by I. J. Parker
The Korokan was part of Chikuzen province, and therefore under Akitada’s authority. The noble families dealing with Chinese merchants, and perhaps with the Chinese government, were not. They traded under the protection of powerful men at court.
That left the Hakata merchants, both Japanese and Chinese. The presence of the Chinese settlement encouraged Japanese merchants from other parts of Japan to deal directly with the Chinese. And this trade was very rich indeed. As he read through his predecessor’s documents, Akitada found Chinese goods unloaded in Hakata harbor included perfumes, make-up, their ingredients, such as aloe, musk, clove, sandalwood, oils, and salves. Medicinal imports involved herbs and animal parts as well as betel nuts. Exotic objects, such as tiger and leopard skins and glass utensils, apparently were also in demand. In addition, of course, large amounts of silks and brocades made in China were brought into the country.
Akitada wondered how all these goods were being paid for, but the documents did not concern themselves with this. They noted only the harbor fees in aggregate as collected each month. Given the number of ships listed, these seemed very modest to him, and he searched for individual assessments. Certain ships seemed to have paid considerably less than others. In each case, a notation read “special cargo.” Akitada glanced up at the lighter rectangles on his walls and decided the special cargo might well have been art objects collected by Governor Tachibana.
At this point, he yawned and put the documents back into their boxes. He pulled out the letter he had been writing to Tamako, reread his last words, then added the line, “I’m as lonely as the pine on the sea shore, looking homeward, longing for the embrace of the wisteria vine.”
*
The next morning, another day of clear skies and birdsong, he was sipping his tea after the usual bowl of rice gruel, when Tora came in.
Akitada offered tea, but Tora shook his head. He poured himself some wine instead. Akitada said, “I don’t know how you can drink wine early in the morning. It just makes my head fuzzy.”
Tora drank deeply, smacked his lips, and poured another. “It makes my blood move faster,” he said with a grin. “That guard captain is a bastard. Teaching him his manners has worn me out.” He sat down. “I thought you might want to hear how the murder investigation is going.”
“Please.”
With considerable satisfaction, Tora described the sights and sounds of Hakata and outlined the case and the statements of the son and daughter. He was voluble about the shrine priest’s wife.
“Hmm,” said Akitada. “In my experience such behavior by children, though reprehensible, is often the result of something the parent has done. What about the son?”
“Oh, he’s a loser. He gambles and was fired for drunkenness. He claims he hasn’t been home for a long time, but he sees his father regularly when the old man delivers goods in Hakozaki. Apparently, they don’t get along. He made no effort to defend him and implied the father might have left early.”
“Hmm. What’s this about Hakozaki? What was the father delivering?”
“His dolls. There’s a shipping harbor there.”
“Yes, it’s privately owned. Can you find out what sorts of things are being traded there?”
“Maybe, though Maeda may not want to go back there. Hiroshi made him angry. He’s got a nasty mouth.”
“This investigation and your acquaintance with Sergeant Maeda are useful. You may as well continue.”
Tora looked quite happy about this. He quickly quaffed another cup of wine and departed with an airy wave of his hand, wishing his master “a fine day.”
Akitada pushed his tea cup aside and reached for the document box he had worked on the night before. Carrying this to the tribunal office, he felt sorry for himself. Tora was off to Hakata on the trail of a killer, and Saburo had plans to explore the city after dark tonight. He was the only one tied to dusty documents and government files, exactly the sort of thing he had hoped to escape in the capital.
Mori rose and bowed when he entered. Two strangers also rose from behind desks, bowing deeply.
“The scribes sent from Dazaifu,” Mori explained and introduced them. Akitada saw two nondescript middle-aged men he hoped were up to the work. They needed more staff, but there was hardly any money or rice to pay them. He nodded to the newcomers.
Mori seemed to have taken pains with his costume today. His robe looked new, and a formal small, stiff hat had replaced the soft one he had worn before. Akitada guessed Mori had dressed for his new position and to impress the scribes. He suppressed a smile as he sat down with his document box.
“Perhaps you can answer a question, Mori,” he said. “I see we unload all sorts of goods in Hakata harbor. What happens to these?”
“Oh, they are transferred to other ships, or taken overland by porters or ox carriage, or they are warehoused.”
“Hmm. In other words, they already have buyers? How are the Chinese merchants compensated?”
“Why, payment is in other goods, or rice, or gold, sir.”
“The documents only list taxes collected and names of ships. Who are the buyers?”
“Oh, it could be anybody, sir.”
“You mean you don’t know?”
“Well, sometimes we know. There was a Nara temple, for example, that bought a whole cargo of religious objects and books. And, of course, the local merchants buy some of the things.”
“Does the court in the capital purchase directly from the Chinese merchants?”
Mori looked blank. “I don’t think so, sir. The Chinese goods go mostly to local merchants or landowners. They pass them on to Japanese merchants.”
“I see.”
Actually, he did not see. It seemed to him there must be huge profits collected by local people. The trouble was one could deal with paperwork just so long, and then the facts and figures, those black characters on a white ground, started doing a mad dance, and one was completely lost. He thought again with envy of Tora, who was even now riding happily toward Hakozaki where real people were engaged in the activities he was trying to comprehend on paper.
He got up and walked onto the veranda. Outside, the clear blue sky stretched into the distance. Somewhere to the north was the Inland Sea and Hakata harbor and Chinese merchants. What was to prevent him from going there now? Only his position. Governors did not mingle with the common people. Normally, they travelled with a procession of soldiers and servants. And that, of course, would not get him close enough to the people to learn about their lives.
He remembered the times when he had mingled with the crowds like an ordinary man. In Kazusa province, he had been young and very foolish, and yet it had been wonderful.
Surely nobody would know him here, if he wore ordinary clothes. He had not been in Kyushu long enough to be recognized. Of course, if he were to meet someone who would remember him later, it could be embarrassing. He would almost certainly get a reprimand for not observing proper decorum.
The sun was warm, and overhead sea gulls circled, their wings catching the sun and flashing brightly against the immense blue sky.
He went back inside and interrupted Mori, who was instructing one of the scribes. “I’m going for a ride, Mori. If there are any problems, speak to Saburo.”
In his room, Saburo informed him that the boy had brought him a present. “He had a hard time with it, so I helped him. Go outside and take a look.”
Akitada stepped on his narrow veranda and saw a small cherry tree in a large tub where there had been nothing but bare gravel before. The little tree was heavily in bud. He did not know what to say. This act of kindness and welcome, delivered belatedly, left him speechless.
“It seems this was one of the things carried away and not returned,” Saburo explained. “Koji knew where it was and got it back for you.”
“He’s a good boy. We must see what we can do for him.” Akitada smiled at Saburo. “Maybe things won’t be too bad here after all.”
In a happy mood, he returned
to his room and changed quickly into a plain brown robe and boots. A soft hat replaced the small official cap. Saburo watched in astonishment. Akitada said, “I’m going to have a look at Hakata.”
“Shall I come, sir?”
“No.”
Saburo’s face fell. “You’d better take your sword. You never know what might happen.”
“I’m going alone and without a sword. Anything else would attract attention. I’ll be an ordinary man, strolling about and looking into shops. I may not be back until dark. Meanwhile, you’ll be in charge.” With a light step, he hurried to the stables, selected a decent but unremarkable horse, thanked the startled stable boy Koji for his present, and rode out of the gate with a lighter heart than he had had in many weeks.
The distance to Hakata was modest and over the same road he had come by before. But this time, Akitada enjoyed the ride and looked about him with less foreboding. The road was still crowded with traffic moving in both directions, but he now noted comforting details. Trees were about to bloom and rice fields newly planted. The farmers with their carts piled with early vegetables were going to the market in Hakata. On the Mikasa River, fishermen worked in their boats. Soon the low roofs of Hakata appeared, stretching out across the plain between the Mikasa and Naka Rivers all the way to the blue sea beyond. The larger islands beyond the distant horizon were the provinces Iki and Tsushima, two of the nine which had given the large island Kyushu its name “Nine Provinces.”
He left his horse at the Hakata post station, and started walking. It was good to get some exercise. He had become stiff and lazy on the long boat journey. The people he saw differed little from those at home. They looked like decent, hard-working people. He took courage from this, but those he must discover were no ordinary men. They were almost certainly already on their guard about the new governor.
At Hakata police headquarters, he paused, hoping to see Captain Okata and the capable Sergeant Maeda. But when one of the constables noticed him, Akitada moved on.
The main street was busy. It led to the harbor, and goods were transported in both directions by hand carts, ox carts, and porters bent under heavy loads. At the harbor, he located the harbor master’s office and watched as clerks ran about between piles of goods or argued with ship captains and merchants. Each clerk had an abacus tied to his belt and carried fistfuls of lists. Good, he thought, the harbor master must be conscientious.
He turned next toward the market, a more modest version of the markets in the capital but otherwise very similar. It was crowded. The vendors shouted their wares, and the shoppers bargained with farmers who sat amid their produce. These vegetables were still modest at this time of the year, but already some greens and fresh herbs were for sale in this warm climate. He also saw eggs and rice cakes, as well as fish and other creatures from the sea. The abundance and low prices cheered him. The low rice supplies in the provincial store house would not be needed for the coming months.
The smell of the hot foods was tempting, and when he saw a restaurant where guests sat outside on benches in the warm spring sunshine, he decided to go there. He was tired from the walking and would eat his midday meal in comfort while watching the people of his new province going about their business.
Choosing a seat near the street, he ordered noodle soup. He was fond of the sort served as a cheap meal in the capital and encountered it all too rarely at home or during the elaborate formal dinners he had to attend. A steaming bowl arrived quickly, costing only three coppers, and pleased him so much he finished it quickly and asked for another. His aching legs also appreciated the rest, and so he took his time over the second bowl as he watched the people passing by.
He soon noticed a man, a gentleman by his somewhat formal blue robe and small stiff hat. It seemed to him he had passed by earlier and was now coming back. Not only was this his second appearance, but he looked very sharply at Akitada as he passed.
Had he been recognized? Come to think of it, the man looked vaguely familiar. Elderly, though not really old. Given to some corpulence, but still straight-backed and with a firm step.
There were two occasions when they could have met: on his recent visit to Dazaifu or immediately after landing in Hakata. He was still searching his memory, when the gentleman returned a third time with a quicker step and took a seat at a nearby table. He ordered, then looked at Akitada again.
This was becoming awkward. Should he leave or should he confront the man?
The waiter brought the new guest a flask of wine and a cup. The man picked these up and came across to Akitada.
Making a deep bow, he said, “May I join you, Excellency? Forgive me, but I think you must have forgotten me.”
It was embarrassing, but at the last moment Akitada remembered. He smiled and returned a slight bow. “Not at all, sir. Please sit down. You’re Kuroda, the local shrine priest. We met briefly on my arrival.”
Kuroda looked a little disappointed. Perhaps he had expected apologies, or greater respect. He sat, saying rather stiffly, “I didn’t mean to intrude on your thoughts, but it seemed improper not to acknowledge the acquaintance.”
This was clearly a reprimand for ignoring Kuroda. Akitada took a dislike to the priest, but such men enjoyed considerable respect in their communities. It would not be wise to aggravate him further. He said politely, “I’m very glad you did. Perhaps you can tell me about Hakata. I’m very much a stranger here.”
Kuroda seemed slightly mollified and puffed himself up a little at being consulted. “Come, you’re not truly a stranger, Excellency. You are, if I recall, a direct descendant of our revered Tenjin.”
Tenjin was the posthumous name bestowed upon Sugawara Michizane on the occasion of his deification. Akitada’s ancestor had become a god, and shrines were built to him all over the country. Miracles had allegedly happened over the past century. Akitada might have felt proud except for one circumstance: all this veneration was due to fear.
Michizane’s death from an unjust exile with inhuman conditions had produced a crisis of conscience among his enemies. They had ascribed all disasters befalling the nation to the vengeance of Michizane. An abnormal number of diseases, earthquakes, typhoons, droughts, and imperial illnesses had brought about his deification and veneration. This appalled Akitada, who did not much believe in vengeful ghosts and certainly did not wish to have Michizane remembered as one.
However, in this instance he merely nodded.
“Have you visited his shrine, yet? It’s magnificent. We pride ourselves on having made a special effort because Kyushu is the place of the Great One’s death.”
“I shall give myself the honor as soon as immediate duties permit it. I wonder if you’d be so kind and tell me a little of local conditions?”
“Gladly, Your Excellency. Is there anything special you want to know?” The priest smiled.
Akitada decided smiling was not one of his habits. It was merely an infrequent social gesture. He said, “I’m ill at ease about the large number of foreign persons who seem to be resident in my province. Perhaps you might enlighten me a little about them?”
“Ah. Well you’ve met Feng and Yi, the two men who administer their respective settlements. They are both most respectable gentlemen. Feng is a very successful merchant, third generation of merchants who have worked tirelessly to further trade between our countries. And Yi is a schoolmaster. He runs Hakata’s school and has prepared many a hopeful son of the local gentry for entry to the imperial university. He’s a very learned man. Under such men, the two communities are exceedingly well-run and will not give you any problems.”
“Thank you. That’s good to hear, but what about the trading situation?”
Perhaps it was his imagination, but Kuroda seemed startled by the question. He looked away, clearly gathering his thoughts before replying. “Hakata derives its income from trade, particularly from shipping,” he said. “Tax shipments pass through here, and most of the common people are employed in shipping and transport. I’m not s
ure what aspect you’re interested in.”
“As there are many Chinese and Koreans here, apparently comfortably and permanently settled, foreign trade comes to mind.”
“Ah. But you’re aware, I think, that our laws restrict the exchange of goods with China and Koryo. Since the Toi invasion, the government in Dazaifu has kept a close eye on this.”
“Perhaps, but I’m told the foreign merchants simply take their cargo to landing places belonging to local landowners, thus escaping both restrictions and taxes. Is this a problem in Chikuzen province?”
Now Kuroda was really uncomfortable. Akitada deduced that he did indeed know of illegal practices but would at all costs protect the people involved.
And as expected, Kuroda lied. “I’ve been told such trading has been legalized with special sanctions. In my position I’m not privy to these activities, Your Excellency. If there are illegalities, they are surely extremely rare.”
And with that, he made his excuses and departed. Akitada looked after him thoughtfully. He did not linger either. Paying his bill, he set out for Master Feng’s shop.
The building was of an impressive size, and the very handsome carved and gilded panels and shop signs hinted at success. He entered.
The interior was dim after the bright street outside. A strangely exotic smell hung in the air: the scent of sandalwood and lacquer, of paint pigments and strange perfumes, of paper and exotic woods. It took him a moment to adjust his eyes. Then he saw racks upon racks of merchandise: porcelain bowls and dishes in every imaginable shape and color, earthenware vessels with lustrous glazes, carved figures, dolls, metal braziers with ornate patterns, musical instruments of all sorts, stacks of fabrics in many colors, including silks, gauzes, and brocades, embroidered coats and jackets for women, embroidered sashes for men, and a very large number of books and rolled up scrolls. These racks not only covered all the walls, but many were free-standing and divided the large space into smaller ones. He was so impressed by this abundance that he did not notice the slight young man who approached from behind one of the racks on silent felt shoes.
