The Old Men of Omi (18 page)

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 her 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.

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 Kosehira’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.

Shaking off these unpleasant memories, he made an effort to chat with Kosehira and to take an interest in the sights on the way.

Being on horseback again was pleasant for a change. The road was the Nakasendo, a wide and busy stretch of highway which passed along Lake Biwa and connected to the Tokaido, the great Eastern Highway. He caught broad views of the great lake, blue under sunny skies and dotted here and there with the sails of fishing boats. Now and then larger ships passed on their way to Otsu or back to Hikone. To his left stretched fields toward wooded hills, and up ahead the Suzuka Mountains were blue in the distance. There was a good deal of traffic, both by foot and on horseback. Occasional ox-drawn wagons caused brief slow-downs. But the people were entertaining and interesting and gradually Akitada’s depression lifted.

Toward sunset, they arrived tired and dusty at their destination in the foothills of the Suzuka Mountains. The Taira manor was a large walled compound and, being near the highway, used to offering shelter to important travelers. In this case, they were expected, and servants rushed to take their horses and to announce them.

Their host greeted them on the wide veranda of the main house. Taira Sukemichi was their age, in his early forties, a handsome man with a small mustache and a ready smile. Apparently he led an active life, for he was lean of body and brown from being out in the sun. He was also affable, greeting them with expressions of joy at seeing Kosehira again and at making the acquaintance of the “famous” Akitada.

Akitada, who hated flattery and knew he was anything but famous, shrank into himself and was at a loss for words. No matter. Kosehira and Sukemichi carried on a lively conversation. Akitada deduced that Nakahara was expected shortly and a fine dinner awaited them. Beyond this, the talk was of hunting and events in Otsu. Akitada listened, putting in an answer now and then about the
sohei
affair.

After a brief tour of the house, Sukemichi took them to a special room where he kept his birds. Akitada had expected these to stay in the stables, but apparently such creatures were highly prized and shared the main house with its owner.

Two servants were specifically assigned to care for the ten falcons. The
takajo
, or master falconer, greeted them and took them around. Along one wall of the room elaborate bamboo perches held the hawks which were displayed somewhat in the manner of fine horses in some wealthy men’s stables, each bird occupying its own perch, tethered by silken cords with tassel in many colors. Noble birds indeed!

Akitada eyed them askance. Not only did he dislike their fierce stares and the way they ruffled their feathers when he approached, but he thought displaying wild birds in this manner and at such expense (given their special room, their silk ropes, and their personal keepers) was wasteful; and frivolous.

Sukemichi clearly did not share this view. He introduced each bird by name, giving its ancestry and value, and describing its performances enthusiastically. His father, he said, had also kept falcons and used them for hunting pheasants for the imperial table. He had frequently entertained important guests, though he had never been able to play host to an emperor.

“My father almost managed it once,” Sukemichi said, “but then there was a murder here, and the investigation dragged on. In the end, the court canceled.”

Akitada’s ears sharpened. “A murder?” he asked.

Sukemichi looked a little embarrassed. “I wasn’t here at the time. I was still a student at the university.”

Kosehira made polite noises and asked a few questions about falconry, but Akitada did not bother. They were handsome birds in spite of their dangerous manner, but he hoped he would not be expected to carry one of them to the hunt scheduled for the next day.