by I. J. Parker
His wife, a slender, pretty young woman in a rose-colored, quilted silk coat over full deep-red trousers, was arranging his formal robe over a bamboo stand. Gray smoke curled up in a thin spiral from a censer nearby and filled the air with the exotic scent of sandalwood.
Akitada said peevishly, “I wish you wouldn’t bother! These border warlords are hardly going to be impressed by a perfumed gown.”
Tamako gave him a searching glance and said, “I think you do Uesugi an injustice. The family has money and they have for generations sent their sons to the capital to be educated.” After a moment she added, “I hope there is no reason to suspect them of disloyalty. Perhaps you should postpone this visit.”
Akitada growled, “Nonsense,” and went to a cushion near a brazier full of glowing charcoal.
Lowering his tall frame gingerly, he watched his wife’s graceful movements as she placed the censer under the bamboo stand and used her fan to direct the scent of incense toward the garment. He held his chilled fingers over the glowing coals. “It is clouding up,” he said, his heavy eyebrows glowering. “The chances are excellent that I will get a good soaking on the way. The very idea, wearing a perfumed silk robe for a ten-mile ride across rough roads in this kind of weather.”
“You can put your straw raincoat over it. Or better still, why don’t you let Tora take your regrets and stay here with me?”
She laid down her fan, came to him and knelt, placing a cool hand against his forehead. “At least you are not feverish,” she said. “Are you still feeling ill?”
Akitada shifted away irritably. “It is nothing.”
He thought: And I must go. Unless I can get Uesugi to support me, I am wasted here. He clenched his fists. In the week since his arrival he had met with sullen stares from the people in the streets, and with lack of cooperation and outright insubordination from what passed as his staff at the tribunal. Not that there was much of it, for the entire paperwork of the province seemed to be in the hands of one senior clerk and two frightened youngsters. And in the jail and constabulary matters were even worse. Never had he seen a more depraved looking gang of cutthroats than his tribunal constables and their brutish sergeant, while the few prisoners in their filthy cells looked starved and bore the marks of cruel beatings.
To add insult to injury, the provincial guard, commanded by the haughty Captain Takesuke, seemed to take its orders from Takata. The old Lord Uesugi was the provincial high constable. Evidently his authority also extended to legal matters, for since Akitada’s arrival not a single man or woman had come to the tribunal to lay charges or ask for adjudication of a case. He sighed deeply.
“What is wrong?” his wife asked.
“It may be,” he said heavily, “that we should not have come here. Nothing has gone right. The tribunal is practically a ruin, the provincial granaries are almost empty, and the people are sullen to the point of disrespect. We have yet to receive a single welcome.”
She got up to return to her work. “It is true that this is a strange place, but you were eager to leave the capital. Remember how unhappy you were with your work and how cruelly the minister used you? If only winter were not so near.” Her voice trailed off uncertainly.
Akitada was suddenly ashamed of having taken out his ill humor on his wife. “Tamako, are you sorry you came?” he asked anxiously. “This is called the snow country, you know. They say we will be snowed in for six months and rarely see daylight because the snow covers the whole house. And we don’t even have a house. How will you pass your time?”
She gave him a smile. “We can make this place livable and we will be together.”
Akitada looked about at the handsome screens and movable hangings and at the large lacquer chests holding their bedding and clothes. But he was worried about other matters. “There are no women’s quarters here. And the men are not only hostile and rebellious, but uncouth. Your maid may be raped within a week. I should never have brought either of you.”
There was a brief silence. Then Tamako said in a brittle voice, “If you don’t want me here, I will go back. Then at least I shall be of some use to your mother and sisters.’“
They both knew they were too far from the capital and he could not send her home, but he refused to acknowledge his defeat. Instead he changed the subject. “Today there were more dispatches from the north. The Ezo have attacked on several fronts, and our troops are fighting as far south as Tagajo. It made me wonder why the younger Uesugi does not join them. After all, their local reputation rests solely on their military ability to protect this province.”
“I expect the old lord is worse. The women in the kitchen say he cannot last much longer. Do you think the Ezo will push as far south as this?”
“No. Our soldiers are staunch fighters. Besides, the snow will make the roads impassable. No doubt that is the reason for all the unrest. The Ezo are trying to improve their positions before retiring into their winter camps.”
There was a scratching sound at the door and it slid open. A soberly dressed elderly man with a thin white mustache and chin beard entered and bowed.
Tamako cried, “Seimei, I am very glad to see you. Your master insists on riding to Takata tonight in spite of his indisposition. Can you make him one of your soothing teas?”
“Gladly.” The old man looked up eagerly. “But your ladyship flatters my poor skills. Are you still nauseated, sir?” He came closer and studied Akitada’s face. “Is there a bloated feeling in your belly? Or angry dragon sounds in the bowels? What about your stool? Any sign of flux? Or flatulence?”
Akitada growled, “For heaven’s sake, leave me alone, both of you! No, Seimei, I don’t want any tea.” He got up. “Tamako, you can send for me when you are done. I need some fresh air and will be on the veranda!” He stalked from the room.
The tribunal hall was raised several feet above ground. In warmer climes arid in the summer months this construction assured cooling air circulation, but here it meant that the icy air seeped mercilessly through the wooden floors. Akitada walked along the veranda under the deep eaves and looked across the open courtyard toward the smaller outbuildings that served as the kitchen, storehouse, stable, constabulary, and jail. All of it looked depressingly derelict.
A cold gust of air tore at his robe and flapped one of his wide sleeves into his face. He shivered, but breathed in deeply, trying to settle his stomach. Dusk would be early because of the weather. Stepping to the railing, Akitada glanced up at ominous clouds scurrying across a leaden sky. The wind rushed through the bare trees in the courtyard, sweeping before it red and brown leaves. Some danced across the wooden boards under his feet and gathered in drifts against the walls of the building. Beyond the tribunal palisade stretched more bare trees and dark thatched roofs. Somewhere in the gray distance lay the ocean. Akitada turned a corner and looked at the mountains, which already wore white patches of snow. Winter came early in Echigo.
When he and Tamako had traveled north, the woods had reminded them of pieces of brocade, the maple leaves weaving glowing designs against the deep green of the pines. They had taken their meals by the side of the road, and remarked on the beauty of the country.
But then the weather had turned dismal and the winds bitterly cold. No wonder Echigo was a place where the emperors used to send their political enemies. And now they had sent him and Tamako to this godforsaken place.
Akitada closed his eyes against the dreary grayness, stubbornly blocking such thoughts from his mind. It was this confounded bellyache. At his age, being appointed deputy governor, even if it was just a provisional appointment with limited powers and even more limited salary, was an extraordinary piece of luck. Here he could make a name for himself and prove his worth.
He gulped more air and wondered how he would get through the banquet tonight. Any reluctance to sample the offered dishes would be interpreted as an insult. Perhaps it was wiser to stay home. No! He must find out how things stood. He could not go on this way. Conditions in the tribunal w
ere intolerable. He wanted to replace the entire staff, but where to find loyal men in this hostile city? Why was everyone against him?
A horrible sound—like the distant wailing of a lost soul, culminating in the bellowing of an angry bull—tore at his ear drums. He jumped, looked about wildly, and rushed around the corner.
There, just below the rear veranda, stood a very strange creature. For a moment, Akitada thought he was a ghost, the ghost of an old man with long, unbound white hair and a large white beard blowing crazily in the wind.
When the old man saw Akitada, he slowly lowered a big conch shell from his lips. He was dressed in short, dark cotton trousers and a full-sleeved blouse of black and white checks with strange tassels hanging about his neck, and he stood motionless and silent, supporting himself on a carved staff. He stared fixedly at Akitada.
“What in the Buddha’s name do you think you are doing, blowing that thing here?” Akitada demanded in a shaking voice. “This is the tribunal and you’re trespassing. Get away from here or I’ll call the constables.”
Without taking his sharp black eyes off Akitada, the old man slowly hooked the conch shell to his belt and stepped a little closer. Akitada, irritated by this latest example of disrespect, glared back. He was amazed at the darkness of the old man’s skin, blackened rather than bronzed by exposure and all the more startling for the contrast with the silver-white mane and beard. His eyes fell to the man’s legs, naked from the knees down to his bare feet, and as dark and leathery as his face.
In this cold.
A hungry beggar. Suddenly shame overwhelmed Akitada’s anger. “Forgive me,” he said to the old man, bowing slightly. “How rude of me. I have not been feeling very well and you startled me. It is cold outside and I am sure you have not eaten. You are welcome here, but I have nothing to offer you. If you will go across the courtyard, you will find the kitchen.” He pointed. “Tell them that the governor said to fill your bowl until you have had enough and to find you a warm place to sleep.”
The beggar, inclining his head slightly, like a haughty nobleman, turned away. A strange piece of fur, attached to his belt in the back, flapped as he melted into the dusk.
Behind Akitada, a door opened with a creak, and Tora asked, “What was that cursed noise?”
Akitada turned. Tora, in his shaggy bearskin, reminded him of one of the northern barbarians. “Do you plan to wear that pelt tonight?” he asked irritably. “You look like a wild animal.”
Seimei appeared behind the young man. “Her ladyship says your clothes are ready, sir. And she wonders about the strange sound a moment ago.”
“Thank you, Seimei. It was an old beggar blowing a conch shell. A peculiar way of asking for alms, but perhaps he is a mute. I sent him to the kitchen for food and lodging. Try to find him some straw boots, Seimei. The poor old fellow was barefoot in this weather.”
Tora asked, “Was he wearing a checked blouse and carrying a tall staff?”
“Yes. You know him?”
“Not really, sir, but you’ve just met a yamabushi. They’re holy men that live in the mountains and pray to the Buddha by standing naked under a waterfall in the middle of winter.”
“Then they must be mad,” Akitada said impatiently and headed for his quarters. “Come along.”
Tamako greeted Tora with a smile. Of her husband’s three lieutenants, he was the only one admitted to their private quarters. Though Tora had been an army deserter when his path crossed Akitada’s, there was a strong bond of mutual obligation between them. They owed their lives to each other. And Tora’s loyalty to his master extended also to his young wife and the rest of the Sugawara family in the capital. Even Akitada’s mother, the ill-tempered old dowager, had been softened by his cheerful willingness to be of service to her.
Tora sat down near the door and watched as Akitada, with his wife’s help, dressed for the visit to Takata.
“What do you hear from Genba?” Akitada asked, slipping out of his robes and handing them to his wife.
“He’s settled in nicely. Has a room above a rice-cake baker’s and all the rice cakes he can eat. His landlord’s besotted with wrestling. He wants to enter Genba in the regional matches.”
“Good,” Akitada said, his voice muffled by a silk undershirt he was slipping into. “The baker may win back his investment. After all, Genba used to be a wrestling master.” He emerged from the shirt and reached for a pair of voluminous white trousers made of stiffened silk. “I am glad the local people accept him. They respect wrestlers. Soon we will find out about the strange mood in town.”
Akitada had reason to trust his three lieutenants. They had proven their loyalty. In return he had offered Genba and Hitomaro employment though they were fugitives from murder charges in their home provinces. Genba had killed in self-defense when two provincial constables had been ordered to assassinate him because his lord’s son had had a fatal accident during a wrestling bout. And Hitomaro had avenged his young wife who had committed suicide after being raped by his neighbor.
Justice was not always evenhanded.
Akitada frowned and said, “I hope you and Hitomaro are careful when you visit Genba?”
“We change into old clothes and leave by the back. Genba doesn’t have much to report yet, except that people are scared of a draft for the northern front.”
Akitada sat down to slip on a clean pair of white socks and tie the legs of his trousers securely below his knees. He shook his head. “Doubtful. That trouble should be over as soon as the snows come. By the by, how does the weather look to you? Rain, do you think?” Back on his feet again, he accepted, one by one, several light silk robes in shades of blue and topped these off with a finely patterned dark blue brocade vest.
“It smells like snow. You should have a fur cloak like mine. Neither rain, nor snow, nor wind can get through this.” Tora stroked the rough fur lovingly.
“No, thank you.” Akitada sat down again and took the round silver mirror his wife handed him to adjust the formal black silk hat over his topknot. He sniffed the air. “The warmer that bearskin gets, the more it reeks,” he said.
Returning the mirror to Tamako, Akitada stood up and reached for the silver-gray formal gown with its rich pattern of intertwined pine branches. Tamako helped him put it on and adjusted it lovingly. He smiled at her. “I feel like Prince Genji, who made all the ladies swoon with the fragrance of his robes. Are you not worried about sending your husband among the beauties at Takata?”
“I thought it was Tora who needed watching with the ladies.” She glanced at the bearskin coat and added with a twinkle in her eyes, “Though perhaps not tonight.”
Seimei came in, carrying a straw rain cape. “Everything is ready, sir. The horses are waiting.”
“We’d better be on our way.” Akitada sat down to put a pair of leather boots over his black silk slippers. Before leaving, he turned to Tamako, who was folding away his discarded clothing, and said, “Don’t wait up for me, my dear.. I shall be late.”
“Return safely!” She made him a formal bow, and turned away quickly to hide her anxiety.
In the courtyard, a pair of constables stood beside four horses. The constables were in uniform and armed with bows and arrows. One had a banner announcing Akitada’s rank as governor.
Akitada felt something cold touch his face and cast an uneasy glance at the rapidly darkening sky as he mounted his horse. White spots danced before the dark shapes of the buildings. Snow. Seimei extended the straw cape and Akitada flung it about his shoulders awkwardly, fastening it across his chest. The wind tore at his headdress, and he tightened its cords. Already a fine dusting of snow covered the horse’s mane. He nodded to the others, and they set out into the approaching storm.
* * * *
THREE
TAKATA
T
hey rode against an icy head wind that drove needle-sharp sleet into their faces, and Akitada’s nausea faded. His mind was occupied with the disquieting gossip about his host’s
murderous intentions toward him. It came from the lowest source, but at the moment he had nothing else to go on, and the Uesugi had not been welcoming so far. Besides, everything that had happened so far in Echigo supported such ugly rumors.
The small village of Takata huddled at the foot of a steep hill which dominated the surrounding plain. The land for miles around belonged to the Uesugi family, as did the village. On the very top of the hill, the curving roofs of the family compound rose sharply against the darkening skies. The Uesugi manor was a stronghold that hovered above the plain like a huge hawk perched on a rock, its wings spread in readiness for its prey.
A troop of soldiers, in full battle gear and carrying pennants bearing the Uesugi crest, awaited them on the road outside the town. Their officer dismounted and approached stiff-faced and stiff-legged, bowed, and announced that the governor’s party would be escorted the rest of the way.