Текст книги "The Old Men of Omi"

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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Chapter Twenty-Seven

The Wood Shed

The path leading up the side of the mountain was rough and stony. The rain had stopped, but everything was wet. They slipped and scrambled as they climbed. Tora was getting very tired and wondered how Saburo, for whom this was the same climb in less than eight hours, managed. The track took them back into dense woods and into a twilight that persisted even though the sun must be well up. After quite a long time, Tora asked, “How much farther?”

Saburo paused and looked back. “It was dark when I came this way before. I’m not sure. I’m not sure where we are or if we are on the right path. I’m moving by instinct only.”

Tora cursed. His head still hurt and the physical exertion made the pain worse. “Let’s stop to check. There must be a clearing somewhere.” He looked around and pointed. “Over there. Maybe we can get a glimpse of the valley and you can fix on the direction.”

Saburo grunted his assent, and they left the path to clamber along the steep slope toward where light appeared between the trees. Not for the first time, Tora cursed his sword which managed to get in his way in this thicket. Saburo, who did not have a sword, but who carried secret weapons hidden in the sleeves and linings of his clothes and inside his boots, was better off.

The outlook, when they reached it, showed them that they had climbed quite a way, but there was no sign of any dwelling. Forest stretched along both sides of the valley and below there were only glimpses of a small stream and an occasional section of the narrow road.

“Well?” Tora asked.

Saburo frowned. “Maybe a little more to the east. We should have stayed on the path.”

Tora leaned forward to peer toward the east. “Is that smoke or mist?” he asked.

“I can’t make it out, but it could be them. Cooking their morning rice.”

“Let’s go!” Tora said grimly and turned back.

“Wait!”

“What now?”

“You sound pretty touchy, brother. And you don’t look well, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“I do mind. Let’s get this over with and kill the bastards.”

“We have to be careful. We don’t know who else might have come since I last saw them. And when we get close, we have to creep through the trees. It will be better if we surprise them.”

“Right, but if we wait around talking about it, they may find us before we find them.”

Saburo said no more. Together they reached the path again and followed it for a short while until the trees started to thin and light could be seen.

“All right,” Saburo said in a low voice. “From now on we creep.” He left the path and Tora followed. With great care, they reached a promontory, and there just below them, was a fair-sized wooden hut with a wooden shelter a little farther along the road . Smoke rose from an opening in the roof of the hut. The shelter contained stacked firewood. The narrow road passed in front of these buildings, probably the same one that also passed the hermit’s dwelling at the other end of the valley. The road disappeared around another rocky outcropping like the one Tora and Saburo lay on.

There was no sign of life other than the smoke, though the sun was already high. They watched in silence for a while, then Tora said, “Are you sure they’re all there?”

“They were yesterday.”

“Maybe they left?”

“It’s possible.”

“Shall we go down to check?”

Saburo hesitated, then nodded. “Careful. They could be coming out.”

“Right.” Tora got to his feet, checked his sword, and rubbed his sore head. Even his eyes hurt. What was wrong with him? He had had the headaches for more than a year now, but they had never happened as often or been as long-lasting and severe.”

“Wait,” Saburo hissed.

Tora turned and looked.

A couple had appeared on the road. They were poorly dressed and both had large, woven baskets slung over their shoulders. The man also carried a toddler.

“Wood gatherers,” said Tora.

“More like wood thieves.”

The couple halted by the shed. The man put down the toddler and both took off their baskets and carried them to the wood piles in the shelter where they started loading them. The toddler staggered to his feet and explored his surroundings.

“This isn’t good,” Tora observed.

“We can’t get down there fast enough to warn them.”

They watched with growing anxiety as the child made its circuitous and frequently interrupted way to the door of the hut. His parents had cast an occasional glance his way but seemed unconcerned.

“They don’t know anybody’s there,” Saburo commented.

Tora said hopefully, “Maybe they’re right.”

“You forget the smoke.”

The child crawled up the steps to the door and sat down on the small porch. For a while nothing else happened. The parents had almost filled their baskets.

Tora gritted his teeth. “They have enough. Why don’t they leave well enough alone, get the kid, and head home?”

But they stacked their loads precariously high. Then the man helped the woman put on her basket. Its heavy load bent her almost double. The husband crouched, slipped on his own basket, and rose.

They could not hear it, but one of them, or perhaps both, called out to the child to come. The toddler was an obedient boy. He got up, climbed laboriously down the three steps, and turned to run to his parents.

At that moment, the door of the hut flew open and one of the sohei appeared on the threshold.

“Too late,” groaned Tora.

Things happened quickly after that. The sohei alerted his companions who came out, armed with swords and naginata, and started after the couple, viciously kicking the toddler out of their way. There were five of them.

“Come,” cried Tora, and started down the side of the mountain.

It was a long way down. They slipped and slid, holding on to branches, cursing, vaguely aware of the violence that was playing out below them. Once Saburo tumbled past Tora, who caught him before he fell.

There was no point in being quiet any longer; the warrior monks were otherwise occupied and paid no attention to the hillside. As Tora and Saburo got closer, they could hear pitiful screams and the bawling of the child. They could no longer see the scene when the screams stopped and only the child still whimpered. They were now in some woods on the valley floor.

Tora drew his sword and ran, dodging trees and shrubs, aware of Saburo’s rapid breath behind him.

When they reached the road, they saw a pitiful scene. The child was softly whimpering where he had fallen while his father lay much too still between the two baskets of wood that had spilled their contents all across the road. The sohei and the woman had disappeared.

Tora bent to check the child. His eyes were open but blood was coming from his mouth and nose. He was breathing in gasps and making an enervating mewling sound. Saburo was ahead, bent over the man.

“How is he?” Tora asked when he reached him.

Saburo straightened. “Dead. The kid?”

“Bad, but alive.” Tora stared at the body. The young man lay on his stomach. A puddle of blood was slowly spreading under him. Tora started to bend down, but Saburo stopped him.

“Leave it. They slashed his throat.”

Of one accord they turned their eyes toward the shed. From this position they could not see much of the inside, but they heard voices and a woman’s pleading.

Tora made a move, but Saburo caught his arm. “Careful,” he warned.

They crept up to the wall of the shelter from behind it.

Inside, one of the sohei shouted, “Give it to her! That’s right! Punish the thieving bitch good!”

Someone laughed. Then another cried, “Harder! The bitch is enjoying it too much.” More laughter.

“Slowly!” hissed Saburo, and they started for the corner.

Just about then, the woman screamed shrilly. A burst of laughter followed, and Tora pushed Saburo aside and jumped around the corner.

The scene was familiar. The old woman had described it when she had told them about the gang rape of the porter’s wife. Tora rushed past the nearest sohei and used his sword to slash the bare buttocks of the animal who was belaboring the woman under him.

It was an almost fatal mistake. He heard shouts and the hissing sounds as swords slid from their scabbards. Desperately, he jumped aside, falling down among pieces of firewood. A naginata whistled past his thigh.

After this there was only chaos. Tora tried to get up, slipped on a log, saw the blade of the naginata coming at him again. Raising himself on one knee, he used his sword to deflect the blade and felt the blow all the way to his shoulder. His arm went numb and he fell again. Somewhere a man screamed, and he gave Saburo a fleeting thought. But the naginata was not done with him, and this time he knew he could not manage to block it with the sword. In a desperate leap he jumped past the blade and seized the shaft with both hands. He tugged, and the sohei stumbled forward. Tora gave him a vicious kick in the groin, then pushed his short sword into his belly. The sohei screamed and fell.

Before Tora could get a clear picture of the situation, two other sohei came for him with their swords. His sword arm was still numb, but he grabbed the fallen naginata and swung it at them. They retreated. Tora dropped the weapon and found his sword, seizing it with both hands. He charged them, aiming at their bellies. As he had expected, they separated, thinking to slash at him when he missed them, but he ducked, swerved, and buried his sword in the belly of the man to his right. With no time to retrieve it, he kept moving. How many were left? Two were down, one was coming after him. Where was Saburo?

Then he saw him. He lay near the front of the shed. No time! He had to get out of the way of that sword.

Unarmed, he stumbled over the naginata. Its owner was still curled up and groaning, but he snatched at Tora’s leg and made him fall. Tora’s hand caught the naginata and seized it. He kicked out at the sohei and stumbled to his feet just as a sword missed his left shoulder and struck the sohei instead. The sohei on the ground screamed only once but so horribly that his fellow froze just long enough for Tora to put some distance between them and turn.

He was not trained in fighting with a naginata, but guessed it was not so different from the heavy oak staffs used in stick fighting and he was very good at that. Swinging the weapon out in a wide arc he then reversed into the opposite direction while running at the two remaining sohei who were coming for him with their swords. He saw their eyes widen in shock, saw that one was Kojo, saw him jumping aside, and the other raising his sword to deflect the halberd’s blade. But Tora’s force was too great. The sword went flying, and Tora slashed his belly. The man fell, clutching himself.

Turning on his heel, Tora saw Kojo running out of the shelter and followed. A violent fury had seized him at what they had done to the wood gatherers, and this red-hot energy had not left him throughout the battle. He seemed to fly across the rough ground, down the rutted mountain road after the fleeing figure.

He caught up with Kojo where the road made the turn and roared, “Coward! Stop and fight like a man!”

The other, not having much choice in the matter, did stop soon after. Kojo still had his sword and the courage of despair.

Kojo! The one he had wanted to kill with his own hands.

Too late Tora realized that the sohei had stopped among trees and shrubs. The naginata was of little use here because he could not slash with it. This battle would have to be fought close up, and Tora no longer had his sword.

Mere details, he decided in his fury.

Holding the naginata straight in front of himself, he charged. Kojo jumped aside and laughed. But he was now at the very edge of a ditch. Hoping that he did not realize this, Tora changed his grip and charged again. This time Kojo slashed at the naginata with his sword and severed the wooden shaft. He laughed again, stepped back, and fell.

Tora was on him instantly. Using the splintered end of the naginata shaft on Kojo’s neck to pin him down, he watched the sohei choke out a gurgling scream and drop his sword to claw at his neck. Tora snatched up the sword and hacked off Kojo’s head.

Then he took a couple of steps and his knees buckled. He collapsed, and sat on the ground, hunched over, breathing heavily, and waiting for the pain. There must be pain. He felt sure he had been wounded though he did not know where or how badly.

The pain came, but it was in his head. It pounded viciously so that he held on to his head for fear it would come apart.

When the throbbing eased a little, he recalled Saburo. He had last seen him stretched out lifeless in the wood shed. He was either dead of badly wounded. And Tora had left him there with at least one sohei still alive.

He staggered to his feet. Carrying Kojo’s bloody sword he headed back.

All was quiet around the hut and shed. Tora heaved a sigh. How would he explain Saburo’s death? What could he say to his mother, unlikable though the woman was? What would his master say? He had been disobedient once too often. Perhaps he, Hanae, and Yuki would become homeless and masterless.

He cast a glance around in case one of the sohei was lurking. Seeing nobody, he went to the shed.

The smell of blood was strong. Saburo’s body was gone, but four others lay about. The ground was wet and slick with blood. Tora checked them. All sohei and all dead. Two had died from the wounds he had dealt them, but the other two had been merely disabled. Now they had their throats cut.

He looked around, half hoping. If Saburo had killed them, then he might not be too badly hurt.

“Saburo?”

An answering shout came from the hut. He walked across. The door stood open. Clutching the sword, Tora looked in.

Saburo sat on the floor. Beside him knelt the wood gatherer’s wife, her face bloody and bruised, but her hands busy bandaging Saburo’s left thigh. The bandage was leaking blood, and Tora guessed that he had been slashed badly.

“How is it, brother?” he asked.

“It will do. Did you get that bastard Kojo?”

“Yes.”

Tora’s strength gave way again, and he flopped down.

“Are you wounded?” Saburo asked anxiously.

“I don’t think so. Just very tired. And my head hurts.”

“Sorry, brother.”

“It’s nothing.” He looked at the young woman. “I’m very sorry,” he told her. “We saw, but we were too far away. Are you all right?”

She looked back at him with dull eyes. “No,” she said. “But it was my karma.” She glanced over to a corner of the room. Tora saw that she or Saburo had put her child there. The boy was much too still. “He was a very good boy,” she said. “He always did what we told him.” She bowed her head, then looked back up at Tora. “Why?” she asked him. “Why did they kill such a good little boy?”

Tora sighed. “I don’t know, love,” he said heavily. “I don’t know why terrible things happen. I’m very sorry we couldn’t stop them.”

“Not your fault,” she said listlessly and finished tying Saburo’s bandage.

“What will you do?” Saburo asked.

“Go home and ask my neighbors to help me bring my husband home. I’ll carry Kaoru myself.”

“You’re not hurt?” Tora asked.

“I’m strong,” she said and go to her feet.

Tora said, “We have horses, back in the woods.” It was a long way and uphill, but he would have to go and get them. Saburo could not walk.

“No. I want to go alone.” She lifted her dead child to cradle him in her arms and kiss his bloody face.

Tora started to his feet, but Saburo said quietly, “Let her go. She needs her grief.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

A Strange Case

Akitada reached his bed long after Kosehira’s household had retired. A sleepy porter had admitted him and taken his horse. Akitada was thankful that the sure-footed beast had known its way home on its own. His bedding had been laid out by Kosehira’s servants, and he flung his robe over the clothing stand, pulled off his boots, and fell asleep as soon as he lay down.

The next morning promised another sunny day. Akitada woke late, avoided the garden, washed, dressed, and ate the gruel provided by another servant, then headed for the stables. Kosehira joined him shortly and they rode to work together.

“I’m almost finished with the temple investigation,” Akitada said casually on the way.

“Ah. What will you do next?”

Here it was. Akitada smiled at his friend. “I must return to my duties in the capital.”

This clearly distressed Kosehira, who said nothing for a moment.

“You have been a kind, generous, and patient host. I shall always remember this visit fondly,” Akitada added.

He would always remember it for quite different reasons; for that matter, he had used almost the same words to bid her goodbye.

Kosehira said, “I’m sorry.” His tone was almost funereal. He added for good measure, “Sorrier than you’ll ever know.”

Akitada could not let this pass. “Why? I shall not be far away, and we shall meet again in the capital. I hope you come often.”

Kosehira looked into the distance, a distance that consisted of the great lake, shimmering in the sun and surrounded by green mountains. “It’s just … I had hoped …” He paused, then asked, “But what about the Great Shrine Festival? You were going to stay for that and have your children join us.”

Ashamed, Akitada muttered something about not having reckoned on finishing quite so early and not having permission to stay away from the ministry. It sounded lame, but Kosehira did not argue.

At the tribunal, they went their separate ways, and Akitada returned to the archives to discuss his report with the others.

Essentially, both temples had engaged in quasi-legal land transfers to themselves by offering landowners tax free status. Since Akitada disapproved strongly of these attempts to evade fair taxes, he had made a careful list of all the cases during the past decade, with the recommendation to disallow them. Nothing would come of this, but he thought those who complained all the time that taxes had shrunk and demands on the government grown should see one reason why this was so.

More complicated were cases where temples had appropriated land without the approval of the owners. In some situations, this involved land grabs of unimproved acreages belonging to the emperor with the promise to turn the land into productive rice fields. This option was granted to tax-paying landowners, but it had been the temples that had accumulated vast acreage this way.

Lastly there was the matter of disputed land, that is, of land claimed by both temples. All of these cases had been carefully traced through the documents, and the outcome showed that Onjo-ji had legal rights in nine of the cases, while Enryaku-ji could claim only one disputed tract.

“Enryaku-ji won’t like it,” the tribunal archivist remarked, smiling with satisfaction.

Kunyoshi, the imperial archivist, was quick to dash such hopes. “We can assert the correctness of our findings, but getting them to hand back the land is another matter.”

Akitada said, “It doesn’t matter. I shall write my report and urge strongly that the various abuses be stopped immediately and that Enryaku-ji be assessed a penalty for its strong-arm methods. Following upon the attack on the tribunal, we may, for once, see some small measure of success.”

They nodded their agreement.

Akitada thanked them for their work, adding, “The rest of the chore is mine. I shall remain to write my report. You will want to wish to return to your families.”

They did and left quite happily.

Akitada stayed behind to work on his report. The archives were disconcertingly empty. Only Kosehira’s archivist and a clerk were still present, and they worked at returning all the documents to their proper places. Their voices reached his ears from time to time, as did noises of moving ladders and, once, of dropped boxes.

But it was not this that kept him from concentrating on his writing. Neither was it the complex nature of the case. He had prepared his notes carefully and could work quickly from them.

Yukiko he put firmly from his mind.

The matter of the murders troubled him, however, as did the fact that he would have to leave things in the hands of Chief Takechi. He expected to be gone from Otsu the next morning. True, Takechi was a capable man and it was his case after all. But even so he felt that he was letting him down—and Kosehira, too—by withdrawing from the investigation at this point.

As for Yukiko: he no longer saw his departure as a cowardly flight. Their relationship had reached the point where his continued proximity was embarrassing and painful for her. No, he must leave. And so he worked industriously until midday when thoughts of the murders intruded again and his stomach growled. Rinsing out and putting down his brush, he stretched his stiff back, and got up. He would have another meal with Takechi and settle matters between them.

∞

Takechi greeted him eagerly. “I’d hoped to see you yesterday. Any news?”

“Yes, there is some, but I’d like to share another of those delicious bowls of soup with you, if you can manage it.”

Takechi could manage it. “It’s my turn,” he said cheerfully as they walked to the noodle restaurant.

“Takechi,” Akitada said apologetically, “allow me the privilege since it will be the last time I’ll have the pleasure,”

Takechi stopped. “What? What happened?”

“Nothing that wouldn’t have happened in any case. I’m finished with my assignment and must return.”

“But the murder case—did you solve it?”

“No. But, Takechi, it was never my case. It was yours, and for the deaths in Echi district, the local prefect’s.”

Takechi looked at him as if bereft of words. “Yes,” he said finally. “That’s true enough. Still …” His voice trailed off.

“Come, cheer up. I know you’ll do fine. And I do have one more piece of news.”

They had reached the restaurant where an eager waiter greeted them at the door and guided them to good seats. They placed their orders and then looked at each other.

Takechi said, “I have enjoyed working with you again, sir. This is a real blow.”

Akitada bit his lip. He would also miss the easy friendship that had sprung up between them and felt guilty that his private concerns should affect a man he had a strong liking for. “I, too, regret it very much,” he said. “I’ve come to consider you a friend.” He smiled at Takechi. “But I don’t forget my friends and will make a point of stopping by your office when I can, and I hope you will come to my house whenever you are in the capital. We have one or two decent eating places ourselves, you know.”

Takechi, clearly pleased by the invitation, chuckled. “I have no doubt, sir. It’s our capital after all. Everything’s better there.”

“Not really,” said Akitada soberly, thinking of his lonely life. “But let me tell you what we’ve found in the archives.” He explained how he had begun to focus on the rumors concerning the late Lord Taira Sukenori and the murder that had happened more than twenty years earlier.”

Takechi listened, spell-bound. Their soup arrived and stood steaming before them. After some time, the waiter approached nervously to ask if anything was wrong. He was waved away. Finally Akitada reached the end of his account and lifted his bowl.

Takechi stared at him, lost in thought.

“Eat,” Akitada urged, smacking his lips. “It’s very good. Perhaps the best yet.”

“I’m thinking,” protested Takechi, but he began to eat, sipping and chewing the noodles slowly. Nodding his head from time to time. When he set his bowl down empty, he said, “It fits. It all hangs together. You think the son has come back.”

“If he did not die in exile, I think he would have. He was younger and stronger than his father. Some people live an entire life in a prison colony.”

“The problem is, we aren’t sure, and we don’t know where he is and what he looks like.”

“Precisely.”

A silence fell while they both pondered the issue.. After a while, Takechi asked, “Could it be someone else? Someone who is also part of the Hatta family? I suppose I need to find out who they are. I expect their property was confiscated?”

“Yes. In the immediate family there were only the father, the mother, and two children. The other child was a daughter.” Akitada paused. A thought had just occurred to him. But it seemed far-fetched.

Takechi had watched him. “You had an idea?”

“It’s probably nothing. I’m trying to recall something someone said.” Akitada shook his head. “From the start we’ve had too many people involved in this. It’s difficult to place them properly. But that reminds me that there is someone else of interest. I had a talk with the brother of the victim.”

“Which victim?”

Akitada chuckled. “Quite right. We have too many murders, too many suspects, and too many investigations. I meant the brother of the original victim. His name was Fumi Takahira. He was a wealthy merchant here in Otsu.”

“Oh, you talked to Tokiari. What did he have to say?”

“Something wasn’t quite right about that conversation. Tokiari knows something he’s not talking about. He confirmed that his brother was a guest of Taira Sukemichi when the betto killed him during a hunt. Fumi was shot point-blank with an arrow. An attempt to claim it had been a hunting accident failed, because the local prefect—a good man apparently—saw that he had been shot at close range. After that Hatta confessed, claiming that Fumi had raped his young daughter.”

Takechi said angrily, “If he did, then to my mind, he had a perfect right to shoot the animal!”

Akitada shook his head. “Apparently the prefect didn’t believe the tale, and Hatta was denied extenuating circumstances. Fumi’s brother rejected the charge adamantly. He claims his brother preferred men and would never have raped a woman.”

“Ah! What a tale! Go on.”

Akitada chuckled. “Sorry. That’s all I have. You’ll have to find out the rest.”

Takechi threw up his hands. “Where do I start? If it’s Hatta’s son who did all this, why did he do it? If his father was guilty, I mean.”

“Yes, that’s the biggest puzzle of all. But I recall in the Sung-Chi, a rather strange Chinese book of famous legal cases, there is a tale of a murderer bribing another man to confess to the crime. I seem to recall he promised the man that he would look after his children by having his son marry the man’s daughter, and by giving his daughter to the son with a very generous dowry.”

Takechi pursed his lips and whistled. “So you suspect Taira Sukenori was the real killer. But if there was a deal, the son should have honored it.”

“Not if Sukenori never paid off.”

“Ah!” Takechi’s eyes lit up. “By the gods, that would explain it all. You’ve done it again, sir.”

“I have no proof,” cautioned Akitada, “but it suggests an investigation into possible legal improprieties. Given Judge Nakano’s murder, you can ask some questions about old cases.”

Takechi grinned widely. “I will,” he said. “Oh, I shall enjoy this.” He clapped his hands in glee.

The clapping brought the waiter. Akitada took the opportunity to pay for their meal.

They walked back together, Akitada mostly silent, but Takechi excitedly reviewing all the facts and proposing ways of proving them.

At police headquarters, they stopped. Akitada said with a smile, “You will let me know, won’t you?”