The Old Men of Omi (6 page)

Kosehira arrived that evening looking tired, but the eager greetings from his children, who had watched for him, and the sight of Akitada cheered him instantly. Making an apologetic gesture to Akitada, he listened to the excited tale his youngest son was bursting with—it involved the capture of a lizard who had escaped again—and he admired a drawing by his youngest daughter, then laughed out loud when the next daughter’s kitten took exception to the dog and lashed out. The dog squealed and ran, and the kitten chased after it.

Only after greeting his wives and enquiring about the time of the evening meal did he take Akitada by the arm and walk him into the garden.

“What a day!” he said. “You must forgive me. There were so many callers with complaints, petitions, reports, invitations, and suggestions that I couldn’t get away sooner. Have you been bored?”

Akitada smiled. “Not at all. Your daughter Yukiko showed me your beautiful garden.” He made this admission half fearfully, wondering what her father would make of it.

Kosehira shot him a curious glance. “Good, Yukiko has made herself useful. What do you think of her?”

“She is quite beautiful and charming. And I take it she’s a clever girl also.”

Kosehira chuckled. “Did she tell you she studies Chinese?”

“You aren’t supposed to know.”

“I knew all along. Yukiko has her own mind. She always gets what she wants. Since she’s also sweet and affectionate and loves people and animals, I don’t have the heart to deny her. I’m afraid I’ve always doted on her and she knows it. Don’t tell her.”

Akitada smiled and promised. There was something wonderful about the bond between a father and a daughter, he thought. He loved his children equally, but Yasuko could melt his heart with her smile. Still, the subject of Yukiko made him uncomfortable and he changed the subject. “Any interesting business in Otsu?”

“Oh, nothing. Though we do seem to have a crime or two. Someone may have killed an old judge in town, and up in the Echi district, two old men have been attacked on the road. Both are dead.”

“I suppose,” said Akitada slowly, “that this isn’t bad, given the very busy highways passing through your province.”

Kosehira sighed. “You’re right, of course, but when a judge is involved, I have to pay attention.” He cheered up. “Now come and let’s see what cook is surprising us with. My first lady sounded very mysterious about their plans this morning.”

The surprise was roasted pheasant. Normally prohibited to devout Buddhists, pheasant tended to make people bend the rules. The traditional hunting skills still thrived among noblemen who enjoyed hunting the birds both with bow and arrow and with falcons. Kosehira’s table had been provided with several birds as a gift to the governor from a friend who owned a pheasant preserve and supplied the imperial table with the birds.

Akitada enjoyed the meal, but the sight of Yukiko, her head bent over her tray, eating little, and never once raising her eyes to him, made him feel guilty. He wished now that he had been friendlier. She had taken time to amuse him because he was a guest, and he had made her feel ashamed.

Well, he would find a chance to reassure her.

When Akitada woke the next morning and thought about his encounter with Lady Yukiko, he panicked. The whole conversation had been most uncomfortable and improper. Not only must he not seek her out to reassure her, he must do his best to avoid any more private meetings.

Having made this decision, he felt better and got up. He would start his day with some exercise and then ride into town with Kosehira. There he could look in on the progress of the temple case, and then … well then surely something would offer.

Slipping on his hunting trousers over his undergown, he tied them at the waist. Then he put on his boots, stuffing the trousers inside. Taking his sword, he went to look for Tora.

Tora was at the well in the service area, splashing water on his face and using an end of his shirt to dry himself.

“Good Morning, Tora!” Akitada called out. When Tora turned, he gaped. “What the devil has happened to you?”

Tora grinned and touched his left cheek. “You mean this? Does it show?”

“Yes. You have a black eye. What have you been up to now? You know we have to behave ourselves while we are guests of the governor.”

“Not my fault. I got a fist in my face when I asked a bunch of monks what they were up to.”

Akitada raised his brows. “Oh. I don’t suppose you feel much like a work-out then?”

Tora snorted. “What makes you think that, sir?” He grinned. “About those monks …”

“Later! Get your sword.”

He followed Tora to his room in the guest quarters and was astonished to see that he had tidied up the place. His bedding was rolled up neatly, and he had placed his clothes carefully over a stand with his sword hanging from its end and his empty saddle bag folded underneath. Akitada had expected something quite different. Had Tora’s wife taught him so well? He watched as Tora tucked his jacket into his trousers, put on boots, and took down his sword.

“We could go outside, but there’s gravel. In the stable yard we’d have more solid ground,” Tora said.

“I don’t relish being watched by the grooms. As for the gravel, are you trying to make excuses again?”

Tora grinned. “Never! You’d better watch yourself, sir!”

They laughed and jumped lightly down into the small courtyard outside Tora’s room. The area was small and private, being fenced in. Akitada felt surprisingly well and immediately went into the familiar crouching stance. Tora followed suit, and with a mutual shout they began their practice. This consisted of a series of set exchanges to remind them of the appropriate responses to each move. Tora took the lead. He was clearly more familiar with the sequence. Akitada bit his lip: he had forgotten too much.

Worse, he was soon out of breath and his reactions slowed. Sweat started trickling down his face and back.

“It’s getting warm. Let’s shed these shirts,” he proposed.

They stripped to their trousers and continued. For a while, the cool air on Akitada’s wet skin felt wonderfully refreshing, and he got in a few good moves. But soon he tired again and made mistakes. Ashamed of his poor performance, he kept on a while longer until a badly handled move made him slow to respond to the next attack, and Tora’s sword almost sliced into his arm.

They stopped. Akitada was bent double to catch his breath, and Tora wiped more perspiration from his face.

“You need regular practice, sir,” Tora said, eying Akitada’s exhausted stance.

“Yes. That was a shameful performance,” Akitada acknowledged, straightening. “I had no idea that a few months of doing nothing could ruin a man so completely.” He stretched. “I’m past it, Tora. I’m an old man. I don’t think I’ll ever be as good again as I was.”

“Hmm,” said Tora judiciously. “I’ve slowed down a lot, too, but a man should never give up. We’ll practice every day. And I’ll get hold of a set of staves. I like using
bo
for a smoother movement. How about it?”

Akitada smiled. Tora had taught him the use of the fighting stick many years ago. At the time it was the only weapon a man like Tora was allowed. His sword fighting skills, acquired during a brief military stint, were mediocre, and Akitada had traded lessons with the sword for those with the
bo.
The memories cheered him, and he said, “Very well. It shall be as you say. I’m in your hands. Now tell me about your eye.”

Tora did so, concisely and with a good deal of anger. When he was finished, Akitada nodded.

“I share your anger, but there’s nothing I can do. If this man is really one of their peasants, they have a right to order him back to his fields.” He put on his shirt again and thought for a moment. “I suppose you could look into the matter, because they may well come back. From your description, they recognize no master but their own superiors. It’s despicable. But be careful. By all accounts those
sohei
are vicious.”

Tora grinned. “They don’t scare me, sir. Though I did notice something. One of those bastards had a weird tattoo on the back of his right hand. A circle with a triangle inside it. Doesn’t that mean he’s a convicted criminal?”

“I don’t know what strange practices the warrior monks may have. But you’re right. Some provincial governors still encourage tattooing repeat criminals. Besides this sort of thing is frequently done to members of a gang of highway robbers.”

“How can the monks take in convicts?”

“No doubt the man claimed that Buddha has saved him from a life of crime. Or perhaps he’s only a lay-monk. Many of the
sohei
are simply hired thugs. Anyway, be careful. Oh, and before I forget it, when you have the time, ride home to make sure all is well. And tell the children that they will attend the great shrine festival later this month. That will cheer them up.”

Tora’s smile broadened. “Will do, sir. Umm, suppose I leave late, spend the night, and return early tomorrow? That way I’ll be available to you during the day.”

Akitada suppressed a smile. “Excellent idea.”

The exercise had certainly done nothing for Akitada’s self confidence, and he was determined to stay out of Lady Yukiko’s way. After washing at the well, he changed into formal clothes and joined Kosehira on his ride to the tribunal.

He had a vague notion of paying a visit to the Masuda mansion to see how the young heir was getting along, but Kunyoshi was eager to show him what they had found in their search of the provincial archives. Since the papers related to dubious transfers of land from private owners to Enryaku-ji, Akitada sat down and started to go through them. The illegalities had been hidden rather cleverly, he found, and congratulated Kunyoshi on noticing that all was not as it should be.

In the end, however, there was not enough evidence to put pressure on the temple, and Akitada decided to put the documents aside until they could build a bigger case.

It was nearly midday when he got up and stretched. The unaccustomed morning practice had made him sore again, though he thought this a better soreness than the back pain from his ride to Otsu. He had just decided to eat in town and then climb up to the Masuda place, when Kosehira put his head in the door.

“Akitada! Am I glad you’re still here. I need a favor.”

“Gladly. What can I do?”

“Come, I’ll tell you on the way.” Kosehira noted belatedly that everyone had risen and was bowing to him. He said, “Oh, forgive me, gentlemen. Please don’t interrupt your work. I hope I see you all well this morning. Can you spare Lord Sugawara?”

They straightened and smiled, and Kunyoshi, always the spokesman, assured the governor that his lordship had permission to leave.”

Akitada chuckled when they were outside, but Kosehira looked distracted. “Listen,” he said. “Chief Takechi has sent a messenger. Something is wrong about that judge’s death. I can’t possibly leave. I have to meet with the prime minister’s secretary to account for the fact that I have given no support to Onjo-ji in their case against Enryaku-ji. As you may guess, the prime minister and his immediate family are supporters of Onjo-ji.”

“But surely you cannot be expected to act for one or the other before my delegation has sifted through the documents and the Ministry of Justice has decided on guilt or innocence?”

“Naturally, but that doesn’t mean the prime minister can’t try to muddy the waters.”

“Of course I’ll go to talk to Takechi, but you need merely tell this secretary that your hands are tied until the official investigation is complete.”

Kosehira sighed. “You’re too logical, Akitada. I must find some other method.”

Amused, Akitada went to have a horse saddled. It struck him for the first time that Kosehira did not always have an easy time of it in spite of being a member of the ruling family.

At police headquarters, Takechi was out, but they directed him to the judge’s house.

Nakano had done well for himself. His house aspired to mansion status. Nakano had built outbuildings, added a wall and a roofed gate, and laid out a garden in the back. The gate was open but two constables kept an eye on a group of onlookers in the street. It was a familiar scene that Akitada had encountered many times. A violent death drew the curious, and the law had to step in to protect the investigation.

He identified himself, telling the guards that he had come from the governor. Very properly, one of them went to notify the chief who was inside the house.

Takechi came out and greeted Akitada enthusiastically. “How good of you to come yourself, sir,” he said as Akitada dismounted and a constable took his horse. “This looks suspicious after all. I’d be very glad to get your opinion.”

They walked into the late judge’s residence. Akitada saw immediately that Nakano had spared no money on furnishings. The
tatami
mats were thick and hardly worn; the cushions looked plump and were of silk; numerous scrolls of scenes around the lake hung on the walls; and here and there, folding screens stood about with pictures of mountain temples and hermitages.

Akitada asked, “Did he belong to a wealthy family?”

“No. His father was a mid-level official in Aki province. I think he owned some land there, but nothing impressive. He earned this himself by investing in business.”

“You don’t say.” Akitada remembered the way Nakano had confiscated the large sum of gold he had carried in order to buy the child’s freedom. Nakano had relinquished it eventually when he realized Akitada’s background, but it had been done with great reluctance. No doubt he had “earned” some of his wealth in his capacity as judge.

Takechi took him to the judge’s study. This, too, was furnished well. Nakano had a large library and his desk was elegant and heavily carved. The writing utensils on it were made of jade or lacquer. Some sheets of paper with spidery handwriting lay on the desk. In a corner, his bedding lay spread out on a thick mat.

“He was lying here,” Takechi said, pointing to a place in the middle of the room. The floor was bare and showed scuff marks from many feet. The body was gone.