by I. J. Parker
“Show me your knife!” he ordered.
The smug expression on the small cripple’s face changed to unease. After a moment, he reached into his jacket and produced a small, sharp knife.
Akitada inspected it. The blade was clean, but traces of blood still clung to the joint between blade and hilt. “Did he give you trouble?” he asked mildly, gesturing toward the corpse.
A nod and a small cringing wiggle were his answer.
“You thought he might alert the soldiers?”
Akitada was rewarded with a more energetic nod and a tentative grin.
“That took courage. The soldiers might have caught you.”
Turtle cried, “I was quick, your honor. He was sitting up and looking at the soldiers coming toward us. I could tell he was glad to see them. I pulled my knife and reached around him like so.” He gestured vividly. “Then I jumped behind a bush like my master told me to.” Turtle straightened his shoulders proudly and gave Tora a wide smile. When Tora remained impassive, Turtle turned back to Akitada. “I did right, didn’t I, your honor?”
“You did right.” Akitada returned the knife. “Put Wada with the other corpses, Tora. I’m glad your servant spared you the trouble.”
Tora growled. “He deprived me of the satisfaction. The bastard should’ve died before he was born.” And with that peculiar logic, Tora slung the corpse of Wada, once the most feared man on Sadoshima, over his shoulder and walked away.
Akitada looked after him with affection and then retraced his steps to the passage where he had fought Kumo. The body was gone, though large bloodstains still marked where it and the other slain men had lain. How quickly it had been over! All those weeks in the mine he had thought of what he would say and do to Kumo when they finally met face to face. It had turned out very differently. They had exchanged few words, and those had been mostly Kumo’s, accusing Akitada of bloodlust. He knew now that Kumo had been wrong, that a man may feel a certain exhilaration in fighting for his life or for a righteous cause, but that he would never kill for mere pleasure.
Surely Kumo must have known that he might die. He had simply not been a sword fighter. Akitada did not pride himself on special expertise and he had been exhausted, yet he had known immediately and with astonishing disappointment that the man was not much of an adversary. Kumo had talked about sacrifice and bowed with great reverence—as if he were about to carry out a sacred duty. Strange! The puzzle nagged at him.
Akitada went where Kumo had stood. As he recalled, the man had turned slightly toward his right. All that could be seen in that direction were two of the farm buildings and between them a narrow slice of the sparkling bay. No temple. No small shrine. No flying banners. Just a bit of water with a few fishing boats, some gulls, and that ship at anchor.
It was odd that there should be such a large ship outside a fishing harbor. What was it doing here? Why was it not at Mano?
He walked back up to the highway and looked across the houses of this small town. There was nothing of any significance on the waterfront. All the more substantial buildings—a temple and a few large farms like this one—were on higher ground. He shook his head in confusion and decided that he did not want to talk to Mutobe yet, not until he settled some of his uncertainties, some of the niggling suspicions in the back of his mind. And so he started walking along the road.
Something about the way Okisada had died still dissatisfied him. Shunsei had told him that Okisada habitually consumed fugu and had done so the night of the dinner because he had claimed to get relief from his constant pain by eating a small amount of the poison. It was Shunsei’s testimony which had convinced Akitada that the prince had died by his own hand.
Sakamoto had also thought that Okisada poisoned himself and that he had done so in order to throw suspicion on Toshito. But Sakamoto had not been in the others’ confidence. No, Akitada was convinced the true conspirators were Kumo, Taira, and Nakatomi.
According to Haru, the expert in matters pertaining both to fugu and to men, the poison could make a man feel as though he had entered heaven and give him back his sexual strength. What was more likely than that the self-indulgent Okisada had also become an expert in those properties of the fugu poison? Would such a man kill himself with it, intentionally or accidentally?
Akitada became transfixed in the middle of the roadway, much to the consternation of a group of peasants who had to pass him in order to visit the site of the battle. They eyed him with fear, this bearded, gaunt creature in silk robe and trousers but with bare feet and a scowl on his face. Wondering perhaps if he was some supernatural creature, they kept to the shoulder of the road, bobbing deep bows as they edged past him.
Akitada had been seized by an awful suspicion. He swung around suddenly to look past the peasants to the ship in the harbor and cried, “Hah, they think they have been clever, the scoundrels. But by heaven, they shall not get away with it!”
The peasants squawked and took off running.
Akitada walked back to the farmhouse, turning matters over in his mind before speaking to Mutobe. Nakatomi’s role had been crucial. And Taira had had a very good reason to refuse visitors at the manor. But he could not make out Shunsei. The monk had seemed too simpleminded for such an enormous deception. Amazingly, the clever plot had almost worked.
And then another thought came. Kumo and his men had worn their finest armor and ridden silk-trimmed horses. Their bows and arrows had been purely ceremonial. They had never been meant to be used in combat. Kumo was not chasing a couple of convicts, even if one of them was an imperial official. He had come here to serve “his” emperor and had only attacked because Akitada got in his way. That was why Kumo had faced battle with Akitada, claiming that he was sacrificing his Buddhahood for his emperor. He had been willing to kill Akitada even though that would prevent his salvation.
Whatever the true state of affairs, no time was to be lost. Mutobe must board the ship immediately. They must search the town. Akitada glanced again at the substantial roofs of the temple. That was where he would start.
Full of purpose again, he strode into the farmhouse and confronted the others with his suspicions.
“You cannot be serious!” gasped the governor, turning pale. “But how is this possible? And after all that time!” He rose and paced. “What will I do if it is as you say? How can I arrest him? What do I charge him with? I have no such authority. And you have lost your documents.” He stopped and stared accusingly at Akitada. “What will we do? This is a very delicate matter.”
“Delicate?” Mutobe’s continuing self-interest appalled Akitada. Did the man not know that there were duties he could not shirk? It was obvious that he could not expect much help from the man. But Mutobe was quite right about one thing. Without his papers, Akitada had no authority whatsoever and was dependent on Mutobe’s support. He took a deep breath. A shouting match would solve nothing. “It seems the ship in the harbor is a pirate craft. If you will board it and arrest the captain and crew, I will do the rest. I will need a few of your men. Please instruct them to obey Tora’s commands.”
Mutobe nodded reluctantly. “You will take the responsibility, then?”
“Yes.”
Mutobe still looked unhappy, but he agreed. “Very well. Let us go and get it over with.”
Akitada took eight of the soldiers and Mutobe the rest. Then they set off, Mutobe with his banner carried before him, Akitada without such marks of authority, though he pushed Kumo’s gilded sword through the silken sash of Mutobe’s spare robe, and smoothed his hair a little. Tora put on a little show of snapping commands at his troops, and they were off, followed by a gaggle of curious peasants.
The temple was a very modest one. It had no pagoda and only one main hall and some low buildings to house the local priest and visiting monks. An old man was sweeping the courtyard, but otherwise the scene was peaceful. Doubts began to stir in Akitada’s mind. How Toshito would mock if it turned out that Akitada was wrong again. And he could offer nothin
g but a far-fetched argument based on a fishwife’s tale! Sending a detailed report about Akitada’s activities to the emperor would be the perfect revenge for the governor’s son.
The old man stopped his sweeping, stared at them, then bowed. Perhaps he thought they were expected. Akitada took it for a hopeful sign. He made straight for the hall and took the stairs to the double doors, Tora and the soldiers at his heels. Throwing wide the doors on empty space, he shouted, “Is anyone here?”
The light was dim inside. Across from him was a long dais, and on the dais rested a Buddha figure. Behind the statue a lath screen extended across the hall. Lights flickered beyond and a shadow moved behind the screen.
His heart pounding, Akitada quickly crossed the hall and passed around the end of the screen. Here grass mats had been spread and more screens placed to create a series of smaller chambers. The first of these was empty, though a candle burned in a tall holder. Two silken cushions still held imprints. Akitada flung aside a flimsy screen, saw that the next enclosure was also empty, and rushed across it to tear aside the final screen.
Two old men huddled in the center of this room, their arms about each other and their eyes looking fearfully his way. Tora and the soldiers quickly surrounded them.
One of the two was Taira of the snow-white hair and beetling black eyebrows.
“Who are you? What do you want?” he quavered, hugging the other man to him.
Akitada’s eyes were on his companion. At first glance this man had appeared as senile as Taira, but Akitada now saw that he was only slightly past middle age. He looked much older because his skull was shaven, he was fat, and he had the unhealthy pallor of a sick person. He had changed greatly with the years, but there was no doubt in Akitada’s mind that this was Okisada, the Second Prince, formerly crown prince and heir to the imperial throne. Not dead, but very much alive.
He had the round face, small nose, and thick lips of his imperial and Fujiwara relatives, and once, years ago, on the occasion of an imperial procession, Akitada had seen him ride past in all the pomp and glory of his former exalted position. His present condition made a shocking change from those happier times, but Akitada had never forgotten his face.
He bowed deeply. “Your Highness,” he said, “My name is Sugawara Akitada. I regret extremely to find you under such circumstances. I am afraid that it is my duty to place you and Lord Taira under arrest for attempted treason.”
Okisada said nothing. His lower lip trembled and he clutched convulsively at Taira. Taira detached himself gently and said, “Let us resume our seats, Highness, and hear what this person has to say in explanation of such outrageous charges.”
Passing Akitada and the staring soldiers, he led his master back to the cushions in the first room. The soldiers put up the screen again. On a gesture from Akitada, they remained. A brazier full of glowing coals made the area hot and stuffy on this late summer day. Nobody invited Akitada to sit. He knelt formally, found that his knee hurt abominably, and sat back on his heels.
He addressed Okisada. “I have no doubt that you already know who I am and why I am here on Sadoshima, but to observe the formalities, I serve as temporary imperial envoy with powers to inquire into certain irregularities among the exiles here. More specifically I was sent to investigate Your Highness’s alleged murder. Would you care to explain why you performed this extraordinary charade?”
Okisada’s lower lip began to quiver again. Taira put his thin hand on his arm and said angrily to Akitada, “How dare you address His Imperial Highness in such a tone and with such words? Where are your credentials?”
“My lord, I believe you know very well where they are. Besides, since both of you are exiles here, I do not owe you any explanations. We are wasting time. I suppose you expect the arrival of the rebel Kumo before leaving on the ship at anchor in the harbor? I regret to inform you that Kumo is dead, and that Governor Mutobe is at this moment boarding the ship to arrest its captain and men. Your supporters will shortly be rounded up and tried for their involvement in this plot.”
Okisada cried out and clutched at Taira again. Taira turned very pale. He snapped, “You lie.”
Akitada removed the gilded sword from his sash and placed it on the mat before Taira. “I told you the truth,” he said. “I killed Kumo myself and took his sword off his body not an hour ago.”
They both looked at the sword in horror. Taira bit his lip, then his eyes searched Akitada’s face. Okisada began to weep.
“All for nothing,” the prince blubbered. “It was all for nothing. Poor Shunsei starved to death, and all my suffering wasted. Oh, why is this world so cruel to me?”
Taira murmured something soothing and stroked the prince’s back.
So Okisada’s lover had died, expecting to join his beloved in another world. Akitada sighed. There was little pleasure in confronting this man with his guilt. He was weak, spoiled, and self-centered, but he had been raised expecting to be emperor. The disappointment apparently had destroyed whatever good qualities the prince might once have had. He said, “I think you took a carefully measured amount of the fugu poison during the professor’s dinner in order to induce a deathlike trance. You did this to cause the governor’s son to be arrested for your murder and to cover preparations for your return to imperial power. Your charade worked because neither Sakamoto nor Mutobe’s son were familiar with this particular effect of the poison.”
“What you are pleased to call a charade, Lord Sugawara,” said Taira in a tired voice, “was no more than an accident. We all thought His Highness dead. It was his physician, Nakatomi, who discovered that the prince had fallen into a state approximating nirvana. He remained like that for days. We thought it a miracle when he returned to life, and we were, of course, overjoyed, but . . .” He paused, searching for words.
Akitada snapped, “In that case, why did you pursue the murder charge against young Mutobe? And why allow the monk Shunsei to die of grief?”
Okisada buried his face in a sleeve and sobbed.
Taira sighed. “You don’t understand. We had hoped for better treatment from the authorities here. Instead Mutobe and his son began a systematic campaign of persecution against us and our sole protector, the high constable. Don’t forget that you are in the presence of the rightful emperor. Our lives are dedicated to returning him to the throne.”
“And so you would have let young Mutobe die for a murder which did not happen?”
Taira raised his brows. “Certainly not. Exile is the worst that could happen to him. He is an irritating young man. A period of military service in the north might make a man of him.”
Akitada found himself agreeing with that. Having wronged Toshito by misjudging him had worsened his dislike for the young man. There was something about Toshito that made him the perfect target for false accusations. But it would not do to let Taira know of his feelings. He said coldly, “I do not believe you. Many people have spoken of the prince’s fondness for fugu. I expect he knew the effects of the poison very well indeed. But Sakamoto, Shunsei, and young Mutobe all thought the prince had died. You had the presumed corpse taken to Nakatomi, who pronounced death by poison. Then you staged a cremation and afterwards you, my lord, left for your mansion with the prince hidden in your sedan chair. There you and the prince waited until Toshito would be found guilty and Mutobe would be recalled. But two events interrupted your plans. First I arrived on the scene, and then Toshito escaped from prison.”
Taira growled, “Kumo always was too devout. He should have killed you.”
“Yes. I wondered why I was buried alive in his mine. I take it that the thief Genzo brought you my papers?”
Taira did not answer.
“Well, as I said, Toshito’s unexpected escape from prison caused another delay, and that is why you are still here now. With your ship at anchor in the harbor.”
The prince whimpered. Taira was very pale, but his black eyes burned. “Prove it! We have done nothing.”
“The proof is wait
ing. The governor is about to arrest the ship’s captain and crew. Then we will question Nakatomi. I doubt they will hesitate to speak under the circumstances. And with Kumo dead, your connections to the mainland and ties with the Ezo rebels are broken. Your contacts there will also be arrested. It is pointless to persist, my lord.”
There was a long silence. Then Taira said, “I wish to see Kumo’s corpse.”
Akitada dispatched Tora with four of the soldiers to bring the body. Then he turned to Okisada. “You must have been afraid of dying, Highness.”
Okisada sat up a little and dabbed the tears from his face. “Nonsense,” he muttered. “I was very careful. There is not another person in the world who knows as much about the fish as I do.”
Akitada heard the boast and believed it. But he still thought Okisada had been lucky. Or perhaps not. For what would happen next was in the hands of the emperor and his advisors, and it would hardly be as pleasant as Okisada’s exile on Sadoshima. As for Taira, a second attempt at rebellion meant the death penalty.
More to the point, Okisada had just admitted his guilt, though he would not think of himself as being either culpable or foolish. Taira compressed his lips, but did not chide his master.
“I have been wondering how you smuggled the fugu fish to the dinner,” Akitada went on. “Everyone said that you ate only Toshito’s stew and the dishes served by Sakamoto’s servants.”
“I have been in the habit of preparing my own fugu for years. It has certain properties which ease pain and produce a pleasant sense of well-being. That evening I brought a small amount of the so-called poison with me in my sleeve. Nobody noticed my adding it to the stew.”
Heavy steps sounded in the hall beyond the screen, then a dull thump. After a moment Tora appeared and asked, “Where do you want him?”
Before Akitada could answer there was a shout, and then a slight figure in fluttering white robes slipped past Tora. Ribata. A few steps into the dim room she stopped uncertainly. Her eyes found Okisada. She cried, “Cousin! It is true. You are alive. A miracle! Oh, praise the Buddha!” She went to him, knelt, bowed deeply, and then raised her shining face, taking his hands in hers. “Oh, my dear. How happy I am to find you alive after all! I was lonely for you, my almost-brother.”
