Текст книги "Black Arrow "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

FIFTEEN

THE WRESTLING MATCH

T

ora and Hitomaro were sitting in their quarters, their noses in their morning rice bowls, shoveling the steaming food down with the help of chopsticks, when the first eerie sound reached their ears from across the tribunal compound. Both lowered their bowls simultaneously and looked at each other. And both started to laugh.

“That infernal flute!” cried Hitomaro, shaking his head. “It’s worse than ever.”

Tora set down his bowl and slapped his knees in glee. “It means he’s feeling better. I was worried. There’s that nasty cut. And then his fretting about the little boy. That has been eating away at him like a hungry rat at a rice cake.”

Hitomaro snorted. “Considering our other troubles, what’s so special about the child?”

Tora looked at him in feigned surprise. “I don’t mean to offend you, Hito,” he said, “but any moron can see our master is fond of children. You shouldn’t have told him the boy was probably dead. That was not a kind thing to do to him.”

Hitomaro flushed. “So that’s why he got so angry.” A particularly discordant note sounded from the main hall, and he flinched.

“Well,” said Tora magnanimously, “we all make mistakes. The main thing is that his wife has taken him in hand. I knew he’d be all right when she looked for him at the hearing yesterday. Did you see his face?”

Hitomaro smiled. “He was embarrassed. Who wants to be checked up on by his wife? Imagine, he never told her about being wounded. She had to find out from Hamaya. I bet she had a few things to say to him.”

“Nothing like a good argument with a pretty wife to give a husband ideas about settling the matter without words,” Tora said with a grin.

In the distance, the flute started over with the same exercise. They sat and listened to its wailing and shrieking for a moment, then shook their heads and burst out laughing.

“Especially,” chortled Tora, “a man who’s really fond of children.”

The door opened and Akitada’s elderly secretary came in. “And what is so funny?” Seimei asked, seating himself.

“Seimei, my wise old bird,” Tora greeted him. “Glad to see you up and around again. Why didn’t you manage to lose that infernal flute?”

Seimei gave Tora a cold look.

“Welcome,” said Hitomaro with a bow. “We are honored by your visit.”

Seimei smiled graciously and bowed back. “Thank you, Hitomaro. It’s a pleasure to see you well.”

“So how’s the master today?” Tora asked, undaunted. “Did his lady’s special touch put things right with him?” He winked broadly at Hitomaro.

Seimei shuddered. “There is no medicine against your foolishness, Tora. As Master Kung Fu said, ‘Rotten wood cannot be carved, nor a wall of dried dung troweled.’”

Hitomaro grinned. “What did his lady say about the master’s injury?”

“When she found out, she couldn’t wait for the end of the hearing. She came to see him for herself.” Seimei shook his head. “So impulsive!”

“I like spirit in a woman,” observed Tora. “What a day! First the master solves the case of that mutilated body and locates a missing deserter when a whole garrison of soldiers could not find the bastard, and then the master’s wife makes him send everyone home so she can take care of him. He went like a kitten, too. And now listen to him.” He laughed again.

Across the yard the flute performed a series of elaborate but jarring trills before rising to a climactic shriek and falling silent. They held their breaths, but all remained quiet. Seimei said in a tone of reproof, “You should have looked after your master better, Tora. It’s lucky only the master and I knew she was there.”

Tora flushed and hung his head.

Seimei was pleased with this reaction and added for good measure, “He was extremely feverish. It was all he could do to walk to his room.”

“Oh, come on,” said Hitomaro with a glance at Tora. “You know how he is when he thinks it’s his duty.”

Seimei sniffed. “Her ladyship made him comfortable and sent for Dr. Oyoshi. The doctor’s face still looks very bad, but I must say I was glad to make his acquaintance. A very knowledgeable man. His medicine eased my cough right away. We consulted together and made up a special tea from some of my herbs for the master—it was ginseng and mint, with a touch of gardenia and a pinch each of willow bark and cinnamon, so soothing to a weakened constitution—and added an interesting powder the doctor brought with him. The medicine soon produced a sound sleep, and the master awoke this morning feeling much better. This is what I came to tell you. Also that he wants both of you in his office now.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so right away?” Tora was up and out the door, before Hitomaro and Seimei could get to their feet to follow.

The scene they found in the courtyard stopped them.

A group of about twenty armed and mounted warriors, with Uesugi emblems on their clothes and on the flying banners, waited in the wintry sun in front of the tribunal hall. There were several riderless horses, one of them with a gold-lacquered saddle and crimson silk tassels fluttering from its shining tail and halter.

“Surely not the Emperor of the North himself?” Tora said. “Do you suppose Uesugi’s found the boy?”

“Let’s go find out,” said Hitomaro.

♦

For Akitada, the Lord of Takata was an unexpected and, at the moment, unwelcome visitor.

After a restful night covered with scented silken quilts and protected from the cold drafts by carefully placed screens, he had woken to the tender ministrations of his wife. Greeted with fragrant hot tea and Tamako’s soft eyes and sweet smile, he had dressed and started his day in a very pleasant frame of mind in spite of his worries. His morning gruel was subtly flavored with herbs, and a new, much larger brazier made his office very comfortable. And then he had played his flute.

The Lord of Takata and two senior retainers were announced by Hamaya just when Akitada had felt near success with a particularly tricky passage. He reluctantly put down the flute. His visitors looked slightly taken aback by Akitada’s scowl.

Now Uesugi was seated on a silk cushion on the other side of the broad desk, while his companions knelt behind him. Akitada watched sourly as his wife poured some wine for his visitors.

Hitomaro and Tora came in, glowered at Uesugi’s men, and took up position at the door. Tora said, “I hope it’s good news for a change, sir.” He received a frown from Akitada and looked sheepish. Tamako smiled and poured more wine, but her husband looked grim.

“I had not expected to meet your noble lady,” Uesugi remarked to Akitada, bowing graciously to Tamako and ignoring the others. “I am afraid the tribunal is not a fit place for a refined person in her delicate condition.”

Akitada felt a surge of anger followed by fear. Uesugi kept himself too well informed about them. Controlling his voice, he said, “My wife is understandably concerned after the attack on me.”

Uesugi looked solicitous. “An attack? I heard a rumor that you sustained an injury. My dear Governor, you should have sent for me instantly. I had no idea that things had gone so far in this city. Too bad that Kaibara has disappeared. He was checking on some trespassers and has not returned. I think I should move my troops into the tribunal compound. That will straighten matters out fast enough. I wonder if the attack on you had something to do with your recent activities? I trust you are recovering?”

Akitada regarded him coldly. “Yes. No thanks to your man Kaibara, however. It was he who attacked me while I was out taking some exercise. I was unarmed and he fell upon me with his sword.”

Uesugi jumped up, pretending an almost comical surprise. “Kaibara attacked you? Impossible. Kaibara would never do such a thing. He had no orders.”

Akitada raised his eyebrows. “Then perhaps he anticipated them?”

Uesugi tried to cover his slip. “No, of course not. That is not what I... if it happened as you say, it must have been a mistake.”

“Are you calling me a liar or a fool?” Akitada asked.

Uesugi reddened. “Neither,” he ground out. Then he sat down again heavily and muttered, “It will be best to discuss this calmly. I was referring to a mistake Kaibara made. He must have thought you someone else.”

“Who?” Akitada asked interestedly.

Uesugi snapped, “I don’t know. No doubt you arrested and questioned him. What does he say?”

Akitada ignored the question. “What is your relationship with Judge Hisamatsu?”

“Hisamatsu?” Uesugi shot a glance at his retainers. “I see the judge rarely. Why change the subject? Where is Kaibara?”

“You surprise me. I recall that Hisamatsu was a guest at the banquet you gave in my honor. He seems to admire you.”

The Lord of Takata clenched his fists. “A mere courtesy to you,” he said with ill-concealed impatience. “I also asked the garrison commander, a city merchant, the abbot of the Buddhist temple, and your new coroner, Oyoshi. Surely you don’t think I have a special... relationship, as you call it, with all of them?”

“Ah, no,” Akitada said dryly. “Not all of them.”

There was a brief silence. Uesugi shifted. “Let me speak to Kaibara,” he finally demanded. “I’ll have this matter cleared up fast enough. He will be punished for his carelessness.”

“I’m afraid that is not possible. He died in the attempt.”

“What?” Uesugi stiffened. His retainers reached for swords that were not there because they had been left outside, and Tora and Hitomaro walked around them to stand on either side of Akitada.

Uesugi unclenched his fists and some of the tension left his body.

Akitada thought that he seemed relieved by the news that Kaibara could no longer be interrogated. And that was interesting. He went on, “Kaibara’s extraordinary behavior throws a new light on the murder of your late father’s servant and the disappearance of his grandson. I shall have to pay another visit to Takata.”

There was a brief silence, then Uesugi smiled. “Of course,” he said smoothly. “I shall do everything in my power to assist you!” He reached for his cup, and drained it. “What a thing! Kaibara of all people. And you suspect him of murdering the servant and the boy? He must have gone mad.” He paused, cocked his head, and said, “Perhaps not. Perhaps it was a plot. If he really killed my father, I would have been next, no doubt. What a thing!” He shook his head at the monstrosity of such a thought, then added, “I shall certainly be in your debt if you can discover the truth, Excellency.”

Akitada looked grim. “I doubt that, but I do intend to investigate the irregularities in this province, both as its governor and its high constable.”

Uesugi cried, “So it’s true! You have assumed the powers which rest with my family. That is illegal.”

“Do not presume to lecture me about the law, Uesugi. It is what I am trained in, and I assure you that I am quite within my rights. When there is evidence of conspiracy against the emperor or his lawfully appointed representatives, extraordinary powers may be used at the discretion of the governor.”

They looked at each other. Uesugi’s fury faltered, but only for a moment. Akitada caught something in the man’s eyes—it certainly was neither nervousness nor fear. He rose to depart with stiff expressions of regret. Akitada barely nodded.

“Pah,” said Tora, when he had gone. “The bastard lied. It’s easy to accuse a dead horse of eating the missing bale of straw.”

Hamaya put his head in. “The doctor, sir.”

Oyoshi came in, made a small bow to Tamako, nodded to the others, and then approached Akitada. “You look better, sir,” he said and touched Akitada’s forehead.

Akitada looked at Oyoshi’s discolored face and the scabs left by Kaibara’s blade. “Thank you. I wish I could say the same for you. Sit down and have a cup of wine.”

Oyoshi smiled. “I’m not a vain man and this will heal. It might have been much worse.”

“Surely you will not travel to Takata soon?” Tamako asked her husband anxiously as she poured the doctor’s wine.

“Now that the battle lines have been drawn, the sooner, the better,” Akitada said in a tone which brooked no argument. “There is no time to be lost. Uesugi did not make any threats, but that does not mean he won’t take up arms.”

“But it sounds dangerous. And you are far from well,” she protested. “Remember what happened yesterday. If not for Dr. Oyoshi’s powder, your fever might have moved to the wound, and then you might have died.” Her voice trembled over the final word, and tears filled her eyes.

Akitada was embarrassed but softened. “Well, perhaps it can wait until tomorrow.” He added more firmly, “You may leave us now.”

His wife bowed formally to her husband and inclined her head to the others before slipping from the room with a soft rustle of silk robes and a faint trace of orange blossom scent.

Akitada motioned everyone closer. While they found cushions, he put away his flute, tying the silk cord into a neat bow on top of the oblong box.

“Where did you learn to play?” Oyoshi asked.

“In the capital.” Akitada paused with the box in his hands. “I taught myself. The first instrument was a gift from a kind and noble man. I took it as a reminder that a part of my education had been sadly neglected. You see, as a boy I never received any musical instruction. I am quite determined to make up for it now.” He was puzzled by the expressions of alarm on the faces of his lieutenants.

The doctor smiled. “How extraordinary!”

“Yes, wasn’t it?” Akitada agreed eagerly. “At first it seemed impossibly difficult. But with persistence I may prevail. I realize how important a musical skill is for a man’s ability to think clearly. It requires concentration to play certain sequences and it purifies the mind amazingly. Would you like me to demonstrate?” He started to undo the box again.

“No, please don’t trouble,” Oyoshi said, raising a hand. “You were just about to give us your instructions. Perhaps some other time?”

Akitada put the box away with a small sigh. “Of course.” Pulling forward a stack of official papers, he risked another glance at the flute and said, “This is not the same instrument, you know. The first one got broken. It saved my life when I was attacked by a murderer. Remind me to tell you the story sometime.”

“I remember. That killer was also a doctor,” Tora said with a nod.

Oyoshi stared at him and turned quite pale.

Akitada thought his reaction odd. He said, “Never mind that now, Tora. The most troubling problem facing us is still the missing boy. I am afraid we made no progress at all. I am thinking of returning to Takata to ask more questions. And then there is Hisamatsu. Hitomaro has been invited to work for the judge. He will try to find more information about Uesugi’s plans and accomplices. Hitomaro’s place at the tribunal will be filled by Genba. Genba’s disguise has served its purpose. Inform him before you leave the city, Hitomaro. As for Tora...” He broke off when he saw his lieutenants’ expressions. “What is the matter now?”

“The wrestling match is this afternoon,” said Hitomaro.

“What wrestling match?”

“Genba’s match. He’s a top contender, sir,” pleaded Tora.

Akitada snapped, “Do you mean to tell me that he, and both of you, consider some wrestling bout more important than your duties in the present crisis?”

Oyoshi cleared his throat. “Perhaps I can explain. The wrestling match is a most significant event in this province. In a remote place like ours the citizens follow wrestling with an almost religious devotion since they have little else to look forward to but a long and hard winter.”

“Really?” Akitada thought about it. If Genba was a favorite, then his participation would go a long way to create goodwill for the tribunal later on. “I suppose I should have kept myself better informed,” he said. “Is Genba really good enough?”

“Oh, yes,” said Hitomaro. “You would not recognize him, sir.”

“Then I have been remiss,” Akitada said with a nod. “We shall all attend. I should have planned to do so from the start. It cannot hurt to reinforce the good impression we made on the local people yesterday.”

“You cannot go, sir.” Seimei, who had been a quiet observer until now, was adamant. “Not only are you not well enough, but by going out to a public event of this type you invite another attack. Neither Tora nor Hitomaro can protect you against an assassin in a crowd.”

Dismayed, they all looked at Akitada.

He frowned. “You exaggerate the danger, Seimei, but to satisfy everyone I shall wear ordinary clothes and watch with the crowd. I feel much stronger. This is only a small excursion, the weather is pleasant, and I need fresh air.” He raised his hand to stop further remonstrance. “Enough! I have made up my mind.”

♦

In order to attract no undue attention, Akitada wore no cap and only a plain dark gray jacket over his old blue lined silk robe. Oyoshi had calmed everyone’s worries about his health by offering to accompany him.

They left the tribunal by the back gate. The street outside was empty except for a few stragglers hurrying ahead of them. The shops were closed and shuttered, and the town seemed deserted. From the distance came the muffled sound of drums.

“Extraordinary,” muttered Akitada, striding along and looking about him. “Not even the Kamo festival in the capital attracts such total support.”

Oyoshi, being shorter and older, had trouble keeping pace. “You have much to learn about the customs hereabouts,” he gasped.

“Yes, and going about like an ordinary person seems a good way to keep myself informed,” Akitada said. “I must do this more often.” He was enjoying himself.

They had almost reached the end of the street. The curving roofs of the temple loomed ahead through the branches of bare trees. A shrill whistle sounded in the distance, followed by a roar of applause and more drumbeats. The sweet sound of zither music came from the door of a small curio shop. It mingled pleasantly with the drumbeats from the temple. Akitada stopped.

“Ah. Shikata is playing,” said Oyoshi.

Akitada listened for a moment, then entered the shop. Oyoshi followed, mopping his face with a sleeve.

The shop was very small, consisting only of a four-mat platform normally open to the street entrance on one side, with shelves on two other walls and a shuttered window on the fourth. The shelves held a collection of musical instruments, lacquer ware, carved figures, games, and dolls. An ancient man sat on the platform with a beautifully decorated koto zither before him. He looked at them, then stopped playing and bowed deeply.

“Welcome.” His voice was very soft and sounded as if it came from far away.

“I heard your music,” Akitada said, slipping off his shoes and stepping up on the platform. “It is very fine, but why aren’t you at the wrestling match?”

The old man smiled. “My legs won’t carry me any longer. And what is your reason?”

Akitada was pleased with the old-timer’s lack of ceremony. Apparently his disguise was good. “I’m in no hurry,” he said, looking at the zither curiously. “When I heard you playing this fine instrument, I decided to have a look.”

“Do you play?”

“I play the flute. Do you have any good ones in stock?”

“See for yourself.” The curio dealer pointed a clawlike hand toward the shelves. “I’m alone here. The boy’s at the match.”

Akitada went to look.

Behind him, the curio dealer said to Oyoshi, “Sit down, Doctor. Have you been in a fight?”

“It’s nothing. I slipped on the ice.”

“Ah. I thought it was your new job. Your master is younger than I expected. Do you find him a sensible man?”

Akitada turned. Surely he could not have been recognized by this old relic.

Oyoshi shot him a glance and cleared his throat. “Oh, yes.”

“Well, that makes a change,” chuckled the dealer. “A flute player, eh? They are either fools or wise men. Not like zither players. Zither players like to show off. Never offend a zither player. His sense of his own importance won’t bear it.”

Akitada flushed and pretended to examine the wares on the shelves. He recognized fine craftsmanship in every item on display. Shops in the capital had a larger selection, but hardly finer than Shikata’s. Incense guessing games, several versions of the shell-matching game, a backgammon board made of several kinds of rare woods, two sets of lacquered writing implements, a handsome silver mirror, several lutes, another zither, assorted figures of Buddhist and Shinto divinities—they were all, in their own way, quite beautiful.

Meanwhile, Shikata played another tune with three picks worn on the fingers of his right hand. When he was done, he said, “Lutes are different. They are for lovers and beautiful women. One of my best lutes is being played by a local beauty. Her protector is a very wealthy man. It is so rare, he was the only man in the province who could afford my price.”

Oyoshi said, “Then you have become a wealthy man yourself, Shikata. No wonder you are rude to your friends and betters.”

The curio dealer thought this funny and heaved with wheezing laughter.

Akitada said loudly, “There are no flutes here, only games and a few other instruments.”

“Never mind,” said the old man, turning a toothless grin his way. “You don’t want a flute anyway. Better get something for your wife instead.”

“A lute?” Akitada smiled.

“Hah,” cried the curio dealer with another wheezing chuckle. “For your sake, I hope not. Beauties are all very well, but they make terrible wives.” For a moment, his face became serious. “Terrible wives!” he repeated, and shoved the zither aside. “Better give her a shell game. A suitable gift from a young husband to a faithful wife.”

The old one had no manners, but he was amusing and the idea appealed to Akitada. The game had been on his mind only recently. It was a traditional gift to brides because only two shells made a perfect match, like a husband and wife. But Akitada had thought of it as a symbol of the hidden relationships between people in this province. Still, the game would give Tamako pleasure during the coming months of a long winter and the waiting for the birth of their child.

He looked at the elegant sets and the hand-painted shells inside them and then chose the older one for its special beauty. Finely detailed golden chrysanthemums bloomed among silver grasses on the container’s brilliant red lacquer background.

Shikata nodded when he saw Akitada’s choice. “You have good taste. I ordered that forty years ago as a gift for one of the Uesugi ladies. It was specially made, very fine work, very costly. It took all my savings then, and I’ve kept it as a warning to myself not to rely on young men’s promises nor on young women’s lives, but you shall have it.”

“Oh.” Akitada hesitated. Their finances were still severely strained after the expensive journey here. “How much is it?” he asked anxiously.

“A silver bar? It is worth much more, but I wish to be rid of it. It depresses me.”

Akitada agreed quickly and arranged to have the game delivered to the tribunal as soon as Shikata’s boy returned from the wrestling tournament.

“For which we are very late,” urged Oyoshi, getting to his feet. “If I am not mistaken, those drumrolls mark the beginning of the final matches.”

♦

The contest was staged in the main courtyard of the temple. Brown-robed monks greeted them and directed them to a space where the crowd was not as dense as elsewhere.

Akitada was familiar with the annual wrestling tournament at the imperial palace and liked the elaborate ritual. It involved musical performances, religious rites to the ancient gods, and colorful decorations, but he had not expected anything like it in this remote northern province. To his surprise, there was little difference in the arrangements.

In spite of the cold, the abbot, surrounded by assistant priests and guests, watched from the broad veranda of the great hall, much as the emperor did in the capital. Below the abbot sat the orchestra members with two great drums, two gongs, and assorted smaller instruments. Across from him, the provincial guard stood at attention under gaily fluttering banners. To one side, the contestants sat on cushions. Each man had stripped to his loincloth and placed his outer clothing neatly folded beside him. The referees, in formal white robes, and black hats, quivers slung across their backs and bows in their hands, stood near them, watching the ongoing match. It all looked quite proper and professional.

Akitada, who was taller than those in front of him, saw that two contenders had just entered the ring, marked out by thick straw ropes buried in a thick layer of white beach sand. Their loincloths formed short aprons in the front and disappeared between their huge haunches in the back to emerge in an elaborate bow at the waistband. Steam rose from their bodies in spite of the chilly air. When the closest referee raised his hand, they stamped their feet, raised their arms to show they had no concealed weapons, clapped their hands, rinsed their mouths with a sip from a dipper on the water barrel, and spat. Then they took their places on either side of the dividing line in the center of the ring. At another signal from the referee, they began to circle, then grasped each other, striving mightily to push each other across the ropes of straw and out of the ring.

The crowd began to stir, at first only muttering, but soon moaning or shouting their distress or triumph.

One of the wrestlers was as hairy as an animal, with a shaggy mane and ragged beard; the other, by comparison, looked like a very large pale baby. Man against beast, thought Akitada, amused, and what a weak, naked, and vulnerable creature man was! A clearly uneven match. Only, suddenly the baby seized the animal by his hairy middle and tossed him out of the ring with one mighty heave. A tremendous cheer went up from the crowd, and the big baby bowed, grinning from ear to ear.

Akitada blinked. The baby was Genba. When he had last laid eyes on his third lieutenant, they had parted company outside the city. Genba had always been tall and broad. With his healthy appetite, he had gained weight rapidly after his lean years in the capital, but this clean-shaven mountain of rosy flesh looked nothing like the thick-haired, bearded man he had parted from.

A drumroll marked another match, but Akitada paid little attention to it. His eyes were on Genba, now seated again by his bundle of clothes, waiting for his next, and final turn. The winner of the remaining contests would face Genba for the top prize.

“Good heavens,” muttered Akitada to Oyoshi. “You don’t suppose Genba will win and be sent to the capital?”

“Certainly not,” snapped a bald fellow near him. “Nobody beats Tsuneya. He rips out full-grown pines with his bare arms. He’s from my village and I’ve seen him do this myself.”

“Tsuneya’s strong and he’s a local boy, but he has no technique,” cried a pockmarked man with a fierce mustache. “Genba will only have to use his foot to trip him, and when he’s off balance, he’ll push him across the ropes. I’ve seen him use that move and many others besides. He’s a master at technique because he was a wrestling teacher in the capital.”

“You know nothing, fool,” cried the bald man, raising a fist, and shouts broke out all around. For a moment it looked as though a separate match would be fought in the crowd, but the whistle of the scorekeeper recalled attention to the official bout, and peace returned.

Akitada felt a touch on his sleeve. One of the young monks was bowing to him. “His Reverence asks the gentlemen to join him,” he said.

Akitada glanced across the broad courtyard at the raised veranda of the main hall where Abbot Hokko was seated with other dignitaries before brilliant red silk hangings. The abbot looked back and smiled.

So much for remaining an anonymous observer. Not only had the curio dealer guessed who he was, but now Hokko had seen him and was about to display him to the crowd.

They followed the monk to a rear staircase and then walked to the front of the great veranda. Hokko gestured to two cushions. Akitada sat beside the abbot, and Oyoshi farther back. Mercifully, the crowd below seemed too preoccupied with the contest to pay attention.

“You must forgive me, Excellency,” murmured the abbot. “I think you wished to remain unrecognized, but I have an urgent message for you.”

Akitada was irritated. “Here and at this time?”

Hokko pointed down into the courtyard. “None better,” he said. “All eyes are on the final match.”

Below Genba had reentered the ring. His opponent stood already waiting. Akitada had never seen a human being of that size. He towered even over Genba by more than a head and he was all muscle.

“Is that the man they call Tsuneya?” Akitada asked, momentarily distracted.

“Yes. And he will win,” remarked Hokko. “Still, his opponent, a stranger to me, has been very good, and that means nobody will pay attention to us.”

Akitada resented Hokko’s calm assurance about the outcome. He frowned and kept his eyes on the contestants who had begun to circle, crouching low, looking for an opening to grapple with the opponent or trip him. Genba’s adversary was huge. Bulging muscles rippled across his back and shoulders as he moved. He was also quick and tricky. Akitada saw him dodge, feint, and seize Genba several times. But again and again Genba managed to break his hold or step aside to seek his own opening. It promised to be an extraordinary match.

The confrontation took on a symbolic relevance for Akitada that far exceeded a mere exercise of skill and sportsmanship. In his imagination, Tsuneya, the local champion, stood for the forces pitted against Akitada in this mysterious and hostile land; Genba, the outsider, was the champion of distant imperial authority. The outcome of the match would spell Akitada’s success or failure.

“How can you be so sure Tsuneya will win?” he asked the abbot without taking his eyes off the wrestlers.

“I know the boy well. His mind is pure,” said Hokko simply. Then he lowered his voice. “The message I have for you was given to me by an unimpeachable source, so you may rely on its accuracy. You are to guard against an attack on the tribunal tonight or early tomorrow morning.”