Then I heard a rumor that His Majesty was showing her special attention. There is always gossip like that about women attending their majesties. A new concubine may bear an heir and become empress. I decided to buy a house, a secret, hidden house in Saga village in the hills northwest of the city. She agreed to come to me for a brief visit and asked permission to see her old nurse. I sent a carriage and driver and she joined me in Saga.
After we made love, we both realized there was no going back, and she stayed with me. She had one servant, an old woman who had served my family all her life. For a month we were very happy but also very much afraid. I carried out my duties during the daytime and spent the nights with her. They missed her eventually and a search was made.
They didn’t find us, but we were nervous and she cried a lot. I found ex-cuses to spend time with friends. I drank too much and passed out frequently, and when I did make it back, we quarreled. I soon wished her gone and my life the way it had been.
Then came a day when I woke outside my house after another night of carousing. I went inside and found her dead, strangled, and her clothing in disarray. I was horrified at what I must have done in my drunken state and fled to the guard barracks. I had reason to hide. The backs of my hands and my face were covered with scratches. She must have fought me, fought for her life.
They came for me a few days later. The charges were that I had taken bribes and falsified the accounts in the public works office. I was condemned to exile in Kyushu and taken away the next day.
It was a grim tale of the excesses of a spoiled youth. Akitada felt depressed. After a moment, he said, “I take it there was no investigation beyond that which led them to you? I don’t see how I can help you. Too much time has passed. Besides, neither you nor I can possibly undertake asking questions about her.” He felt rather cowardly as he said this and added, “Such a secret is too carefully guarded. I have a family, and you would be sent back to Kyushu.”
Masatsune shivered. Their wine had grown cold. “Yes,” he said dully. “Perhaps I had hoped that you might see the truth right away if I just told you what happened. I can see now it cannot be done.”
Now feeling also inadequate, Akitada pointed out, “How can I guess the truth? You don’t know for certain what happened. Your story isn’t complete.”
A pair of ducks, a male and a female, paddled past and peered at them with eyes like shiny black beads. On the opposite shore, the wind blew up a white mist of frozen snow.
Masatsune huddled more deeply into his court robe. “Thank you for listening. It was a kindness. It eased my guilt a little.”
It shifted the guilt to me, Akitada thought. “Is there anyone who might know more?”
“The woman who kept my house was old even then. She died soon after. I don’t remember the young men who were with me that night. They were strangers except for my friend Sasaki. I asked about him as soon as I got back, but no one recognized the name or remembered him. He may have died.”
“Your friend’s family?”
“The Yoshidas.” Masatsune sat up a little, a sudden hope in his eyes. “You will try to find out more?”
Akitada nodded.
On the pond, the ducks flew up, scattering frozen drops across the yellow reeds.
The Twentieth Day of the Twelfth Month, 1026.
The day following his meeting with Fujiwara Masatsune, Akitada woke up and wished it had all been a bad dream. His promise troubled him on so many levels. The man he met appeared close to dying and this cast a gloom over Akitada’s own life. He felt somehow constrained to help him. And then, the part of the crime Masatsune admitted to so frankly was no recommendation. He had dared to abduct and violate the emperor’s favorite. As if that were not enough, he had later abandoned the poor young woman to spend his time in drunken brawls. What must she have felt? Finally, Masatsune had been too drunk to remember that night. He had awoken outside his house, his face and hands covered with scratches.
Above and beyond that sorry state of affairs, Masatsune seemed to think that he, Akitada, could investigate a matter pertaining to the inner apartments of His Majesty, one which had been closed to external investigation.
And yet, Akitada had accepted the case.
He got up in a very glum mood, drank his tea and ate his rice gruel, and then set out for the Daidairi and the Ministry of Justice. Since he had risen to the position of senior secretary, he could arrange his day in his own way and draw on the assistance of a score of young clerks who spent most of their time checking on cases in the archives.
He told the youngsters to look up the case against Fujiwara Masatsune, official in the public works office, twenty years earlier. He wanted the precise nature of the charges as well as the names of witnesses and investigators.
Then he went to see Nakatoshi in the Ministry of Ceremonial. Nakatoshi had been his clerk many years ago and had risen quickly in rank and position. They had become friends over the years.
Nakatoshi was in and busy drawing up the list of promotions for the New Year’s announcements. He received Akitada eagerly, putting his work aside.
“What brings you?” he asked as soon as they had enquired about each other’s families.
“A curious case. You may not thank me for drawing you into this. Yesterday, after the confessions service, a certain Fujiwara Masatsune approached me and asked my help in clearing up an old murder.”
Nakatoshi frowned. “Masatsune? I don’t think I ever met him. Is he from one of the lesser branches of the Fujiwaras?”
“He’s my friend Kosehira’s uncle and has just returned from exile after spending twenty years in Kyushu.”
His friend sat up. “It sounds like trouble. I don’t think it’s something you want to pursue. Excuse me a moment.” Nakatoshi got up and delved into a series of document boxes, muttering under his breath. When he returned, he said, “Nothing. Whatever he did must have been so shocking that the case was closed quickly and his name was deleted from the official lists.”
Nakatoshi looked worried; Akitada almost laughed. “I’ll tell you what he did, or didn’t do. In confidence,” he said, and recounted Masatsune’s confession.
When he was done, Nakatoshi shook his head in amazement. “Dear heaven! Twenty years ago? He must be getting on. We’ve had two other emperors since then.”
“He’s a sick man who looks older than he is, and yes, the regime changes would account for the pardon.”
“It doesn’t make this any less dangerous. There’s little they can do to him, but you are an entirely different matter if you stick your nose into such a case.”
“I know. I’ll be careful. Anyway, can you help me find his former best friend? His name is Yoshida Sasaki. He was about the same age and also served in the palace guard.”
“That I can do, but I beg you to reconsider. Perhaps speaking to this Sasaki will not bring the fury of the imperial house down upon you, but every new person you talk to may tell another. It isn’t safe.” Nakatoshi gave him a pleading look.
“I know. If you want nothing to do with it, I’ll understand.”
“Oh, I was thinking about you.” Nakatoshi disappeared, and Akitada stepped onto the veranda outside Nakatoshi’s office. It overlooked one of the many courtyards between buildings and galleries that made up the various ministries and bureaus of the Daidairi. This one was severely plain, its gravel covered with a blanket of snow marred only by the small tracks of birds. He wondered how they found food here, but then he saw a small earthenware bowl beside the door. A few grains of rice clung to it. Nakatoshi had been sharing his morning gruel. As Akitada stood there, a flutter of wings brought two sparrows that landed on the edge of the veranda and looked hopefully up at him.
Nakatoshi found him watching the sparrows, who in their turn watched him and the bowl beside the door. “I see you met my little friends,” he said with a smile. “I’m enormously flattered that they come to visit me.”
“You feed them,” said Akitada with a snort of la
ughter. Startled, the sparrows flew up to the roof.
Nakatoshi chuckled, then said, “I found some information.”
They went back inside and Nakatoshi spread some documents across his desk. They sat side by side, reading.
“It’s as I thought,” Akitada said. “Sasaki and Masatsune both served as pages in the palace and then joined the guard. So where is he now?”
Nakatoshi drew out another document. “That was a bit of a mystery. You see, the year after Masatsune went into exile, Sasaki disappeared.”
“Disappeared?” Akitada had visions of another murder, also covered up.
“Yes, but I took a guess. Most of the time when an official or an officer disappears from the annual rosters, he’s taken the tonsure. And here he is.” He pointed to an entry.
“He’s a monk called Enchin? How clever of you. And where might he be now?”
Nakatoshi smiled broadly. “Not far, as it happens. He’s at Ninna-ji.”
“That’s close to Saga where the murder happened.” Akitada rose. “Thank you. I knew you could find him. I can’t wait to talk to him.”
“Be careful. They say monks gossip even more than ordinary people. And Ninna-ji has close ties to the imperial family.”
Akitada reached Ninna-ji some time after the midday rice. He was on horseback and had enjoyed the ride through the snowy countryside and the forests that surrounded the temple compound and monastery. These were built at the foot of a hill in a particularly beautiful spot not far from the capital. Perhaps for those reasons, Ninna-ji was the temple where retired emperors and imperial princes sought the religious life. Ninna-ji’s abbot was an imperial prince, but Akitada had no business with him. He asked the monk at the gate for Enchin.
They took him through grounds as beautiful as the Spring Garden in its snow cover. Here, too, the paths had been swept. Here, too, the snow covered and smoothed out all sharp lines. Had the past obliterated all traces of the crime in the same manner? This was an austere beauty, with the dark wood of the temple buildings starkly outlined against the snow. Perhaps this setting promised a clearer separation of guilt and innocence.
He was shown into a visitor’s room in one of the large halls. There he waited. After considerable time, the door opened and a tall monk entered. He looked at Akitada, placed his hands together and inclined his head, then seated himself.
So this was what had become of the young guard officer who had caroused with Masatsune twenty years ago?
Enchin was a tall man, but he had clearly put on flesh. Unlike Masatsune, he appeared to be in excellent health. His head was shaven, of course, but his features seemed smooth and unlined for a middle-aged man. And while he wore the traditional dark robe, it was of good material, warm, and soft looking. His stole was pieced together from pieces of silk, and his rosary was made of beads carved from pale blue quartz. Ninna-ji clearly attracted a gentlemanly sort of monk.
But that thought was perhaps unfair.
“It’s Lord Sugawara? How may I be of assistance?” asked Enchin in a soft voice when Akitada had not spoken.
“Forgive me for staring,” said Akitada. “I didn’t know what to expect. I only just learned of your background and that I would find you here.”
The monk raised his brows. “Really? Someone has remembered me?”
“Yes. Your friend Masatsune.”
The heavy lids opened for a moment only. “We abandon all attachments when we come here. Surely you knew?”
“Yes. But the past isn’t so easily wiped out. In your former life your name was Yoshida Sasaki and you served at court?”
Enchin raised a hand. “Do not pursue the past.”
“Fujiwara Masatsune was part of your past. He has asked me to find answers to what happened to him.”
Silence. Enchin sat staring into the distance. His rosary moved through his fingers.
“I found you quite easily.” Akitada ignored the monk’s detachment. “And I’ll tell Masatsune where you are. He wants to see you again.”
Enchin’s beads stopped moving, and his gaze wavered. “Your worst enemy cannot harm you as much as your unguarded thoughts,” he murmured.
“Is Masatsune your worst enemy?”
“No, I’m my worst enemy.” To Akitada’s surprise, Enchin’s eyes filled with tears.
Akitada waited but nothing else happened. Then he had an idea. “Today is the second day of confessions. Masatsune confessed his sins yesterday. Have you confessed yours?”
Enchin released the beads and put his face into his hands.
“Don’t you think it’s better to admit what you did twenty years ago? The Buddha teaches that we should conquer lies with the truth. You took refuge here twenty years ago, but you have not conquered the lies. Make truth your refuge. There is no other.”
“Yes.” Enchin lowered his hands and brushed away some tears.
CONFESSION OF THE MONK ENCHIN:
When we get old, we bear the burden of our youth. I took the tonsure to escape a life of desires. Nothing leads a man’s life astray as much as love for a woman.
Masatsune and I were as close as two young men could be; we were like brothers, but we loved the same woman. He dared touch the forbidden jewel, while I merely dreamed. Because he trusted me, he boasted about his secret, and my affection for him turned to hate. Not enough that he had taken her, he soon regretted his rash act and blamed her for his sin. This, too, he shared with me. My hatred consumed me, as did my wish to rescue her from an intolerable situation. Alas, it was no unselfish desire.
I took to following him after our drinking bouts, hoping to find their hideaway. Several times I lost him, but one night he finally led me to a house. He was very drunk, so drunk he kept falling off his horse. At one point, he tumbled all the way down a gully. I thought he would stay there, but he climbed back out and got on his horse again. When he reached a large country house between Ninna-ji and Saga, he dismounted, opened the gate and took his horse in. He barred the gate, and I left him there and went home.
The next morning early I went to the palace to report his crime. I heard later they arrested him and was glad. But the next day they came and told me I made a foolish mistake; the Lady Tokihime had been with her nurse and died there of smallpox. I did not believe them. I knew I had destroyed my friend and caused the death of the woman I loved.
Enchin bowed his head to pray. Akitada thought bitterly that far from uncovering the truth, he had learned nothing but the poor lady’s name. He was more in the dark than before about what had happened to her.
After a while, the monk looked up. “I’m glad you came. I did not have the strength before. Perhaps now I may also beg Masatsune’s forgiveness.”
“He’s very ill, you know,” Akitada said evasively. “A fever he contracted in exile. He’s afraid he killed her in a drunken stupor, and this troubles him a great deal. Can you assure him that he did not do it?”
Enchin gave Akitada an uneasy look. “I don’t know what happened that night, but I’ve always had a suspicion. That is what has troubled me all these years.”
“What suspicion?”
“I reported them to the woman in charge at the Palace Attendants Office. She would have told others.” He paused and fingered his beads. “Someone may have decided it was best that she died and he disappeared,” he added in a low voice.
Akitada felt a cold shiver run down his back. Enchin suggested that Lady Tokihime’s murder had been ordered by the palace.
“Did you see anyone near the house that night?”
“It was nearly dawn, and the house was deep in the country.” The monk studied his beads as if they might hold the answer. “I’ve thought about this. I didn’t pay attention, but there might have been someone near the house. Perhaps I felt a movement, or just a sense of another presence. It was probably a cat or a badger.”
“I’m told Masatsune feared punishment would find him.”
Enchin nodded. “He had been afraid for days they would come for both
of them.”
“You both spent time drinking in wine shops. Could one of your drinking companions have followed you? Did Masatsune tell his secret to anyone besides you? Could you have been overheard?”
“No. We were alone when he told me. And after that, he was always very careful. Besides, the men we drank with were strangers.”
“That doesn’t eliminate them.” Akitada sighed. “You’re sure you saw no one else on the road that night?”
“I don’t remember anyone. Not until I rode home. By then, dawn was breaking and I saw both pilgrims and laborers walking to Ninna-ji. That summer they were rebuilding the Golden Hall.”
Akitada thanked him. “If you should recall anything else, no matter how irrelevant it seems, will you let me know?”
Enchin nodded.
Having come this far, Akitada decided to have a look at the house where the murder had happened. He mulled over the situation on the road.
Enchin might be quite right that someone in the emperor’s service had decided the young woman must die. With Masatsune out of the way in Kyushu—he had been dispatched with unusual speed—her parents and her old nurse could be managed easily. Akitada doubted they were still alive, but in any case, they would have been sworn to secrecy. The death had been hushed up; that much was clear.
That left an outsider who had discovered the secret by accident. Unfortunately, Enchin had not been helpful. His feeling that someone had been lurking near the house might be no more than a trick of the imagination.
Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine Page 6