Текст книги "The Dragon Scroll "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Akitada shook his head. Had he missed something? Then hope sprang suddenly, and he ran after Tora.

He caught up with him just outside the tribunal gate. Tora stood in the swirling snow peering at the message board, his wide shoulders in the blue robe hunched up. He seemed to be checking the notices.

“Tora,” said Akitada, “I did not know you wanted to come.”

Tora did not turn. “Don’t let it bother you. I see they aren’t looking for me anymore. I’ll find other work. There’s a lot of fighting going on. Maybe I’ll go back to the army.”

“But aren’t you marrying Otomi?”

Tora swung around, astonished. “Me, marry?”

So much for love! Relief washed over Akitada. Otomi’s loss was his gain. “In that case,” he said, “perhaps you would consider returning to the capital with me. It’s not very interesting work, I’m afraid, and I can’t pay you much, but there are some very pretty girls there.”

* * * *

TWENTY-TWO

MORNING GLORY

I

n an austere office of the Bureau of Censors, two middle-aged men faced each other across a desk with neat stacks of documents. The desk and office belonged to Minamoto Yutaka, the feared president of the censors, a personage so powerful that he reported directly to the chancellor. He was a tall, almost cadaverous man, his sparse hair graying, his nose sharp, and his lips thin and permanently turned down at the corners. He sat stiffly upright, hands tucked into the sleeves of a dark green brocade robe, and watched the man opposite him from slitted eyes.

Soga Ietada, the current minister of justice, wore a lighter shade of green and was physically Minamoto’s opposite. Almost obese, he had abundant, bristling hair on his head, eyebrows, mustache, and the backs of his hands. At the moment he was occupied with a fan and a cup of tea.

“There are those at court who predicted a different outcome to this matter,” Soga said, putting down his empty cup. He spoke with a slight whine, as if he were complaining.

The president turned down the corners of his mouth a little more. “The Fujiwaras are blessed by Buddha. Motosuke emerged from this regrettable affair not only with a clean record but as the man who uncovered a dangerous conspiracy.”

The minister waved his fan agitatedly. “We should have stopped Moto—” He broke off, his mouth frozen open in mid-speech.

The thin man had opened his eyes wide and raised a hand. “You are confused, Soga. It is naturally with great relief and pleasure that we have received the news of Fujiwara Motosuke’s return from Kazusa and his appointment as senior councilor in the Great Council of State. Equally delightful is the news that his daughter has entered the imperial household.”

The minister found his voice again. “If she produces an heir, Motosuke may become the next chancellor.”

“Quite possible.” The president pursed his thin lips and smiled sourly. “And in the fullness of time, your junior clerk Sugawara may become minister of justice.”

The minister blanched. “This development was completely unforeseen. Sugawara was a mere nobody, and now everyone talks of his brilliant future. The worst thing is that we are thought to support the Fujiwara faction because I recommended Sugawara to you.”

The president smiled unpleasantly. “If you intended a different outcome, you should have chosen a different man. Not even you could have been blind to this man’s ability. I have reviewed Sugawara’s background and read his reports. He took top honors from the university in both Chinese studies and the law, no mean feat, which should have secured him a promising position in the administration. Instead he ends up in your dusty archives. His reports are more than competent and reveal an intelligence unexpected in one of your clerks. Such a man should have been watched more carefully.”

The minister wailed, “That is precisely what I did. But he began meddling in murder cases, stirring up trouble for everyone and making himself a reputation. Finally, in desperation, I suggested him for this assignment. Your Excellency told me yourself that whoever went would fail. Failure would have removed him forever to some remote provincial administration.”

The president leaned forward, fixing the minister with a cold eye. “Do not dare to shift the blame! Regrettably, you miscalculated. I had nothing to do with your private vendetta, although I may regret having put my trust in you.”

The minister paled. “I... I... It was not my intention ...”

“Enough,” said Minamoto coldly. “The matter is closed.”

As soon as his visitor had bowed himself out, the president clapped for his clerk. “Send in Sugawara,” he ordered.

Akitada stumbled over the threshold, lost his balance, and reached up to steady his court hat, while sinking to his knees clumsily. He had been waiting outside for over an hour, during which his superior, the minister, had arrived, walking past him without so much as a nod. Just now Soga had reemerged, mopping his face and giving him a look of such open fury that Akitada had gaped after the minister in shocked confusion.

Now here he was himself, prostrated before one of the most powerful men in the government, a man who was said to have neither friends nor enemies because he was so widely feared. Akitada quailed at the thought of what was about to be done to him.

“Approach,” ordered the thin voice, icy as the floor Akitada knelt on.

He slid closer to the desk and stole a glance at the great man. It was not reassuring. Cold eyes, reminiscent of a snake’s unblinking inspection of a mouse, measured him from half-closed lids.

“You are the person we sent to Kazusa as inspector to the outgoing governor?”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

“I have read your report. As regards the taxes, it reveals incredibly lax standards of investigation, a rashness of action that borders on madness, and an appalling lack of concern for the most fundamental rules of behavior. You succeeded in your assignment only because of amazing luck and favorable circumstances. What do you have to say?”

“I regret extremely my foolish mistakes and shall endeavor to learn from them.”

There was a moment of silence. When Akitada glanced up, the president’s eyes were looking into the distance, as if Akitada were no longer worthy of regard. “If you are implying,” Minamoto finally said flatly, “that you expect a similar assignment, or any other position of responsibility, you are even less intelligent than I thought. We cannot afford to employ bunglers.”

Akitada turned cold with apprehension.

“Still, you write clearly and seem to have handled the review of provincial accounts well enough. Those skills are of some use in the administration. Because others seem to be more impressed with your activities in Kazusa than I am, I am recommending your transfer to the Ministry of Ceremonial. The position of senior recorder has fallen vacant. This amounts to a promotion in rank by half a grade and an increase in salary. In my opinion, you do not deserve either.”

Akitada’s heart froze. The Ministry of Ceremonial? He would be keeping the records of all officials, their ranks, offices, appointments, and dismissals. During palace ceremonies, he would be responsible for program, entertainment, attendance, and protocol. The post provided status and income without challenge or future.

He rebelled. Meeting the president’s eyes, he said, “I respectfully decline, Your Excellency. My training is in law, not ceremonial. I had hoped for another assignment within my expertise. If this is not feasible, I should prefer to return to my old position as clerk in the Ministry of Justice.” As soon as he had spoken, he was aware of having committed an unheard-of breach of etiquette. In his confusion he prostrated himself.

For a while there was no sound but the president’s breathing and the tapping of his fingernails on the desk. Both sounds conveyed suppressed anger.

When the president spoke, his voice dripped icicles of derision. “So you refuse a promotion? You cannot be fully cognizant of your offenses,” he said with exaggerated patience. “Let me point out merely a few of your errors in judgment. You were sent to investigate a shortage, a mere accounting matter. Instead you took it upon yourself to employ military and civilian forces to uncover certain irregularities in a local temple. In the process you seem to have left a trail of murders and a mountain of paperwork.” He thundered suddenly, “Look up!” Akitada jerked upright. The president pointed to the stacks of records. “These documents are a small sampling of what your visit to Kazusa has wrought. Here are reports from four separate ministries you managed to involve in the investigation. These are the files pertaining to confiscated temple properties, accompanied by petitions from Buddhist clergy both here and in Kazusa. This stack is private correspondence from highly placed nobles and officials, either demanding that we outlaw Buddhism altogether or that we exile you as an enemy of the true faith.” The president’s cold eyes bored into Akitada. “Clearly you have exceeded your responsibilities. What can you possibly say in your defense?”

Akitada swallowed. He was only too aware of his many blunders, of his responsibility for the deaths of innocent and guilty alike. But his intentions had been pure, so he said, “I am afraid, Your Excellency, that I judged the activities of the monk Joto to be a threat to our government. In my subsequent decisions I acted at all times within the oath of office I swore when I became a servant of His August Majesty. Anything less would have been a dereliction of my duty.”

“You dare defend yourself?” The president leaned forward with a sneer. “You had neither the maturity nor the experience to make such a judgment. It was ridiculous! No mere provincial monk could pose a threat against our government. The proper move would have been to lay immediate charges in the local courts against this man and his supporters. Instead you waited, no doubt to win personal acclaim, and the criminals had time to kill more people.”

It was true. Higekuro would still be alive if Akitada had acted sooner. The child would be playing with his New Year’s gifts if Akitada had not put him and others at risk. The matter weighed heavily on his conscience, and he prostrated himself again.

“I mentioned earlier,” continued the president, “that you succeeded only by chance. Perhaps you need to be reminded that it was mere accident that the blind girl’s painting fell into your hands. You had the good luck of clearing up the murder of Lord Tachibana because of the incredibly careless manner in which his killers had left the body. Happily for you the garrison commander had an alibi, or you would have had him tried for murder. And the arrest of Joto’s supporters was only possible because of a convenient temple festival that allowed you to hide a whole garrison of soldiers in the temple grounds. An idiot would have succeeded. As it was, you managed the matter so badly that the fellow killed a child and attacked you. When the child’s mother had to kill this renegade monk to save your life, it cost us the testimony of the prime suspect.”

Akitada knocked his forehead against the floor mat. Seeing the justice of the president’s strictures, he was ashamed of the hopes for reward that had accompanied him on the long journey back to the capital. He sought for words of apology.

“Since you insist, you may return to your former duties in the Ministry of Justice. Naturally they do not justify a rank increase. You may go.”

Akitada rose, making a series of formal deep obeisances as he retreated backward to the door. When his heel touched it, he cleared his throat. The great man looked up impatiently from the document he was reading.

“I beg Your Excellency to forgive my impertinent curiosity,” Akitada began nervously, “but I had wondered about the disposition of the case.”

“It is hardly your business any longer, but we ordered that the guilty monks be defrocked and assigned to hard labor at the northern frontier. If they behave themselves, they will be allowed to enlist in the frontier armies. The former leadership of the temple has been confirmed, and a new prefect has been appointed to the district.” Noting Akitada’s dismay, the president added grudgingly, “The high praise of former governor Fujiwara for two of his people has resulted in their promotions. His secretary, Akinobu, will become assistant governor. Of course, the governor’s post itself will go to His August Majesty’s brother, who will remain in the capital. The other promotion concerns the garrison commander Yukinari, who will join the imperial guard. I believe that is all.”

Akitada was happy for Akinobu and Yukinari, but there was the other matter that troubled him more. “I brought a prisoner to the capital, Your Excellency,” he said. “He is charged in another case, in the disappearance of Lady—”

“Silence!” roared the president, jumping up. He pointed a quivering finger at Akitada. “You are to forget that matter or risk permanent exile. You are to ask no questions, mention no part of your investigation, nor contact anyone remotely connected with it, ever. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Forgive me.”

“Dismissed.”

Akitada fled out of the dim halls and into the graveled courtyard, where he took a deep breath of cold air and then passed quickly through the roofed gate into the street. To his right lay the vast enclosure of the Palace of the Eight Ministries, where the emperor presided over his administration to rule his people. Beyond it was another large enclosure, the Palace of Court Festivals. And beyond that, among many smaller courts, was the Ministry of Justice. It was his duty to go there to report his return immediately, but the look of loathing on Soga’s face was still vivid in his memory. He turned his steps toward the great gate and the city beyond.

A dusting of snow covered roofs and streets. Pine-bough decorations marked the coming new year. People on elevated wooden sandals hurried along with an air of excitement and happiness. Tomorrow the emperor would announce new assignments and promotions. Customarily, the happy recipients of the august benevolence would then celebrate their good fortune by inviting all who had not fared so well. Akitada himself was expected at Kosehira’s mansion for a great party given by his cousin Motosuke, who was staying there until his own residence was ready to receive the new councilor.

Turning his steps homeward, Akitada considered how to break his news to his mother. She would be very angry with him for failing again. They had barely enough to support themselves, and he had returned with another mouth to feed. Lady Sugawara’s reaction to Tora had been mixed. After expressing her displeasure privately to Akitada, she had taken Tora as her personal attendant.

The thought of Tora cheered Akitada a little. Perhaps it would all work out. They would have time for their morning exercises again. And today he was going to show Tora the city. Akitada smiled. At least he would not have to transfer to the Ministry of Ceremonial.

♦

The following evening, considerably the worse for a night on the town with Tora, Akitada approached Kosehira’s mansion. Introducing the “Tiger of the Tokaido” to the pleasures of the capital, not the least of which were the wine shops, had finally blotted out the image of Minamoto’s reptilian eyes, but it was exacting its price now, for his head hurt and there was a dull ache behind his eyes.

Akitada was probably the only guest who arrived on foot for Motosuke’s celebration. Torches lit Kosehira’s street and his courtyard, where at least fifty carriages of all types had been crammed together. The oxen had been unhitched and stood about, munching hay, while their drivers sat around small fires, talking or throwing dice.

Akitada knew his way and went to the main hall with its reception rooms. Servants were everywhere. Someone helped him remove his boots, someone else took his quilted outer robe, and a third man held a mirror so that he could adjust his hat.

Loud talk and laughter came from the rooms beyond. Akitada looked in each of them for Kosehira’s familiar round shape and cheerful face. The company was intimidating. To judge from the colors of the court robes and the rank ribbons on the hats, Motosuke had illustrious friends. Perhaps, thought Akitada, still smarting from his meeting with President Minamoto, he should just send a message of congratulation to Motosuke and leave quietly.

Too late! Kosehira had spied him.

“Here is the man of the hour!” he cried. “Come in, Akitada. Everyone’s been waiting to meet you.”

Akitada flushed with embarrassment. He cast an anxious look around and recognized three imperial princes, two ministers, several imperial councilors—Motosuke’s prospective colleagues—and one of the sovereign’s uncles. Kosehira bounced forward and pulled him into the room by his sleeve. His good cheer was infectious; Akitada met with smiling faces everywhere. He was asked questions, which he answered briefly and cautiously, hoping he was not breaking some rule he had not been warned about.

His head still felt fuzzy and, worried that he might say the wrong thing, he refused the offered wine. It was ironic that so many people of rank appeared pleased with his success while the two men who held his future in their hands regarded him as a fool and a bungler.

Kosehira steered Akitada through the throng into the next room. There, in the place of honor sat Motosuke, resplendent in purple and flushed with wine and happiness. When he saw Akitada, he jumped up to embrace him and led him to a cushion next to his own.

“This is the man to whom I owe my good fortune,” he announced. “If you ever get yourself into deep water, call on him and your fortune will be made.”

That caused laughter and more questions. This time Akitada’s reticence about the events in Kazusa was futile, for Motosuke took it upon himself to give a detailed and colorful description of everything that had happened, interspersed with such highly flattering comments about Akitada’s brilliance that the latter wished the floor would swallow him.

Kosehira eventually rescued him. “Enough babbling, cousin,” he said irreverently to the new councilor. “There is someone who wants to see Akitada.”

They left the main hall by one of the covered galleries, walking toward Kosehira’s private quarters. Akitada was curious, but Kosehira maintained an air of secrecy. The sound of voices and laughter faded, trees blocked the light of the torches and lanterns, and the quiet of the wintry garden surrounded them.

Akitada saw the lake where Kosehira had given him his farewell party before his departure for the east. “How different the garden looks,” he said. “Is there really someone waiting, or are we just having a quiet chat?”

“You will know in a moment,” said Kosehira mysteriously. They entered the dim corridor that led to Kosehira’s study. Before the door, Kosehira put his hand on Akitada’s sleeve. “He is inside. Join us again when you can.” Then he left.

Akitada slid the door open. The room was lit only by the moonlight and the snow outside. On the veranda sat the still figure of a young monk in a black robe. His back was to Akitada, and a string of prayer beads moved slowly through his fingers.

There must be some mistake. What business could he possibly have with a monk? He was about to withdraw quietly when a soft voice asked, “Is that you, Akitada?”

Recognition came suddenly and painfully. “Yes, Tasuku. Kosehira sent me.”

The other gestured toward a pillow lying near him, and Akitada went to sit down.

Now that he could see his friend’s face, he was shocked. It was not merely that the thick, glossy hair had been shaved off, leaving nothing but a naked skull tinged an unearthly silver-blue in this light. Tasuku’s once handsome face looked almost emaciated. Gone was the youthful roundness of cheeks, chin, and lips, and gone was the healthy tan. The eyes still burned darkly, but the full lips were compressed. Worse, the bones in his friend’s wrists stood out, and his once muscular shoulders drooped as if the thin black hemp of his robe were too heavy to support.

“Tasuku,” Akitada cried, “have you been ill?”

“My name is Genshin now.” He smiled a little, sadly. “I am well. And you? You have returned to great honors, I am told. It seems we were all wrong when we tried to dissuade you from your journey.”

Akitada glanced across the snow-covered garden to the lake, where they had sat composing their poems so many months ago. If he had known then that he would meet violent death in so many dreadful forms, he would have accepted the conditions of his life. He saw again, in his mind, the broken body of the child, Higekuro’s split skull and the carnage around him, Joto’s blood bubbling from his lips, the frail corpse of Lord Tachibana.

On the large terrace of the main house, Motosuke’s guests strolled about admiring the moonlit scene. Someone was leaning against the balustrade to look out over the trees. Just so had Ayako stood.

Akitada sighed. “No. You were right after all. It was the most difficult thing I have ever done.”

His friend glanced at him, then looked up at the moon. “The same moon,” he said, “but, oh, how changed we are.”

The old Tasuku would have composed a long poem on the subject of lost happiness. Yes, they were both changed forever.

“You don’t ask why I have renounced the world?”

“No, Tasuku. Forgive me. Genshin. It makes me sad, but I understand.”

The burning eyes sought his. “How so?”

Instead of answering, Akitada took the blue flower fragment from his sash and passed it to his friend.

He heard the in-drawn breath and saw the slender fingers close around the flower.

“Forgive me,” said Akitada, “for causing you pain.”

“I have been making progress in my discipline. Soon, I hope, matters of this world will no longer touch me. I have asked to see you to bid you farewell. And to lay to rest all that troubles me still. I heard you were the one to bring her murderer back.”

Akitada’s stomach lurched a little as he remembered the president’s warning. “I don’t want to add to your distress,” he said evasively.

The pale monk smiled. The sweetness of that smile recalled the old Tasuku. “Only in forgetting is there freedom from pain,” he said. “And only the truth can help me forget.”

Akitada acquiesced. “You and the Lady Asagao were lovers?”

The other man nodded. “I have no excuses for what I did, but Asagao and I grew up together. Our parents were neighbors. I loved her then, but she was sent to serve the new empress. From time to time I used to visit her, bringing her letters from her family. I knew she was unhappy. One day she told me that the emperor had honored her with his ... attention.” He closed his eyes.

After a moment, he took a deep breath and continued. “I was filled with jealousy and turned my anger against her. Poor girl. How could she have helped herself?” His burning eyes sought Akitada’s. “I seduced her, Akitada. We met secretly in the summer pavilion of an old villa in a deserted part of the city. She would take a palanquin from the palace to the house of her former nurse, and I would meet her there to take her to our secret retreat.” He sighed deeply and looked out over the snowy garden shimmering in the moonlight. Akitada waited.

“I was not worthy of her.” His anguish sounded strange coming from the lips of this pale monk. “The risk she took was enormous, her gift of love to me. She imperiled her reputation and her family’s future to be with me, but I was not satisfied. I wanted her for myself. I demanded she prove her love for me again and again, while I strutted like a peacock in the knowledge that the emperor’s favorite preferred me. But it was not enough.” His voice broke.

Akitada shivered. The winter cold seeped through the thick planks of the veranda. He wished they could move inside or that at least he had his quilted outer robe. Strangely, his companion seemed untouched by the frigid air, though his clothing was pitifully thin.

“That final night I demanded one more proof. I insisted she stay with me through the next day and night. I knew it would mean discovery. She wept on her knees. She swore that she cared nothing for her own life, but she could not hurt His Majesty, who had shown her nothing but kindness. I was adamant, but she remained firm. When she left, she asked for my escort. I refused.”

There was a long silence. Akitada reached out and put his hand on the sleeve of his friends rough robe. The arm beneath the poor fabric felt thin. “I am sorry,” he said softly. “It must have been terrible. That night of our farewell party . . . you carried her fan, didn’t you?”

The shaven head was bowed and nodded slightly. “She forgot it. It was all I had of her, for I never saw her again. Weeks passed. I assumed she had returned to the palace. Then I heard the first rumor that she had disappeared. I was beside myself with uncertainty, not knowing what had happened to her. That was the state of my mind the night you saw me.”

“How can you bear to hear what happened?”

The monk raised his face. “I watched her murderer die.”

“What?”

“The man died horribly. His was the death I should have died. I was the one who had offended. I was the one who put temptation in his way. But I was spared. Spared in spite of the fact that they knew. Spared because I had become a monk.” He paused to look up at the starry sky. “But not spared all. The emperor’s personal secretary paid me a visit in the monastery. He informed me that the murderer of Lady Asagao had been sentenced and that he had requested a priest prior to his execution. I was to be that priest.”

Akitada said, “Tasuku, I did not tell them about you.”

His friend smiled. “I know, but they found out. I think she kept some poems of mine. And the man whose summerhouse I rented for our meetings identified me. In any case, I refused the killer’s request, claiming my lack of experience, but I was told that the condemned man had insisted on me by name. That was when I realized they knew. The emperor’s secretary told me when and where Asagao had died and then left me to the agony of my guilt.”

“It was cruel.”

“Cruel? No. I told you I watched the poor wretch die. It took a very long time. No one touched me.”

Akitada said angrily, “They may not have touched you, but it was a terrible vengeance nevertheless. And don’t waste your sympathy on that animal. He killed two poor women after using and abusing them and might have continued his bloody career if I had not guessed that he had murdered Lady Asagao.”

“You guessed?” The luminous eyes probed Akitada’s.

“Perhaps the Lady Asagao had a hand in it.” Akitada shivered again. “The blue flower fragment came into my possession in Kazusa.”

His friend opened his hand and looked at the tiny ornament in his palm. “It was part of her hair ornament. A gift from the emperor.”

“Her murderer gave it to the woman he later killed. She sold it to a peddler, who sold it to me. At the same time, a strange ghost story was traveling around the city, a story of a demon with a flaming face who killed a noble lady in an abandoned temple in the capital. He robbed her of her jewelry, then slashed her throat and threw her down a well.”

Tasuku shuddered.

“Somehow the mystery of her disappearance and the flower fragment became fused in my feverish dreams with the strange ghost story. Later, I noticed similarities between the ghost story and a local murder. I reported my suspicions to the emperor and brought the prisoner back with me. But at no time did I think they would involve you. I am sorry.” Akitada searched his friend’s face anxiously for some reassurance.

To his relief, the other had regained his calm and smiled his sweet smile again. He said, “Thank you, my dear Akitada.” Tucking his hands into his sleeves and looking up at the moon, he murmured, “Like snowflakes melting in the moonlight, like the call of the owl fading at dawn, so ends this dream we live.” Then, with a sigh, he rose, bowed to Akitada, and slipped soundlessly from the veranda.

Akitada remained where he was. Tasuku had unknowingly reopened the wound. He closed his eyes, and the wintry scene shifted to the veranda of the Temple of the Merciful Goddess. Somewhere in the winter night an owl cried with a lonely, mournful sound. In the garden below a woman stepped into a man’s embrace. Then night passed into day, a gray and misty day when snow swirled, danced, and settled on her hair like an ornament of crystal beads. Or drops of dew.

“There you are! All alone in the dark?” Kosehira put his hand on Akitada’s shoulder. “Has Tasuku gone? Poor fellow.”

“Yes, Kosehira.” Akitada rose slowly, feeling like an old man with his cold-stiffened limbs and his thoughts of death. “I must be on my way, too. It has been a long day.”

“Nonsense, my friend.” Kosehira looked at him anxiously. “You mustn’t let Tasuku’s decision get you down. He was tired of the world and chose another life. You, on the other hand, have a great future ahead. Everybody says so. You will do great things someday. I feel it in my bones.” He firmly grasped Akitada’s arm and pulled him back toward the voices and the laughter, the sounds of zither and flute, and the world of men.

* * * *

HISTORICAL NOTE

D

uring the Heian period (794-1185), the Japanese government still loosely resembled the centralized empire of Tang China. Japan was ruled from the capital, Heian Kyo (Kyoto), by an emperor and an elaborate bureaucracy of court nobles. Outlying provinces were administered by governors who were dispatched from the capital every four years with their own staff to oversee law and order, as well as tax collection. At the end of their tenure, an inspector (kageyushi) would make sure that their accounts were in order. But the distances were great and transportation still in its infancy. Bandits and pirates roamed the land and the seas. Provincial landowners, including the great monasteries, set up their own armies to defend their property. Toward the end of the Heian period the military power of these private interests became a danger to the governors and to the empire.