The Old Men of Omi

by I. J. Parker

  Holding the naginata straight in front of himself, he charged. Kojo jumped aside and laughed. But he was now at the very edge of a ditch. Hoping that he did not realize this, Tora changed his grip and charged again. This time Kojo slashed at the naginata with his sword and severed the wooden shaft. He laughed again, stepped back, and fell.

  Tora was on him instantly. Using the splintered end of the naginata shaft on Kojo’s neck to pin him down, he watched the sohei choke out a gurgling scream and drop his sword to claw at his neck. Tora snatched up the sword and hacked off Kojo’s head.

  Then he took a couple of steps and his knees buckled. He collapsed, and sat on the ground, hunched over, breathing heavily, and waiting for the pain. There must be pain. He felt sure he had been wounded though he did not know where or how badly.

  The pain came, but it was in his head. It pounded viciously so that he held on to his head for fear it would come apart.

  When the throbbing eased a little, he recalled Saburo. He had last seen him stretched out lifeless in the wood shed. He was either dead of badly wounded. And Tora had left him there with at least one sohei still alive.

  He staggered to his feet. Carrying Kojo’s bloody sword he headed back.

  All was quiet around the hut and shed. Tora heaved a sigh. How would he explain Saburo’s death? What could he say to his mother, unlikable though the woman was? What would his master say? He had been disobedient once too often. Perhaps he, Hanae, and Yuki would become homeless and masterless.

  He cast a glance around in case one of the sohei was lurking. Seeing nobody, he went to the shed.

  The smell of blood was strong. Saburo’s body was gone, but four others lay about. The ground was wet and slick with blood. Tora checked them. All sohei and all dead. Two had died from the wounds he had dealt them, but the other two had been merely disabled. Now they had their throats cut.

  He looked around, half hoping. If Saburo had killed them, then he might not be too badly hurt.

  “Saburo?”

  An answering shout came from the hut. He walked across. The door stood open. Clutching the sword, Tora looked in.

  Saburo sat on the floor. Beside him knelt the wood gatherer’s wife, her face bloody and bruised, but her hands busy bandaging Saburo’s left thigh. The bandage was leaking blood, and Tora guessed that he had been slashed badly.

  “How is it, brother?” he asked.

  “It will do. Did you get that bastard Kojo?”

  “Yes.”

  Tora’s strength gave way again, and he flopped down.

  “Are you wounded?” Saburo asked anxiously.

  “I don’t think so. Just very tired. And my head hurts.”

  “Sorry, brother.”

  “It’s nothing.” He looked at the young woman. “I’m very sorry,” he told her. “We saw, but we were too far away. Are you all right?”

  She looked back at him with dull eyes. “No,” she said. “But it was my karma.” She glanced over to a corner of the room. Tora saw that she or Saburo had put her child there. The boy was much too still. “He was a very good boy,” she said. “He always did what we told him.” She bowed her head, then looked back up at Tora. “Why?” she asked him. “Why did they kill such a good little boy?”

  Tora sighed. “I don’t know, love,” he said heavily. “I don’t know why terrible things happen. I’m very sorry we couldn’t stop them.”

  “Not your fault,” she said listlessly and finished tying Saburo’s bandage.

  “What will you do?” Saburo asked.

  “Go home and ask my neighbors to help me bring my husband home. I’ll carry Kaoru myself.”

  “You’re not hurt?” Tora asked.

  “I’m strong,” she said and go to her feet.

  Tora said, “We have horses, back in the woods.” It was a long way and uphill, but he would have to go and get them. Saburo could not walk.

  “No. I want to go alone.” She lifted her dead child to cradle him in her arms and kiss his bloody face.

  Tora started to his feet, but Saburo said quietly, “Let her go. She needs her grief.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  A Strange Case

  Akitada reached his bed long after Kosehira’s household had retired. A sleepy porter had admitted him and taken his horse. Akitada was thankful that the sure-footed beast had known its way home on its own. His bedding had been laid out by Kosehira’s servants, and he flung his robe over the clothing stand, pulled off his boots, and fell asleep as soon as he lay down.

  The next morning promised another sunny day. Akitada woke late, avoided the garden, washed, dressed, and ate the gruel provided by another servant, then headed for the stables. Kosehira joined him shortly and they rode to work together.

  “I’m almost finished with the temple investigation,” Akitada said casually on the way.

  “Ah. What will you do next?”

  Here it was. Akitada smiled at his friend. “I must return to my duties in the capital.”

  This clearly distressed Kosehira, who said nothing for a moment.

  “You have been a kind, generous, and patient host. I shall always remember this visit fondly,” Akitada added.

  He would always remember it for quite different reasons; for that matter, he had used almost the same words to bid her goodbye.

  Kosehira said, “I’m sorry.” His tone was almost funereal. He added for good measure, “Sorrier than you’ll ever know.”

  Akitada could not let this pass. “Why? I shall not be far away, and we shall meet again in the capital. I hope you come often.”

  Kosehira looked into the distance, a distance that consisted of the great lake, shimmering in the sun and surrounded by green mountains. “It’s just … I had hoped …” He paused, then asked, “But what about the Great Shrine Festival? You were going to stay for that and have your children join us.”

  Ashamed, Akitada muttered something about not having reckoned on finishing quite so early and not having permission to stay away from the ministry. It sounded lame, but Kosehira did not argue.

  At the tribunal, they went their separate ways, and Akitada returned to the archives to discuss his report with the others.

  Essentially, both temples had engaged in quasi-legal land transfers to themselves by offering landowners tax free status. Since Akitada disapproved strongly of these attempts to evade fair taxes, he had made a careful list of all the cases during the past decade, with the recommendation to disallow them. Nothing would come of this, but he thought those who complained all the time that taxes had shrunk and demands on the government grown should see one reason why this was so.

  More complicated were cases where temples had appropriated land without the approval of the owners. In some situations, this involved land grabs of unimproved acreages belonging to the emperor with the promise to turn the land into productive rice fields. This option was granted to tax-paying landowners, but it had been the temples that had accumulated vast acreage this way.

  Lastly there was the matter of disputed land, that is, of land claimed by both temples. All of these cases had been carefully traced through the documents, and the outcome showed that Onjo-ji had legal rights in nine of the cases, while Enryaku-ji could claim only one disputed tract.

  “Enryaku-ji won’t like it,” the tribunal archivist remarked, smiling with satisfaction.

  Kunyoshi, the imperial archivist, was quick to dash such hopes. “We can assert the correctness of our findings, but getting them to hand back the land is another matter.”

  Akitada said, “It doesn’t matter. I shall write my report and urge strongly that the various abuses be stopped immediately and that Enryaku-ji be assessed a penalty for its strong-arm methods. Following upon the attack on the tribunal, we may, for once, see some small measure of success.”

  They nodded their agreement.

  Akitada thanked them for their work, adding, “The rest of the chore is mine. I shall remain to write my report. You will want to wish to return to y
our families.”

  They did and left quite happily.

  Akitada stayed behind to work on his report. The archives were disconcertingly empty. Only Kosehira’s archivist and a clerk were still present, and they worked at returning all the documents to their proper places. Their voices reached his ears from time to time, as did noises of moving ladders and, once, of dropped boxes.

  But it was not this that kept him from concentrating on his writing. Neither was it the complex nature of the case. He had prepared his notes carefully and could work quickly from them.

  Yukiko he put firmly from his mind.

  The matter of the murders troubled him, however, as did the fact that he would have to leave things in the hands of Chief Takechi. He expected to be gone from Otsu the next morning. True, Takechi was a capable man and it was his case after all. But even so he felt that he was letting him down—and Kosehira, too—by withdrawing from the investigation at this point.

  As for Yukiko: he no longer saw his departure as a cowardly flight. Their relationship had reached the point where his continued proximity was embarrassing and painful for her. No, he must leave. And so he worked industriously until midday when thoughts of the murders intruded again and his stomach growled. Rinsing out and putting down his brush, he stretched his stiff back, and got up. He would have another meal with Takechi and settle matters between them.

  ∞

  Takechi greeted him eagerly. “I’d hoped to see you yesterday. Any news?”

  “Yes, there is some, but I’d like to share another of those delicious bowls of soup with you, if you can manage it.”

  Takechi could manage it. “It’s my turn,” he said cheerfully as they walked to the noodle restaurant.

  “Takechi,” Akitada said apologetically, “allow me the privilege since it will be the last time I’ll have the pleasure,”

  Takechi stopped. “What? What happened?”

  “Nothing that wouldn’t have happened in any case. I’m finished with my assignment and must return.”

  “But the murder case—did you solve it?”

  “No. But, Takechi, it was never my case. It was yours, and for the deaths in Echi district, the local prefect’s.”

  Takechi looked at him as if bereft of words. “Yes,” he said finally. “That’s true enough. Still …” His voice trailed off.

  “Come, cheer up. I know you’ll do fine. And I do have one more piece of news.”

  They had reached the restaurant where an eager waiter greeted them at the door and guided them to good seats. They placed their orders and then looked at each other.

  Takechi said, “I have enjoyed working with you again, sir. This is a real blow.”

  Akitada bit his lip. He would also miss the easy friendship that had sprung up between them and felt guilty that his private concerns should affect a man he had a strong liking for. “I, too, regret it very much,” he said. “I’ve come to consider you a friend.” He smiled at Takechi. “But I don’t forget my friends and will make a point of stopping by your office when I can, and I hope you will come to my house whenever you are in the capital. We have one or two decent eating places ourselves, you know.”

  Takechi, clearly pleased by the invitation, chuckled. “I have no doubt, sir. It’s our capital after all. Everything’s better there.”

  “Not really,” said Akitada soberly, thinking of his lonely life. “But let me tell you what we’ve found in the archives.” He explained how he had begun to focus on the rumors concerning the late Lord Taira Sukenori and the murder that had happened more than twenty years earlier.”

  Takechi listened, spell-bound. Their soup arrived and stood steaming before them. After some time, the waiter approached nervously to ask if anything was wrong. He was waved away. Finally Akitada reached the end of his account and lifted his bowl.

  Takechi stared at him, lost in thought.

  “Eat,” Akitada urged, smacking his lips. “It’s very good. Perhaps the best yet.”

  “I’m thinking,” protested Takechi, but he began to eat, sipping and chewing the noodles slowly. Nodding his head from time to time. When he set his bowl down empty, he said, “It fits. It all hangs together. You think the son has come back.”

  “If he did not die in exile, I think he would have. He was younger and stronger than his father. Some people live an entire life in a prison colony.”

  “The problem is, we aren’t sure, and we don’t know where he is and what he looks like.”

  “Precisely.”

  A silence fell while they both pondered the issue.. After a while, Takechi asked, “Could it be someone else? Someone who is also part of the Hatta family? I suppose I need to find out who they are. I expect their property was confiscated?”

  “Yes. In the immediate family there were only the father, the mother, and two children. The other child was a daughter.” Akitada paused. A thought had just occurred to him. But it seemed far-fetched.

  Takechi had watched him. “You had an idea?”

  “It’s probably nothing. I’m trying to recall something someone said.” Akitada shook his head. “From the start we’ve had too many people involved in this. It’s difficult to place them properly. But that reminds me that there is someone else of interest. I had a talk with the brother of the victim.”

  “Which victim?”

  Akitada chuckled. “Quite right. We have too many murders, too many suspects, and too many investigations. I meant the brother of the original victim. His name was Fumi Takahira. He was a wealthy merchant here in Otsu.”

  “Oh, you talked to Tokiari. What did he have to say?”

  “Something wasn’t quite right about that conversation. Tokiari knows something he’s not talking about. He confirmed that his brother was a guest of Taira Sukemichi when the betto killed him during a hunt. Fumi was shot point-blank with an arrow. An attempt to claim it had been a hunting accident failed, because the local prefect—a good man apparently—saw that he had been shot at close range. After that Hatta confessed, claiming that Fumi had raped his young daughter.”

  Takechi said angrily, “If he did, then to my mind, he had a perfect right to shoot the animal!”

  Akitada shook his head. “Apparently the prefect didn’t believe the tale, and Hatta was denied extenuating circumstances. Fumi’s brother rejected the charge adamantly. He claims his brother preferred men and would never have raped a woman.”

  “Ah! What a tale! Go on.”

  Akitada chuckled. “Sorry. That’s all I have. You’ll have to find out the rest.”

  Takechi threw up his hands. “Where do I start? If it’s Hatta’s son who did all this, why did he do it? If his father was guilty, I mean.”

  “Yes, that’s the biggest puzzle of all. But I recall in the Sung-Chi, a rather strange Chinese book of famous legal cases, there is a tale of a murderer bribing another man to confess to the crime. I seem to recall he promised the man that he would look after his children by having his son marry the man’s daughter, and by giving his daughter to the son with a very generous dowry.”

  Takechi pursed his lips and whistled. “So you suspect Taira Sukenori was the real killer. But if there was a deal, the son should have honored it.”

  “Not if Sukenori never paid off.”

  “Ah!” Takechi’s eyes lit up. “By the gods, that would explain it all. You’ve done it again, sir.”

  “I have no proof,” cautioned Akitada, “but it suggests an investigation into possible legal improprieties. Given Judge Nakano’s murder, you can ask some questions about old cases.”

  Takechi grinned widely. “I will,” he said. “Oh, I shall enjoy this.” He clapped his hands in glee.

  The clapping brought the waiter. Akitada took the opportunity to pay for their meal.

  They walked back together, Akitada mostly silent, but Takechi excitedly reviewing all the facts and proposing ways of proving them.

  At police headquarters, they stopped. Akitada said with a smile, “You will let me know, won’t you
?”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Another Murder

  His departure from Otsu, and more especially from Kosehira, was an embarrassing and painful one. Having returned very late the night before, Akitada slept only fitfully and was up at dawn, getting dressed and packing his clothes into saddle bags. Then he sat around, waiting for sunrise. He wished more than anything to go into the garden, perhaps to catch a final glimpse of her.

  When he thought the time right, he ventured to Kosehira’s room. His friend was up, looking serious and drawn.

  “Well,” Akitada said with false cheerfulness, “I suppose it’s time to bid you goodbye, my friend.”

  Kosehira nodded. “You got everything finished then?”

  “Yes. Late last night. There is still the matter of the Jizo killer, but I met with Takechi yesterday and told him everything we knew. He’s a very capable man. He’ll solve the case.”

  “I shall miss being your assistant in your murder investigation,” Kosehira said wistfully. “Come and sit for a little and share my morning gruel.”

  Feeling guilty again, Akitada sat. He told Kosehira of his visit to the merchant Fumi and his suspicions regarding the old murder case.

  Kosehira nodded. “I know that old Chinese tale. I bet Taira Sukenori knew it, too.”

  “Even if he didn’t, he could have arrived at some such offer. Their children were the right ages and genders.”

  “Yes. I see.”

  They fell silent as a servant brought in the food. Neither ate with much appetite.

  Akitada put down his bowl first and gave Kosehira a beseeching look. “You have been more than kind, you and your family. I’ll never forget this visit.” There was a greater truth to that than Kosehira would ever realize. “Will you please make my goodbyes to your ladies and the children?” He choked a little, and added quickly, “You are a very lucky man.”

  Kosehira looked at him sadly. “Thank you, Akitada. I know it well. It was my hope that you, too … well, it was my intention of taking you out of your sadness. Perhaps I have succeeded a little. But, Akitada, you need a wife. You cannot at your age continue like this. It isn’t fair to your children or to yourself. I hope you’ll forgive me for speaking so frankly. I am your closest friend and have your best interests in mind.”