Текст книги "Island of Exiles "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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stepped back. Mutobe’s steps faltered. “Is that really you, Sug-

awara?” he asked uncertainly. “All that blood. Are you hurt?”

Belatedly his eyes fell on the carcass of a dead horse, then on

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human bodies. “What has happened here?” he asked, his eyes

wide and his voice hoarse.

“Kumo caught up with us. May I introduce Lieutenant

Tora? If he had not found me in time, we would not be speaking

to each other now.”

Mutobe looked at Tora, turned a little green at the amount

of gore on Tora, and nodded. “Yes. We met. Are you telling me

that you two killed all these men?” His eyes counted. “Four

mounted soldiers? All by yourselves?”

“No, there were three of us. My friend was wounded. He is

dying.” Akitada led the way to the farmyard, where Mutobe

counted more bodies, pausing in astonishment beside the

corpse of the late high constable.

“It’s Kumo,” he said, picking up the golden helmet. “You

killed Kumo. Wonderful! It’s a miracle. Finally we are free of the

monster. Oh, we will celebrate this day!” He clapped his hands

together like a small child.

Akitada did not feel like celebrating. He knelt beside Haseo.

Mutobe came to lean over him. “Who is he?”

“Utsunomiya Haseo. My friend.”

“Don’t know him. How did you meet?”

“He was a prisoner as I was. In Kumo’s mine.”

“Oh, a convict. He looks dead.”

Akitada was holding Haseo’s hand, willing him to open his

eyes, to smile. Tora joined them. He reached down and felt

Haseo’s neck. “Gone,” he said bluntly. “Better this way.”

“Yes,” said Akitada dismally, tears blurring his eyes. “But I

had so much to ask him still.”

“Well.” Mutobe straightened up and looked about. “The

locals will take care of him and the others. Cheer up. He’s only

a convict. Would have been executed anyway for escaping.”

Akitada felt like striking the man. Even if it had been

some other convict and not Haseo, he would have flared up in

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

369

righteous anger. Mutobe had not confronted Kumo to stop the

abuse of prisoners and mine workers. He had been engaged in a

miserable private struggle to solidify his and his son’s authority

against the increasingly powerful high constable. But Akitada

was too exhausted to be able to say more than, “No. He will

return with us for an honorable burial in Mano. Whatever he

was, he fought bravely in an honorable cause.”

Mutobe was distracted. “Oh, very well. Whatever. But where

are the ladies?”

“The ladies?” Akitada put Haseo’s hand back on his chest and

got to his feet. He saw now that they had been joined by

two other men. One was Yamada, looking shocked and anxious,

the other the governor’s son. “Toshito?” Akitada gasped. “What

are you doing here? I thought you were with Kumo.”

“With Kumo?” Yamada and his son-in-law cried in unison.

“Why would my son be with Kumo?” the governor asked.

“He ran most of the way from Ribata’s hermitage to tell me of

your escape and to ask me to bring help in case Kumo came

after you. He took quite a risk. I’m sorry we did not get here

sooner, but my men were reluctant to obey me.”

Akitada said quickly, “Never mind. I’m grateful you’re here.”

He glanced toward the governor’s soldiers. An elderly officer

was directing his men to collect the bodies and clear the road

of dead horses. Mutobe must have had an impossible task. It

was a miracle he had appeared with such numbers. And Akitada

had been wrong about Toshito and owed the obnoxious fellow

an apology. There were more important matters in life than

a moment’s humility. Bowing to the governor’s son, he

said awkwardly, “I beg your pardon for my mistake, Toshito. I

thought when you left last night . . . Ribata is close to Kumo’s

family and you were very hostile. When we woke up and

saw Kumo and his men coming, there seemed to be only one

explanation.”

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“Damn you to hell!” Toshito spat. “How dare you call me a

traitor? You ran like the coward you are, leaving two helpless

women to the attentions of . . . soldiers, low creatures without

principle.” He waved at the bodies which still lay about the

courtyard and had attracted a small crowd of jabbering villagers.

Akitada bit his lip and said again, “I am sorry. It was a

mistake.”

Mutobe stepped between them. “Toshito,” he said sharply,

“you forget yourself. Lord Sugawara is under imperial orders

and has done us a great service. Apologize.”

His son compressed his lips and glared.

Yamada asked, “Do you really think they hurt the women?”

Suddenly Akitada had had enough. He told Mutobe coldly,

“Tell your son to take the sedan chair and some of the men

to bring the ladies here. Meanwhile, there are other matters to

discuss. Inside. It is hot out here and stinks of blood.”

The farmer, his wife, and several female relatives or maids

prostrated themselves when they entered the house. Mutobe

demanded use of their main room, and a place for them to wash

themselves. Akitada was grateful for the last, for the clothes he

had borrowed from Tora were stiff with drying blood, and his

skin and scalp itched under layers of sweat and filth.

One of the women brought a large bowl of water and hemp

cloth for drying, but he asked for the well. There he stripped

and poured bucket after bucket of clean water over himself,

scrubbing his face, beard, hair, and body until he felt clean

again. Someone brought him a silk robe—one of the gover-

nor’s, to judge by its quality and size—and he ran his fingers

through his hair and twisted it up into a topknot. When he went

back into the house, Mutobe and Yamada both looked relieved

at his changed appearance.

“Have some of this wine,” offered Mutobe. “It is only ordi-

nary, but it will give you some strength.”

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371

Strength. Yes, he could use that. The cold water had tem-

porarily dispelled his exhaustion, but now he sank down on the

wooden planks of the farmer’s best room and gulped the rough

wine gratefully.

Yamada and Mutobe watched him expectantly, too polite to

burst into excited questions, but clearly hopeful that the wine

would loosen his tongue.

Akitada’s first thought was Haseo. “What has been done

about my friend’s body?”

“He will be taken back to Mano,” said Mutobe quickly. “My

men are building a stretcher. I hope that is satisfactory?”

Akitada nodded. “Where is Tora?”

“Your lieutenant suddenly recalled having left some people

behind. He took horses to get them.”

Akitada had forgotten the wretched Wada and the strange

little man with the crippled leg. “One of the men he left behind

is the police official Wada,” he told the governor. “I assume you

know him?”

Mutobe made a face. “Er. Yes. Not perhaps what one could

wish. There have been some complaints.”

“You have, of course, investigated them?” Akitada asked.

Mutobe flushed. “Why? Even if they proved true, what

would you have me do about it?”

Akitada snapped, “Well, he could receive a reprimand and

warning. Or he could be arrested and tried and sent to jail. Or

he could be sent back to the capital as unsuitable. I gather you

took none of these options. Wada was working for Kumo when

he waylaid me. He had me beaten half to death by his consta-

bles, and when Kumo interfered he took me to a gold mine

where I was left to die.”

The two men stared at him.

“A gold mine?” asked Mutobe.

“My mistake. I meant to say silver mine.”

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“Terrible,” cried Yamada. “My dear Taketsuna, I wish I had

known. Oh, dear! Forgive me. Lord Sugawara, I mean. You will

have to do something about that man, Governor.”

Mutobe stiffened his back. “Certainly. I will have him ar-

rested immediately. I had no idea. Up until now there were

just a few concerns about his rough treatment of criminals and

vagrants or prostitutes. . . .” Seeing Akitada’s expression, he

flushed again. “Well. I tried to discipline him, but Kumo

stepped in to stop me. Then this business with Toshito hap-

pened.” He faltered miserably. An uncomfortable silence fell.

Mutobe asked diffidently, “I trust we can settle my son’s affairs

once and for all now, my lord? It was suicide, not murder?”

Akitada did not think much of the way Mutobe had carried

out his duties, but there were extenuating circumstances. At

least now that his son’s name would be cleared, the man should

have the time to tend to business, and Akitada needed his coop-

eration. He started to explain Okisada’s death when he had

second thoughts.

From what everyone had said about fugu poison, such a

death was painful. Would a spoiled prince like Okisada really

choose this method to end his life? Especially when his reason

was to avoid the pain of a stomach disorder? How ill had

Okisada really been? He had been well enough to travel and

attend the gathering at Professor Sakamoto’s house. And had

not his fellow conspirators, with the exception of the alcoholic

professor, been rather complacent about his death and the

failure of their enterprise? Only the professor had been truly

upset. And perhaps Shunsei. The monk’s faith in his beloved’s

achieving Buddhahood might have overcome his grief. But

Kumo, Taira, and the physician had only been concerned with

getting young Mutobe convicted.

And then there were Kumo’s strange final words. Something

about making a sacrifice for his emperor.

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373

Mutobe cleared his throat. “May I ask, my lord, what it is

that you found out?”

Akitada was spared an answer. From outside came the

sound of voices, and then the door flew open and revealed one

of Mutobe’s men trying to bar Tora’s way.

“Let him in!” Akitada snapped.

Mutobe gave him a reproachful glance and nodded to his

guard. The small incident reminded Akitada of his awkward

position. He no longer had his imperial orders and had to

depend on Mutobe’s cooperation.

Tora looked slightly shaken. He bowed to them, then ad-

dressed Akitada. “I went back for Turtle and that swine Wada.”

Akitada nodded. “I hope you tied up Wada. He is under

arrest.”

Tora shook his head. “He’s dead, sir.”

Akitada gave him a sharp look. “How?”

Tora hesitated. “Er, it wasn’t me, sir. I found him dead when

I got there, sir. Turtle claims the soldiers did it.”

“Nonsense! We would have seen them stop. Kumo was in

such a hurry to catch up with us that he did not bother to slow

down.” Akitada frowned. And that was strange. Wada must have

been dead already or unconscious, or he would surely have

cried out to Kumo. Getting to his feet, he said, “Excuse me, gen-

tlemen. I think I’ll have a word with my lieutenant’s servant.

Come, Tora.”

Outside, he found a grinning and whistling Turtle holding

the reins of the three horses. One of them had the corpse of

Wada slung over its saddle. Blood dripped slowly into the

dust. Akitada lifted the dead man’s head and saw that his throat

had been slit. It did not look like a sword wound, and his

eyes went to the servant’s waist. There was a bulge under his

jacket.

“Show me your knife!” he ordered.

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The smug expression on the small cripple’s face changed

to unease. After a moment, he reached into his jacket and

produced a small, sharp knife.

Akitada inspected it. The blade was clean, but traces of

blood still clung to the joint between blade and hilt. “Did he

give you trouble?” he asked mildly, gesturing toward the corpse.

A nod and a small cringing wiggle were his answer.

“You thought he might alert the soldiers?”

Akitada was rewarded with a more energetic nod and a

tentative grin.

“That took courage. The soldiers might have caught you.”

Turtle cried, “I was quick, your honor. He was sitting up

and looking at the soldiers coming toward us. I could tell he

was glad to see them. I pulled my knife and reached around him

like so.” He gestured vividly. “Then I jumped behind a bush

like my master told me to.” Turtle straightened his shoulders

proudly and gave Tora a wide smile. When Tora remained

impassive, Turtle turned back to Akitada. “I did right, didn’t I,

your honor?”

“You did right.” Akitada returned the knife. “Put Wada with

the other corpses, Tora. I’m glad your servant spared you the

trouble.”

Tora growled. “He deprived me of the satisfaction. The bas-

tard should’ve died before he was born.” And with that peculiar

logic, Tora slung the corpse of Wada, once the most feared man

on Sadoshima, over his shoulder and walked away.

Akitada looked after him with affection and then retraced

his steps to the passage where he had fought Kumo. The body

was gone, though large bloodstains still marked where it and

the other slain men had lain. How quickly it had been over! All

those weeks in the mine he had thought of what he would say

and do to Kumo when they finally met face to face. It had

turned out very differently. They had exchanged few words, and

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

375

those had been mostly Kumo’s, accusing Akitada of bloodlust.

He knew now that Kumo had been wrong, that a man may feel

a certain exhilaration in fighting for his life or for a righteous

cause, but that he would never kill for mere pleasure.

Surely Kumo must have known that he might die. He

had simply not been a sword fighter. Akitada did not pride

himself on special expertise and he had been exhausted, yet he

had known immediately and with astonishing disappointment

that the man was not much of an adversary. Kumo had talked

about sacrifice and bowed with great reverence—as if he were

about to carry out a sacred duty. Strange! The puzzle nagged

at him.

Akitada went where Kumo had stood. As he recalled, the

man had turned slightly toward his right. All that could be seen

in that direction were two of the farm buildings and between

them a narrow slice of the sparkling bay. No temple. No small

shrine. No flying banners. Just a bit of water with a few fishing

boats, some gulls, and that ship at anchor.

It was odd that there should be such a large ship outside a

fishing harbor. What was it doing here? Why was it not at

Mano?

He walked back up to the highway and looked across the

houses of this small town. There was nothing of any signifi-

cance on the waterfront. All the more substantial buildings—a

temple and a few large farms like this one—were on higher

ground. He shook his head in confusion and decided that he did

not want to talk to Mutobe yet, not until he settled some of his

uncertainties, some of the niggling suspicions in the back of his

mind. And so he started walking along the road.

Something about the way Okisada had died still dissatisfied

him. Shunsei had told him that Okisada habitually consumed

fugu and had done so the night of the dinner because he

had claimed to get relief from his constant pain by eating

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a small amount of the poison. It was Shunsei’s testimony

which had convinced Akitada that the prince had died by

his own hand.

Sakamoto had also thought that Okisada poisoned himself

and that he had done so in order to throw suspicion on Toshito.

But Sakamoto had not been in the others’ confidence. No,

Akitada was convinced the true conspirators were Kumo, Taira,

and Nakatomi.

According to Haru, the expert in matters pertaining both to

fugu and to men, the poison could make a man feel as though he had entered heaven and give him back his sexual strength. What

was more likely than that the self-indulgent Okisada had also

become an expert in those properties of the fugu poison? Would such a man kill himself with it, intentionally or accidentally?

Akitada became transfixed in the middle of the roadway,

much to the consternation of a group of peasants who had to

pass him in order to visit the site of the battle. They eyed him

with fear, this bearded, gaunt creature in silk robe and trousers

but with bare feet and a scowl on his face. Wondering perhaps if

he was some supernatural creature, they kept to the shoulder of

the road, bobbing deep bows as they edged past him.

Akitada had been seized by an awful suspicion. He swung

around suddenly to look past the peasants to the ship in the

harbor and cried, “Hah, they think they have been clever, the

scoundrels. But by heaven, they shall not get away with it!”

The peasants squawked and took off running.

Akitada walked back to the farmhouse, turning matters over

in his mind before speaking to Mutobe. Nakatomi’s role had

been crucial. And Taira had had a very good reason to refuse

visitors at the manor. But he could not make out Shunsei. The

monk had seemed too simpleminded for such an enormous

deception. Amazingly, the clever plot had almost worked.

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377

And then another thought came. Kumo and his men had

worn their finest armor and ridden silk-trimmed horses. Their

bows and arrows had been purely ceremonial. They had never

been meant to be used in combat. Kumo was not chasing a cou-

ple of convicts, even if one of them was an imperial official. He

had come here to serve “his” emperor and had only attacked

because Akitada got in his way. That was why Kumo had faced

battle with Akitada, claiming that he was sacrificing his Bud-

dhahood for his emperor. He had been willing to kill Akitada

even though that would prevent his salvation.

Whatever the true state of affairs, no time was to be lost.

Mutobe must board the ship immediately. They must search the

town. Akitada glanced again at the substantial roofs of the

temple. That was where he would start.

Full of purpose again, he strode into the farmhouse and

confronted the others with his suspicions.

“You cannot be serious!” gasped the governor, turning pale.

“But how is this possible? And after all that time!” He rose and

paced. “What will I do if it is as you say? How can I arrest him?

What do I charge him with? I have no such authority. And you

have lost your documents.” He stopped and stared accusingly at

Akitada. “What will we do? This is a very delicate matter.”

“Delicate?” Mutobe’s continuing self-interest appalled

Akitada. Did the man not know that there were duties he could

not shirk? It was obvious that he could not expect much help

from the man. But Mutobe was quite right about one thing.

Without his papers, Akitada had no authority whatsoever and

was dependent on Mutobe’s support. He took a deep breath. A

shouting match would solve nothing. “It seems the ship in the

harbor is a pirate craft. If you will board it and arrest the captain and crew, I will do the rest. I will need a few of your men. Please instruct them to obey Tora’s commands.”

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Mutobe nodded reluctantly. “You will take the responsibil-

ity, then?”

“Yes.”

Mutobe still looked unhappy, but he agreed. “Very well. Let

us go and get it over with.”

Akitada took eight of the soldiers and Mutobe the rest.

Then they set off, Mutobe with his banner carried before him,

Akitada without such marks of authority, though he pushed

Kumo’s gilded sword through the silken sash of Mutobe’s spare

robe, and smoothed his hair a little. Tora put on a little show of

snapping commands at his troops, and they were off, followed

by a gaggle of curious peasants.

The temple was a very modest one. It had no pagoda and

only one main hall and some low buildings to house the local

priest and visiting monks. An old man was sweeping the court-

yard, but otherwise the scene was peaceful. Doubts began to stir

in Akitada’s mind. How Toshito would mock if it turned out

that Akitada was wrong again. And he could offer nothing but

a far-fetched argument based on a fishwife’s tale! Sending a

detailed report about Akitada’s activities to the emperor would

be the perfect revenge for the governor’s son.

The old man stopped his sweeping, stared at them, then

bowed. Perhaps he thought they were expected. Akitada took

it for a hopeful sign. He made straight for the hall and took

the stairs to the double doors, Tora and the soldiers at his

heels. Throwing wide the doors on empty space, he shouted, “Is

anyone here?”

The light was dim inside. Across from him was a long dais,

and on the dais rested a Buddha figure. Behind the statue a lath

screen extended across the hall. Lights flickered beyond and a

shadow moved behind the screen.

His heart pounding, Akitada quickly crossed the hall and

passed around the end of the screen. Here grass mats had

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379

been spread and more screens placed to create a series of

smaller chambers. The first of these was empty, though a candle

burned in a tall holder. Two silken cushions still held imprints.

Akitada flung aside a flimsy screen, saw that the next enclosure

was also empty, and rushed across it to tear aside the final

screen.

Two old men huddled in the center of this room, their arms

about each other and their eyes looking fearfully his way. Tora

and the soldiers quickly surrounded them.

One of the two was Taira of the snow-white hair and

beetling black eyebrows.

“Who are you? What do you want?” he quavered, hugging

the other man to him.

Akitada’s eyes were on his companion. At first glance this

man had appeared as senile as Taira, but Akitada now saw that

he was only slightly past middle age. He looked much older

because his skull was shaven, he was fat, and he had the

unhealthy pallor of a sick person. He had changed greatly with

the years, but there was no doubt in Akitada’s mind that this

was Okisada, the Second Prince, formerly crown prince and

heir to the imperial throne. Not dead, but very much alive.

He had the round face, small nose, and thick lips of his im-

perial and Fujiwara relatives, and once, years ago, on the occa-

sion of an imperial procession, Akitada had seen him ride past

in all the pomp and glory of his former exalted position. His

present condition made a shocking change from those happier

times, but Akitada had never forgotten his face.

He bowed deeply. “Your Highness,” he said, “My name is

Sugawara Akitada. I regret extremely to find you under such cir-

cumstances. I am afraid that it is my duty to place you and Lord

Taira under arrest for attempted treason.”

Okisada said nothing. His lower lip trembled and he

clutched convulsively at Taira. Taira detached himself gently

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and said, “Let us resume our seats, Highness, and hear what this

person has to say in explanation of such outrageous charges.”

Passing Akitada and the staring soldiers, he led his master

back to the cushions in the first room. The soldiers put up

the screen again. On a gesture from Akitada, they remained. A

brazier full of glowing coals made the area hot and stuffy on

this late summer day. Nobody invited Akitada to sit. He knelt

formally, found that his knee hurt abominably, and sat back

on his heels.

He addressed Okisada. “I have no doubt that you already

know who I am and why I am here on Sadoshima, but to ob-

serve the formalities, I serve as temporary imperial envoy with

powers to inquire into certain irregularities among the exiles

here. More specifically I was sent to investigate Your Highness’s

alleged murder. Would you care to explain why you performed

this extraordinary charade?”

Okisada’s lower lip began to quiver again. Taira put his thin

hand on his arm and said angrily to Akitada, “How dare you

address His Imperial Highness in such a tone and with such

words? Where are your credentials?”

“My lord, I believe you know very well where they are.

Besides, since both of you are exiles here, I do not owe you any

explanations. We are wasting time. I suppose you expect the

arrival of the rebel Kumo before leaving on the ship at anchor in

the harbor? I regret to inform you that Kumo is dead, and that

Governor Mutobe is at this moment boarding the ship to arrest

its captain and men. Your supporters will shortly be rounded up

and tried for their involvement in this plot.”

Okisada cried out and clutched at Taira again. Taira turned

very pale. He snapped, “You lie.”

Akitada removed the gilded sword from his sash and placed

it on the mat before Taira. “I told you the truth,” he said. “I killed Kumo myself and took his sword off his body not an hour ago.”

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381

They both looked at the sword in horror. Taira bit his lip,

then his eyes searched Akitada’s face. Okisada began to weep.

“All for nothing,” the prince blubbered. “It was all for noth-

ing. Poor Shunsei starved to death, and all my suffering wasted.

Oh, why is this world so cruel to me?”

Taira murmured something soothing and stroked the

prince’s back.

So Okisada’s lover had died, expecting to join his beloved

in another world. Akitada sighed. There was little pleasure in

confronting this man with his guilt. He was weak, spoiled, and

self-centered, but he had been raised expecting to be emperor.

The disappointment apparently had destroyed whatever good

qualities the prince might once have had. He said, “I think you

took a carefully measured amount of the fugu poison during the professor’s dinner in order to induce a deathlike trance. You did

this to cause the governor’s son to be arrested for your murder

and to cover preparations for your return to imperial power.

Your charade worked because neither Sakamoto nor Mutobe’s

son were familiar with this particular effect of the poison.”

“What you are pleased to call a charade, Lord Sugawara,”

said Taira in a tired voice, “was no more than an accident. We

all thought His Highness dead. It was his physician, Nakatomi,

who discovered that the prince had fallen into a state approxi-

mating nirvana. He remained like that for days. We thought

it a miracle when he returned to life, and we were, of course,

overjoyed, but . . .” He paused, searching for words.

Akitada snapped, “In that case, why did you pursue the

murder charge against young Mutobe? And why allow the

monk Shunsei to die of grief?”

Okisada buried his face in a sleeve and sobbed.

Taira sighed. “You don’t understand. We had hoped for bet-

ter treatment from the authorities here. Instead Mutobe and his

son began a systematic campaign of persecution against us and

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our sole protector, the high constable. Don’t forget that you are

in the presence of the rightful emperor. Our lives are dedicated

to returning him to the throne.”

“And so you would have let young Mutobe die for a murder

which did not happen?”

Taira raised his brows. “Certainly not. Exile is the worst that

could happen to him. He is an irritating young man. A period of

military service in the north might make a man of him.”

Akitada found himself agreeing with that. Having wronged

Toshito by misjudging him had worsened his dislike for the

young man. There was something about Toshito that made

him the perfect target for false accusations. But it would not

do to let Taira know of his feelings. He said coldly, “I do not

believe you. Many people have spoken of the prince’s fondness

for fugu. I expect he knew the effects of the poison very well indeed. But Sakamoto, Shunsei, and young Mutobe all thought

the prince had died. You had the presumed corpse taken to

Nakatomi, who pronounced death by poison. Then you staged

a cremation and afterwards you, my lord, left for your mansion

with the prince hidden in your sedan chair. There you and

the prince waited until Toshito would be found guilty and

Mutobe would be recalled. But two events interrupted your

plans. First I arrived on the scene, and then Toshito escaped

from prison.”

Taira growled, “Kumo always was too devout. He should

have killed you.”

“Yes. I wondered why I was buried alive in his mine. I take it

that the thief Genzo brought you my papers?”

Taira did not answer.

“Well, as I said, Toshito’s unexpected escape from prison

caused another delay, and that is why you are still here now.

With your ship at anchor in the harbor.”

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383

The prince whimpered. Taira was very pale, but his black

eyes burned. “Prove it! We have done nothing.”

“The proof is waiting. The governor is about to arrest the

ship’s captain and crew. Then we will question Nakatomi. I

doubt they will hesitate to speak under the circumstances. And

with Kumo dead, your connections to the mainland and ties

with the Ezo rebels are broken. Your contacts there will also be

arrested. It is pointless to persist, my lord.”

There was a long silence. Then Taira said, “I wish to see

Kumo’s corpse.”

Akitada dispatched Tora with four of the soldiers to bring

the body. Then he turned to Okisada. “You must have been

afraid of dying, Highness.”

Okisada sat up a little and dabbed the tears from his face.

“Nonsense,” he muttered. “I was very careful. There is not another

person in the world who knows as much about the fish as I do.”

Akitada heard the boast and believed it. But he still thought

Okisada had been lucky. Or perhaps not. For what would hap-

pen next was in the hands of the emperor and his advisors, and

it would hardly be as pleasant as Okisada’s exile on Sadoshima.

As for Taira, a second attempt at rebellion meant the death

penalty.

More to the point, Okisada had just admitted his guilt,

though he would not think of himself as being either culpable

or foolish. Taira compressed his lips, but did not chide his

master.

“I have been wondering how you smuggled the fugu fish to

the dinner,” Akitada went on. “Everyone said that you ate only

Toshito’s stew and the dishes served by Sakamoto’s servants.”

“I have been in the habit of preparing my own fugu for

years. It has certain properties which ease pain and produce a

pleasant sense of well-being. That evening I brought a small

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I . J . P a r k e r

amount of the so-called poison with me in my sleeve. Nobody

noticed my adding it to the stew.”

Heavy steps sounded in the hall beyond the screen, then a

dull thump. After a moment Tora appeared and asked, “Where

do you want him?”

Before Akitada could answer there was a shout, and then a

slight figure in fluttering white robes slipped past Tora. Ribata.

A few steps into the dim room she stopped uncertainly. Her eyes

found Okisada. She cried, “Cousin! It is true. You are alive. A

miracle! Oh, praise the Buddha!” She went to him, knelt, bowed

deeply, and then raised her shining face, taking his hands in

hers. “Oh, my dear. How happy I am to find you alive after all! I

was lonely for you, my almost-brother.”

Ribata’s being another member of the imperial family