by I. J. Parker
They attracted a certain amount of embarrassing notice.
In one lakeside village, a group of children abandoned their games to follow them, adding their own, astonishingly rude variations to Osawa’s song, and later an old woman gathering berries by the road clapped both hands over her ears as they passed. But Osawa was irrepressible.
Finally, toward noon, his throat rebelled, and they stopped for a rest at the crossroads to Tsukahara. A small grove of trees provided shade from the sun which had blazed down on them more and more fiercely as the day progressed. Osawa produced a basket of food and wine, which his betrothed and her mother had packed for him, and shared generously with Akitada while praising his bride’s talents and business acumen. Then he stretched out under a pine tree for a short nap.
Akitada went to sit on a rock near the two horses and the mule, who were grazing under a large cedar. From here he had a view of the road, the lake, and the mountains embracing them from either side. Far, far in the distance lay the ocean that separated him from all that mattered to him in this world. He wished he could solve this case and return. The trouble was he seemed to be no closer to finding Okisada’s murderer than before he started.
He thought about the four men in Minato and their meeting in the lake pavilion. There was no longer any doubt that they had been plotting and were still determined to rid themselves of Mutobe and son. Was Kumo planning a rebellion?
Sakamoto was too weak to be more than a minor player. From the cavalier fashion in which Taira had spoken to him, it was clear that the others thought the same. Taira and Nakatomi were unknown factors. Nakatomi had sounded both sly and clever, but his relatively modest status as a mere physician made it unlikely that the others would treat him as an equal. He had probably been used only to prove that Okisada had died from young Mutobe’s stew. And if so, what had Okisada really died from? And who had killed him? And why?
Akitada’s thoughts turned to Taira. He had been closer to the prince than anyone else, and even the few words the man had spoken before the fat servant’s accident proved that the others looked up to him. The trouble was that Taira was too old to lead a rebellion on his own account. And so Akitada came back to Kumo, a man he had come to respect, even admire. And to the prince’s murder.
He shook his head, dissatisfied, and glanced up the dirt road toward Tsukahara. Buddhist monks had settled in the foothills above Tsukahara, seeking higher ground to build Konponji, their temple. Shunsei lived there. Tsukahara was close enough for Okisada’s periodic visits to his friends at the lake and at least once, on his last visit, his fondness for Shunsei had caused him to bring the young monk along.
Akitada would have preferred not to probe into the details of a private love affair of two men, but Kumo had been worried that Shunsei might reveal some secret during the trial. Had the four men been talking about the fact that prince and monk had been lovers? It was possible, but given both Kumo’s and Sakamoto’s nervousness, Akitada suspected that there was another secret and that it had something to do with the murder.
The faint sound of rhythmic chanting caused him to look back toward the lake. He could not see who was coming, because the road disappeared around a bend. It seemed to be a day for singing, and this did not sound like a monk’s chant. It grew louder, and then a strange group appeared around the trees.
Two bearers, carrying a large sedan chair suspended from long poles on their shoulders, came trotting along. They were naked except for loincloths and scarves wrapped around their heads, and they chanted something that sounded like “Eisassa, eisassa.” The sedan chair’s grass curtains were rolled up on this warm day, and Akitada saw that it contained the hunched figure of an old man which bobbed and swung gently to the rhythm of the bearers’ gait.
Sedan chairs of this size and quality were rare even in the capital, where the old and infirm preferred ox-drawn carts or carriages. But Akitada’s surprise was complete when he saw who the traveler was.
The white hair and bushy black eyebrows were unmistakable. Lord Taira was on his way home from his meeting with Sakamoto and the others. Akitada got up quickly and went to busy himself with the horses, keeping his face down. The chanting stopped abruptly as the group drew level.
“Ho!” shouted Taira.
Akitada peered over his horse’s crupper. The bearers had lowered their burden and were grinning. Their eyes and Taira’s were on the sleeping Osawa, who lay flat on his back in the grass, his belly a gently moving mound, his eyes closed, and his mouth open to emit loud snores.
“Ho, you there,” repeated Taira.
Osawa blinked, then jerked upright and stared.
“Who are you?” Taira wanted to know.
Osawa bristled and his face got red. “What business is it of yours, old man?” he snapped.
The black eyebrows beetled. “I am Taira. I asked you your name.”
“Taira?” Osawa slowly climbed to his feet. “Lord Taira, the prince’s tutor?”
“Yes.”
Osawa bowed. “Begging your pardon, Excellency. This person has long wished to make Your Excellency’s acquaintance, but has hitherto not had the pleasure. This person’s humble name is Osawa, provincial inspector of taxes.”
“Hah.” Taira turned and craned his neck. This time he saw Akitada, who stared back at him stolidly. “You there,” commanded Taira. “Come here.”
Irritated by the man’s manner, Akitada strolled up slowly.
They measured each other. On closer inspection Taira looked not only old but frail. His back was curved and bony shoulders poked up under his robe. No wonder he traveled by sedan chair, and this one was large enough for two. Only the black eyes under those remarkable eyebrows burned with life. “Who are you?” Taira demanded.
“Er,” interrupted Osawa, who had come up, not to be ignored. “Actually, he’s a convict, temporarily assigned to me as my clerk. Can I be of some assistance, Excellency?”
“No,” snapped Taira without taking his eyes off Akitada.
After another uncomfortable moment, he said, “Move on!” to the bearers. They stopped grinning, shouldered their load, and left, falling easily into their trot and rhythmic “Eisassa” again.
Osawa stared after them. “What a rude person,” he muttered. “He’s an exile, of course, even if he’s a lord. Ought to be more polite to someone in authority. Come to think of it, the prince used to live in Tsukahara. Wonder where Taira’s been.” Akitada could have answered that, but instead he brought up Osawa’s horse.
“Let’s go slowly,” Osawa said, as he climbed into the saddle.
“I don’t want to catch up with him. A dreadful old man. They say he went mad when his pupil died. It seems to be true.”
“Has he always lived with the prince?”
“Oh, yes. Thought of himself as the prince’s right hand, I suppose. They kept a regular court in exile. Taira would receive all visitors and instruct them about the proper respect due the prince. Complete prostration and withdrawing backwards on your hands and knees, I heard. Thank heaven, I never had to go there. Members of the emperor’s family don’t pay taxes.
Hah! And both of them traitors.” Osawa’s good humor had evaporated.
Akitada also had no desire to encounter Taira. The old man’s stare had been disconcerting, but he did not for a moment think the prince’s tutor mad. He thought Taira had looked suspicious. On the whole, he wished they would speed up and pass the old man before he had a chance to warn Shunsei.
Fortunately, Osawa reached the same conclusion. “This is too slow,” he said irritably. “Let’s hurry up and get past Taira, so we’ll reach Tsukahara before sunset.” It was not even close to sunset. In fact, since they had left the lake, the cool breeze had died away and now it was uncomfortably hot. They whipped up their horses and galloped past the trotting bearers and their burden in a cloud of dust.
Osawa was red-faced and sweating, but he kept up the pace, and they soon reached the foothills.
The pleasant small
village of Tsukahara nestled against the mountains where the Ogura River came down and watered the rice paddies of the plain. Its two largest buildings were a shrine and the walled and gated manor of the Second Prince.
The Temple of the True Lotus and its monastery were another mile up the mountain. Akitada would have liked a closer look at the prince’s dwelling, but did not think it wise to be caught by Taira.
The dirt road dwindled to a track winding and climbing through the woods. It was wonderfully cool in the shade. Sometimes they heard the sound of water splashing down the mountainside.
When they reached the monastery, both riders and horses were tired. They found a small, rather humble temple compound, comprised of only seven buildings. The temple had neither gatehouse nor pagoda, and there were no walls to enclose it. Surrounded by forest trees, the halls were built of weather-darkened wood roofed with cedar bark and stood dispersed here and there among the trees wherever a piece of reasonably level ground had allowed construction. Paths and steps of flat stones connected the different levels; the approach to the main Buddha hall was a very long and wide flight of steps flanked by two enormous cedars.
It was peaceful here, and the air was fragrant with the smell of cedar and pine. Ferns and mosses grew between the stones, under the trees, and in the cedar bark of the roofs. Birds sang in the trees and monks chanted somewhere. A sense of calm descended on Akitada.
They left their horses and the mule with a shy young monk, and followed an older one to the abbot’s quarters, a house so small and simple it resembled a hut. The abbot was an old man with pale, leathery skin drawn tightly over his face and shaven skull. Osawa was known to him from previous inspections, and they exchanged friendly greetings. Osawa introduced Akitada and presented the customary gift, a carefully wrapped donation of money. Then they were shown to their quarters, two small cells at the end of the monks’ dormitory, and offered a bath in a small forest pond.
Osawa wrinkled his nose at the idea of bathing in a pond, but Akitada accepted eagerly. The ride had been hot and, while the air was cooler under the trees, he felt gritty and his clothes clung unpleasantly to his skin. He took a change of undercloth-ing from his bag and walked down to the pool.
A mountain stream had been diverted to fill a small pool with constantly changing clear water. Two naked boys were already there-novices by their shaven heads. They squatted on the rocks which edged the pond, engaged in washing piles of monastic laundry. Akitada introduced himself, was told their names, that they were thirteen and fifteen years, respectively, and that he was the first visitor from the faraway capital they had ever met.
Their progress in the discipline had not yet cured them of avid curiosity about the life of the great and powerful. They chattered eagerly while Akitada stripped and plunged into the dark, clear waters of the pool. It was deliciously cool and soft on his heated body, and he splashed and swam about under the fas-cinated eyes of the two youngsters.
When he emerged, they expressed amazement that he could swim. He laughed and washed out his shirt and loincloth, draping them over a shrub to dry in the sunlight. Looking curiously at his lean body, they asked about his scars, and he told them-
matter-of-factly, he thought-about each. To his dismay, their eyes began to shine with notions of martial adventure.
Dressed again in clean clothes and feeling a little guilty for tempting these half-trained youngsters from their peaceful life, he entertained them instead with descriptions of the religious festivals in the capital. They were grateful and trusting and readily answered his questions about their life in the monastery.
Working Shunsei into this chat was not really difficult. From reminiscences about life at court it was only a short step to a casual remark about the Second Prince by one of the novices, and he was soon informed that Shunsei, who had been so signally marked by the prince’s attention, was in deep mourning for his benefactor.
To do them justice, the two youngsters seemed to be completely innocent about the precise nature of the prince’s attentions to Shunsei and talked away happily about their distinguished colleague.
“He stays by himself, eats nothing, and prays day and night in front of the Buddha to be transported to the Pure Land. He’s very holy,” confided one.
Akitada expressed a desire to meet this exemplary monk and was told that he might do so by walking a little ways up the mountain to the Hall of the Three Jewels. It seemed this had been donated to the temple by the Second Prince, who had also overseen its design and construction and had often stayed there.
Shunsei apparently now lived there by himself, fasting and praying, practicing spiritual purification in an effort to approach Buddhahood. “He doesn’t sleep or eat the food we take him and only drinks water,” repeated the boy. “We think he’ll die, but the reverend abbot says he has found enlightenment and will join the prince in the land of bliss.” Akitada refrained from snorting. The fellow, he decided, must either be demented or an arch-hypocrite. But Shunsei’s isolation from the others made his own plans much easier. Had Shunsei remained a part of the monks’ community, it would have been difficult to speak to him alone.
He returned to his cell and found a bowl of millet and beans and some fresh plums waiting. He ate, quenched his thirst from the water jug, and then went to Osawa. The temple collected the local taxes, and they were to examine the accounts. For Akitada this was, of course, primarily a pretext to meet Shunsei, but he had to maintain the deception a little while longer.
The newly betrothed Osawa was in no mood to look at accounts. He referred Akitada to the monk bursar and told him to take care of the matter. “Nothing to it,” he assured him.
“Couldn’t possibly suspect the good brothers of shortchanging us. Ha, ha, ha.”
As Akitada wandered about the temple grounds, peering into its halls and asking for the monk bursar, he passed a ceme-tery with moss-covered stone markers. The sun was setting. Its light gilded moss and stone and turned the trunks of the pine trees a tawny gold. Akitada stopped, struck by the beauty and peacefulness of the scene. Death almost seemed attractive in
such a setting. Of course, monks practiced detachment from the pleasures of life and might be said to prepare themselves for the end. Was Shunsei about to join those who had gone before him because he had been too attached to a life that had become unbearably empty? Akitada shook off a shiver of panic and left the place quickly.
He found the bursar in the small library adjoining a meditation hall. A perpetually smiling man, he was eager to demon-strate the neatness of his bookkeeping, and it took Akitada a while to get rid of him so he could glance through the documents and take a few notes. His mind was not on business and he had to make an effort to give Osawa what he wanted. Fortunately, Osawa had been right and it turned out to be a simple matter.
He walked back through rapidly falling dusk and reported to the inspector, who was drinking the rest of Takao’s wine and softly singing love songs. Then he set out in search of the Hall of the Three Jewels and Shunsei, unable to rid himself of an unnerving sense of urgency to be gone from Sadoshima.
The sky was still a pale lavender between the thick branches of the trees, but the forest was already plunged into darkness.
Only a few glowworms glimmered in the ferns. The Hall of the Three Jewels stood on a small promontory overlooking the great central plain of Sadoshima. As the last daylight was fading, the moon rose in the eastern sky, and he could see details quite well. Though small, the hall was newer and far more elegant than any of the other monastery buildings. It was the kind of personal hermitage in which any great court noble could have felt comfortable. The mountains around the capital had many private religious retreats like this. As Akitada now knew, this one was also the love nest of the late prince.
From the forest behind him a temple bell sounded, but all was silent here; the building seemed deserted. Akitada called out Shunsei’s name several times before one of the carved doors opened and a slender figure in black appeare
d on the threshold.
Shunsei came as something of a surprise. Akitada had expected a handsome, pampered minion, but this was an ascetic.
He was small-boned, pale, and thin, his eyes overlarge in a face of childlike innocence.
“Yes?” he asked in a soft voice. “Are you lost?”
“No. My name is Taketsuna and I came to speak to you.”
“I don’t know you.” It was a statement of fact without surprise or curiosity. Shunsei seemed indifferent rather than hostile or impatient about strange visitors.
“We have never met. I came to talk about the Second Prince.
May I come in?”
Shunsei stepped aside, waited for Akitada to remove his sandals, and then led the way into a single spacious room inside. It was dark, and the young monk lit one of the tall candles in the middle of the room. By its light, Akitada saw that thick grass mats bound in fine silk covered the floor, and the built-in cabinets along the wall were decorated with ink paintings of mountain scenes. There was an altar on another wall, and against the third a shelf with books and papers. A fine desk stood in front of the fourth wall. Doors were open to a veranda overlooking a picturesque ravine that plunged down to the central plain.
Beyond were the distant mountains of northern Sadoshima.
The peaks stood dark against the translucent sky, and the pale moon hung above them like a large paper lantern. The view was magnificent; the occupant of this quiet retreat surveyed the world from godlike heights. Akitada reminded himself that it was the room of a dead man.
Shunsei’s place in this luxurious retreat appeared to be confined to his small prayer mat before the altar. As Akitada stood gazing, the monk lit some candles there also. Suddenly glorious colors sprang to life in a room which otherwise completely lacked them. Behind a small exquisite carving of the Buddha hung a large mandala of Roshana, the Buddha of Absolute Wisdom. The painting’s dominant color was a deep and brilliant vermilion, but there were contrasting areas of black and gold, as well as touches of emerald, cobalt, white, and copper. The mandala shone and gleamed in the candlelight with an unearthly beauty and was surely a treasure the temple would have been proud to display in its Buddha Hall. But here it was, the private object of worship of a prince and his lover.