Текст книги "The Dragon Scroll "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Seimei blinked. “Thank you sir,” he murmured. “It was nothing.”

* * * *

NINETEEN

PRAYER BEADS

T

he small group of officials followed Akitada and Motosuke on their inspection tour of the temple courtyards and galleries. They visited the storehouses and peered down the shaft into the underground prison. Everywhere they went the military was in full control, saluting as they passed from enclosure to enclosure.

Yukinari and Tora waited outside the abbot’s quarters. Akitada let the others precede him, then asked, “Has Joto turned up?”

“Not yet.” Yukinari bit his lip. “I’ll never forgive myself, Excellency. If I had kept my eye on the man, this would not have happened. The guards at his viewing stand were distracted when some citizens attacked them. During the scuffle nobody was watching the stairs behind the stand.”

“Never mind! He cannot have gone far. Any other news?”

Tora said, “You’ve heard about Ikeda?” When Akitada nodded, he grinned. “How about old Seimei? Didn’t blink an eye and let him have it. Smack on top of the skull.” He laughed out loud. “And we’ve caught the brute with the missing earlobe. He was lurking about the back of the compound. Turns out he’s the bastard that got away over the wall at the Kannon temple, so he’s one of Higekuro’s killers. Quite the big wheel around here, it seems. He may know where Joto is.”

“They talked earlier during the ceremonies.” Akitada frowned. “What about the old abbot and the buried monks?”

Tora’s cheerfulness faded abruptly. “Poor bastards. I’d like to get my hands on that smooth-faced devil Joto. They’re only half alive. Some of them haven’t seen the sun in years. They were so blind we had to lead them. Some couldn’t walk at all. And they’re the lucky ones. The place was full of graves the living dug with their hands. The old abbot is in bad shape, too weak to talk. The rest are a little stronger, but not much. I found three who’ll tell their story.”

Motosuke joined them. “Horrible!” he murmured. “And to think that none of us knew.”

Akitada sighed. “I suppose we’ll talk to them later. What has been done about the children?”

“Joto’s pretty little boys?” Tora rolled his eyes in disgust and jerked his head in the direction of the building before them. “I expect they’re playing at tops in the abbot’s quarters.”

“Their families must be anxious,” Motosuke said.

Akitada shook his head. “A little late,” he said bitterly. “They should have thought before giving them to monks.” Seeing Motosuke’s surprise, he amended his words. “I realize it is common practice, but it seems to me that at that age ... a little more time in a loving family...” He broke off awkwardly. His own childhood had hardly been spent in a loving home. Besides, revealing a personal prejudice against Buddhism was politically unwise.

Tora slapped his back. “Cheer up! We pulled it off. They’re going home, and we’ll drink to our luck later.”

Motosuke took Akitada’s arm and pulled him aside. “I know, elder brother, that your man is very capable, but he has the most peculiar manners. I’m sure the others must be shocked. No kneeling, not so much as a bow, no idea how to address you properly or how to acknowledge an order. Hadn’t you better mention it to him?”

Akitada found the thought amusing. “I doubt I could change Tora,” he said. “Besides, all that protocol wastes a great deal of time.”

At that moment one of the soldiers ran up to Yukinari. After a brief exchange, Yukinari turned to Akitada and Motosuke. “Forgive the interruption,” he said, “but there seems to be a problem about releasing the boys to their parents.”

“What do you mean?” asked Motosuke.

“They are locked in and nobody has a key. The parents are angry and threaten to break the door down.”

“Locked in?” Akitada got a hollow feeling in his stomach. “When was the last time someone checked on the children?”

“I don’t know, Excellency. I told one of my men to take the boys there as soon as we started rounding up the monks.”

Tora joined them and Akitada exchanged a glance with him. “Dear heaven, let me be wrong about this,” he muttered, feeling suddenly sick. “Come, Tora.”

They ran down a covered gallery toward the abbot’s private quarters. Before a pair of doors a small cluster of people stood shouting, pounding, and scratching at the heavy wooden panels.

When they saw Akitada and Tora coming, they fell back, their faces anxious.

Akitada told them, “We’ll have the door open in no time and your children will join you, but please wait outside the enclosure.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” blustered a young man with angry eyes. “I want my son and then I’ll kill every baldpate bastard who laid hands on him.”

Some of the women began to wail.

Akitada sighed. “Very well,” he said. “Stay here but keep quiet. Tora? Can you pick the lock?”

Tora nodded, pulling his wire tool from his sash. “Almost left it behind this morning,” he said, setting to work, “as not fitting with all this finery.” The lock clicked, and he opened the door.

A strange scene met their eyes. Joto, still dressed in his purple silk robe and the embroidered stole, was seated in the abbot’s chair on the dais. Around his slippered feet clustered the boys, who stared at them from round, startled eyes. On Joto’s lap sat the smallest boy, the one who had served Akitada juice during the festival. Joto’s prayer beads, a string of rose-colored quartz, were twisted around the child’s neck.

Before anyone could speak, the irate father pushed Akitada and Tora out of the way and made for Joto, shouting, “You devil, I’ll show you—” Akitada and Tora lunged quickly to snatch him back and restrain him. Behind them, the other parents crowded into the room, and Akitada regretted bitterly his earlier permission to let them stay.

“Very wise,” came the odiously smooth voice of the false abbot. “I see that you understand the situation.” Joto’s hand moved behind the small boy’s head, and the pink beads tightened around the child’s throat. The boy uttered a frightened cry. Joto said, “I shall kill this child if any of you come closer.”

Behind Tora and Akitada were gasps, and the father in their grip squirmed. “Tosuke,” he shouted. “Come here.”

A boy got up slowly, then ran to him. He clutched his father’s leg and burst into tears. “I want to go home!” he howled.

In a moment, the other children, all except the one on Joto’s lap, were also running to their parents. In the ensuing tumult, Joto rose, clutching his struggling hostage more tightly, and retreated a few feet.

Akitada let go of the father, who scooped up his son and ran.

Joto had lost his calm demeanor. His face was flushed, and his free hand was clamped tightly around the struggling boy’s neck. “I’ll kill him,” he mouthed over the noise of howling boys and shouting parents.

Akitada called to Tora, “Get everybody out! Close the door and guard it!”

Tora moved quickly, gathering the boys and their parents and pushing them out. In a moment, the room was silent and empty except for Joto, the child, and Akitada. Joto returned to his chair and sat down again.

“Let the boy go,” said Akitada. The child’s face had turned alarmingly red. Joto was twisting the beads until they cut into the soft throat. “He is not responsible for your predicament.”

Joto’s eyes narrowed. “And then you will arrest me?”

“You will have to answer certain charges, yes.”

“I have no intention of accommodating you.” Joto took his hand from the boy’s neck. The child gasped for breath, coughed, and then whimpered. Suddenly he let loose a shriek that made Akitada’s hair stand on end.

“Be quiet, little beast!” Joto slapped the boy hard with his free hand. The boy gasped and fell silent, his eyes wide with shock. Joto’s fingers had left white marks on the soft, tear-blotched face.

“You’re worse than an animal,” Akitada cried, clenching his fists.

“Let us say that I have weighed my life against his,” Joto remarked coldly, rearranging his hold on the child and getting a grip on the string of beads again, “and I found that my claims outweigh his. What does he have to offer humankind with his seven years of existence? In a few years he will even lose the beauty that makes him attractive now.” He twisted the boy’s face toward himself. “His skin will grow coarse and those soft cheeks will lose their fullness. The red lips will no longer offer affection, and the charming voice will become gruff and common. He will be useless. I, on the other hand, have yet to leave my mark on this nation. If it had not been for your rash and untimely interference, I would be well on my way to power now, the spiritual counselor and adviser of the nation.”

“His August Majesty does not deal with monks who bear arms, rob his treasury, and kill his subjects.”

“As I said, if it had not been for you, I would not be in this position. But you had to meddle in my affairs. We only sacrificed a few bearers and soldiers, an insignificant loss of life in any undertaking of this magnitude. But then you arrived, and Tachibana started making trouble. Even then, if Ikeda had not been careless in silencing Tachibana, the women would not have become a problem.” Joto let his voice trail off, then said abruptly, “But all is not lost. I have friends everywhere. I shall leave Kazusa for the time being and after a few years’ travel and meditation, who knows?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You will not be permitted to leave.”

Joto smiled unpleasantly. “You are unusually fond of children, I think. Take this little fellow, for instance. While I was hiding here among the boys, he told me that you had smiled at him. He seemed absurdly proud of this. Isn’t that so, Tatsuo? You like the gentleman, don’t you?”

The boy gulped. His large eyes filled with tears, and he whispered, “Please take me away, sir. I’ll be a good boy, honest.”

“Let him go!” Akitada said harshly. “I’ll do what I can for you.

Joto laughed softly. “No, no. You will set me free. And you will give me safe conduct out of the province.”

“I cannot do that.”

“Then he dies.” The beads jerked tight, and the boy’s mouth flew open. His hands scrabbled in the air.

“No!” screamed Akitada, taking a step and stopping. He would not be in time.

Joto loosened the beads slightly. The child gasped for air, his hands clawing at the beads. Joto laughed softly. “Why do you prolong his agony?” he asked.

Akitada thought frantically, but no solution came to him. “Very well,” he said, defeated. “I agree. Now let him go.”

“Come,” said the other man, “do not take me for a fool. He and I will be inseparable until I am safe.”

“Let the child go. He is ill. I will be your hostage instead.”

Joto shook his head.

Hopelessly, Akitada turned to make the arrangements, trying not to think of the report to his superiors in the capital, thinking instead of ways to free the child somehow later. Before he could open the door, it burst open. On the threshold stood a wild-eyed young woman, her face pale and frightened. When she looked past him and saw the boy, she screamed, “Tatsuo.”

The boy wailed, “Mother.”

Then things happened with incredible speed. The woman rushed past Akitada. Joto rose, causing his armchair to topple, and shouted, “Stay away!” Akitada reached out to stop the woman and caught her sleeve, but she pulled away so violently that the fabric ripped. Joto backed all the way to the wall. “Stay away or he dies,” he snarled to the mother.

But she was past hearing. The moment her hands touched the child’s body, Akitada saw Joto’s arm jerk. There was a snapping sound, and rose-colored beads hit the grass mat with the sound of hailstones on a thatched roof. The child fell limply into his mother’s arms. She stood, cradling him against her and whispering endearments.

For a moment, Akitada felt only relief, an enormous gratitude that fate had saved the child by breaking the string of prayer beads. Then he saw the way the boy’s head fell back, saw the lifeless eyes turned upward. In a blood-red fury of grief, he flung himself at Joto and seized his throat.

Joto gagged. Their eyes met and held for what seemed an eternity. And Akitada knew he could not kill this man and saw that Joto also knew it. “Why?” Akitada sobbed, shaking the abbot in helpless grief. “Why? I would have let you go.” The other man said nothing, merely stared back at him. With an exclamation of disgust, Akitada flung him aside and turned away.

The mother was still rocking her child, humming a tune and cradling his head against her breast. But her brows contracted with worry. “Tatsuo?” she pleaded. “Don’t go to sleep now, my little sparrow. Speak to your mother.”

Dear heaven, thought Akitada, what have I done? He ran to the door to call for assistance.

Outside a small group of people waited. The other parents had left with their children, but Tora, Motosuke, and the officials stood there anxiously, their relief fading when they saw his face.

“He killed the boy,” Akitada told them harshly.

Tora was the first to react. He took a sword from one of the soldiers and went to Joto, calling over his shoulder, “We’ll need chains.”

The mother suddenly screamed, only once, but it was a sound Akitada would never forget. Laying the dead child tenderly on the floor, she staggered toward Tora and Joto. Halfway there, her steps faltered, she swayed and began to fall. Tora jumped to catch her.

He was not fast enough. Ducking under his arm, she snatched the sword from him and raised it with both hands. Joto shrieked and lifted his arms to shield his face as Tatsuo’s mother struck. The sword severed his forearm but glanced off his head. Blood spurted everywhere. Joto screamed. This time she plunged the blade deep into his chest. The abbot’s eyes opened wide, he made a gurgling sound, and then his body, in purple silk and pearl embroidery, convulsed and fell. Blood bubbled from his mouth and his eyes glazed over.

Before Tora could stop her, the mother pulled the weapon from his chest and raised it to stab the corpse again.

♦

When Tora found him, Akitada was standing before the great Buddha statue in the dim temple hall, staring up at the smooth, golden face with its remote expression.

“Sir?”

Akitada made no answer.

Tora sighed and shuffled his feet. “There’s a Lieutenant Nakano who wants to talk to you.”

“Tell him to go away.”

“Nakano’s recognized one of the monks.”

“Tora, leave me alone!”

Tora hesitated, then blurted out, “The man he recognized is the former garrison lieutenant. A fellow called Ono. He led the two convoys before the last one. After the first one, he said he barely escaped with his life when highway robbers attacked them. The second time he did not return and was presumed dead. Now he turns up in Joto’s gang.”

Akitada turned around. Tora’s eyes were anxious. “Tell the governor,” Akitada said, his voice flat, “but by the Buddha, by the souls of your parents, leave me alone now!”

He returned to his contemplation of the statue. After a moment, he heard Tora’s steps receding. Silence fell in the dusk of the great hall.

The lips of this Buddha were soft, full, and finely shaped, like the child’s. But the Buddha did not smile. No gap-toothed boy’s grin here! The Buddha’s eyes looked downward, vaguely toward Akitada, but their glance was immeasurably remote.

The flickering light from candles and oil lamps created the illusion that the Buddha was breathing.

“Amida?” whispered Akitada. “Why the child? Why destroy the seed before the plant blossoms and bears fruit?”

There was no response. Some people believed that the Buddha was everywhere, in all creatures, even in man. Others spent hours calling his name to force his manifestation or to reserve a place for themselves in paradise. The child had chanted all day. Was he now in paradise? Was Joto, who had also chanted? And what was this place, this hell, where people struggled and loved so painfully, praying to indifferent gods for a better life?

A moth appeared from nowhere, flew into the flame of the candle before the image, and, with a dry hiss, perished, leaving behind charred wings and a small trace of smoke.

They would prosecute the poor woman for Joto’s murder. Perhaps, in her grief, she did not care, but her husband had come to stare at the body of his son, tears silently streaming down his cheeks. He had put his arms around his wife with a look of love and despair on his face. He had whispered endearments, begged her to consider the other children, himself, their old parents.

But she had remained stonily silent even when the soldiers took her away.

Women could be fierce creatures who lived by their own rules, incomprehensible to their men. Men followed simple laws, their own ambitions, their duties as they saw them, considering their power over others their birthright. So what if the women and children suffered the consequences of their failures?

Akitada raised his eyes from the burned moth to the golden face again. All representations of the Buddha were male. They had large ears, signifying their ability to hear prayers, and a rounded prominence on top of the skull, signifying omniscience. Perhaps Amida could read his thoughts.

A sudden movement of air disturbed the candle flames and caused a shadow to cross the golden face. For a moment, it seemed as if the heavy-lidded eyes looked into Akitada’s and the Buddha inclined his head.

“Sir?” Tora had tiptoed in again. “The palanquin waits. It’s time to go back.”

Akitada heaved a long sigh and turned away from the statue. “Yes,” he said. “I must go back. That poor woman. We will tell them that Joto attacked me, and she took your sword to save my life.”

Tora opened his mouth, then nodded.

♦

Back in the official palanquin on their way to the city, Motosuke gradually lost his look of distress. Eyeing Akitada’s pale, set face nervously, he said, “I know how you must feel. The poor little child—a thing you really could not have foreseen. But you must think of the good that has come out of this day. And you must think of the future. You have conducted this entire investigation brilliantly. I shall make a point of telling His August Majesty so myself. I know you will go far in the service of our nation.”

Akitada lifted the curtain. They were entering the city. People lined the road, bowing their heads respectfully as the palanquin passed. What price authority?

Motosuke gave him another anxious look and continued his false cheer. “On the whole, we really have had some splendid luck. Those evil females hanged themselves, Ikeda was killed by your admirable Seimei, and that poor demented creature took Joto’s life. Heaven knows what trouble all those murderers might have caused if they had lived.”

Akitada said nothing. His hand slipped into his sash and touched some small, smooth pellets. Cool, rose-colored quartz. Prayer beads.

* * * *

TWENTY

THE HEARING

T

he following day they met in the governor’s residence for an informal preliminary hearing.

Akitada and Motosuke were seated on the dais of the reception room, with the local officials to either side of them. These were the provincial police commissioner, the senior magistrate, the mayor, and the chief of the local guilds. Seimei and two clerks from the governor’s office had their places below, behind low desks with paper and writing utensils. The witnesses in the case against the renegade monks were about to be interviewed.

Akitada had not slept. He doubted that he would ever find peace of mind again. Red-eyed and drawn, he was going through the motions of what remained to be done. He read out the charges against Joto and his followers and asked the senior magistrate to hear the cases against all the accused.

The senior magistrate, a large man with a full black beard, balked. “Your Excellency must be aware that the abbot has many staunch friends in Kazusa,” he pointed out. “I also know that the Buddhist clergy is much admired in the capital. In fact, several imperial princes are abbots themselves. Who is to say that we shall not all be called to account severely over this affair?”

“Joto is dead,” Akitada said, “and if you will be patient, you will hear the evidence against him and his followers. Their crimes are of such magnitude and nature that no one in the capital will be able to gloss over their misdeeds, not even the Buddhist hierarchy.”

The senior magistrate cleared his throat nervously. “I hope Your Excellency will not take it amiss,” he said, “but there seem to be an awful lot of prisoners, and my court docket is already rather full with two murder cases. Should we not send to the capital for additional magistrates and judicial staff?”

Akitada made an effort to feel some sympathy for the man. The judge had just been handed a very complex and politically dangerous case and feared the bureaucratic repercussions as much as the heavy workload. But it could not be helped and he had no assurances to soothe his fears. “There is no time,” he said. “The governor’s staff will assist you and the other judges. Much of the paperwork has already been completed and witnesses will be made available to you. The charges are, in any case, nearly identical for most of the defendants.”

The judge bowed wordlessly.

The three monks entered to a murmur of pity. Two looked seriously ill. Old, rheumy-eyed, and wobbly on their thin legs, they tottered in, blinking against the candlelight. They had washed, shaved their heads and faces, and wore clean robes, but they looked in confusion at the row of officials on the dais. The third man Akitada recognized as the elderly monk from the night of their clandestine visit. He looked better than the others but still wore the bruises of his beating. Motosuke sniffled and dabbed at his eyes with his sleeve.

“Please be comfortable and take your time,” Akitada told the monks as they knelt. “We understand that you have charges to bring against the monk Joto.”

The monk from the storehouse spoke up. “This insignificant monk is called Shinsei,” he introduced himself. “We are greatly indebted to Your Excellencies for releasing us from our grave to charge the monster who buried us alive. I served as deacon of this temple under Abbot Gennin. Joto was one of the monks then, a recent arrival. When he took over, I was away visiting another temple, but my friend Tosai sent me a warning. I returned, passing myself off as a cook. I hoped that way I would be able to move about more freely and be of some use to His Reverence Gennin and the senior monks who were already confined in the underground cellar.” The old man sighed deeply.

“Alas, I could do little more than smuggle some food and a few medicines to them. The devils watched too closely. His Reverence was already ill. I was, of course, known to my brothers, but they were loyal and kept my secret, though they pretended to obey Joto. Then, one night, I spoke carelessly in anger and was buried myself.”

“But how could Joto have made himself abbot?” asked Motosuke.

The old man looked at him sadly. “We allowed it to happen, Excellency. When Joto arrived, his manners and talents, and above all his learning, seemed to us superior to our own. Our prior Kukai was particularly impressed. On his advice, Abbot Gennin made Joto lecturer. When people came in droves to hear him, we were so pleased that we urged the abbot to appoint Joto assistant high priest. I left soon after.”

“I hope His Reverence Gennin will recover and explain more fully how Joto seized power,” Akitada said, “but for the present, can you tell us about any specific crimes committed by this man and his followers?”

“Crimes?” Shinsei cried. “They broke every law of Buddha, they corrupted his teachings, they perverted the faithful who came for instruction, and the children who were given into their care as acolytes they seduced with their filthy lust. But you wish to know about secular crimes. I suppose you can charge them with theft, for they certainly took the treasures of the temple; you may charge them with kidnapping and assault, for they abducted and imprisoned our abbot and his faithful fellow monks; and with murder, for nine of us died from lack of food and medical attention while buried alive in that underground chamber. And one of us, Kukai, joined them in their outrage.”

The officials on either side of Motosuke and Akitada broke into excited questions and comments.

After a moment, Akitada raised his hand for silence. “Gentlemen,” he said, “what you have heard so far is a most heinous crime deserving the full severity of the law. But it is not, as you shall see, all that the monk Joto is guilty of.”

“Yes. Let’s get to the tax robberies,” Motosuke said.

But Shinsei and his companions knew nothing of this, so Akitada let them go.

When the door opened again, Tora brought in a leather box.

“Ah, yes,” said the governor. “That is one of our boxes and here is the mark.” He pointed to the burn mark on one side and explained how it had got there.

“Tell us where you found this, Tora,” said Akitada.

“In one of the temple storehouses. The same one where they hid all those halberds. And the bean barrels were filled with swords. A whole arsenal.”

Of course there should not have been bean barrels in both storehouses when only the second one was used for foodstuffs. Overlooking the swords was an embarrassment to Akitada, but he had made graver mistakes than that.

The officials passed around the leather box, peering and muttering.

The senior magistrate asked, “What happened to the gold? And how did the monks get hold of it?”

“The gold may have been spent on temple buildings and other expenses,” said Akitada. “And the monks attacked the tax convoys. We have an eyewitness to their last raid. Seimei?”

Seimei unrolled Otomi’s scroll and hung it on a nail. Then he went to the door and admitted Ayako and her sister. Dressed in their best gowns, they knelt before the dais.

Seeing Ayako’s slender figure and her narrow, pale face with those compelling eyes was almost more than Akitada could bear. He clenched his hands as he told the officials, “These are the daughters of Higekuro, a well-known wrestling instructor in this city. The younger is called Otomi. She is the artist who painted the scroll you see before you. Unfortunately, she is a deaf-mute. Her sister, Ayako, will interpret for her by using sign language.”

Then he took both girls through their testimony carefully. Both sisters identified the scroll as a scene Otomi had witnessed while visiting a temple in Shinano province. As Ayako translated her sister’s signs, telling of the raid on the convoy and the subsequent massacre, the officials looked profoundly shocked.

“But,” said the senior magistrate after whispering with his neighbors, “that will mean that the victims’ families will demand justice.”

“And they shall have it, Judge,” Akitada said tiredly. “It will be your duty to give it to them.”

“You misunderstand, Excellency,” said the man. “I referred to civil unrest. Rioting. Attacks on civil authorities who attempt to protect the prisoners.”

“Your fears are unwarranted,” snapped Akitada. “Put your trust in the garrison, sir. Captain Yukinari has already demonstrated his ability.”

The magistrate subsided with a red face.

Akitada was conscious of a profound sense of inadequacy. He had lost his temper, and his feelings for Ayako troubled him deeply. When they came to the slaughter of Higekuro and the subsequent hunt for the girls, he knew his questions and comments were too blunt, too abrupt and unfeeling, but he pressed on to get finished. Ayako remained calm and answered patiently, but she avoided looking at him.

The hardest part was yet to come. He must prove to the officials that the two young women were reliable witnesses, but springing a surprise on Otomi, who was very pale already, was both cruel and dangerous.

He said, “I should like you both to identify someone, if you can.”

“Of course,” Ayako said.

What enormous presence she had. From the moment she walked in, she had behaved with a nobility of manner and spirit he had not expected in a commoner or a woman.

“The night you and your sister were attacked,” he said, “one of your assailants escaped. He is in custody and will be brought in momentarily.”

Ayako’s eyes widened briefly, then she said, “If he is the one who is missing part of an ear, Otomi will identify him as the monk in charge of the attack on the convoy.” She went to the scroll and pointed to the figure of the seated monk. “If you look closely, you can see his maimed ear.”

She had made it easy for him. Akitada said gratefully, “I hope she will recognize him, but it may be too much for her.”

“My sister will do her duty,” Ayako said stiffly.

Two soldiers dragged in a tall man in bloodied monk’s robes and tossed him down before the dais. The man raised himself slowly on muscular arms and assumed a kneeling posture.

“Turn around,” said Akitada.

When the prisoner turned, Otomi gave a strangled sob.

Raising a shaking finger, she pointed first to the prisoner and next to the scroll. Then she fainted.

Catching her, Ayako said, “Otomi identifies this person as the one on the ship, the one who led the attack on the tax convoy.” She bent over her sister, attempting to bring her around.

The prisoner jumped up and shouted, “I didn’t hear her say anything.”

“Kneel and state your name,” snapped Akitada.

“Daishi,” spat the man in his hoarse voice. “Not that it’s any of your business. You have no right to arrest the disciples of the holy Joto.”

One of the soldiers pushed him down and took a leather whip from his belt, looking at Akitada hopefully.

“Neither you nor Joto is a legitimate member of this temple,” Akitada told the prisoner. “I want your real name.”

The prisoner stared back defiantly. “Daishi.”

The soldier raised the whip.

Akitada said quickly, “Very well. It is immaterial at the moment. You and your friends are under arrest for treason and murder. In a short time, all of you will undergo questioning until each of you has confessed fully. I trust you understand how this is done?”

“You can do nothing to me.” The words were defiant, but a faint sheen of perspiration appeared on the man’s face.