by I. J. Parker
Akitada, who disapproved of such superstitions, thought this an appropriate opening to address the abbot beside him. “You must be troubled by unholy practices among the natives, Reverence,” he said.
But Hokko shook his head. “You misunderstand, Excellency. It is not another faith. The yamabushi practice both Buddhism and exorcism. Sometimes they use a female to aid them. The priests are skilled healers who look after the mountain people very well and may be said to tread in the Buddha’s footsteps more sincerely than many a learned disciple of the holy Saicho himself.”
Akitada was still coping with astonishment at this testimonial to unorthodox practices, when the pharmacist leaned forward to say earnestly, “It’s true. Some of their medical skills surpass anything I know, your Excellency. They gather medicinal herbs and roots in remote areas of the mountains and have, to my own knowledge, cured patients I gave up for lost. His Reverence and I have made every effort to communicate with these yamabushi, but they are extremely shy and secretive, and the local people protect their privacy.”
Uesugi listened with every sign of impatience. “Nonsense, Oyoshi. They’re a pack of outlaws! Those you are pleased to call yamabushi are nothing but hinin and escaped criminals. It is absurd to discuss them in polite society.”
Hinin. Outcasts. Akitada knew that Echigo had many of these, descendants of Ezo prisoners of war and of Japanese exiled for various crimes. Outcasts were not permitted to live or work in ordinary people’s houses. They lived in their own villages, and came into the cities only for menial, dirty, and taboo jobs like cutting wood, tanning leather, sweeping streets, cleaning stables, and burying the dead. But he did not like Uesugi’s high-handed manner.
“All the people in this province interest me,” he said sharply, “and most particularly those who seem to stand outside the law. We also have such people living near the capital. Many of them perform useful trades, and they maintain order among themselves by electing headmen and elders. In any case, since I am sworn to uphold law and order in this province, I am much indebted to his Reverence and Dr. Oyoshi for the information about local customs. As you and your steward reminded me earlier, I have much to learn about local matters, and I intend to do so to the best of my ability.”
After a moment’s uncomfortable silence, Uesugi muttered, “Very laudable, I am sure,” and changed the subject by waving to one of the maids. “Here, girl. Fill his Excellency’s cup! And your Excellency must try these pickled plums. They are delicious.”
“I should be careful with the plums, Excellency,” Oyoshi said quickly, “unless you have a strong stomach.” Seeing the angry look on his host’s face, he added, “They are said to test a warrior’s stamina.”
“In that case,” Akitada said, “I am greatly flattered, but will pass. I am afraid I am a scholar rather than a soldier.”
Uesugi exchanged a glance with the captain. An awkward silence descended on the party. Akitada was less nauseated but he was afraid to eat or drink anything else. He knew that he had failed in his efforts to bring Uesugi to his. side and wished himself elsewhere. As he looked around the gathering, he noticed that Kaibara had left. Kaibara’s neighbor, the merchant Sunada, met his glance and smiled. His teeth were almost as good as Tora’s.
“Mr. Sunada,” Akitada responded, “I take it you are very well informed about the local merchants and their guilds. I would be grateful if I could call on you sometime in the future.”
Sunada looked startled. He glanced at Uesugi before bowing. “Certainly, your Excellency. I’m deeply honored. Anything I can do. You need only send for me. I live in Flying Goose village near the harbor.”
“Thank you. That is most kind of you.” Akitada’s throat was parched and he could not rid himself of the sour taste in his mouth. Besides, the heat from the brazier was worse. He wished for cool water, but having none, he drank deeply from his cup. The wine produced an unpleasantly feverish feeling, and he pulled impatiently at the neck of his gown. The silk of his under-robe clung to his skin. He brushed new perspiration from his forehead and cheek. To add to his discomfort, he could feel more painful cramps starting in his belly. Shifting uncomfortably, he found Oyoshi’s sharp eyes on him.
To forestall a question, Akitada said, “You mentioned the yamabushi earlier. It so happens I had a visit from one this afternoon. I took him for a beggar.”
Oyoshi was surprised. “Ayamabushi in the tribunal? What did he look like?” The abbot also looked up with interest.
“He was a very old man with long white hair and beard, but quite healthy and strong for his age. He was barefoot in this cold.”
The pharmacist and Abbot Hokko exchanged a glance. Oyoshi said, “You have been honored by the master himself, Excellency. He never comes down from his mountain for ordinary visits.”
Akitada made a face. “Oh dear, and I sent him to the kitchen for something to eat and a place to sleep.”
“I expect he was pleased,” the abbot said with a chuckle. “Should he still be there in the morning, would you send for me? I am very eager to speak to him.”
“The man will hardly wait around to be arrested,” the judge snapped. “I expect he has good reason to hide on his mountain. Half of those people are hiding from the authorities. He is probably a criminal or a traitor. I wonder that he slipped past the constables.”
This caused a heated debate between the abbot and Hisamatsu, during which Akitada was forced to rush off down the drafty gallery again.
When he emerged from the convenience this time, he felt physically and mentally drained and stood for a moment, leaning against the wall. He wondered if his food or wine had been tampered with. The same servant, who had followed him with a lantern, was squatting on the cold wood floor, watching him. Outside the wind whistled past the shutters. Suddenly there was a brief distant sound, something between a shriek and a wail, borne on a gust of wind and snatched away again. Akitada and the servant both straightened up to listen.
Akitada strode to the shutter and threw it open. The snow was still blowing outside, but there was no sign of life in the white landscape below or in the courtyard. In the corner pavilion a shadow moved across the lighted shutter. Perhaps someone else had been startled by the sound.
The servant looked frightened. “Come away, sir. They say the ghosts of the dead cry for justice.”
More superstition. “Nonsense,” said Akitada. “It was probably some animal. A wolf or an owl.” But he recalled Tora’s tale about the Uesugi family. With a shiver he closed the shutter.
When he returned to his seat, his host had disappeared. Akitada was uneasily aware that his repeated absences had caused curious glances from the guests. To cover his embarrassment, Akitada asked the judge about criminal activity in the province and got another dreary lecture on the need for harsher penalties. When Uesugi returned soon after, he looked tense and preoccupied. “The snow is getting worse,” he announced, “and the road to Naoetsu may become impassable. I hope you will all honor my house by spending the night.”
Akitada was seized by outright panic at this idea and rose abruptly. “Thank you, no. This has been a lavish entertainment and most pleasant company, but I must not impose on your hospitality any longer,” he said. “Urgent duties await me back in the city.”
A general bustle ensued. Most of the others also made their good-byes, intending to join Akitada’s cortege on the journey back to the city.
Uesugi made only the barest of protests to the sudden exodus. He accepted Akitada’s formal thanks, his face devoid of expression, but his small eyes glittered and moved about strangely in the flickering light. Perhaps it was Akitada’s illness, but suddenly Uesugi appeared menacing, and the shadows in the corners of the great hall seemed alive with danger.
Akitada knew his escape into the snowy night was craven and irrational, and a fitting end to the most unpleasant and unproductive evening he had ever spent. He was filled with foreboding.
* * * *
FOUR
THE T
HREE PRISONERS
T
hree days after the visit to Takata, on a clear and cold morning, the tribunal’s dilapidated buildings huddled inside the broken-down palisade and looked more depressing than usual with patches of dirty snow in piles and corners. The brief snowfall had changed to watery sleet, then back to snow, and to sleet again during the past days.
When Akitada stepped out on the veranda, he saw that the main gate was still closed even though the sun was up and it was well into the day. Tora and Hitomaro were below, shouting for the constables who trotted out reluctantly, some still chewing their morning rations. The creaking gate finally opened— somewhat pointlessly, since no one waited outside and access to the tribunal could be gained anywhere a man wished to kick down a few rotten timbers in the fence.
Akitada descended the steps into the courtyard and looked sourly at the ragged line of constables drawn up for inspection, their breath steaming in the cold air. Hitomaro was in full armor and exhibited stiff military bearing. When he saw Akitada, he gave a shout, and the ragtag constables in their mostly unmatched garb fell to their knees and bowed their heads to the ground. From their sullen expressions, Akitada gathered that Hitomaro was about to put them through a drill.
Their headman, Chobei, lounged against the gate, his arms crossed and a mocking grin on his coarse face.
The insolence of the brute! Akitada could feel his blood rise and lost his temper. Glaring at Chobei, Akitada snapped, “Make that dog kneel, Lieutenant.”
Hitomaro shouted an order, then drew his sword and approached the headman. Chobei stared stupidly, his grin fading slowly. For a moment it looked as though he would ignore the order, but then he went to his knees, placing his hands on the icy patch of gravel before him.
Tora, also armed, walked across till he towered over the kneeling man. “Head down!” he ordered. Chobei started up with a curse. Tora drew his sword and brought its flat side down on the man’s bare head. With a cry of pain, Chobei assumed the proper position.
“Pity you didn’t bother with mittens and a warm coat this morning, Sergeant,” Tora said conversationally. “My guess is that your hands will freeze to the gravel in less time than it takes to fill your prisoners’ water bowls. And you won’t budge till you’re ready to crawl all the way to his Excellency to apologize for your lack of manners.”
Akitada already regretted the incident but could not take back his words without losing face. “See to it that he remains until he has learned proper respect!” he snapped. Then he strode back to the main hall.
This building was in better repair than the others, but it was large and extremely drafty. In the chilly front area, the public part of the building, his senior clerk, a sober, middle-aged man, waited.
“The documents about rice storage are on your desk, sir. They seem accurate.”
“Ah. Is there any new business, Hamaya?” Akitada asked, as they passed through to the quiet archives where two shivering junior clerks were shuffling papers. Akitada was headed for a corner room under the eaves that he had made into his private office.
“Nothing, Excellency,” said the thin Hamaya, hurrying after him.
In his office, Akitada removed his quilted coat. Hamaya received it respectfully and waited as Akitada sat down at the low desk.
“I don’t understand it,” Akitada muttered, rubbing his chilled hands over the charcoal brazier filled with a few glowing pieces of coal. “The notices have been posted for days. A province of this size must have a tremendous backlog of civil cases. My predecessor not only departed without explaining the empty granary, but he left unfinished business.”
The clerk still stood, clutching Akitada’s clothing. “Under the circumstances, I suppose,” he ventured, “it is a good thing, sir. Only two of the clerks have reported for duty.”
Akitada rubbed his belly morosely. He still suffered from occasional bouts of cramping and had refused breakfast as well as another dose of Seimei’s bitter brew. Now his stomach grumbled also. And he still felt ashamed of his outburst in the courtyard. By losing his temper he was playing into the hands of enemies who apparently manipulated both the tribunal staff and the local people. Since his visit to Takata, Akitada thought he understood the reasons for his difficulties.
Now he looked at his clerk. “Tell me, Hamaya, are you and the other clerks afraid to come to work here?”
Hamaya hesitated, then said, “I believe that the two youngsters outside have great need of their salary because their families are very poor. As for me, I have no family and need not fear anybody”
Akitada clenched his fists. “This is intolerable!” he muttered. He thought for a moment, then said, “Tell my lieutenants to report when they are free. 1 know you and Seimei are still organizing the archives, but have one of your clerks make a search for information about the outcasts and their dealings with the Uesugi family.”
He spent the next hour as he had for the past week, reading reports left by his predecessors. Some of these were woefully sketchy and tended to cover up the fact that the incumbent had been unable to cope with matters. A pattern began to emerge. Of the four types of major reports each governor or his representative had to dispatch to the capital every year, three showed adequate levels of productivity for the province. These were prepared carefully and signed off on by the governor. The fourth report, called the court report, was a different matter. It indicated the condition of the provincial administration, both of its buildings and supplies and of its staff. These reports listed woeful shortages, were poorly written and prepared, and liberally laced with complaints by the incumbents. They pointed to inadequate staffing, insufficient funds, lack of labor, and lack of grain delivery to the provincial granary. The specific details were better than the conditions Akitada had found, but they explained to some extent why governors and their representatives had eventually absented themselves from the provincial capital. The tribunal was “uninhabitable” and the staff “nonexistent,” one recent official had written.
The documents Uesugi had provided to account for rice collection and storage were as neat and careful as the earlier three. They specified what amounts were stored locally and what had been shipped north as provisions for the fighting troops.
The difference between the court report and the others, as Hamaya had explained, was that anything involving the collection of rice and tribute was in the hands of the high constable. The appointed officials had simply approved documents prepared elsewhere.
It was an appalling situation. Akitada was effectively without the authority he needed to govern.
When Tora and Hitomaro reported, he said, “Sit down! The day for registering civil suits is past. I fully expected a stack of depositions by now, yet not even a single case has been filed. Since human beings cannot live together for a whole year without disagreeing, we must assume that the people have been instructed not to file their claims with this court.”
“But why worry?” asked Tora. “It’s less work.”
Hitomaro shot him an impatient look. “Think, Tora. If there’s no work for him, our master will be recalled.”
“Exactly,” said Akitada. “Someone wants to be rid of us, and everything points to the Uesugi.”
Tora thought about it. His face darkened. “What if we don’t leave?”
Hitomaro grunted. “What? Five of us against hundreds of Uesugi warriors and thousands of locals? And the provincial guard are not exactly our friends either.”
The five were, of course, all male and included, besides Akitada and his three lieutenants, the aged Seimei. Akitada said, “I’m glad you understand our position.” Unlike Tora, who was the son of a farmer, Hitomaro belonged to provincial gentry and was therefore better educated and quicker to see political intrigue. “Since, as you remind us, we are without military support, we must find allies as quickly as possible. We need the support of the local people and must try to win their trust. That is why I wish we had court cases. They attract the curious, and we might gain
a bit of respect among the townspeople that way.”
Hitomaro scratched his short beard. “There is always the case of the innkeeper’s murder. They brought in the suspects last night. Chobei and his men have been questioning them all night and say they have confessions. You could hear the case instead of Judge Hisamatsu.”
“I have to show cause to do that.” An uncomfortable silence fell. Akitada’s stomach growled noisily.
Tora and Hitomaro exchanged glances. Tora said, “I bet they beat those confessions but of them, sir.”
Akitada shifted in his seat. Constables customarily flogged prisoners to encourage confessions. By law, a confession was necessary for conviction of a crime, but these confessions had come very promptly, and the questioning might have been rather too efficient. He frowned and said unhappily, “I suppose I could take a look at the documents. Tora, go get the transcripts of the interrogation!”