by I. J. Parker
He barely made it out to the back of the hall before vomiting.
* * * *
TEN
RETURN TO TAKATA
T
he following day, Akitada rode back to Takata with an official cortege, scraped together from what was available. Two constables trotted ahead, their breaths steaming in the icy air as their chant—”Make way for the governor! Make way!”—scattered itinerant monks, old women, small children, and anyone else on the road. Tora followed on horseback, in armor and with sword and bow. Three more constables jogged behind him. The third carried the tribunal banner. Next came Akitada, trying to look impressive in formal attire on a horse with faded red silk tassels swinging from its harness. Dr. Oyoshi followed him and somewhat spoiled the effect by drooping on a sad-looking shaggy pony. The end of the cortege was made up of two more constables.
This pomp and circumstance hid discontent among the members. The constables were outraged by the forced march in the cold and had obeyed only because Chobei had been dismissed for insubordination and they were afraid to meet the same fate. Tora shivered without his bearskins and missed Hitomaro, who had become very secretive, staying out late without explanations, and accepting with uncharacteristic eagerness their master’s suggestion that he check out the fishmonger’s tale. And he was gone again today. The doctor was in an abstracted mood, and Akitada had been seized by such a presentiment of looming disaster that his very soul felt as frozen as the wintry landscape around them.
Kaibara received them again in the main courtyard and led Akitada, Oyoshi, and Tora to the new lord and master of Takata.
News of the hearing must have reached Takata by now, but Uesugi pretended surprise. He was seated on his dais in the reception hall, wearing an ordinary house robe and an expression of petulant irritation. When Akitada came in, he bowed without rising and said with a tight smile, “An unexpected pleasure, Excellency. I hope you and your friends will join me in a cup of wine and a pleasant chat.”
Akitada replied with equally cold politeness, “Though deeply honored by your generous hospitality, I cannot accept. Official business interferes.”
“I am disconsolate. What official business might that be?”
“As you may have heard, a body was found below the north pavilion of your manor and delivered to the tribunal night before last. According to Dr. Oyoshi, my coroner, it belongs to a man called Hideo, your late honored father’s personal attendant. It seems he died falling from the gallery.”
Uesugi looked shocked. “Hideo? Oyoshi, you say it was Hideo? Are you certain?” He sighed deeply and closed his small eyes. “How sad! We all thought he had gone to the mountains to mourn my honorable father’s death.” He sighed again, more deeply, shaking his head. “A true servant, a rare man. How inspiring!”
“What do you mean, inspiring?” Akitada asked sharply.
Uesugi scowled at his tone. Kaibara explained smoothly, “His lordship means that Hideo made the final sacrifice by following his master into death, Excellency.”
“Nonsense. The man was murdered.”
There was a moment’s silence. “Murdered?” Uesugi burst into forced laughter. “Someone has been pulling your leg, Governor. Not you, Oyoshi, I hope? Who would murder good old Hideo? No, no, he jumped. As Kaibara says, it was a very moving tribute by a loyal man.”
Akitada said nothing and waited.
Uesugi cocked his round face. “I’m afraid you made this long journey for nothing, my dear Governor. Especially now, when you are needed in the city. There have been disturbing reports of unrest in Naoetsu. I hope it is nothing serious? We stand ready to assist you.”
“Nothing I cannot handle,” Akitada snapped. “I brought my assistants to investigate the site of the victim’s fall and talk to the servants. I take it that neither you nor Kaibara saw the servant Hideo after your father’s death?”
Uesugi and Kaibara exchanged a glance, then Uesugi said angrily, “You forget that this is a house of mourning.”
“I regret, but the investigation of a crime takes precedence over such considerations.”
Kaibara protested, “But even if a crime had been committed, it would come under the jurisdiction of his lordship. It occurred in his domain. You have no rights here.”
Akitada looked at Uesugi. “Instruct your man in the proper respect due to my position!”
Uesugi’s face was purple, but he hissed at Kaibara, “Apologize to his Excellency this instant!”
Kaibara looked murderous but he knelt and touched his forehead to the floor, muttering, “I hope your Excellency will overlook a foolish soldier’s bad manners. I spoke carelessly out of loyalty to my master.”
Akitada ignored him and said to Uesugi, “The question of jurisdiction does not apply, since the crime was reported to me in Naoetsu and the victim’s body was brought to the tribunal there.”
“But even so, Excellency,” Uesugi replied, “such matters have always been handled by us. The authority of the high constable rests with the lords of Takata.”
“Not anymore. You recall that I have not requested a renewal of the appointment. I may reserve the position for myself.”
Kaibara, who had remained in his abject posture, now popped up, his hand at his sword hilt. Uesugi shook his head at him. “I trust you will change your mind, Excellency,” he said through clenched teeth. “It takes manpower to enforce the law here. For the moment, Kaibara will assist you in your investigation.” He closed his eyes indicating that the interview was over.
“Thank you.” Akitada turned to Kaibara. “Take us to the north pavilion!”
Kaibara led them out of the reception hall and down a long dim corridor. Rectangular patches of light fell through latticed windows high in one wall, illuminating family armor displayed on the other. Akitada slowed to look at swords, helmets, greaves, breastplates, battle fans, and batons. The collection was large, well-maintained, and of superb quality.
“Look at that,” Tora murmured when they reached a magnificent suit of black-lacquered metal plates tied with scarlet silk cords. Golden chrysanthemum blossoms tangled with waving silver grasses on the breastplate. “It’s like a painting.”
Kaibara stopped. “You have good taste, Lieutenant.” He did not disguise his pride. “The armor is of very superior workmanship. Yosai made it for the late lord’s father who wore it in the battle of Kanagawa. A decisive victory. That’s why we display it on the wall. Most of the other armor, very fine also, is stored in those chests.” He gestured.
Akitada glanced down the corridor. For well over a hundred feet, wooden metal-banded chests stood side by side beneath wall displays bristling with spears, halberds, swords, bows, quivers, arrows, standards, and other battle gear.
Kaibara’s smile broadened as he saw Akitada’s amazement. “Your Excellency has noticed Lord Maro’s swords?” He pointed to matching gold-hilted blades, one long, the other short. Taking down the long sword, he pulled it from the scabbard with a soft hissing sound. The blade emerged and flashed bluish silver in a shaft of light as Kaibara raised it with both hands above his head. His face turned into a snarl of such bloodthirsty ferocity that Akitada stepped back, out of reach of the long blade.
Dr. Oyoshi cleared his throat, and Kaibara chuckled.
Flushing with anger, Akitada stepped forward and took the sword from the steward’s hand. “A fine blade” he commented. “A master made this.”
There was a moment’s pause, then Kaibara said harshly, “They say it drank the blood of a hundred warriors that day at Kanagawa. There’s not a nick in the blade, though his lordship, fighting from a horse, was slashing through bone.”
Returning the sword, Akitada said, “Forgive my ignorance. This battle, I take it, was fought many years ago?”
“Before my time. The late lord was a young man then. Both he and his brother were raised to a warrior’s life.” Kaibara replaced the sword and waited to move on. He seemed to have lost interest in the displays.
“There was
a brother?”
“Yes. He was the older. When he died, Lord Maro succeeded. Shall we go on?”
They walked until Tora stopped to exclaim at an unusually long, beautifully finished bow. A very long black arrow with a black-dyed eagle feather and a finely crafted steel tip was attached to its groove. “That bow must be at least one and a half times a man’s height,” Tora cried.
“That one’s for archery contests only,” Kaibara said with an impatient sigh. “We carry shorter ones into battle. The quiver of long arrows gets in the way of the sword arm, and the contest arrows are too expensive to waste on the enemy” He strode off down the corridor without waiting for more questions or comments.
They emerged onto a drafty outside gallery which took them to the north pavilion. Here Kaibara stopped and asked, “Where was the body found, Excellency?”
Tora and Akitada stepped to the railing and peered down.
“According to the fellow who brought it in,” Akitada said, with a warning glance at Tora, “it must have been just about here.”
“Who—?” began Kaibara.
“Look!” cried Tora. “There are scratches on the railing here. And there”—he pointed—”that looks like dried blood.”
Akitada squinted at the brown streaks. “Doctor?” Oyoshi came and peered also. He nodded. Akitada turned to the steward. “Please unlock the pavilion.”
Kaibara protested: He could not see the purpose of inspecting the pavilion. Hideo had jumped off the wall, not killed himself inside. Then there was the matter of sacrilege. The room was where Lord Maro had lived and died; his spirit was still there and should not be disturbed. And in any case, he had no authority to unlock the door.
Akitada said nothing but stepped to the door and waited.
Kaibara shook his head, fished a key from his sleeve, and admitted them to the late lord’s death chamber.
The pavilion consisted of a single square room, empty except for a fine hanging scroll painting of an eagle on a twisted pine branch, two thick tatami mats, and a large leather trunk. The mats were near one of the windows, the only one whose blinds of speckled black bamboo were rolled up, revealing a view of distant snowcapped mountains. The view from here was magnificent.
Tora and Oyoshi looked around curiously, but Akitada went to the window. There was no gallery on this side; the outside wall of the pavilion joined the stone ramparts descending steeply to the rock gully far below.
Suddenly he staggered back, convulsed by a fit of coughing. They all looked at him in dismay. He choked and gagged, stumbling toward Tora who supported him anxiously. “Some water,” he croaked, grasping his throat.
Oyoshi said sharply, “Lower your master to the ground against the wall there and loosen his robe at the neck. And you, Kaibara, fetch some water! Quick, man! There’s no time to be lost! Do you want the governor’s death on your hands?”
Kaibara hesitated only briefly, then ran out. Akitada stopped gasping, jumped up, and went to the trunk. “Let’s have a look,” he said to the gaping Tora.
The doctor chuckled. “I thought that did not sound quite natural.” He joined them and watched as they removed several silk quilts and a rosewood headrest from the trunk. “Lord Maro’s bedding,” he said and, when they lifted out a large lacquered and gilded box at the bottom, “His writing box. What is it that you expect to find, sir?”
“I wish I knew.” Akitada opened the box. Fitted cleverly inside were two carved ink stones, two porcelain water containers, four lacquer-handled brushes, and two cakes of the finest black ink. Akitada touched the ink cakes. “One is still moist,” he said, holding up his black-tipped finger. “I suppose all those quilts kept the air from drying it out. I wonder...” He listened toward the door, then shut the box, putting it back into the trunk. “Quick, Tora! Put everything back and close it!” Tora obeyed while Akitada resumed his reclining position against the wall, coughing weakly as Kaibara ran in with a flask and cup.
Akitada drank, croaked “Thank you,” and allowed himself to be helped to his feet again. “Sorry,” he muttered, wiping his brow. “It must have been the way I breathed in when I looked out. What a nuisance!”
The doctor asked Kaibara, “Do you happen to know what Lord Maro’s symptoms were before he died? I ask out of professional interest.”
“I don’t know. I expect it was his age. His mind went years ago, and he would not permit anyone, not even his son, near him. Only Hideo served him. This past summer his speech failed and finally his body followed.” Kaibara paused and added piously, “The Buddha calls extraordinary men to him.”
Akitada was listening with half an ear. He studied the room, its floor, walls, ceiling, windows, and door, without seeing anything out of the ordinary. Except for the crookedly fastened blind, the room was almost too neat. Someone had taken pains to clean up after the old lord’s death. He was eyeing the thick tatami mats when Kaibara asked impatiently, “Where to next, Excellency?”
Reluctantly Akitada abandoned his train of thought. “Oh, the servants, I think. Hideo’s closest associates and anyone who might have been near the north pavilion the night of Lord Maro’s death.” He cast another glance about and followed the others out.
Kaibara ordered the manor’s domestic staff to assemble in one of the courtyards.
“Bow to his Excellency, the governor,” he told them. They fell to their knees. “He wishes to ask you some questions about poor Hideo’s ...”
Akitada interrupted him. “Thank you. This will do very well. We won’t need to detain you any longer.”
Kaibara opened his mouth but, meeting Akitada’s eyes, he thought better of it, bowed, and departed.
Akitada scanned the gathering of young and old manservants and maids, guards, cooks, and runners. Some looked puzzled, others hostile. He addressed them in an informal manner.
“As you may already know, your fellow servant Hideo was found dead below the north pavilion. He must have fallen during the night Lord Maro died. I am here to find out how it happened. He served here all his life, and you all knew him. Some of you may have been his friends. Some may have seen him on the night of his death. And some of you may simply have seen or heard something unusual that night. They are the ones I would like to speak to. The rest of you may return to your work.”
There was a buzz of excitement, and then the courtyard emptied quickly. Only four people remained: three maids and one old man. The old man looked painfully shy and was wringing his hands nervously. Two of the women were middle-aged and haggard, staring back stupidly, but without fear. Akitada thought they almost looked pleased to be questioned. The third maid was a stocky young girl with plain broad features, bright black eyes, and red cheeks. She was nervous, biting her lip and glancing over her shoulder as if she expected someone.
Proper protocol had to be followed, so Akitada addressed the male first. “What is your name?”
“This person is called Koreburo, your Excellency,” the ancient quavered, bobbing several bows.
“Well, Koreburo, what do you know about this affair?”
“By the great Buddha, Excellency, I swear I know nothing. I’ve done nothing.” His gnarled hands knotted and unknotted, and he breathed, “Amida.”
Seeing that the man was inarticulate with awe or fear, Akitada gentled his voice. “Calm yourself. You have nothing to fear from me.”
Koreburo took a breath and nodded.
“I see your hair has turned white in the service of your master. You must be of an age with Hideo.”
“Ah,” cried the old man, sitting up a little, and raising a hand, fingers extended. “I’m five years older and have served two years longer.” He waved two fingers of his other hand at Akitada. “Hideo always said that he worked twice as hard, so he had really served one hundred years to my fifty. But it isn’t so, Excellency. Hideo was a great liar sometimes.”
Akitada smiled. “Only lifelong friends talk that way to each other.”
The old man nodded, his eyes suddenly brimmi
ng with tears. “That’s the truth. We played go together after work. I won mostly. When our old women were still alive, the four of us went on a pilgrimage to Ise. Oh, what a time we had! Now he’s gone and there’s only me.” He hung his head. “Nobody to talk to anymore. The young ones, what do they know? They drink and gamble and chase the women. Hideo used to come to my room after he’d tucked in the master. I’d have the go board set out and we’d play, and all the time he’d worry about Lord Maro. He loved the master.”
“Koreburo,” cried one of the older women softly. “Remember what Master Kaibara said!”
The old man shot her an irritated glance. “Yes, yes. I’m not to talk of unimportant things, but this might be important. Because, Excellency, the night the master died, Hideo did not come. I waited a long time and wondered. His lordship was getting worse, and Hideo had said the end was near. And so it was, wasn’t it?”