Текст книги "Island of Exiles "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

all its farcical humor, the fat youth’s accident had spoiled his

perfect chance to get the answers he had come for.

C H A P T E R T W E LV E

T H E M A N DA L A

The following morning brought more surprises, the most dis-

turbing of which was the disappearance of Genzo.

As instructed, Akitada had risen early. Nobody else seemed to

be awake yet. After carrying wood and water into the kitchen and

washing at the well, he went to the stable to saddle their horses.

He wondered briefly about Genzo, but the scribe’s laziness was by

now so well established that he did not become suspicious until

he saw Genzo’s saddlebags lying empty in a corner.

He finished saddling up, then went back into the inn, where

he found the sharp-tongued mother of their hostess back in

charge. She merely grunted in response to his greeting. When he

asked about Genzo, she gave him a blank stare. “Who’s that? An-

other lazy layabout belonging to that piece of deadwood in

there?” She jerked her head in the direction of Osawa’s room.

Akitada grinned and asked if Osawa was awake.

For some reason, she flushed crimson. “If you can call it

that,” she snapped.

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Akitada started down the corridor.

“Hey, you can’t go in there now!” she shouted after him.

Ignoring her shouts, he raised his hand to open the

door to Osawa’s room, when he heard soft laughter inside.

He smiled to himself. The middle-aged, stuffy Osawa was reveal-

ing some astonishing talents in seduction. He knocked softly

and called Osawa’s name. The abrupt silence inside gave way

to the rustling of bedding. Osawa shouted, “What do you want?”

“I’ve saddled the horses, sir, but Genzo seems to have left

already.”

Another silence.

“Left? What do you mean, he’s left? He’s probably sleeping

someplace, the lazy lout. Wait, Takao!”

Too late. The door opened abruptly, and Takao, looking

almost pretty with her rosy flush and disordered hair, smiled up

at Akitada. She clutched her loose gown to her middle, but there

was little doubt that she was quite naked under it.

Osawa was sitting on his bedding and jerked up a quilt to

cover his own nakedness.

When Takao stepped aside, Akitada walked in, closing the

door behind himself. With a straight face he wished the inspec-

tor a very pleasant good morning and congratulated him on his

amazing recovery.

“Get out!” Osawa snapped.“Can’t you see I’m not . . . dressed?”

Akitada bowed to the landlady. “Your honorable mother is

in the kitchen,” he told her.

She rolled her eyes, then turned to Osawa and said, “Please

permit me to speak to my mother, dearest heart.”

He blushed and waved a languid hand.

Takao winked at Akitada, then asked Osawa coyly, “Shall I get

your gruel ready, since you are in such a hurry to leave me?”

Osawa looked embarrassed. “Yes. Er, we’ll talk later.” When

she was gone, he demanded, “Now, what is this about Genzo?”

I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

201

“His saddlebags are empty. That suggests that he has left us.

Perhaps he has found better employment?”

Osawa scowled. “That piece of dung?”

“I believe the last time anyone laid eyes on him was the

night we arrived. He may have walked off as early as yester-

day morning. If he left Minato, he is long gone, and if he

stayed in town, he is keeping out of sight. What do you wish me

to do?”

Osawa muttered a curse. He knew as well as Akitada that

Genzo’s sudden flight made it likely that someone had lured

him away. True, he was not a very good scribe, but scribes were

scarce. And that was not all. Working for the provincial admin-

istration, Genzo was privy to information which could be valu-

able to criminal gangs or pirates, and Sadoshima certainly had

those. Genzo knew the size and itinerary of tax collections, the

contents of granaries and the provincial treasury, and the num-

ber of guards assigned to them. That made him a valuable

source of information.

“I have to bathe and eat something before we leave,” Osawa

grumbled. “Go into town and ask around if anyone has seen

him. If you cannot find him, report him to the local warden.

Make up some tale. Say he has stolen the mule.”

“He hasn’t stolen the mule.”

“Don’t be a fool,” snapped Osawa. “Of course you’ll have to

get rid of the mule. Just let it loose someplace.” He fluttered a

pudgy hand in the direction of the door. “Go on! Go on!”

Osawa’s manner seemed more irresponsible than usual. But

then, Akitada was concerned about Genzo’s whereabouts for

reasons other than the security of provincial taxes. Genzo

hated him and had made one attempt already to cause him

harm. Akitada had expected him to retaliate before now for his

humiliation at Kumo’s place. Possibly Genzo’s departure meant

that trouble was afoot.

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He walked about town for an hour or so, asking shopkeep-

ers, monks, and market women if they had seen a big man,

dressed, like Akitada, in the blue robe and black cap of a provin-

cial clerk. No one had. Genzo had disappeared into thin air, and

Akitada felt the same puzzled unease as two nights ago, when

the bird-faced man had followed him through the dark streets

and alleys of Minato.

Eventually he stopped at the warden’s office to report him

missing. He did not claim that Genzo had stolen the mule but

instead suggested the possibility of foul play. The warden was

unimpressed. He seemed to think that any free man working for

the governor was more likely to look for better employment

elsewhere.

When Akitada returned to the inn, he found Osawa and the

landlady walking about the courtyard. Osawa wore his boots

and traveling clothes and had the contented air of a man of

means. She was dressed in another pretty gown and clung to his

arm, fanning herself lightly. He was pointing at features of the

inn, while she listened attentively.

“And over here an addition,” he was saying, “as the family

grows, you know. We wouldn’t want to lose guest rooms.”

She giggled, hiding her face behind the fan.

As Akitada took his puzzled gaze off the couple, he noticed the

landlady’s mother standing in the kitchen doorway. She waved to

him, nodding her head and smiling broadly. This was so contrary

to her usual behavior that he went to ask her what had happened.

“Happened?” she said vaguely, watching the couple in the

courtyard. “Isn’t your master a handsome figure of a man? You’re

lucky to be working for such a learned and dignified official.”

Akitada turned to see if they were discussing the same per-

son. The balding and round-bellied Osawa was patting the land-

lady’s hand and whispering in her ear. Perhaps the old crone

was just happy to see him depart. But there was something

I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

203

proprietary in the way Osawa regarded the inn, and something

equally proprietary in the way its owner clutched his arm. Aki-

tada realized that Takao had used her charms to a purpose. She

needed a man, and it looked as though she had caught Osawa.

Apparently he intended to give up his government job in order

to run an inn and be pampered by a devoted wife. Mutobe had

not only lost an undesirable scribe, but also his tax inspector.

Understandably, with a comfortable and leisurely future as-

sured, Osawa washed his hands of Genzo and seemed to want to

get through the rest of his duties as quickly as possible. He told

Akitada to bring out the horses while he made his farewells to

the “ladies.” He probably planned to hand Mutobe his resigna-

tion as soon as they reached Mano.

Shifting their saddlebags and Genzo’s empty ones to the

mule, Akitada led all three animals into the courtyard. Osawa

ignored the mule and climbed on his horse, waving to the

women, who followed them to the gate.

It was a good day for travel. The weather continued clear and

sunny, and Akitada relaxed for the first time in many days. He

was glad to be rid of Genzo, whom he would have had to watch

continuously. Osawa was in a pleasantly distracted mood, and

Akitada felt that he had learned all he could in Minato. The rest

of the puzzle would fall into place as soon as he saw Shunsei.

They headed south along the shore of the lake, the way they

had come, but this time under a blue sky and with a light,

refreshing wind at their backs. They trotted along easily, Osawa

in front, and Akitada, leading the mule, following behind.

Osawa’s riding skills had improved as much as his mood.

When they had left the last houses of Minato behind and had

the road to themselves, he suddenly broke into song.

“Ah, on Kamo beach, on Kamo beach in Sadoshima,

The waves roll in and splash my love.

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Ah, on the beach, my girl, as pretty as a jewel,

As pretty as the seven precious jewels,

Beautiful from head to toe,

As we lie together on the beach,

On Kamo beach in Sadoshima.”

Osawa’s voice was powerful but far from melodious. He

made up for this with great enthusiasm and after his rendition

of “Kamo Beach” he plunged straight into “Plum Blossoms,”

following up with “Summer Night,” “The Maiden on Mount

Yoshino,” and “My Recent Love Labors.” Finally he rendered

“Kamo Beach” a second time and turned around to ask Akitada

how he liked the song.

“Very appropriate,” said Akitada with a straight face, “and

your voice is truly amazing.”

Osawa smiled complacently. “Do you think so? Your praise

is very welcome, since you are someone who has visited the cap-

ital and is bound to have heard many singers. Of course, I am

strictly an amateur, but singing is a hobby of mine. Ha, ha, ha!

It’s very useful with the ladies sometimes.”

Akitada raised his eyebrows. “I did not hear you sing to our

charming hostess. Surely you made a conquest there without

displaying your remarkable musical gifts.”

Osawa laughed again. “I did, too. You just didn’t hear me.

You were at Sakamoto’s. I entertained the little woman all after-

noon. In fact, Takao had mentioned you playing your flute

for her, so I thought I’d show her what I could do. She was

impressed.” He laughed again, a happy man. “How about taking

out your flute now and playing along with me?”

Osawa’s present good humor was an immense improve-

ment over his previous irritability, but Akitada cringed at riding

down the road while playing his flute to accompany Osawa’s

off-key love songs. Still, he could not offend him. He needed a

I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

205

free hand with Shunsei and could not hope for another distrac-

tion like a cold or an attractive landlady. So he dug the flute out of his saddlebag and played whatever suited Osawa’s repertoire.

They attracted a certain amount of embarrassing notice.

In one lakeside village, a group of children abandoned their

games to follow them, adding their own, astonishingly rude

variations to Osawa’s song, and later an old woman gathering

berries by the road clapped both hands over her ears as they

passed. But Osawa was irrepressible.

Finally, toward noon, his throat rebelled, and they stopped

for a rest at the crossroads to Tsukahara. A small grove of trees

provided shade from the sun which had blazed down on them

more and more fiercely as the day progressed. Osawa produced

a basket of food and wine, which his betrothed and her mother

had packed for him, and shared generously with Akitada while

praising his bride’s talents and business acumen. Then he

stretched out under a pine tree for a short nap.

Akitada went to sit on a rock near the two horses and the

mule, who were grazing under a large cedar. From here he had a

view of the road, the lake, and the mountains embracing them

from either side. Far, far in the distance lay the ocean that sepa-

rated him from all that mattered to him in this world. He

wished he could solve this case and return. The trouble was

he seemed to be no closer to finding Okisada’s murderer than

before he started.

He thought about the four men in Minato and their meet-

ing in the lake pavilion. There was no longer any doubt that

they had been plotting and were still determined to rid them-

selves of Mutobe and son. Was Kumo planning a rebellion?

Sakamoto was too weak to be more than a minor player. From

the cavalier fashion in which Taira had spoken to him, it was

clear that the others thought the same. Taira and Nakatomi

were unknown factors. Nakatomi had sounded both sly and

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I . J . P a r k e r

clever, but his relatively modest status as a mere physician made

it unlikely that the others would treat him as an equal. He had

probably been used only to prove that Okisada had died from

young Mutobe’s stew. And if so, what had Okisada really died

from? And who had killed him? And why?

Akitada’s thoughts turned to Taira. He had been closer to

the prince than anyone else, and even the few words the man

had spoken before the fat servant’s accident proved that the

others looked up to him. The trouble was that Taira was too old

to lead a rebellion on his own account. And so Akitada came

back to Kumo, a man he had come to respect, even admire. And

to the prince’s murder.

He shook his head, dissatisfied, and glanced up the dirt road

toward Tsukahara. Buddhist monks had settled in the foothills

above Tsukahara, seeking higher ground to build Konponji,

their temple. Shunsei lived there. Tsukahara was close enough

for Okisada’s periodic visits to his friends at the lake and at least once, on his last visit, his fondness for Shunsei had caused him

to bring the young monk along.

Akitada would have preferred not to probe into the details

of a private love affair of two men, but Kumo had been worried

that Shunsei might reveal some secret during the trial. Had the

four men been talking about the fact that prince and monk had

been lovers? It was possible, but given both Kumo’s and

Sakamoto’s nervousness, Akitada suspected that there was an-

other secret and that it had something to do with the murder.

The faint sound of rhythmic chanting caused him to look

back toward the lake. He could not see who was coming, be-

cause the road disappeared around a bend. It seemed to be a day

for singing, and this did not sound like a monk’s chant. It grew

louder, and then a strange group appeared around the trees.

Two bearers, carrying a large sedan chair suspended from long

poles on their shoulders, came trotting along. They were naked

I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

207

except for loincloths and scarves wrapped around their heads,

and they chanted something that sounded like “Eisassa, eisassa.”

The sedan chair’s grass curtains were rolled up on this warm

day, and Akitada saw that it contained the hunched figure of an

old man which bobbed and swung gently to the rhythm of the

bearers’ gait.

Sedan chairs of this size and quality were rare even in the

capital, where the old and infirm preferred ox-drawn carts or

carriages. But Akitada’s surprise was complete when he saw who

the traveler was.

The white hair and bushy black eyebrows were unmistak-

able. Lord Taira was on his way home from his meeting with

Sakamoto and the others. Akitada got up quickly and went to

busy himself with the horses, keeping his face down. The chant-

ing stopped abruptly as the group drew level.

“Ho!” shouted Taira.

Akitada peered over his horse’s crupper. The bearers had

lowered their burden and were grinning. Their eyes and Taira’s

were on the sleeping Osawa, who lay flat on his back in the

grass, his belly a gently moving mound, his eyes closed, and his

mouth open to emit loud snores.

“Ho, you there,” repeated Taira.

Osawa blinked, then jerked upright and stared.

“Who are you?” Taira wanted to know.

Osawa bristled and his face got red. “What business is it of

yours, old man?” he snapped.

The black eyebrows beetled. “I am Taira. I asked you your

name.”

“Taira?” Osawa slowly climbed to his feet. “Lord Taira, the

prince’s tutor?”

“Yes.”

Osawa bowed. “Begging your pardon, Excellency. This per-

son has long wished to make Your Excellency’s acquaintance,

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but has hitherto not had the pleasure. This person’s humble

name is Osawa, provincial inspector of taxes.”

“Hah.” Taira turned and craned his neck. This time he saw

Akitada, who stared back at him stolidly. “You there,” com-

manded Taira. “Come here.”

Irritated by the man’s manner, Akitada strolled up slowly.

They measured each other. On closer inspection Taira looked

not only old but frail. His back was curved and bony shoulders

poked up under his robe. No wonder he traveled by sedan chair,

and this one was large enough for two. Only the black eyes

under those remarkable eyebrows burned with life. “Who are

you?” Taira demanded.

“Er,” interrupted Osawa, who had come up, not to be ig-

nored. “Actually, he’s a convict, temporarily assigned to me as

my clerk. Can I be of some assistance, Excellency?”

“No,” snapped Taira without taking his eyes off Akitada.

After another uncomfortable moment, he said, “Move on!” to

the bearers. They stopped grinning, shouldered their load, and

left, falling easily into their trot and rhythmic “Eisassa” again.

Osawa stared after them. “What a rude person,” he mut-

tered. “He’s an exile, of course, even if he’s a lord. Ought to be

more polite to someone in authority. Come to think of it, the

prince used to live in Tsukahara. Wonder where Taira’s been.”

Akitada could have answered that, but instead he brought

up Osawa’s horse.

“Let’s go slowly,” Osawa said, as he climbed into the saddle.

“I don’t want to catch up with him. A dreadful old man. They

say he went mad when his pupil died. It seems to be true.”

“Has he always lived with the prince?”

“Oh, yes. Thought of himself as the prince’s right hand, I

suppose. They kept a regular court in exile. Taira would receive

all visitors and instruct them about the proper respect due the

prince. Complete prostration and withdrawing backwards on

I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

209

your hands and knees, I heard. Thank heaven, I never had to

go there. Members of the emperor’s family don’t pay taxes.

Hah! And both of them traitors.” Osawa’s good humor had

evaporated.

Akitada also had no desire to encounter Taira. The old

man’s stare had been disconcerting, but he did not for a mo-

ment think the prince’s tutor mad. He thought Taira had looked

suspicious. On the whole, he wished they would speed up and

pass the old man before he had a chance to warn Shunsei.

Fortunately, Osawa reached the same conclusion. “This is

too slow,” he said irritably. “Let’s hurry up and get past Taira, so we’ll reach Tsukahara before sunset.”

It was not even close to sunset. In fact, since they had left the

lake, the cool breeze had died away and now it was uncomfort-

ably hot. They whipped up their horses and galloped past the

trotting bearers and their burden in a cloud of dust.

Osawa was red-faced and sweating, but he kept up the pace,

and they soon reached the foothills.

The pleasant small village of Tsukahara nestled against the

mountains where the Ogura River came down and watered

the rice paddies of the plain. Its two largest buildings were a

shrine and the walled and gated manor of the Second Prince.

The Temple of the True Lotus and its monastery were another

mile up the mountain. Akitada would have liked a closer look at

the prince’s dwelling, but did not think it wise to be caught by

Taira.

The dirt road dwindled to a track winding and climbing

through the woods. It was wonderfully cool in the shade. Some-

times they heard the sound of water splashing down the moun-

tainside.

When they reached the monastery, both riders and horses

were tired. They found a small, rather humble temple com-

pound, comprised of only seven buildings. The temple had

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I . J . P a r k e r

neither gatehouse nor pagoda, and there were no walls to en-

close it. Surrounded by forest trees, the halls were built of

weather-darkened wood roofed with cedar bark and stood dis-

persed here and there among the trees wherever a piece of rea-

sonably level ground had allowed construction. Paths and steps

of flat stones connected the different levels; the approach to the

main Buddha hall was a very long and wide flight of steps

flanked by two enormous cedars.

It was peaceful here, and the air was fragrant with the smell

of cedar and pine. Ferns and mosses grew between the stones,

under the trees, and in the cedar bark of the roofs. Birds sang

in the trees and monks chanted somewhere. A sense of calm

descended on Akitada.

They left their horses and the mule with a shy young monk,

and followed an older one to the abbot’s quarters, a house so

small and simple it resembled a hut. The abbot was an old man

with pale, leathery skin drawn tightly over his face and shaven

skull. Osawa was known to him from previous inspections, and

they exchanged friendly greetings. Osawa introduced Akitada

and presented the customary gift, a carefully wrapped donation

of money. Then they were shown to their quarters, two small

cells at the end of the monks’ dormitory, and offered a bath in a

small forest pond.

Osawa wrinkled his nose at the idea of bathing in a pond,

but Akitada accepted eagerly. The ride had been hot and, while

the air was cooler under the trees, he felt gritty and his clothes

clung unpleasantly to his skin. He took a change of undercloth-

ing from his bag and walked down to the pool.

A mountain stream had been diverted to fill a small pool

with constantly changing clear water. Two naked boys were

already there—novices by their shaven heads. They squatted on

the rocks which edged the pond, engaged in washing piles of

monastic laundry. Akitada introduced himself, was told their

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211

names, that they were thirteen and fifteen years, respectively,

and that he was the first visitor from the faraway capital they

had ever met.

Their progress in the discipline had not yet cured them of

avid curiosity about the life of the great and powerful. They

chattered eagerly while Akitada stripped and plunged into the

dark, clear waters of the pool. It was deliciously cool and soft on his heated body, and he splashed and swam about under the fas-cinated eyes of the two youngsters.

When he emerged, they expressed amazement that he could

swim. He laughed and washed out his shirt and loincloth, drap-

ing them over a shrub to dry in the sunlight. Looking curiously

at his lean body, they asked about his scars, and he told them—

matter-of-factly, he thought—about each. To his dismay, their

eyes began to shine with notions of martial adventure.

Dressed again in clean clothes and feeling a little guilty for

tempting these half-trained youngsters from their peaceful life,

he entertained them instead with descriptions of the religious

festivals in the capital. They were grateful and trusting and

readily answered his questions about their life in the monastery.

Working Shunsei into this chat was not really difficult. From

reminiscences about life at court it was only a short step to a

casual remark about the Second Prince by one of the novices,

and he was soon informed that Shunsei, who had been so sig-

nally marked by the prince’s attention, was in deep mourning

for his benefactor.

To do them justice, the two youngsters seemed to be com-

pletely innocent about the precise nature of the prince’s attentions to Shunsei and talked away happily about their distinguished

colleague.

“He stays by himself, eats nothing, and prays day and night

in front of the Buddha to be transported to the Pure Land. He’s

very holy,” confided one.

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Akitada expressed a desire to meet this exemplary monk

and was told that he might do so by walking a little ways up the

mountain to the Hall of the Three Jewels. It seemed this had

been donated to the temple by the Second Prince, who had also

overseen its design and construction and had often stayed there.

Shunsei apparently now lived there by himself, fasting and

praying, practicing spiritual purification in an effort to ap-

proach Buddhahood. “He doesn’t sleep or eat the food we take

him and only drinks water,” repeated the boy. “We think he’ll

die, but the reverend abbot says he has found enlightenment

and will join the prince in the land of bliss.”

Akitada refrained from snorting. The fellow, he decided,

must either be demented or an arch-hypocrite. But Shunsei’s

isolation from the others made his own plans much easier. Had

Shunsei remained a part of the monks’ community, it would

have been difficult to speak to him alone.

He returned to his cell and found a bowl of millet and beans

and some fresh plums waiting. He ate, quenched his thirst from

the water jug, and then went to Osawa. The temple collected the

local taxes, and they were to examine the accounts. For Akitada

this was, of course, primarily a pretext to meet Shunsei, but he

had to maintain the deception a little while longer.

The newly betrothed Osawa was in no mood to look at

accounts. He referred Akitada to the monk bursar and told him

to take care of the matter. “Nothing to it,” he assured him.

“Couldn’t possibly suspect the good brothers of shortchanging

us. Ha, ha, ha.”

As Akitada wandered about the temple grounds, peering

into its halls and asking for the monk bursar, he passed a ceme-

tery with moss-covered stone markers. The sun was setting. Its

light gilded moss and stone and turned the trunks of the pine

trees a tawny gold. Akitada stopped, struck by the beauty and

peacefulness of the scene. Death almost seemed attractive in

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213

such a setting. Of course, monks practiced detachment from

the pleasures of life and might be said to prepare themselves

for the end. Was Shunsei about to join those who had gone

before him because he had been too attached to a life that had

become unbearably empty? Akitada shook off a shiver of panic

and left the place quickly.

He found the bursar in the small library adjoining a medita-

tion hall. A perpetually smiling man, he was eager to demon-

strate the neatness of his bookkeeping, and it took Akitada a

while to get rid of him so he could glance through the docu-

ments and take a few notes. His mind was not on business and

he had to make an effort to give Osawa what he wanted. Fortu-

nately, Osawa had been right and it turned out to be a simple

matter.

He walked back through rapidly falling dusk and reported

to the inspector, who was drinking the rest of Takao’s wine and

softly singing love songs. Then he set out in search of the Hall

of the Three Jewels and Shunsei, unable to rid himself of an

unnerving sense of urgency to be gone from Sadoshima.

The sky was still a pale lavender between the thick branches

of the trees, but the forest was already plunged into darkness.

Only a few glowworms glimmered in the ferns. The Hall of the

Three Jewels stood on a small promontory overlooking the

great central plain of Sadoshima. As the last daylight was fading,

the moon rose in the eastern sky, and he could see details quite

well. Though small, the hall was newer and far more elegant

than any of the other monastery buildings. It was the kind of

personal hermitage in which any great court noble could have

felt comfortable. The mountains around the capital had many

private religious retreats like this. As Akitada now knew, this

one was also the love nest of the late prince.

From the forest behind him a temple bell sounded, but all

was silent here; the building seemed deserted. Akitada called

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out Shunsei’s name several times before one of the carved doors

opened and a slender figure in black appeared on the threshold.

Shunsei came as something of a surprise. Akitada had ex-

pected a handsome, pampered minion, but this was an ascetic.

He was small-boned, pale, and thin, his eyes overlarge in a face

of childlike innocence.

“Yes?” he asked in a soft voice. “Are you lost?”

“No. My name is Taketsuna and I came to speak to you.”

“I don’t know you.” It was a statement of fact without sur-

prise or curiosity. Shunsei seemed indifferent rather than hos-

tile or impatient about strange visitors.

“We have never met. I came to talk about the Second Prince.

May I come in?”

Shunsei stepped aside, waited for Akitada to remove his san-

dals, and then led the way into a single spacious room inside. It

was dark, and the young monk lit one of the tall candles in the

middle of the room. By its light, Akitada saw that thick grass

mats bound in fine silk covered the floor, and the built-in cabi-

nets along the wall were decorated with ink paintings of moun-

tain scenes. There was an altar on another wall, and against the

third a shelf with books and papers. A fine desk stood in front

of the fourth wall. Doors were open to a veranda overlooking

a picturesque ravine that plunged down to the central plain.

Beyond were the distant mountains of northern Sadoshima.

The peaks stood dark against the translucent sky, and the pale

moon hung above them like a large paper lantern. The view was

magnificent; the occupant of this quiet retreat surveyed the

world from godlike heights. Akitada reminded himself that it

was the room of a dead man.

Shunsei’s place in this luxurious retreat appeared to be con-

fined to his small prayer mat before the altar. As Akitada stood

gazing, the monk lit some candles there also. Suddenly glorious

colors sprang to life in a room which otherwise completely

I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

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lacked them. Behind a small exquisite carving of the Buddha

hung a large mandala of Roshana, the Buddha of Absolute Wis-

dom. The painting’s dominant color was a deep and brilliant

vermilion, but there were contrasting areas of black and gold, as

well as touches of emerald, cobalt, white, and copper. The man-

dala shone and gleamed in the candlelight with an unearthly

beauty and was surely a treasure the temple would have been

proud to display in its Buddha Hall. But here it was, the private

object of worship of a prince and his lover.

The symbolic connection between the Buddha and Oki-

sada, once emperor-designate, was instantly clear to Akitada.

On the mandala, the Buddha occupied the very center and was

surrounded by concentric rings of petals of the lotus flower,

representing an enormous spiritual hierarchy; each petal con-

tained a figure, from the Buddha’s own representations to hun-