The Old Men of Omi (8 page)

The father made another turn and caught sight of Akitada. Startled, he stopped and put the child down. The boy wailed his protest.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Akitada said and went to pick up the toddler. The boy stopped crying to stare at Akitada.

“Forgive me, sir,” stammered his father. “I didn’t see you. Let me have him back. He’ll get your fine robe dirty.”

“I don’t mind. He’s a handsome boy. I used to do what you just did with my own children.” The boy got hold of Akitada’s ear and pulled, chuckling. Akitada was tempted to put him on his shoulders and start galloping but decided that his father would think him mad. He lifted the child up and down a few times, enjoying his delight, then handed him back.

“You must be Kiyoshi. The chief and I spoke with your wife earlier. I’m Lord Sugawara.”

Kiyoshi bowed deeply. “Tatsuko said a gentleman gave her silver. Was it you?”

Akitada nodded. “You have not been paid. It seemed wrong that the children should suffer because your master died.”

“We’re very grateful for this kindness. I can perhaps repay it by doing some work for you? You can see I’m very strong.”

He was indeed muscular, but Akitada had no need for more servants. He thanked him. “Perhaps instead you might talk to me about your late master?” he suggested.

“I’m at your service, but let me take my son back to his mother.”

Akitada wandered into the house, peering into rooms as he passed them. They were all empty, though furnished with thick
tatami
mats and amenities like candle holders, oil lamps, braziers, and small screens. Here and there, he also saw clothes racks. All of those things were of good quality and everything was very clean. The wooden floors shone. He thought of the poor young couple. Judge Nakano had certainly got his money’s worth from their services. Given the fact that Otsu provided many opportunities to earn a living, he began to wonder if Nakano had used some sort of threat to keep them in bondage.

And that, of course, would give them a motive. But a motive for what? Nakano’s death was most likely due to his age and ill health.

He returned to the study and cast another glance at the desk with its papers, fanciful writing implements, and that odd carving of Jizo. He picked it up to see if it might have an inscription, making it something like an amulet, but saw nothing.

“I’m ready now, sir.”

Akitada turned, startled. The young man was back. He was barefoot; that accounted perhaps for his silent movements. He looked curiously at the little figure in Akitada’s hand as he waited.

This room was the only one that was not painfully neat. The floor still bore all the marks of recent activity by constables and others.

The violent intrusion of strangers after a death.

“Any idea why your master had this little carving of Jizo?” Akitada asked, holding it up.

The young man shook his head. “I never saw it before his death, sir. It’s not the sort of thing the judge would own. It was on the floor when we found the master dead. My wife put it on his desk.”

“Strange. Where did it come from? Did he have any visitors recently?”

“No, sir. No one.”

“Well, then, did he go out the day before he died?”

“No, sir. My wife and I do the shopping.”

A brief silence fell while Akitada looked at the young man thoughtfully. If he had indeed worked against his will for the judge, he could not be trusted to tell the truth.”

The young man shifted nervously, then said, “If you’ll forgive me, sir, but the figure looks like the sort of cheap stuff people sell at markets and fairs around here. Travelers buy them for good luck, and we have many travelers passing though.”

“Hmm. Yes. But that doesn’t explain how it got here.” Akitada replaced the carving on the desk and looked about again. “I’ll mention it to the chief. Meanwhile it will be best if you and your wife stay out of this room. The police will seal the doors until the investigation is finished.”

The young man bowed. “Is there anything else, sir?”

Akitada noticed that the servant’s eyes wandered to the desk, and he glanced at it again. This time he noticed that the stack of notes had been shifted aside a little. “Have you or your wife tried to clean up here?”

“No! The police chief said not to touch anything.”

It came too quickly and with a furtive expression.

“Very good. That’s all for now. You may leave. I’ll see myself out.”

As soon as the young man was gone, Akitada scooped up the judge’s notes and put them inside his robe. Then he left, closing the door behind him.

Tora arranged to have a pair of staves sent to his room, then he, too, rode into Otsu. He was uneasy about the man he had rescued and wanted to check on him. His first call was at the harbor master’s office.

He dismounted and tied up his horse, then went inside. The clerks stared, but the harbor master saw him from his backroom and came to greet him.

“How may I assist, sir?” he asked with a nicely calculated bow, and a glance at Tora’s black eye.

“You recall the incident yesterday?”

“I do indeed. Please accept my deep regrets for the monks’ behavior toward you.”

Tora blinked, then got it. Touching his eye, he said, “Oh, this? That’s nothing. I came to check on that worker. Those bastards threatened him.”

“I haven’t seen him today. If he’s smart he’ll have left Otsu with his family. North of here, at Hikone, there’s also good work and it’s much safer.”

“Hmm.” Tora pondered this. It made sense, but he had a bad feeling about the man’s absence. He had not been eager to leave on the day of the incident, so why now? “What’s his name, do you know?”

“Kinzaburo. He comes from someplace near Awazu.”

“He was worried about his family, you said? Did he bring them to Otsu with him?”

“That’s what I thought. He lost his farm. They couldn’t have stayed behind.”

“And where would they live here?”

“There’s a workers quarter over there.” The harbor master pointed. “Most of the men employed in the harbor live there. It’s poor housing, but the rents are cheap.”

Tora thanked him and walked along the harbor looking at the teams of bearers and porters and scanning the area for armed monks. All was peaceful this morning. The unloading progressed briskly, and the men sang as they trotted back and forth between the quay and the bowels of the boats. Kinzaburo was not there.

The workers quarter seemed a safer bet for finding him. In Otsu, this looked not much different from all the poor housing wards in other cities. The capital had several of these in its western part, and Hakata’s had borne a strong resemblance to Otsu’s. Here as there, the harbor provided abundant work to unskilled men who had nothing to offer but a strong back and nimble feet. They labored as porters and bearers, carrying heavy loads on their backs, or as sailors, taking boats up and down the shores of Lake Biwa, or they took cargo by land in wagons or with pack horses. It was poorly paid work and very hard, but it was abundant and they all hoped to save a little by living in shacks or in one room in row houses so that some day they might buy a little bit of land.

Tora was familiar with them. Their dreams invariably came to nothing as the years passed and a large family, or drinking, or gambling consumed their savings. But a poor peasant whose land had been stolen by greedy monks and who was about to be put in bondage with his family might prefer even this hopeless existence.

The poor, mostly women, children, and the old, treated Tora with respect, and his questions eventually led him to one of the row houses. The last unit of this was the home of the porter Kinzaburo.

He walked into tragedy.

Children squalled inside. When Tora lifted the rag that served as a door and looked in, he saw two small children and a screaming baby lying in its mother’s lap. The mother cowered in a corner, her face bloodied and her body shaking. When she became aware of him, she started wailing. The small space looked as though a battle had raged in it. Broken crockery, torn clothes, and blood stains covered the dirt floor.

He was still staring, aghast, when a shrill voice behind him demanded, “Haven’t you done enough, you filth? Leave her alone.”

Tora turned and saw a bent old woman peering up at him from dim eyes. She held a stick in one trembling hand and waved it in threatening manner.

“Go away! And may the gods smite you!”

“What’s happened here, grandmother?” Tora asked, raising his hands to show his innocence.

She lowered her stick a little. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“Lieutenant Sashima, in the service of Lord Sugawara. I came to talk to Kinzaburo. Where is he and what’s happened?”

“The animals came down from the mountain and got him. And that’s not all those assholes did.” She shook her stick. “Look at her!”

“You mean the monks? From Enryaku-ji?”

“I don’t mean Onjo-ji. They’re holy men.” She peered past him into the room. “See what they did to her, poor girl? And her with a small babe.” She poked Tora with the sharp end of her stick until he stepped aside and let her pass. Waddling over to the cowering woman, she said, “Come, come, Keiko. Pull yourself together. They’re gone and the children are hungry.”

The woman responded with another heartrending wail.

“All right, Keiko,” the old one said firmly. “Enough of that. Get up now and let’s see what the bastards did to you.” She bent over the sobbing woman and pulled her up.

Tora turned away. It was clear that Keiko had been raped.

The old woman muttered softly, and gradually Keiko answered. There had been four of them. Kinzaburo had tried to fight them. Three of them had beaten him unconscious and dragged him out of the room. The fourth had told her to get the children ready. They were to return to their farm and work there. Then he had left. She had started to gather their few things, weeping all the while. When the three who had beaten up her husband returned, she was ready to go with them, but they had other things in mind and had taken turns raping her. Then they had left again.”

Tora cleared his throat. He was hoarse with anger. “Is she decent, grandmother?” he asked.

“Yes, yes. What do you want from her? Hasn’t she suffered enough?”

Keiko knelt on the floor, her face bowed.

“Forgive me, Keiko,” he said and cleared his throat again. “I came to help. I’m sorry I was too late. Do you have somewhere you can go with the children? Somewhere where those animals won’t find you?”

She shook her head. “We’ve only been here for two weeks. We don’t know anyone.”

The old woman said, “Well, you know me. Leave it to me. I’ll find you another place.” She turned to Tora. “But what will she do without her husband. How will they live?”

Tora fished around in his belt and counted out two pieces of silver and twenty coppers. “It’s all I’ve got, but I can get more. Make sure she isn’t robbed of the money. I’ll try to get Kinzaburo back.”

Keiko gave a little cry, laid the baby down and crawled to him, knocking her head against the dirt floor and murmuring, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Tora was embarrassed. “Stop that!” he said roughly, then recalled what she had gone through so recently and added more gently, “You’re welcome. I blame myself for not warning your husband about those bastards. I’ll do my best to make them pay for it.”

She sniffled and sat up. “You’re a good man,” she said softly.

She was quite pretty, he thought, even with her swollen and bloodied face and with disheveled hair. She was also very young to have already given birth to three children. He thought of his own, only, son. Hanae had not expressed any desire for more children, and he had not pressed her. Having children did something to women’s bodies, and his Hanae was still as slim and desirable as ever. But sometimes he wished he had a houseful of little ones, like his Excellency Fujiwara.

He thanked her for her good opinion of him and pressed the money into her hand. “Now best get away, or they’ll come back for you.”

Tora returned to provincial headquarters and went to look for Okura. He found him at the guards’ barracks, playing
kemari
in an open area outside. He and eight of his men had formed a circle and were passing the ball from one to the next by kicking it. Hands could not be used, and the ball must not touch the ground. It was a difficult game that required concentration and agility.

Tora watched for a moment and saw they were good. Disposing of his sword and half armor, he joined the game. They played for half an hour, and when they finally stopped and washed the sweat off their faces at the well, Okura said, “You show promise, Tora, but you’re sadly out of shape.”

Tora chuckled. “True enough, and in more ways than one. This morning, the master and I took up sword practice again.”

Okura raised his brows. “You expect trouble?”

“Well, it has a way of finding us. Take my run-in with the
sohei,
for example.”

“I told you, you can’t do anything about that. It’s hopeless. We tried.”

“Well, things got worse today.” Tora dried his face and hands with his robe and then told Okura about Keiko and her children, and about the way they had beaten and abducted her husband.”

Okura listened. “Terrible,” he said, shaking his head. “There’ve been rumors about those soldier monks behaving like hoodlums and raping women. Each time someone complains, someone else stops the rumors. But even so, Tora, you can’t do anything about it.”

Tora glared at him. “You surprise me. I thought you were better than that. I tell you what I’ll do about it. First I’ll tell my master. He’ll know how to handle the bastards. And then I’ll make it my personal duty to bring Kinzaburo back.”

He found Akitada at the governor’s villa. He was sitting on the small veranda outside his room, reading some documents. “Sorry to interrupt,” lied Tora, still filled with righteous outrage.

His master looked up and shook his head. “You really should do something about that eye,” he said. “You’ll frighten Hanae half to death. She thinks we’re safe from violent encounters on this trip. I assume you stopped by to tell me you’re leaving for home?”