by I. J. Parker
Greatly cheered by all of this, Akitada approached the hut and called out, “Is anyone home?”
It was indeed Ribata who appeared in the doorway, looking as slender and aristocratic in her white robe and veil as he remembered her. He bowed. “Forgive this intrusion, reverend lady, but a boy from the village directed me here. I have a friend who is wounded.”
She shaded her eyes, then came down the steps to peer at him more closely. Half naked, dirty, and with his hair and beard grown wildly about his face, he imagined he was hardly a welcome visitor, but she recognized him. “Taketsuna? Praise to the all-merciful Buddha,” she murmured. “Is it really you? We had almost given you up.”
Akitada had not thought of himself as Taketsuna for such a long time that her mistake made him laugh. Or perhaps it was finally seeing a friendly face, being greeted with pleasure, being made welcome—all of this signaling his return to safety, to a world he knew, having crossed the threshold between a living death and life. He found it hard to stop laughing, but then his legs started shaking again, and he stumbled to the small porch and sat down. “We escaped from one of Kumo’s mines,” he explained. “But can you come with me to help my friend? He has lost a lot of blood from a leg wound. We must get to provincial headquarters in Mano as fast as possible.”
She asked no questions. Saying, “Rest while I get ready,” she disappeared into the hut. Akitada leaned against one of the beams supporting the roof and basked in the warmth of the sun, unaware that tears gathered in his eyes and slowly spilled. Bees swarmed in the morning glories above him. Doves cooed in the branches of a cedar, and far above a kite rode the breeze in leisurely circles. He closed his eyes.
“Masako? Toshito?”
Akitada jerked awake, not quite sure where he was for a moment. Then his surroundings took shape and meaning, and he saw that Ribata had come out of her hut. She held a bundle and was looking toward the forest. Akitada stumbled to his feet. “Masako? Masako is here? And Toshito? Mutobe’s son Toshito? I thought he was in prison in Mano.”
“They are both here.” Ribata scanned the trees. “When you did not return before the trial, the children decided to escape. Masako helped Toshito by putting a sleeping powder in the guards’ soup. They came to me and have been here ever since. I cannot imagine where they are. We will need their help.”
Akitada tried to make sense of this. Ribata had made it sound quite natural that Masako should be with Mutobe’s son. Whatever one might think of a young lady helping an accused murderer escape from his jail cell by drugging his guards, their coming here to hide had been smart. Perhaps the nun had suggested it herself on one of her visits to the young man. Perhaps she had even supplied Masako with the correct herbs to mix into the guards’ food. Ribata seemed to have a knack for appearing in interesting situations. But Masako here? Akitada wondered what he would say to the girl when they met. He had not thought of their lovemaking in many weeks. That time seemed incredibly remote, though he found that her involvement with Toshito did not sit too well with him.
“I must go back to my friend,” he said, moving toward the path down the mountain. “He is beside the road near a small stream and a stand of firs. If I go ahead, can you follow?”
She nodded. “I know the place.”
He limped down the mountain, crossed the field and the empty road, and found Haseo still fast asleep in the grass where he had left him. Shaking his shoulder gently, he waited until his companion sat up groggily, then said, “Good news. I’ve found some shelter for us with someone I know. It’s quite safe. And there is a good chance that Kumo has not taken over the island yet.”
Haseo tried to stagger to his feet and failed. “How do you know it’s safe?” he demanded, looking around anxiously.
“My friends are also hiding. It’s too long a story to tell now, but there is a nun who has healing skills. Her hermitage is up on that mountain. She will see to your wound.” Akitada’s eyes searched the line of trees on the other side of the road. There was no sign of Ribata and the others yet. He was becoming impatient and worried that they were too close to the highway. “Come, lean on me. We will walk across to the forest and wait there.”
Haseo’s eyes followed his. “Sorry,” he said. “You’ll have to go without me. I can stay here.”
“No. Just hold on to me. If I have to, I’ll carry you on my back. You pulled me behind you in the mine, and this is nothing compared to that.”
Haseo submitted with a weak chuckle, and they made their way across the road, and from there through the field of tall waving grasses toward the steep, wooded mountainside.
But Haseo sat down abruptly in the middle of the field. “It’s no good,” he gasped. “I have no strength left.”
He looked dreadfully pale and, to Akitada’s dismay, blood was seeping from his makeshift bandage again. They had nothing left that could be turned into bandages and regarded each other helplessly. Haseo grinned a little. “You know, for an official and nobleman you’re a remarkably generous and patient man, Akitada. I was right to trust you.”
It was the first time Haseo had used his personal name. Akitada felt touched and honored. “We put our reliance in each other,” he said, squeezing the other man’s shoulder. “When we reach provincial headquarters, I’ll see what can be done about your case, though I’m afraid that I have no influence with the government in Heian-kyo.”
“Never mind. I have some friends,” Haseo said. “Perhaps now, after what has happened to me, they will try their utmost. There is a chance now where there was none before.”
“Good.” Akitada shaded his eyes against the setting sun and peered toward the mountainside. There they were finally. Three figures emerged from the trees, two women and a man.
Toshito reached them first. Akitada almost did not recognize him. The slender, pale young man he had last seen in the prison cell had become a sturdy bearded peasant. Toshito seemed to have the same problem; his eyes searched their faces, before he nodded to Akitada. But there was nothing friendly or grateful about his welcome.
“Who’s your friend?” he asked bluntly.
“A fellow prisoner. We escaped from Kumo’s mine.”
The women joined them then. Ribata gave Haseo a very sweet smile and bowed, her hands folded. “Thanks to all-merciful Buddha you are both safe.”
Akitada made the introductions, adding somewhat stiffly, “It is very good of you to come to our assistance. I’m afraid my friend is too weak to walk up the mountain.”
When Ribata knelt beside Haseo to check his wound, Akitada’s eyes went to Masako.
Like Toshito, she wore rough peasant clothing and her long hair was tied up in a scarf. She blushed charmingly when their eyes met, and he found that her beauty touched him as strongly as it always had.
“How are you, Masako?” he asked, his voice soft with their remembered friendship.
She flushed more deeply and took a step closer to Ribata. “I’m well, thank you, my lord. And very glad to see you alive and w . . .” Her voice trailed off. He guessed that she had meant to say “well,” but that he looked too shocking for that word. Her manner puzzled him, and her address proved that she knew his identity. Had she told the others? Well, it did not matter any longer.
“I see you know who I am,” he said. “Did you read the documents hidden in the lining of my robe?”
She looked uncomfortable but nodded. “I felt paper. Since water would have ruined it, I undid the stitches. I saw the imperial seal—just like one in the governor’s office—but I put everything back after I had washed your gown.”
“I know. Thank you.” He wanted to pursue the matter, but decided to wait and instead ask about her relationship with the hostile Toshito. Glancing across to him, he said, “Ribata tells me that you helped the governor’s son escape. That was brave and generous, but surely not very wise. Your father must be frantic with worry about your safety and reputation.”
The young man had caught his last words and came over now, his fac
e dark with anger. Putting his arm around Masako’s shoulders, he said sharply, “My wife is under my protection and her reputation is above reproach, so I’d advise you to watch both your tongue and your manners in the future.”
Akitada was taken aback—literally. He stepped away from them, his eyes on Masako for confirmation. “Your wife?”
She buried her face in Toshito’s shoulder. It was answer enough. Akitada met the smoldering anger in the other man’s eyes and bowed. “My sincere felicitations,” he said lightly. “I had no idea.” Then he turned his back on both of them.
Haseo was explaining his injury to Ribata. “It’s been bleeding all day and part of the night or I’d be as strong as an ox,” he said apologetically.
Ribata nodded. “Yes. I see. Putting moss on the wound was good. Few people know that it stanches bleeding and cools the fever in the wound.”
Haseo smiled up at Akitada. “My friend’s idea.”
Toshito, still glowering, joined them. “We could put him on some branches and drag him up to the hermitage, but it will take two strong men to do it, and Lord Sugawara does not look very fit.”
“Oh, no, I’ll walk,” cried Haseo, shocked.
“I’m perfectly capable,” snapped Akitada.
They solved the impasse by Toshito and Akitada supporting Haseo between them. It was an unpleasant collaboration, as their arms touched behind Haseo’s back. For Akitada the journey turned into torment, especially after they began their climb up the mountain. His pride did not allow him to ask for rest periods. Instead he forced himself to keep step with the younger and much healthier Toshito. Somehow they dragged Haseo to the narrow wooden veranda and set him down.
Ribata and Masako disappeared inside, and an awkward silence fell. Haseo was dozing, much as Akitada had earlier. Toshito stood glowering. Finally Akitada could not bear it any longer. “So you and Masako came here to hide out?” he asked, though the answer was obvious.
Toshito’s lips twisted and he did not bother to answer. There was nothing conciliatory in his manner. Akitada wondered if Masako had told him of their indiscretion. Surely not. But his earlier remarks could not account for this much antagonism. Could Toshito be blaming Akitada for not having arrived in time to clear him? Whatever the reason, their stay here would be more than uncomfortable if this continued. Akitada swallowed his resentment and tried again.
“I did my best for you and succeeded in getting the information that will clear you,” he said. “I was on my way back when your enemies stopped me.”
“I did not ask for your help and I had nothing to do with what happened to you,” snapped Toshito, and stalked away.
“Hmm,” murmured Haseo, opening his eyes. “That’s a very angry young man. What did you do to him?”
Akitada flushed. “Don’t pay any attention to him,” he said evasively. “He’s a moody fellow who has been accused of a murder he did not commit. Perhaps he worries that we will draw our pursuers here.”
But Akitada knew there was more to Toshito’s hostility than mere resentment that he and Haseo had intruded into their safe haven. He recalled that Toshito used to bristle at him even when he thought of him as the prisoner Taketsuna. No, surely the problem was jealousy. Toshito either suspected or knew of his affair with Masako.
The tangled relationships between the men and women in the hermitage complicated matters. He tried to gauge the situation later, when Ribata cleaned Haseo’s wound and applied powdered herbs and various ointments, wrapping his leg again in some clean hemp bandages. When Haseo left to lie down, she asked to see Akitada’s knee.
“So. You have sought out trouble and found it, my lord,” she murmured, probing his leg.
Though she had addressed him as Taketsuna earlier, she knew very well who he was and that he had been trying to clear the governor’s son. Almost her first words to him had shown it, but he had been too shocked at the news that Masako and Toshito were with her to think clearly. He wondered how long she had known, and remembered her friendship with the Kumo family, but he only said, “Yes. And I’m afraid I have lost your flute.”
She looked up then and smiled. “Never mind. It is your life which matters.” Then she glanced through the door of the hut to where Masako was cooking over the open fire while her husband watched. “And that matters not only to you, but to your loved ones.”
Was Ribata reminding him that his duty lay elsewhere? Of course, Masako’s marriage solved his problem. There was now no need to take her into his household. He should have been glad, but was perversely irritated and hurt that she had preferred the immature, ungracious, and inept Toshito. In fairness, Toshito was probably only a few years younger, and yet had already achieved an official position which was both more secure and better paid than Akitada’s. But it rankled.
In his resentment he reminded himself that her background, though upper-class, was severely lacking in proper upbringing and that her manners had never been ladylike. In that sense she certainly matched her new husband perfectly. Akitada looked at her figure critically, trying to find fault. She was attractive, but no more so than his wife or other women he had had. There was a certain coarseness about her. All those muscles, while useful, were certainly not feminine. Yet, as much as he tried to soothe his hurt pride, the memory of how she had clung to him in her father’s room came unbidden, the way she had pulled him down to her and taken him passionately, hungrily into her embrace. Had she truly felt nothing at all?
A sudden sharp spasm in his knee recalled him.
“There,” said Ribata, vigorously massaging a palmful of ointment into his sore joint. “That should help. Go get some rest now. We’ll wake you when the food is ready.”
Haseo had stretched out under a pine and was asleep already. Akitada suddenly felt drained of strength, but he walked over to Toshito, who greeted him with a scowl.
“You probably want to know what I learned about the prince’s death,” Akitada said.
Toshito looked toward Masako, who shot an anxious glance their way. “Not particularly,” he said.
Akitada raised his brows. The fellow’s manners were insufferable. But he had no intention in wasting any more time on the puppy, so he said, “There was no murder. Okisada either died accidentally or committed suicide by eating fugu poison.”
Toshito turned a contemptuous face toward him. “Ridiculous,” he snapped. “I was there, remember? No one ate fugu fish, least of all Okisada. And why would he kill himself when he intended to claim the throne?”
Akitada felt like knocking the smug fool to the ground. Turning away abruptly, he said, “Nevertheless, he did,” and walked away to join Haseo.
The weather had remained dry and pleasant in the daytime but grew much cooler at night. Here in the mountains it was chilly in the shade and they had no clothes except their ragged pants. Akitada shivered and worried about Haseo, who looked flushed in spite of the cold. He found a sunny, sheltered hollow for himself, where he slept fitfully until Masako’s touch on his shoulder returned him to consciousness.
“The food is ready,” she said aloud, then whispered, “What did you say to Toshito?”
Akitada sat up. Tempting smells came from the large pot over the fire, and he felt ravenous. “Nothing to worry you. I told him that the prince committed suicide. He scoffed.”
“Oh.” She was going to say something else, but Toshito called to her.
Haseo looked better. He was less flushed and more inclined to take notice of the others. “Those two are in love,” he told Akitada with a nod toward the young couple.
They were standing close together, and as Akitada met Toshito’s eyes, the young man put a possessive hand on the girl’s hip.
“He doesn’t like you,” Haseo said. “Must be the jealous type. Though why he should worry about a pathetic scarecrow like you, I cannot fathom.”
Akitada, for his part, could not fathom Masako. After their meal, he found an opportunity to talk alone with her. She was washing their bowls in a stream that
ran behind the hermitage. Toshito had gone to gather more firewood.
“Why did you make love to me, Masako?” he asked.
He had startled her and she dropped one of the wooden bowls into the water and had to scramble after it. The delay gave her time to gather her wits. In her typical fashion, she, too, was blunt. “When I found out why you had come and what power you had, I knew you could help us. That is, help both Toshito and Father. I was desperate. But the papers were secret and I could not ask you, so I tried to win your regard . . . by other means.”
He flinched as though she had slapped him. “So you seduced me, and I was fool enough to allow myself to be seduced,” he said bitterly.
She nodded.
Akitada turned away, angry and shamed. There were many kinds of love. Their relationship had been only lust on his part after all, but something altogether different on hers. He had at least felt a strong attraction to her, but she had merely manipulated him to gain her ends. And she had done what she did for another man, for Toshito. It struck him as abominable that some women, like Masako, strong, independent, and unconventional, would not hesitate to give their bodies to another man to save their husbands or lovers. He thought of Tamako. He would gladly sacrifice his life for her and his new son, and believed she would do the same for him, but he hoped she would never sleep with another man for any reason. The very thought made him sick.
Masako whispered, “Don’t tell Toshito, please. He’s jealous of you.”
