’s amazingly courageous of the neighbor,” Akitada said, setting down his empty bowl.
“Yes. I wish they were all like that. Mind you, she was filled with a righteous anger. I got the feeling she was more upset about the rapes than about the abduction.”
Akitada pondered this. Surely rape wasn’t as bad as murder or a severe beating. Women got raped all the time because some men had a notion that the woman’s resistance was merely a token sign of propriety and that the woman in the end enjoyed it as much as the man. He knew this was not always true. Some women really were forced—and surely Kinzaburo’s wife was one of them—against their will. But did they receive any lasting damage?
He voiced the thought to Takechi who considered the idea before saying, “A wife would fear that her husband will reject her after another man has misused her.”
“Perhaps, but surely then the blame falls on the husband. That is, if she was in fact a helpless victim.”
“Yes, but there’s a problem. What if he doesn’t believe her?”
Akitada sighed. “Well, in this case at least we know she’s innocent and those men behaved like animals.”
“Worse. I don’t believe animals engage in group rape.”
They had finished their soup and exchanged a glance. “Another?” Akitada suggested.
Takechi nodded. “It is very good.” He asked, “Did you find out anything about the judge and the jailer?”
“I’ve been going through Nakano’s cases all morning. There was little that stood out.” Akitada told him about the sentences he recalled as being harsher or more undeserved than the rest.
Takechi shook his head at the child-drowning. “I know the family,” he said. “A sad story. She had five children in six years and her husband beat her regularly. He drank and gambled. After her death, he took in a number of loose women. Beat them, too, but they had the good sense to leave him. He died in a brawl, I believe. To everyone’s amazement, the children turned out well. Hard-working, all of them. The girls married good husbands, and the boys have trades they made a success of. You never know, do you?”
Akitada shook his head. “Any chance one of the children would avenge their mother?”
“I’d say none.”
“Well, I’ll keep looking. So far there’s nothing on Tokuno but the fact that their years of service must have overlapped.”
“Yes. But what does that mean? Judges and jailers never meet. The judge hears the case and pronounces sentence, and the jailer looks after the prisoners before and after the trial, at least until they are sent into exile.”
“That poor woman who drowned her child. She died after a brutal sentence of whipping. Could Tokuno have swung the whip?”
“Maybe, but usually there’s a special man for the public punishments.”
They had finished their second bowls of soup more glumly than the first. Takechi was the first to find his smile again. “Thank you for this excellent meal. I hope you’ll allow me to reciprocate soon?”
“Certainly. I enjoyed this very much. Perhaps I’ll have a more useful report next time.”
As they parted in front of police headquarters, Akitada thought again how much he liked Takechi. Their backgrounds were too different to allow the sort of friendship that existed between him and Kosehira, but if things had been otherwise, Akitada would have liked to count Takechi among his close friends.
∞
At sundown, Akitada finished with the documents relating to Judge Nakano. He had added a few more names to his list of suspicious cases, but nothing struck him as promising. With a sigh, he went to see if Kosehira was ready to leave.
At home, another poem awaited him:
“That scent of sandalwood on your sleeve; it is with me still. But I lie awake and only the moon lights my room.”
It was a seductive verse, and it’s invitation was clear. He grew warm at the thought of Yukiko, half asleep in h
er bedding, longing for him. Biting his lip with frustration, he crumpled up the letter. What did she expect? That he would slip into her room under cover of darkness to make love to her? Yes, he thought, that was precisely what she suggested.
He spent a very disturbed night, worried that she might take the initiative and come to him instead.
∞
In the morning, an excited Kosehira greeted him. He was waving a letter in the air.
“Look at this!” he cried. “It took me by surprise.”
Akitada approached warily. Letters had become dangerous in his recent experience. But Kosehira was smiling.
“It couldn’t be better!” he said “And I didn’t have to wrangle an invitation. Here! Read!”
Akitada took the letter. Scanning it quickly, he saw that it was from Nakahara Nariyuki. He vaguely knew him as a prominent nobleman who was in the service of the retired emperor. The letter was an invitation to a pheasant hunt for Kosehira and Akitada. Puzzled by Kosehira’s delight, he handed the missive back, saying, “Very kind of him, but I don’t hunt. Still, I suppose I must accept. Where is his estate?”
“Oh, Nakahara lives here in Otsu. Has for years. His house is on the small side since he spends most of his time at His Retired Majesty’s palace. As that is a short distance from Otsu, it’s a feasible journey back and forth, but it means he doesn’t entertain much. His staff is too small.” Kosehira chortled. “If you ask me, he’s a bit of a miser. Looks like he solved the problem of welcoming you by getting Taira Sukemichi to invite us to a hunt.”
Akitada frowned. “I see. But that makes us Taira’s guests, not Nakahara’s. I should be able to get out of it.”
Kosehira laughed again. “You don’t understand how these things work, brother. Taira owes Nakahara a lot of favors. I think it was Nakahara who got his father the post of overseeing the imperial pheasant reserve. Now Nakahara is a regular guest at every hunt. And you cannot offend Nakahara. He’s much too important in politics in the capital. Don’t look so dejected. You’ll like it. It’s spring, the country around there is beautiful, and there is a surprise.”
Akitada was afraid to ask. “What have you cooked up, Kosehira?”
“Taira’s lands include Okuni. Now what do you say?”
“Okuni?” It took Akitada a moment to remember. “You mean the village where the two old men were killed?”
“The very one.”
“Oh.” Akitada considered. They would leave Otsu, and that was indeed fortuitous at the moment. And there was the promise of investigating the puzzle of the Jizo figures. Yes, it would be just as well to remove himself from the lovely Yukiko before he lost his mind completely. He smiled at his friend. “Very well, if you have a mind to go, I look forward to it. But Kosehira, keep in mind that I don’t like killing animals for sport and haven’t handled a bow in a decade or more.”
“As to the bow, you won’t need it. They use falcons. A very refined form of hunting that emperors engage in.” He smiled broadly. “We’ll make a nobleman of you yet.”
They laughed.
Suddenly Akitada felt lighthearted again. Kosehira always had this effect on him.
∞
But the next morning brought another poem. He heard the letter slide under his door.
She had written, “The storms of spring have scattered the blossoms, and my heart has grown wintry cold.” This time she had added, “I must see you before you leave!” and had underlined the “must.”
He felt a sudden fear that she might do something rash unless he talked to her. Tucking the note away, he opened the shutters to look out.
The stars were still out though the night sky paled in the east. They were to make an early start, and any moment a servant would come to wake Akitada. No doubt Kosehira and his family were also stirring. It was an impossible time for a meeting.
Yet Akitada dressed quickly and went out into the dark garden. It was still filled with scent of late azaleas and other flowers. In the dim light under the trees he walked carefully. She was waiting at the koi pond as he had guessed and looked up at his step.
“Who is it?” she asked softly.
“Akitada,” he said in an equally low voice. “This isn’t wise, Lady Yukiko. We may be seen.”
“I don’t care.” She came quickly to him. “I had to see you before you go,” she said. “There was no other way since you would not come to me.”
He flinched. He could not see her face clearly, but thought she looked pale and tense. Perhaps this mood was preferable to the passionate declarations of love, but it suggested that he had caused her pain. He felt a wave of tenderness. He did not want to hurt her.
“Forgive me,” he said gently. “It has pained me greatly to treat you this way. I have been a coward.”
She said nothing to this but lowered her eyes.
“I’m not worthy of your fondness, Yukiko. You must not think of me any longer. Not in this way. I … I cannot be what you wish.”
She made an impatient sound and turned away. He felt like a brute.
“Yukiko,” he pleaded, “you have honored me beyond anything a poor fellow like me deserves. But I am your father’s age. In fact, we call each other ‘brother.’ You must see that I can be no more than an uncle to you and his other children.”
She still said nothing. There was a strange stiffness to her slender back. He wanted to go to her and hold her, but this time he would not do so.
He said uncertainly, “It hurts me very much to see you like this.”
She turned then, and he saw in the dim light that she had been crying. “No,” she said, dabbing impatiently at her face with one of her sleeves, “It’s not your fault. I’m ashamed. I have been foolish and must ask your pardon for behaving like a silly, love-struck girl. You see, I’d been encouraged to think you might … no, I won’t blame others.” She covered her face with her hands, then looked up again. Her eyes were swimming in tears. “What you must think of me! I’m not at all this way as a rule. I’m quite sensible. I never write poems to men, not even in my thoughts.”
He said helplessly, “They are lovely poems. I shall treasure them.”
She raised her chin a little. “I made a mistake. You see, I thought—mistakenly—that you liked me. That you were just shy, or reluctant to approach me because I am my father’s daughter. I know better now. Please forgive me for having troubled you.”
“There’s nothing to forgive.” He wanted to tell her that she had filled his heart with joy and love again, but that was impossible. In the end, he simply added, “I must go. They will be looking for me. Good bye, Lady Yukiko.”
As he turned away, he felt sick with the pain of this parting.
Chapter Nineteen
Falconry
Kosehira was puzzled by Akitada’s mood on the long ride to the imperial pheasant reserve and kept trying to cheer him up. He pointed out that the weather was clear, the rice paddies already green with new rice, and ahead lay some fine entertainment. After several miles of silence or mono-syllabic comments, he asked, “Is anything the matter, brother? You seem very glum. Is it the hunting still that troubles you?”
Akitada returned to the present and forced himself to smile at Kosehira. “Nothing is wrong, brother,” he lied, then offered, “I’m a little preoccupied with those Jizo murders. If someone is going around killing people, he must be stopped quickly. Unfortunately, I don’t know where to begin to look for him. If the two murders at Okuni turn out to have been the work of the same killer, we have a very serious problem. I’m sorry if I’m bad company. I shall try to do better.”
“Granted this seems to be a puzzling case, but you could let the police worry about it for a while.” Seeing Akitada’s face, he laughed. “Never mind. I do appreciate your concern and you’ll get your chance. Tonight, however, I’m afraid you’ll have to be nice to your hosts and partake of the welcome dinner they will have arranged for us.”
Akitada, a little ashamed that he had been unappreciative of Ko
sehira’s efforts to entertain him, said, “Perhaps you might tell me a little about them and their passion for falcons so I won’t make a fool of myself tonight.”
Kosehira complied eagerly.
“As I told you, Nakahara serves the retired emperor, the father of His current Majesty. His passion for the falcon hunt goes back to his youth when he attended His Majesty Sanjo on such occasions. He recommended Taira Sukenori for the position of supervisor of the imperial pheasant reserve, a nice little assignment that brings in both a salary and hunting privileges.” Kosehira chuckled. “You’d be surprised how many people owe favors to each other and to people above them. Nakahara is able to offer us a special entertainment because Taira owes him this favor.”
“And do we owe Nakahara now?”
“No. Don’t worry. We are simply receiving a courtesy.”
“I’m relieved.”
“Taira Sukenori has died, but his son Sukemichi now holds the post. More favors were called in.”
Akitada sighed. “I’ll never learn this game. My sister is the one who takes an interest in such things.”
Kosehira laughed. “You don’t need to learn it, but it’s good to know those things. It makes it easier to deal with people. And once you get past their commitments, you may find them entertaining creatures after all.”
“I hope so. I’m trying to convince myself that familiarity with pheasant reserves and hunting with hawks may come in handy one of these days.”
They were traveling with two of Kosehira’s servants who followed behind. Tora had begged off to spend time at home with Hanae. Akitada had been glad. Since his stay on the mountain, Tora had seemed gloomy and distracted. Akitada hoped his family would cheer him up.
He had his own wounds to lick. The parting from Yukiko had been awkward for both of them, but she had carried it off rather better than he. Her apology, delivered in the face of his avoidance of her, had been admirably brave. Where he had taken the coward’s way out, she had faced him. Akitada had never thought of himself as an unfeeling cad where women were concerned, but that was precisely what he had become. He had made her cry, and that was unforgiveable.
