Текст книги "The Emperor's Woman"

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

“True.” Akitada reluctantly gave Akiko credit for having seen this. “But his behavior seemed to be the reaction of an innocent man who was profoundly shocked by her death.”

“Oh, you’re just stubborn. Go on and read.”

There was not much more. Some court observances at the beginning of the Frost Month were briefly mentioned. The prince sent a note. She responded, “Are you also thinking of the moon over the mountain’s edge, lamenting how the days drag on?”

The decisions had been made, Akitada thought. And he read the final entry.

“’Oh winter storm! Your voice is thunder and my sleeves are soaked with tears.’”

“There!” cried Akiko.

Akitada said, “There is no more. She didn’t write another line.”

“A storm. It means a bitter quarrel. She quarreled with the prince.” Akiko’s voice filled with excitement. “They quarreled, Akitada. She wanted marriage and he refused. So she threatened scandal. He made an appointment to meet her, and then he either killed her himself or sent someone to do it. There’s your proof.”

Tamako looked troubled. “She doesn’t use his name. There is no real proof.”

Turning the journal in his hands, Akitada nodded. “Yes, Tamako is right. There is no real proof, just suspicion.”

Akiko jumped up. “Oh, you’re both blind. Can’t you see he’s the obvious one? What was simpler than to send her up to the villa and stage a suicide while he could claim to have been with Kosehira?”

“It could have been as you say,” said Akitada. “But this must have happened while she was still supposed to live in the palace. It could also have been someone else.” He sighed and put down the journal. “And now I think I’ll go and have a nice long soak in the bath.”

He did not mention that he had recognized a line in the journal.

The Bathhouse

Saburo was aware that his suspicion could be wrong and an embarrassing waste of time. Even given the two pieces of information which supported it, they could fit any number of different people. Yet he could not shake the feeling that he was right.

He spent every free minute watching. This was complicated and expensive because he did not want to attract notice and scare his suspect off. He sat outside a wine shop to keep his eyes on a door farther down the street, hoping his man would emerge or enter. Eventually, he had to abandon his watch to go to work before he laid eyes on him.

The following night, he was back at his spot, and this time he was in luck. His quarry emerged and walked away down the street. Saburo followed at a distance, watching, waiting for the other to make a mistake. Once or twice he thought he did, but he could not be sure.

The next day, he met with Tora and Genba.

He was surprised to see Genba free. They embraced and then walked to a nearby restaurant to celebrate.

Genba and Tora took turns filling him in on all that happened since Genba had been released.

“I don’t mind telling you,” said Genba, his face shining with joy, “I was flabbergasted. The superintendent himself came to set me free. It was almost like he meant to tell me how sorry he was except, of course, he didn’t do that.”

Tora broke in, “He should’ve apologized. He had no business treating you or any of us who work for our master in this fashion.”

“Well, I was glad enough, except there was Ohiro. I hardly dared ask about her, but I did, and he said to wait outside and she’d be with me. And it wasn’t any time at all before she came, looking just as confused as I felt. I can’t tell you how good it was to see her.”

“So what are your plans?” Saburo asked, wondering if Genba really intended to make a prostitute his wife.

“Oh, that’s the best part,” Tora said. “The master made her welcome. We’re on our way now to hire the carpenter. Genba will need a separate place for his wife and children. We’ll use part of the stables. There’s plenty of room there, and the master’s given us his blessing. Genba and Ohiro will have a cozy room or two with a small kitchen, just like Hanae and me.”

“Ah, in the stable?” said Saburo, thinking this would mean losing the room he and Genba had shared.

“Well, it’s the best place, and the two love birds can move in within a week. But I haven’t told you about the master’s accident yet.”

Tora related the frightening hours spent on the mountainside. Genba spoiled the suspense by saying too quickly, “But the master’s fine. Just a pulled shoulder joint and some bruises.”

“Don’t forget the cut on his head,” Tora pointed out. “He was unconscious for hours, lying there on that narrow ledge. I talked myself hoarse, telling him not to move.”

Saburo shook his head. “A terrible accident … if it was one.”

Tora frowned. “Of course it was. He says e slipped.”

“Hmm. Did you and the master find out who killed the lady?”

“Not yet, but we will. He has her diary. What about you? Any progress on Tokuzo?”

Saburo hesitated. “Yes and no. I have an idea that’s pretty vague. Still it keeps nagging at me. I’ve taken to following someone.”

The other two looked blank. “What are you talking about?” Tora asked

Saburo explained.

Tora said, “I know him, and I don’t believe it. He is what he is. And that means he couldn’t have killed Tokuzo.”

Saburo glowered. “Really? Why not? For a shinobi it’s the best disguise in the world.”

They gaped at him. Genba nodded slowly. “There was that smell. And I had hold of the guy. He was very strong and very quick. But I don’t see how anyone could get away with it for long.”

Saburo said, “He mostly goes out after dark. One night I nearly ran into him. He stopped first. That’s what gave me the idea.”

Tora said, “It proves nothing. Their hearing is very good.”

Saburo sighed. “I know. It does make sense, though, especially when people are so used to seeing them about. I did check out the Satake family. They’d come down in the world and, in my experience, people like that have a good deal of pride. After the parents died, the grandparents raised the two children. The girl’s name was Nariko, and the boy’s Narimitsu. Shokichi said Miyagi could read and write.”

“Didn’t do her much good,” Tora observed dryly. He still had trouble reading and his writing was nearly illegible.

Saburo gave him a look. “What I meant was the son must’ve hated having his sister earn their living on the street. It explains why she didn’t write her brother until it was too late.”

Genba asked, “You think he got her letter and came home only to find her dead? And then decided to kill Tokuzo?”

Saburo nodded.

“That would do it for me,” observed Tora. “But how do we prove it?”

Saburo said, “We must confront him. He’ll deny it, of course, but I don’t see another option.”

“All of us?” Genba asked, perhaps thinking of their errand and the waiting Ohiro.

“It’s best. If I’m right, he’s dangerous and will be desperate.”

Tora nodded. “Let’s go then. You know where he is?”

“At work.”

The Jade Arbor was doing a good business after hours. People usually came from work to relax before their evening rice and sleep. Or perhaps they planned a visit to the amusement quarter.

They paid their fee to the woman at the door and walked toward the steamy rooms with the communal tubs. Smaller rooms opened off the corridor, their doors either open or closed for privacy. The bathhouse offered specialized services and kept a staff of masseurs and attractive women for this purpose.

In a room with shelves and benches, they stripped, handed their clothing to the attendant, a youth wearing nothing but his loincloth, his skin beaded with moisture from the steam in the next room. He stared when he saw their scars and became very accommodating.

In a larger room filled with a hot white fog, three big wooden tubs served the bathers. Heads showed above their rims. Tora, Genba, and Saburo took small pails and bags of rice chaff from a shelf and crouched on the slatted wood floor to scrub themselves clean. Then they climbed into one of the tubs, muttering greetings to the two men who already soaked in the hot water.

Nearby was a tub full of chattering and giggling women, but their two companions were content to doze with their eyes closed.

Genba muttered, “This will be difficult.”

When Saburo said nothing and Tora merely grunted, Genba fell silent. They sat, letting the heat loosen their muscles and relax their tension.

The two men eventually left, and Tora said in a low voice, “We have to risk it, Genba. He’ll hardly agree to a meeting in some lonely grove someplace.”

“Then let’s get on with it,” said Genba, heaving his huge bulk out of the water.

The attendant brought dry hemp kimonos. They wrapped themselves into these and asked for the masseur.

“All of you with the same masseur?” asked the youngster.

“Yes. Bashan. He’s said to be the best. We’ll take turns.”

The boy directed them into one of the small rooms where a narrow raised platform awaited customers.

Saburo took off his kimono and lay face down on this, while Tora and Genba crouched against one of the walls.

After a short wait, they heard Bashan’s staff tapping along the corridor. The door was pushed open.

“Gentlemen?” Bashan asked, his half-closed eyes seeming to scan the room as he waited for a response. Saburo lay with his head turned to the wall.

Tora said, “There are three of us. You can start with my friend. We’ll take turns.”

Bashan bowed in his direction. “Just a regular massage or a treatment?”

“Just the massage.”

Bashan approached the platform, tapping with his staff and then leaning it against the wall. He set down the bamboo case he carried in the other hand, and touched Saburo’s naked back. “Do you wish me to give special attention to any part?” he asked Saburo.

Saburo grunted, “No. Just the usual.”

Watched by Tora, Bashan bent to remove a stoneware flask from his case. He poured oil on his hands, then began kneading and rubbing Saburo’s back from the neck to the waist.

Genba moved quietly to the door, blocking it with his bulk.

Tora said, “I know they call you Bashan. What’s your real name?”

“My name is Bashan.”

“I think your family name is Satake. You’re Satake Narimitsu.”

Bashan froze, his body suddenly tense. “I don’t understand.”

Tora got to his feet. “You had a sister called Nariko, didn’t you?”

“I have no sister.”

Tora watched the man’s back. It had the stillness of a coiled snake. “You can stop what you’re doing. We really came to have a chat with you. Turn around.”

“I’m paid to give massages to customers. If you don’t want me to do that, I’ll leave.” Bashan fumbled for his staff. Tora snatched it away.

“You don’t need this. I believe you can see as well as anyone.”

Bashan finally turned. He moved his head from side to side as if trying to locate Tora. Genba grinned and flexed his muscles. Saburo sat up and put on his kimono.

“What do you want?” Bashan said, inching toward his case. “I can call for help.”

“I’d better take charge of this,” Saburo said, taking Bashan’s case and moving it away from him. “Can’t have you reaching for your needles.”

Bashan turned his head. “You!”

“I told you he can see,” Saburo said with great satisfaction. “You recognize me, don’t you, Bashan?”

“I recognize your voice, you ungrateful cur,” snarled the masseur. “Is this the thanks I get for patching you up?”

“Thanks? After you nearly cracked my skull?”

A brief silence fell.

Tora and Genba flexed their hands. Saburo looked frustrated.

Bashan abruptly sat down on the platform. “I suppose,” he said slowly, “there’s no point in going on with this game. I was getting heartily tired of it anyway, but it’s a way to earn some money. What do you want?”

Tora made introductions.

Bashan stared at Genba. “Are you the one they arrested?”

“Yes,” snapped Tora. “You let them arrest an innocent man and woman. They tried to beat confessions out of both of them.”

Bashan grimaced. “Sorry,” he muttered. “It wasn’t my doing. Fate put you in the way of the ignorant police. How is it that you’re free?”

Genba said, “They let us go. No proof.”

“No proof?” Bashan smiled. “Yes. There was none in your case, and there won’t be any in mine either.”

Tora glared at him. “We can’t leave things the way they are. There’s been a murder. What if the police arrest someone else?”

Bashan said, “It isn’t likely, is it? Or are they even stupider than I thought?”

Saburo straightened up. “Why are you still here? If your only purpose was to avenge your sister’s death, then you should have left for the north days ago.”

“You think it was just revenge? That would merely have been a selfish act.”

“What else could it be?” Tora growled. “You’re Miyagi’s brother, aren’t you? You see, we know who you are and what made you do it.”

Bashan suddenly looked tired and pale. “Yes, I’m Nariko’s brother. I left them to seek my fortune with the army. They starved until Nariko was sold to that animal. I didn’t know any of it, but I should have looked after them. All those years, Nariko never once asked for help, until her last letter. I’m not making excuses, but that is what happened. By the time I got back, she had died and so had our grandparents.” He raised his head and looked at each of them in turn. “Do you understand now? All of it was my fault. I hoped to make up for my sin.”

Genba, always softhearted, said, “I think I understand. You decided to do something to help others like your sister, and so you killed Tokuzo for abusing the women who worked for him.”

Bashan nodded. “I had learned the use of needles and moxa from some monks in the north, and massage is easy enough. It turned out to be a useful skill in the army. When I needed a disguise, I added blindness and became a masseur.”

Tora snorted. “Saburo said you’re a hired killer. I don’t buy your story.”

Bashan drew himself up. “I’m a soldier. The needle I dropped was meant for Tokuzo. If I hadn’t lost it, nobody would have known it was murder. My colliding with Genba was fate.” He pointed to Saburo. “And fate brought him to the brothel that night.”

Genba said, “I picked up the needle and gave it to Saburo. He did say it was an assassin’s needle because he knows about such things. I don’t mind admitting that shook me up a bit.”

Bashan studied Saburo and nodded. “I see. It all hangs together now. What will you do?”

They looked at each other. Tora said, “The master won’t like this.”

Genba shook his head. “The master’s a good man but he serves the emperor. We cannot just let you go.”

“You’ve trained as a shinobi, I think,” Saburo said. “Do you plan to stay and work here?”

Bashan looked shocked. “No. I told you, I only did what I did to help those poor women.”

“It was you who returned the contracts to them?”

“Yes. It’s why I went back after I killed him. I was upset that night. It was a botched job.”

Tora said dryly, “It may interest you to know that almost all the women sold themselves again. Some went back to work for Tokuzo’s mother.”

“At least the old one doesn’t treat them badly. I’ve stayed to keep an eye on her.”

Someone pounded on the door of their room. “Hey, Bashan? What’s taking so long? You’ve got a customer waiting.”

Saburo straightened up. “Nothing will be solved tonight. I suggest we all go and think about what is best to be done. We’ll meet again tomorrow. Where, Bashan?”

Bashan did not answer right away. He looked at Saburo, then at Tora and Genba. “Yes,” he finally said softly. “That will be best. Let’s meet after sundown at the beggars’ temple. It may be that the priest Kenko has a solution.”

The others nodded and left one by one, Tora abandoning the staff and Saburo returning the case to Bashan. The attendant met them outside to collect three fees for their massages.

When they were back outside in the street, Tora said, “He’ll run.”

Saburo nodded. “Oh, yes.”

Genba pondered for a moment. “I don’t think his running solves our problem.”

The other two looked at each other and sighed.

“Let’s go get that carpenter,” Tora said.

The Horse

Akitada slept deeply after his bath and woke refreshed and quite clear-headed. He lay, watching the shafts of sunlight that entered through his shutters. Tiny sparks danced in them, dust particles so small they floated. He pondered the nature of light and of knowledge. They made visible what darkness and confusion had obscured.

Darkness was the time when human trickery was most active. Saburo could testify to that.

The murder of Lady Masako had probably happened in darkness, or at least at dusk. If the prince had not been so late that night he might have prevented what happened.

Or died himself.

Since the attack on him, Akitada had suspected that the killer haunted the place. Was his conscience troubled, or were there other forces at work? There had been Lady Hiroko’s dream. Even in the telling, it had seemed strangely vivid with a sense of the cold and snow and night that were part of Lady Masako’s final moments.

Night fell early in winter, and it must have been overcast that day. New snow had fallen and obscured the murderer’s tracks. Riding or even walking those mountain paths at night must have been difficult. Still, the prince had chosen to make the journey, perhaps not realizing snow would soon make things even more difficult. Surely it was proof he cared for Masako and his unborn child.

Akitada sat up abruptly. The old woman had seen and recognized the prince. How was this possible if he had arrived long after dark? Surely by then, both old people had gone to bed. And how could she have seen him clearly enough to recognize him?

It must have been his horse she had recognized, a familiar horse with a white blaze on its forehead. Something was not right about this.

He got up quickly, threw on his old robe, and walked across the courtyard to Tora’s place. Trouble came limping from the stable, wagging his tail and pressing his cold nose into his hand. Akitada patted him absent-mindedly. A pile of boards and timbers lay outside the stables. Soon he would welcome another member into his family. Would Ohiro fit in? Whatever the situation, he would make the best of it. He owed it to Genba.

On Tora’s veranda, he whistled softly. All was quiet inside. They must have worked late to get Genba settled.

Tora appeared in his shirt, yawning and scratching his head. “Morning, sir. Is something wrong?”

“No. Can you get dressed and come to the house? I’d like your opinion on an idea I just had.”

Tora nodded and disappeared inside. Akitada strolled back, followed by Trouble. Someone was knocking at the gate, causing Trouble to bark and start into a lopsided run. The stable boy shot out of the stable, chewing a rice cake. He unlatched the small side gate and admitted a very old man who tottered in, weighed down by a large satchel he handed to the boy.

Akitada recognized the old carpenter. Tora had hired him outside Lord Sadanori’s residence, and he had later repaired the earthquake damage to the Sugawara house. He was surprised the old man was still alive, though perhaps only barely so.

Calling out a greeting, he startled both the boy and the ancient one.

“Is it the master himself?” the carpenter croaked, blinking against the morning sun and bending his creaking back into a bow. “Amida’s blessings on you and yours, Your Honor.”

“Thank you. And the same to you and your wife.”

“The old one’s gone. She wasn’t up to much anymore.”

“Very sorry to hear it. How do you manage by yourself?”

“My daughter cooks and cleans. That’s what a man has daughters for.”

Was it? The thought depressed Akitada who suddenly saw himself as a doddering old man waited on by Yasuko. He shook off the image.

“I see you’ve come to build a home for another couple. Have they told you that Genba is taking a wife?”

The old man chuckled. “He’s old enough to know better.”

“Perhaps, but as you say, women are useful creatures to have about the house.”

The carpenter pondered this. “They talk too much,” he finally said.

Tora joined them. “Ho, Juro,” he greeted the old man. “Bright and early, eh? Genba and Saburo are still sleeping.”

“I’ll get them up.” The carpenter tottered off toward the stable, followed by Trouble.

“Sorry I overslept, sir. We stopped off for wine after our errands. To drink to Genba and Ohiro’s happiness.”

Akitada smiled. “Yes, of course. But come inside. I thought of something.”

In his room, he threw open the shutters. They sat down on the veranda, and Akitada said, “You remember that old woman on the mountain? When I talked to her about the night of the murder, she told me she’d seen both Lady Masako and the prince arrive. They were on horseback and passed her house on their way to the villa.”

Tora’s brows rose. “Together?”

“No. Lady Masako came first.”

“Right. That’s what we’ve known all along.”

“The old woman recognized the prince’s horse by the blaze on its forehead.”

Tora frowned. “So?”

“The prince has said all along he was very late that night. It was getting dark when he left the capital, and it was nighttime when he reached the villa. How did she see him?”

“Oh. That is strange. But she’s old. She probably got the days mixed up.”

“I don’t think so. I think she saw the murderer arrive right after Lady Masako.”

Tora’s eyes widened. “But what about the horse?”

“A horse with a white mark on its head isn’t a rarity. And I bet she didn’t see very clearly. It had started snowing. She simply assumed the horseman was the prince because she expected him.”

“But who was it then?”

Akitada reached for Lady Masako’s journal and held it up. “The last thing Lady Masako wrote was, ‘A winter storm! Your voice is that of thunder and my sleeves are soaked with tears.’”

“Was there a storm?”

“No, Tora. Young ladies are given to express themselves poetically. She quarreled with someone.”

“Right. Who with?”

“She doesn’t say.”

“But it wasn’t the prince?”

“No, I don’t think it was the prince.”

Tora thought. His face brightened. “Remember how Lord Masaie’s cook said her master was in the capital then? I bet he went to talk to his daughter again.”

Akitada nodded. “Perhaps. It would make sense. I think it’s time we found out what Masaie was up to.”

Tora got up. “I’ll have another talk with the cook,” he offered.

“No. We’ll talk to his lordship himself.”

“Even better, sir.” Tora looked pleased, but then his face fell. He cleared his throat. “I have news. We know who killed Tokuzo, sir.”

Akitada was not at all sure if this was good news. “You do?”

“It was Bashan.”

“Bashan?” Akitada was at a loss. “You mean the blind masseur who put my shoulder back?”

“Yes, only he isn’t blind.”

“Really?”

Tora nodded.

Akitada thought about it. “It’s possible. Men will do strange things to earn a living. But what makes you think he killed the man?”

Tora sighed. “Genba said the stranger smelled like a bathhouse.”

Akitada did not laugh. Recognizing a smell had once before led them to a suspect. “Explain!”

Tora did so.

Akitada was impressed by their accomplishment. “That was extremely well done,” he said warmly. “How do you plan to proceed?”

“We … er … proceeded already, sir. We confronted him.”

“Oh? He denied everything, I take it.”

“At first, but he could see we knew all of it.” Tora looked distinctly uncomfortable now and shifted from one foot to the other.

“Don’t make me ask a thousand questions. What happened?”

“We’ve arranged to meet him tonight to discuss what is to be done.”

Silence fell.

Akitada decided they had let the killer go because they approved of his actions. Truth to tell, they had not had many options. They could have taken their story to Kobe, who would not have given it any credence. Or they could have come to him. Thank heaven they had not. At least he had not been faced with making that choice.

He sighed. “I see. Well, I don’t suppose he’ll show up for the meeting. He’ll be miles from the capital by now. You’d better inform Kobe at some point.”

Tora gaped. “You aren’t angry?” he asked.

“Not angry, no. But I hope you’re right about Bashan. If he’s a professional killer, he may practice his craft on an innocent person next time.”

Tora hung his head. “We’re pretty sure he was telling the truth. And he knew we had no proof he was the one who killed Tokuzo.”

“Everything considered, not a very satisfactory solution. Kobe won’t like it either.” Akitada shook his head. “But it isn’t all bad. We have Genba back, and some of the women in the Willow Quarter have a better life.”

They smiled at each other.

Akitada was anxious to settle the murder of Lady Masako, but he had a living to earn. He was late getting to the ministry where his pronounced limp and the stiff way in which he held his bruised body served as an excuse.

Kaneie was in and had heard of his mishap.

“There you are,” he cried, eyeing Akitada sharply. “You don’t look too bad. People said you suffered a terrible injury.”

“Good morning, sir. I took a tumble in the mountains two days ago. I suppose the fact they had to bring me back on a litter caused some talk. I’m quite well again, just a little stiff, and my left arm is still sore. Nothing to stop me from dealing with work, though.”

“I’m relieved it wasn’t worse. Nobody knew what to make of it. I just heard this morning, or I would have stopped by.”

“Thank you, sir. You’re very kind.” Akitada smiled at Kaneie. They liked each other, and he thought it very likely that Kaneie would have visited.

“You fell in the mountains? Not by any chance at Prince Atsuhira’s place?”

Akitada flushed. “I’m afraid so.”

“I knew that business would get you in trouble. Well, I hope the effort wasn’t a total disaster.”

“I hope not, sir. Speaking of the matter, do you happen to know if Lord Masaie is in town?”

Kaneie’s eyebrows shot up. “You haven’t had enough yet? Yes, Maseie and his son are in the capital. Is he in trouble? Never mind answering that.”

“I thought he would have left the capital after the scandal with his daughter.”

“He did, but he’s a proud man. His son was dismissed from the emperor’s guard, and Masaie has come back to protest the matter.”

“Surely they could not dismiss Masanaga without cause.”

“With Masanaga there was always plenty of cause. He’s a drunkard and a troublemaker. In the past, his sister’s position protected him.”

“I see. Well, if you have no new instructions for me, I shall get to work.”

The long break enjoyed by officials meant the first day of the week was busy as everyone tried to catch up. Akitada got home well after dark. He had time only to pour himself some wine and step out on his veranda to look up at a starry sky and smell the fragrance of some flowering shrub before Tora joined him.

“You’re late, sir,” he said. “I’ve been waiting. Lord Masaie and his son are both at their residence.”

“Yes. The minister told me the son lost his post in the guard. I thought you’d be meeting with Bashan.”

“Saburo went. Their lordships will be in a foul mood.”

“I don’t feel very good about this myself.”

“It’s a terrible thing if he did it. A terrible thing!”

“Yes.”

They were silent for a span, then Akitada sighed. “Well, we might as well go.”

They walked together through the streets. Tora kept one step behind. It was easy to converse this way, but they both remained quiet.

The Minamoto residence was lit up, and the gates stood partly open. They were admitted and followed a servant into a reception room in the main house. Both of them felt tense. Tora paced, while Akitada weighed once again what he must tell Maseie.

They knew Masaie had a bad temper, but neither of them wore a sword. Weapons were frowned upon when making calls on the nobility.

Masaie came quickly, and Akitada was shocked to see the change in him. The big man seemed to have shrunk in the week since he had last seen him. His shoulders slumped, and his face was an unhealthy gray color.

“What is it now?” he demanded in a tone that was at least reminiscent of past belligerence.

“It is still about your daughter’s death,” Akitada said. “It is time you accepted that she was murdered.”

Masaie stared at him, then gestured at Tora. “I won’t speak to you with your servant present.”

Tora opened his mouth to protest, but Akitada said, “Wait for me outside. It’s all right.”

Tora left reluctantly, and they sat down. Masaie ran a hand over his face. “Why do you trouble me again? What is her death to you?” he asked. “Do you think I care about your friend Kosehira? Or about the swine who seduced my child?”

So Maseie had begun to grieve for his daughter after all. Akitada said more gently, “I think you care about her memory.”

Masaie stiffened. “Her memory? Do you know what they called her? They called her the emperor’s woman! As if she’d been some harlot brought in from the streets or the brothels to amuse the Son of Heaven. My daughter! Masako is descended from emperors. Her bloodline is better than that of the Fujiwara hussy who is to become empress. The insult to my house is not to be borne.”

For a moment, he was the old Masaie, Lord of Sagami, undisputed ruler over his lands and his clan.

Akitada sighed. “I came to speak to the father, not to the clan chief. I was told you loved her.”

Masaie turned his head away. “I loved her like my life. No, more than my life.”

“When I was here last, you said she was dead to you already. Perhaps pushing her off a cliff wouldn’t have mattered much to you.”

Masaie looked up. “You think I would do this?”

“No. I thought so once, but I know better now.”

Masaie paled, but he said nothing.

After a moment, Akitada continued, “She was very lonely at court. Nobody liked her, His Majesty least of all.”

Masaie remained silent.

“She tried to obey you. It wasn’t her fault she didn’t find acceptance, but you turned your back on her in her misery. Her whole family turned against her. Is it any wonder she looked to Prince Atsuhira for support?”

Masaie turned a ravaged face to Akitada. “How dare you? I can have my guards cut you down like a dog.”

Ignoring this, Akitada continued, “Your daughter did not jump. Let me tell you what happened the night Masako died. She arrived at the villa in the afternoon of that winter day, expecting to meet the prince and accept his protection.” Masaie made a sudden move, but Akitada raised a hand. “No, let me finish. Your daughter was with child. Atsuhira’s child. He intended to make her his wife, but he was detained that night, though perhaps it wouldn’t have mattered. Someone else followed her up that mountain road, someone who had quarreled bitterly with her earlier that day. I’m not sure if he intended to kill her or the prince, but it doesn’t matter. Her killer was riding a dark horse with a white blaze on its forehead. The caretaker mistook his horse for the prince’s. I don’t know what happened in the villa, but there must have been another quarrel. I found signs of violence, a few blood stains, some long hairs, and a few blue silk threads from the gown she wore. I think the killer struck her with one of the wooden staffs kept in the room. Perhaps he thought he had killed her and panicked. In any case, he carried her to the promontory, where he pushed her over the edge, hoping people would believe she had committed suicide. That is what happened.”