Текст книги "Island of Exiles "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

Akitada wondered what he would say to the girl when they met.

He had not thought of their lovemaking in many weeks. That

time seemed incredibly remote, though he found that her

involvement with Toshito did not sit too well with him.

“I must go back to my friend,” he said, moving toward the

path down the mountain. “He is beside the road near a small

stream and a stand of firs. If I go ahead, can you follow?”

She nodded. “I know the place.”

He limped down the mountain, crossed the field and the

empty road, and found Haseo still fast asleep in the grass where

he had left him. Shaking his shoulder gently, he waited until

his companion sat up groggily, then said, “Good news. I’ve

found some shelter for us with someone I know. It’s quite safe.

And there is a good chance that Kumo has not taken over the

island yet.”

Haseo tried to stagger to his feet and failed. “How do you

know it’s safe?” he demanded, looking around anxiously.

“My friends are also hiding. It’s too long a story to tell now,

but there is a nun who has healing skills. Her hermitage is up on

334

I . J . P a r k e r

that mountain. She will see to your wound.” Akitada’s eyes

searched the line of trees on the other side of the road. There was no sign of Ribata and the others yet. He was becoming impatient

and worried that they were too close to the highway. “Come, lean

on me. We will walk across to the forest and wait there.”

Haseo’s eyes followed his. “Sorry,” he said. “You’ll have to go

without me. I can stay here.”

“No. Just hold on to me. If I have to, I’ll carry you on my

back. You pulled me behind you in the mine, and this is nothing

compared to that.”

Haseo submitted with a weak chuckle, and they made their

way across the road, and from there through the field of tall

waving grasses toward the steep, wooded mountainside.

But Haseo sat down abruptly in the middle of the field. “It’s

no good,” he gasped. “I have no strength left.”

He looked dreadfully pale and, to Akitada’s dismay, blood

was seeping from his makeshift bandage again. They had noth-

ing left that could be turned into bandages and regarded each

other helplessly. Haseo grinned a little. “You know, for an offi-

cial and nobleman you’re a remarkably generous and patient

man, Akitada. I was right to trust you.”

It was the first time Haseo had used his personal name.

Akitada felt touched and honored. “We put our reliance in each

other,” he said, squeezing the other man’s shoulder. “When we

reach provincial headquarters, I’ll see what can be done about

your case, though I’m afraid that I have no influence with the

government in Heian-kyo.”

“Never mind. I have some friends,” Haseo said. “Perhaps

now, after what has happened to me, they will try their utmost.

There is a chance now where there was none before.”

“Good.” Akitada shaded his eyes against the setting sun and

peered toward the mountainside. There they were finally. Three

figures emerged from the trees, two women and a man.

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

335

Toshito reached them first. Akitada almost did not recog-

nize him. The slender, pale young man he had last seen in the

prison cell had become a sturdy bearded peasant. Toshito

seemed to have the same problem; his eyes searched their faces,

before he nodded to Akitada. But there was nothing friendly or

grateful about his welcome.

“Who’s your friend?” he asked bluntly.

“A fellow prisoner. We escaped from Kumo’s mine.”

The women joined them then. Ribata gave Haseo a very sweet

smile and bowed, her hands folded. “Thanks to all-merciful

Buddha you are both safe.”

Akitada made the introductions, adding somewhat stiffly,

“It is very good of you to come to our assistance. I’m afraid my

friend is too weak to walk up the mountain.”

When Ribata knelt beside Haseo to check his wound,

Akitada’s eyes went to Masako.

Like Toshito, she wore rough peasant clothing and her long

hair was tied up in a scarf. She blushed charmingly when their

eyes met, and he found that her beauty touched him as strongly

as it always had.

“How are you, Masako?” he asked, his voice soft with their

remembered friendship.

She flushed more deeply and took a step closer to Ribata.

“I’m well, thank you, my lord. And very glad to see you alive

and w . . .” Her voice trailed off. He guessed that she had meant

to say “well,” but that he looked too shocking for that word.

Her manner puzzled him, and her address proved that she knew

his identity. Had she told the others? Well, it did not matter

any longer.

“I see you know who I am,” he said. “Did you read the

documents hidden in the lining of my robe?”

She looked uncomfortable but nodded. “I felt paper.

Since water would have ruined it, I undid the stitches. I saw the

336

I . J . P a r k e r

imperial seal—just like one in the governor’s office—but I put

everything back after I had washed your gown.”

“I know. Thank you.” He wanted to pursue the matter, but

decided to wait and instead ask about her relationship with

the hostile Toshito. Glancing across to him, he said, “Ribata tells me that you helped the governor’s son escape. That was brave

and generous, but surely not very wise. Your father must be

frantic with worry about your safety and reputation.”

The young man had caught his last words and came over

now, his face dark with anger. Putting his arm around Masako’s

shoulders, he said sharply, “My wife is under my protection and

her reputation is above reproach, so I’d advise you to watch

both your tongue and your manners in the future.”

Akitada was taken aback—literally. He stepped away from

them, his eyes on Masako for confirmation. “Your wife?”

She buried her face in Toshito’s shoulder. It was answer

enough. Akitada met the smoldering anger in the other man’s

eyes and bowed. “My sincere felicitations,” he said lightly. “I had no idea.” Then he turned his back on both of them.

Haseo was explaining his injury to Ribata. “It’s been bleed-

ing all day and part of the night or I’d be as strong as an ox,” he said apologetically.

Ribata nodded. “Yes. I see. Putting moss on the wound was

good. Few people know that it stanches bleeding and cools the

fever in the wound.”

Haseo smiled up at Akitada. “My friend’s idea.”

Toshito, still glowering, joined them. “We could put him on

some branches and drag him up to the hermitage, but it will

take two strong men to do it, and Lord Sugawara does not look

very fit.”

“Oh, no, I’ll walk,” cried Haseo, shocked.

“I’m perfectly capable,” snapped Akitada.

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

337

They solved the impasse by Toshito and Akitada supporting

Haseo between them. It was an unpleasant collaboration, as

their arms touched behind Haseo’s back. For Akitada the jour-

ney turned into torment, especially after they began their climb

up the mountain. His pride did not allow him to ask for rest

periods. Instead he forced himself to keep step with the younger

and much healthier Toshito. Somehow they dragged Haseo to

the narrow wooden veranda and set him down.

Ribata and Masako disappeared inside, and an awkward

silence fell. Haseo was dozing, much as Akitada had earlier.

Toshito stood glowering. Finally Akitada could not bear it any

longer. “So you and Masako came here to hide out?” he asked,

though the answer was obvious.

Toshito’s lips twisted and he did not bother to answer. There

was nothing conciliatory in his manner. Akitada wondered if

Masako had told him of their indiscretion. Surely not. But his

earlier remarks could not account for this much antagonism.

Could Toshito be blaming Akitada for not having arrived in

time to clear him? Whatever the reason, their stay here would be

more than uncomfortable if this continued. Akitada swallowed

his resentment and tried again.

“I did my best for you and succeeded in getting the infor-

mation that will clear you,” he said. “I was on my way back when

your enemies stopped me.”

“I did not ask for your help and I had nothing to do with

what happened to you,” snapped Toshito, and stalked away.

“Hmm,” murmured Haseo, opening his eyes. “That’s a very

angry young man. What did you do to him?”

Akitada flushed. “Don’t pay any attention to him,” he

said evasively. “He’s a moody fellow who has been accused of a

murder he did not commit. Perhaps he worries that we will

draw our pursuers here.”

338

I . J . P a r k e r

But Akitada knew there was more to Toshito’s hostility than

mere resentment that he and Haseo had intruded into their safe

haven. He recalled that Toshito used to bristle at him even when

he thought of him as the prisoner Taketsuna. No, surely the

problem was jealousy. Toshito either suspected or knew of his

affair with Masako.

The tangled relationships between the men and women in

the hermitage complicated matters. He tried to gauge the situa-

tion later, when Ribata cleaned Haseo’s wound and applied

powdered herbs and various ointments, wrapping his leg again

in some clean hemp bandages. When Haseo left to lie down,

she asked to see Akitada’s knee.

“So. You have sought out trouble and found it, my lord,” she

murmured, probing his leg.

Though she had addressed him as Taketsuna earlier, she

knew very well who he was and that he had been trying to clear

the governor’s son. Almost her first words to him had shown

it, but he had been too shocked at the news that Masako

and Toshito were with her to think clearly. He wondered how

long she had known, and remembered her friendship with

the Kumo family, but he only said, “Yes. And I’m afraid I have

lost your flute.”

She looked up then and smiled. “Never mind. It is your life

which matters.” Then she glanced through the door of the hut

to where Masako was cooking over the open fire while her

husband watched. “And that matters not only to you, but to

your loved ones.”

Was Ribata reminding him that his duty lay elsewhere?

Of course, Masako’s marriage solved his problem. There was

now no need to take her into his household. He should have

been glad, but was perversely irritated and hurt that she had

preferred the immature, ungracious, and inept Toshito. In fair-

ness, Toshito was probably only a few years younger, and yet

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

339

had already achieved an official position which was both more

secure and better paid than Akitada’s. But it rankled.

In his resentment he reminded himself that her back-

ground, though upper-class, was severely lacking in proper

upbringing and that her manners had never been ladylike. In

that sense she certainly matched her new husband perfectly.

Akitada looked at her figure critically, trying to find fault. She

was attractive, but no more so than his wife or other women

he had had. There was a certain coarseness about her. All those

muscles, while useful, were certainly not feminine. Yet, as much

as he tried to soothe his hurt pride, the memory of how she

had clung to him in her father’s room came unbidden, the way

she had pulled him down to her and taken him passionately,

hungrily into her embrace. Had she truly felt nothing at all?

A sudden sharp spasm in his knee recalled him.

“There,” said Ribata, vigorously massaging a palmful of

ointment into his sore joint. “That should help. Go get some

rest now. We’ll wake you when the food is ready.”

Haseo had stretched out under a pine and was asleep

already. Akitada suddenly felt drained of strength, but he

walked over to Toshito, who greeted him with a scowl.

“You probably want to know what I learned about the

prince’s death,” Akitada said.

Toshito looked toward Masako, who shot an anxious glance

their way. “Not particularly,” he said.

Akitada raised his brows. The fellow’s manners were insuf-

ferable. But he had no intention in wasting any more time on

the puppy, so he said, “There was no murder. Okisada either

died accidentally or committed suicide by eating fugu poison.”

Toshito turned a contemptuous face toward him. “Ridicu-

lous,” he snapped. “I was there, remember? No one ate fugu

fish, least of all Okisada. And why would he kill himself when he

intended to claim the throne?”

340

I . J . P a r k e r

Akitada felt like knocking the smug fool to the ground.

Turning away abruptly, he said, “Nevertheless, he did,” and

walked away to join Haseo.

The weather had remained dry and pleasant in the daytime

but grew much cooler at night. Here in the mountains it was

chilly in the shade and they had no clothes except their ragged

pants. Akitada shivered and worried about Haseo, who looked

flushed in spite of the cold. He found a sunny, sheltered hollow

for himself, where he slept fitfully until Masako’s touch on his

shoulder returned him to consciousness.

“The food is ready,” she said aloud, then whispered, “What

did you say to Toshito?”

Akitada sat up. Tempting smells came from the large pot

over the fire, and he felt ravenous. “Nothing to worry you. I told

him that the prince committed suicide. He scoffed.”

“Oh.” She was going to say something else, but Toshito

called to her.

Haseo looked better. He was less flushed and more inclined

to take notice of the others. “Those two are in love,” he told

Akitada with a nod toward the young couple.

They were standing close together, and as Akitada met

Toshito’s eyes, the young man put a possessive hand on the

girl’s hip.

“He doesn’t like you,” Haseo said. “Must be the jealous type.

Though why he should worry about a pathetic scarecrow like

you, I cannot fathom.”

Akitada, for his part, could not fathom Masako. After their

meal, he found an opportunity to talk alone with her. She was

washing their bowls in a stream that ran behind the hermitage.

Toshito had gone to gather more firewood.

“Why did you make love to me, Masako?” he asked.

He had startled her and she dropped one of the wooden

bowls into the water and had to scramble after it. The delay gave

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

341

her time to gather her wits. In her typical fashion, she, too,

was blunt. “When I found out why you had come and what

power you had, I knew you could help us. That is, help both

Toshito and Father. I was desperate. But the papers were secret

and I could not ask you, so I tried to win your regard . . . by

other means.”

He flinched as though she had slapped him. “So you seduced

me, and I was fool enough to allow myself to be seduced,” he said

bitterly.

She nodded.

Akitada turned away, angry and shamed. There were many

kinds of love. Their relationship had been only lust on his part

after all, but something altogether different on hers. He had at

least felt a strong attraction to her, but she had merely manipu-

lated him to gain her ends. And she had done what she did for

another man, for Toshito. It struck him as abominable that some

women, like Masako, strong, independent, and unconventional,

would not hesitate to give their bodies to another man to save

their husbands or lovers. He thought of Tamako. He would gladly

sacrifice his life for her and his new son, and believed she would

do the same for him, but he hoped she would never sleep with

another man for any reason. The very thought made him sick.

Masako whispered, “Don’t tell Toshito, please. He’s jealous

of you.”

“Of course I won’t tell. But I hope you don’t think I helped

your father because you slept with me.”

“I shall always be grateful,” she said softly.

He glared at her. “I’m sorry we met.”

She hugged herself and began to cry.

“Twice,” he said. “You lay with me twice, and all the time you

only wanted to place me under obligation to you?”

She gulped and sniffled, but said nothing in her own defense

or to salvage some of his pride. After a long silence, Akitada said 342

I . J . P a r k e r

bitterly, “So be it. I wish you both well.” Then he turned and

limped away.

Haseo watched him coming back. “Why in such a temper?”

he asked lightly. “Did the pretty flower slap your face?”

Akitada managed a laugh as he sat down beside him. “Of

course not. She is married now and I’m a married man also.

And you? Do you have a wife and children?”

“Three wives and six children, two of them sons.” Haseo

sounded both proud and sad. “I hope they have gone to my first

wife’s parents. She comes from a wealthy family. My other wives

were quite poor. And you?”

“One wife and one son. He’s only six months.”

“You must miss them.”

“Yes. Very much.” His need for Tamako suddenly twisted his

heart. He had been a fool to desire another woman.

“Only one wife for a man of your station?” Haseo marveled.

“She must be exceptional.”

Akitada nodded. “She is.” And he wished for her with every

part of his being.

The rest of the evening both Toshito and Masako avoided

him. After their meal—a vegetable stew thickened with millet—

they disappeared into the forest together. Akitada watched them

with a certain detachment and put his mind to other matters.

Now that he was rested and fed, and his knee was no longer so

painful, he was becoming increasingly nervous about their

safety. His eyes kept scanning the highway in the darkening

valley below. He could not be certain that the goblin had kept

their secret, and even if she had, Kumo would have been noti-

fied of his escape by now and would extend the search to the

surrounding areas soon enough. He could not afford to let

Akitada escape. Ribata’s vine-covered hermitage was not visible

from below, but Akitada recalled the tracks they had made

through the tall grasses of the valley.

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

343

The trouble was, they had neither weapons nor horses. If

Kumo sent armed men after them, as he must surely do, they

would either die here or be taken back to the mine to face a

worse fate.

He was glad when night fell, and the possibility of an attack

became remote. Candles and lamps were extinguished early

and they prepared for sleep. The women stayed in the hut, but

Ribata came out with blankets for her guests and spoke briefly

to Toshito, who nodded and disappeared on some errand.

In spite of his blanket, Akitada awoke, shivering, long before

dawn. He got up and started moving his body vigorously to

warm his sluggish blood. His knee felt much better. Haseo still

slept, and there was no sign of Toshito. Eventually, as the night

sky slowly paled, he decided to make himself useful and gath-

ered sticks for the fire. When it was burning, he squatted beside

it and rubbed his chilled arms.

A touch on his shoulder made him jump. Masako held out

his blanket. “Put it around you until the sun comes up.” He did

and watched her heating water for rice gruel, regretting his

anger of the day before.

“How far is it to Mano?” he asked.

“Half a day’s walk with a shortcut. The road passes on the

other side of this mountain.” She left to go back into the hut.

Only a few hours’ walk? Akitada felt fit enough. Surely

Haseo could manage a short journey, one that would become

easy once they reached the road. After that—well, they would

deal with whatever came.

Masako returned. “Ribata wants you,” she said.

When he ducked into the shadowy room, he found the

nun at prayer. She sat in the center of the small square

space, perfectly straight and still. Dark wooden beads passed

through her thin fingers like beans falling through the ribs of

a bamboo strainer. He could not see her face clearly, but her

344

I . J . P a r k e r

lips moved, and now and then he caught a word or cadence

from a sutra.

He sat down across from her, quietly waiting, wondering

again about this strange, aristocratic woman who seemed con-

tent to lead a simple, religious life so far from court. Good man-

ners and respect for her present status forbade his asking

questions. Once he reached Mano and the governor and started

an investigation into Kumo’s activities, and those of his fellow

conspirators, he hoped that the tangled relationships between

the Kumo family, the late prince, and Ribata would also unravel.

As if she knew what he was thinking, Ribata said, “You

should both be able to travel in another day. Then the governor

will reconvene the court and Toshito’s name will be cleared.”

She sighed and folded her hands around her beads. “Life is

filled with pain. But the young people can settle down and

raise their family. And you, too, will be eager to return to wife

and child.”

Akitada nodded. He thought of the baby son he had left

behind. Children often sickened and died during their first year.

“Place your trust in the Buddha and all will be well,” said

the nun.

“Yes.”

He suspected that she was steering his thoughts to his family

and smiled in the darkness because she had succeeded. His

heart swelled with love and gratitude for the slender girl he had

left behind among strangers, far from her home and family. He

remembered how she had stood in the doorway, holding their

son in her arms. Smiling bravely, she had faced their separation

without complaint, certainly without self-pity, her back straight

and her voice strong when she called out, “We will be waiting

when you return.”

The sun was rising outside and the first ray crept through

the door. It touched Ribata’s sleeve and shoulder, then lit up her

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

345

pale drawn face. She moved out of its light and looked at him.

Her eyes were extraordinarily bright for a woman her age.

“I am happy for you,” she said. Then she reached into her

sleeve and held out a flute to him. “And I am returning this to

you. I hoped that you would come for it someday.”

He took it, uncertain, raised it into the sunlight, and saw

that it was Plover’s Cry, the flute she had given him in Kumo’s

garden, the flute taken from him by Wada.

“But how did you get it back?” he asked, shocked.

“Sanetomo returned it to me. It seems the regrettable Wada

had it in his possession. Sanetomo recognized it, of course.”

Sanetomo?

Then Akitada remembered the name, and drew in his breath

sharply. Kumo Sanetomo had returned the flute to its owner.

She must have known what had happened to him all along, he

thought, his mind racing at the implications. And Ribata had

sent Toshito away the night before. The knowledge of what his

errand must be came too late; the damage was surely done by

now. In his anger and despair Akitada almost broke the flute in

his hands.

C H A P T E R T W E N T Y

K U M O

Akitada slowly laid the flute on the floor between them.

Hot fury at the betrayal churned in his belly and pounded his

temples. With an effort he kept his hands from shaking; with

another effort he controlled his voice. “Where is Toshito?”

There was a moment’s silence, then she said vaguely, “He’ll

be back soon.”

Imagining what this might mean, Akitada clenched his

hands. Then he gestured to the flute. “I cannot accept your gen-

erous gift after all.” When her eyes met his, puzzled, he added

harshly, “And I am not beaten yet.” Rising abruptly, he inclined

his head, saw with satisfaction that he had shocked her, and

left the hut.

Outside, the early sun made golden patterns on the ground,

and birds were singing, but the valley below still lay hidden in

white mist. Masako was stirring the morning gruel in the kettle.

Akitada looked at her suspiciously. He had met with more

female duplicity lately than in his entire previous life. It seemed I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

347

likely now that she had told Ribata of his mission, and that

Ribata had alerted Kumo.

Haseo was up. He stood at a spot overlooking the valley

and shaded his eyes against the sun. High in the translucent sky

circled the first kite. The world was dew-fresh and very beautiful.

Akitada had too recently emerged from continuous night not

to feel an almost dizzying fear of losing his fragile freedom again.

“Haseo,” he called out. “We must leave.”

Haseo did not turn. Instead he motioned to Akitada, who

repeated, more urgently, “We must leave immediately. I think

we have been betrayed.”

“Ah.” Haseo nodded without surprise and pointed to the

foot of the mountain on the far side of the valley. Where the

sunlight had melted away a narrow patch of fog, gray rocks and

towering cedars floated like a small island in the sea of white

which filled the rest of the valley.

And there, among the firs and pines, something sparkled

and moved. As insignificant as ants at that distance, a small con-

tingent of horsemen wove in and out between the trees and, one

by one, disappeared into the misty sea. The scene was surreal, and

they would have missed it, if the sun had not caught the shining

helmet of the leader and then drawn the eyes to the rider who fol-

lowed, a colored standard attached to the back of his armor.

There had been fewer than ten horsemen, but more might follow.

Akitada felt certain that the man in the gilded helmet was

Kumo himself, eager to make an end of their cat-and-mouse

game. He turned to look back at the hut, its drapery of morning

glories an intense blue in the sun. Ribata had come out on the

veranda, a small and frail figure in her grayish white nun’s habit.

Masako was looking from Ribata to them, a frown on her pretty

face. No doubt Toshito was among the horsemen in the valley

below, showing Kumo the way to the hermitage, certain that the

women would keep their prey distracted.

348

I . J . P a r k e r

Ribata called out, “What is the matter, my lord? Is some-

thing wrong?”

Ignoring her, Akitada turned back to Haseo and said in a

low voice, “They will have to leave their horses below and climb

up on foot. It gives us a little time. Kumo counts on surprising

us, on finding two invalids taking shelter. We must go down the

other side of this mountain. Masako said the road to Mano

passes there. It’s not far.”

Haseo nodded. It was like him not to argue or ask questions.

Instead he said with a regretful grin, “A pity! They’re a mere

handful apiece. What I wouldn’t give if we had a couple of

swords!”

As they ran past the hermitage toward the forest, Ribata

stepped in their way. “Stop! Where are you going?” she cried, her

eyes anxious. “What is happening?” Akitada pushed her aside

without answering.

The forest was still dark and gloomy, but the ground was

soft with pine needles and dry leaf mold and they ran quickly,

talking in short bursts.

“How are you today?” Akitada asked.

“Much better. I suppose that nun was healing me for who-

ever’s coming after us?”

“Yes. Kumo. A relative. I saw a golden helmet. Only Kumo’s

rich enough for one of those.” Haseo was moving well, but

Akitada suddenly felt guilty. He said, “It’s my fault. I brought

you into this. Kumo’s after me.”

Haseo snorted. “You’re wrong. Anyone in the mine might’ve

found out. He’s been stealing gold for years.”

“What?” Akitada almost stumbled over a tree root. “What

do you mean?”

Haseo looked back over his shoulder, missed a step, and slid

down the slope. He got back up and continued. “Don’t you

know? You were chipping away at those rocks for two days.”

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

349

Of course, Akitada thought. How could he have missed it?

All those badger holes and baskets of rock with little or no silver in them! They had been after those tiny bits of yellow metal.

That was why he had pulverized the rocks, and why they had

washed the gravel on that sluice. That was why there had been

so many guards. Kumo was not mining silver for the emperor,

but gold for himself. “Jisei!” Akitada cried. “I forgot to ask you

about Jisei.”

Haseo stopped. “The little fellow in the stockade? What

about him?”

“Someone killed him the night they took me to see the

governor. Did you see anything?”

Haseo cursed softly. “Yes. I was sleeping, but he must’ve

cried out. Those two pirates were having some argument with

him. By the time I guessed what was happening and got to my

feet, he was on the ground and the guards came. They took the

two bastards away and put the little fellow on a litter. I thought

he was only hurt.”

“They called it a fight between prisoners, but I think he

was murdered. He knew about the gold and was blackmailing

someone. That’s why he was so sure he was going home.”

Haseo turned away. “Too late now! We’ve got to save our

own tails. Come on!”

Yes, this time Kumo would make certain by killing them. A

helpless rage filled Akitada as he plunged down the slope after

Haseo. He would make Kumo pay for what he had done to him

and to Jisei, make him fight for his gold, but not here. Not in

this murky forest where you could find no firm foothold and

where he would lie forgotten among the roots of giant cedars

while spiders built their webs between his bones.

Halfway down the mountain, they found a barely noticeable

track. Perhaps charcoal burners had come this way and had

marked the easiest and most direct path down to the valley. They

350

I . J . P a r k e r

were glad, for the rapid descent over the roughest parts had

taken its toll. Going down a hill is faster than climbing it, but not necessarily less tiring for two men weakened by illness and blood

loss and hampered by leg injuries. Only the knowledge that, in

spite of their bravado, they had little chance against heavily

armed men speeded their descent, and they emerged from the

dim forest into almost blinding sunlight a scant hour later.

The view extended southward, across thinly forested lower

slopes down to a sun-bright sea where Sawata Bay merged into

the infinite expanse of ocean and sky. The highway beyond the

foothills skirted the edge of the bay like a pearl-gray ribbon

joining two pieces of fabric, one glistening silver, the other deep green. They could see the brown roofs of a town some distance

away, and beyond that, farther along the vast bow of the shore,

another, larger town—Mano. Fishing boats worked the shim-

mering bay and a large sailing ship lay at anchor nearby. Above

stretched an immense pale blue sky streaked with streamers

of thin clouds and dotted with black crows and white seagulls,

circling and rising, swooping and plunging into the waves.

“The road’s empty,” said Haseo. “Maybe we’ll make it.”

They trotted down the slope, skirting stunted pines and

sending nesting birds aflutter, but Akitada knew that they

could not keep up the pace much longer. Both of them limped

and gasped for breath, and now, in the warm sun, sweat poured

down their faces and bodies. It had been cooler in the forest,

but the hard exercise had heated their blood. They chased a

lone hare through the dry gorse down the hill, its white tail