Black Arrow sa-4 Page 31

  Time to look for Uesugi. Whyhad he not joined his men? The main house lay as yet untouched.

  Hitomaro was already runningdown the stairs. Tora checked the wounded and tossed their weapons over thebalustrade.

  “Have you seen Kaoru?” Akitadaasked.

  “Who cares about him,” Toragrowled. “I couldn’t believe my ears when he started giving the orders.”

  Akitada, still filled with joy,chuckled and wiped his bloody blade on the jacket of one of the dead. “It’s inhis blood, Tora.”

  Tora paused to stare. “What?”

  Akitada made for the stairs. “Nevermind. Come, there’s more work to be done. You don’t want Takesuke to have allthe glory, do you?”

  They ran down the stairs andacross the entrance courtyard, dodging horses and Takesuke’s men. Tora snatchedone of the Sugawara banners from a fallen man and carried it. No point ingetting killed by their own. Up the next set of stairs and into the barracksenclosure. They caught up with Hitomaro, and together again they skirted thevicious fighting. More Uesugi archers were shooting arrows from the loopholesof the gallery they had been in earlier, and below foot soldiers slashed andlunged at each other with halberds. Neither Uesugi nor his senior retainerswere in sight.

  They made for the small doorthat led to the main house.

  “Wait!” Kaoru, bloodied butdetermined, joined them. They went through the door and into the small gardenwhere the headless corpse still lay across the path.

  “What took you so long?”Akitada demanded, stopping just inside and glaring at Kaoru. “We waited in thatshed until we were sure you had been captured.”

  Kaoru grimaced. “I couldn’tfind Koreburo right away. They caught him setting his fire. He was still alivewhen I found him and … I could not leave him right away. Sorry, sir.”

  Akitada was sobered. “Poor oldman. Very well, let’s go get Makio and stop this killing.”

  There was no more need forcaution now. The archers at their loopholes were too intent on the foe outsideto turn around. The four of them ran past and into the main house, their boots thumpingup stairways and across the glossy boards. They slammed through doorways andflung back sliding doors. The armory had served its purpose. Weapons chestsstood open and empty, some of their contents gone or scattered about. Helmets,parts of armor, long swords, discarded halberds, and an upended quiver of shortarrows lay abandoned like the toys of giant children.

  In the reception area, foursenior Uesugi officers, older men with lined faces and grizzled beards, guardedthe doors to the ceremonial hall. They drew their swords. Hitomaro instantlyflung himself at them, and Kaoru and Tora joined him. There were four of theenemy, seasoned fighters and rested, but Akitada could not wait. His bloodysword in hand, he moved past them and flung open the great double doors to thehall.

  “Takata has fallen. In the nameof the emperor, surrender!”

  Time seemed to pause asstartled faces turned toward him. Uesugi sat, straddling a campaign stool onthe dais. He wore white silk robes under black lacquered armor and his blackhorned helmet was on his head. Seated on the floor in a semicircle before himwere seven or eight armed men, their helmets held respectfully against theirbodies. Akitada almost laughed out loud: the general at a council of war afterthe battle was already lost.

  But then, of one accord, thewarriors were up, dropping their helmets, drawing their swords and charging.There was no time left to prepare. Like the four outside, these were older men,but they were desperate and duty-bound to die for their lord. Akitada knew hecould not fight them all and survive, and suddenly the icy clutch of feartwisted inside him again. He slashed out wildly at the first man and, with moreluck than skill, severed his sword hand, but two more were on him. He lunged,parried a hard stroke, took a step forward and lunged again, slashing at oneman’s thighs, then brought up his blade to sweep the other man’s sword aside.The Uesugi warrior screamed and fell, and suddenly he was no longer alone. Torawas beside him, shouting, “Kill the bastards!” as he cut off a man’s head in aspray of blood. Akitada’s blade scraped across a breastplate, driving anotherfighter back. He followed, aiming for the unprotected neck of his helmetlessadversary. The other twisted away, and the blade missed, slicing deeply intohis arm instead. Akitada’s sword became entangled in the cords of the other man’sarmor. He kneed him in the groin and jerked it free. And then he saw his wayclear and made for the dais, dodging one blade, and slashing at another, hiseyes on Uesugi.

  The Lord of Takata had jumpedup, sword in hand, his round face as white as his robe. The small eyes bulgedand his mouth was open. He saw Akitada coming for him, but he stood, sworddangling, frozen and speechless.

  So it was going to be easyafter all, thought Akitada, surprised-almost disappointed. He simply stepped upon the dais and placed the tip of his sword against Uesugi’s throat. “Stop thefighting!” he shouted over the noise of clashing swords and the cries of thewounded. He told Uesugi, “It’s over. Tell your men to surrender!”

  It became quiet in the hall.

  Uesugi swallowed, then noddedhis head violently, causing the tip of Akitada’s sword to nick his throat. Afew red drops fell on the white silk of his robe. He looked down, whimpered,then sat, muttering, “Blood. She said blood on snow. Blood on the snow!”Raising his hands to Akitada, he cried, “I surrender, I surrender! Don’t killme! I will serve the emperor. I have many men, much influence. A treaty. We canmake a treaty. I guarantee protection against the northern barbarians inexchange for my life.” Behind Akitada someone cursed loudly-one of Uesugi’smen.

  Akitada put up his sword andturned away in disgust. Two of the Takata warriors, both wounded, had loweredtheir swords at Uesugi’s cry of surrender. Tora was leaning against a pillar.He bled from several wounds. Akitada looked for the others. Kaoru, also bloody,pulled his sword from the belly of a fallen Uesugi fighter and released a redtide. His victim died with a shout and convulsion, and Kaoru gave Akitada anod.

  Hitomaro, miraculouslyunscathed, stood in a pool of blood above a fallen warrior, sword gripped inboth hands, on his face the fierce snarl of one of the guardian spirits attemple gates. He was looking around for more butchery, but the last two Uesugiofficers dropped their swords with grim faces and knelt. It was over.

  “Who is second in command here?”Akitada snapped.

  One warrior looked around atthe bodies, then rose.

  “You heard your master. Gooutside and order your men to lay down their arms. This stronghold has fallenand Lord Uesugi is my prisoner.” As an afterthought, he added, “In the name ofhis most august Majesty.”

  At that moment, Akitada savoredthe intoxicating taste of victory. His hands and knees trembled with theemotion. But he reminded himself that the credit for their success must beshared and turned to Kaoru. “You may take charge of Takata manor.”

  Then, with hideous irony,fortune turned.

  Akitada had shifted hisattention from Kaoru to Tora, to ask about his wounds. As their eyes met,Akitada saw Tora’s widen in sudden horror. What happened next would alwaysremain a blur in his memory. He heard a hoarse, almost inhuman roar, and sawHitomaro rush at Uesugi with a drawn sword.

  Instinctively Akitada steppedin front of his prisoner and into Hitomaro’s path. The force of their collisioncost them both their balance. Akitada was flung aside and half fell. He saw hisburly lieutenant falter and change the grip on his sword, saw Uesugi up andmoving forward with his sword, saw Hitomaro stagger back, then swing his bladein a wide arc.

  It was all over in a breath,but compressed into that moment were sounds as well as sights, the stamping offeet, the clatter of the toppled campaign stool, the rustle of Uesugi’s silksand hiss of Hitomaro’s sword, human grunts, and then the heavy thud of bodiesfalling onto the wooden dais. And silence.

  He was sickened. A singlemistake, a wrong move, and triumph had turned to despair.

  Uesugi and Hitomaro laysprawled across the dais in a parody of embracing lovers. The Lord of Takatawas dead. His head, partially severed, rested oddly next
to his right shoulderin a quickly widening pool of gore; the piggish eyes had rolled upward, showingtheir whites, and his teeth were bared in a final snarl. The horned helmet laynear Akitada’s feet, which were speckled with blood. And Uesugi’s snowy silkrobe now bore the crimson blossoms of his violent death.

  Hitomaro, who had fallen partlyacross Uesugi’s body, slowly rolled onto his back. His left hand was at hischest, clutching the blade of Uesugi’s sword which protruded from his ribs. Hegrimaced with pain. The fingers of his right hand relaxed around the grip ofhis own bloodstained blade.

  Tora came and bent over hisfriend. When he straightened up, he had a strange, hurt look on his face. “Sir?”

  The blood bubbling up betweenthe sword and Hitomaro’s hand was bright red and foamy. There was no survivingsuch a wound to the lungs. Akitada fell to his knees beside him.

  “My friend,” he pleaded,putting his hand on the one that still gripped the deadly blade. “Pleaseforgive me.”

  Hitomaro looked up at him andshook his head. “Nothing to forgive … I wanted death,” he mouthed,half-choking. Then, making a great effort, he added, “Sorry about. . .” and coughed once, blood trickling from the corner of his- mouth into his beard. “Too much . ..” He raised himself up a little, coughed again, then vomited a crimson flood and fell back.

  Akitada got up. He looked aboutthe room blindly. “How did this happen? Why did Hitomaro attack Uesugi? Therewas no need. Uesugi had surrendered. It was all so easy. Why?”

  Tora said, “Uesugi drew his sword, sir. While you had your back to him. The slimy coward was going to cut you down. Hitomaro stopped him.”

  A grim-faced Kaoru walked up and stood staring down at the two corpses. “A warrior’s death for Hitomaro,” he said. “No man could die better than this.”

  Without a word, Akitada turned and strode from the hall. Out in the gallery, he stepped over the dead warriors and threw wide a shutter to gulp in the frigid air. Sleet had gathered like grains of rice on the sill. Below, the land lay dark and forbidding under the heavy clouds. Faintly, the sound of temple bells came on the wind from the distant city.

  The icy air settled his stomach a little. His face tingled with cold and when he touched it, he found it wet with tears. Ashamed, he rubbed the moisture away. From the courtyard below rose the victorious shouts of Takesuke’s men. He leaned forward and looked down. The Sugawara family crest blazed on the banners. This day he had taken an impregnable fortification for the emperor but lost a loyal friend.

  Looking down at his hands he saw that they were stained with blood-Hitomaro’s along with that of too many other men he had killed. How was he to live with his friend’s blood on his hands? Hitomaro had saved his life, and he had stupidly stepped in his way and caused his death as surely as if he had held Uesugi’s sword himself. He clenched his fists until his nails bit deeply into his palms.

  Something soft and white drifted in. A snowflake. For him this snow country would always be tinged with blood. He sighed deeply and glanced toward the north pavilion overhanging the ramparts, site of the death of the previous Lord of Takata and the murder of his faithful servant Hideo. It reminded him that he had one more errand to perform.

  Hunching his shoulders against the icy air, he walked quickly down corridors. A maid peered from an open doorway, paled at the sight of his blood-smeared face and hands, and ran. When he reached the open gallery, he found that the wind had died down, but the snow still fell softly and silently. There was very little smoke now, and he realized that they must have extinguished the fire.

  The door to the north pavilion was unlocked, and inside everything looked the same. He had worried that Uesugiwould order a thorough cleaning, but either respect or superstition had caused him to leave the room untouched.

  He went to the window above thet hick mat where the old lord had died. The crooked blind of speckled bamboo wasas he remembered it, and beside the mat was the chest which held the dead man’s bedding and his writing set, the single clue to what had happened that night.

  Stepping on the mat, he untied the bamboo shade, half afraid that his guess had been wrong. But it unrolled with a rush and clatter, releasing a sheet of paper which fluttered to hisfeet. The thick mulberry paper was covered with spidery script and bore a crimson seal.

  Picking it up, Akitada noted both signature and seal, glanced at the content, then rolled up the document and put it in his sleeve.

  TWENTY-TWO

  CHRYSANTHEMUM AND GRASSES

  When they returned to the tribunal late that night, Akitada was exhausted in mind and body from the business of settling affairs at Takata-he had left Kaoru and Takesuke in control- and emotionally drained. The long ride back with Hitomaro’scorpse slung over the horse beside him had given him unwanted time to brood on his actions. Takesuke had congratulated him on his courage, and Akitada had wanted to wipe the look of admiration from his face. At least Tora, who had lost a lot of blood, would heal. Akitada felt profoundly guilty that, of the four of them, he had come out of the fight unscathed.

  Genba wept like a child when he carried the body of his friend to a temporary bier in the tribunal hall. There he and Tora would keep watch over Hito’s corpse.

  Akitada entered his private quarters only briefly. Seimei tried to fuss over him, but the small amount of bleeding from his old shoulder wound and assorted bruises where his body armor had deflected sword blows amounted to nothing. When Akitada saw the joyous relief on Tamako’s face, it seemed so inappropriate to him that he was sickened and turned from her without a word to seek the solitude of his office. He wanted nothing so much as sleep, oblivion, a few hours of escape from himself-from a man he never knew, from the blood lust that had lain hidden inside him all his life, from the death of a friend.

  But it was not to be. By theflickering light of the oil lamp, he saw a strange figure sitting at his desk.A very old man was hunched over the lacquered box of the shell game, turning itslowly in gnarled hands, absorbed in the pattern of the decoration. He raisedhis eyes unhurriedly to Akitada and nodded a greeting. The yamabushi hadreturned.

  He looked at Akitada for a longmoment. Then he gently set down the game and indicated the other cushion. “Pleasebe seated, Governor,” he said courteously in a deep, restful voice. “You lookvery tired.”

  Dazed, Akitada obeyed. He tucked his hands into his sleeves and shivered, but it was not from cold, forit was almost cozy in the light of the single oil lamp casting a warm glow on the desk between the two men.

  The old priest pushed the brazier a little closer to Akitada. Steam and a curious fragrance rose from the small iron tea kettle on it. The master reached for a cup, poured, and stirred.“Drink this,” he ordered, sharp black eyes watching from a face as wrinkled and dark brown as a nut.

  Akitada tasted, then slowly emptied the cup.

  “An infusion of dried berries,herbs, and certain tree barks,” the master said, answering an unspoken question. “You will feel refreshed in a moment and later you will sleep.”

  “Thank you. It has a pleasant taste.” The visitor’s solicitude was comforting. Akitada became aware of awelcome warmth. He frowned with the effort to remember. “You’re right. I have had a long and difficult day.” Even the soreness in his shoulder seemed to ease. His eyes strayed to the desk where the yamabushi’s conch shell had joined the black-feathered arrow and the shell game.

  “Tell me what happened at Takata,” the priest encouraged.

  “We took the manor. Makio isdead … and so is Hitomaro.” And no medicine or spell would make that right again.

  “Ah!” A long pause ensued, then the yamabushi shook his head regretfully. “It’s a pity about Hitomaro. Iliked that young man.” His silver hair and beard shimmered in the light of the oil lamp. He looked at Akitada and said, “But you, you are alive. You must learn to forgive yourself for what is merely a manifestation of fate. It is a hard lesson, but death is right in its time.”

  Empty platitudes, Akitada thought. He felt shame like t
he thrust of a knife to his belly and turned his head away.

  “Come, I did not think you a fool, Governor,” the yamabushi said more sharply.

  Angered, Akitada swung back. “Iam not a fool. But neither am I a saint or a martyr like you, my Lord. When I lose a friend through my own carelessness, I cannot shrug it off and busy myself with good deeds and prayers instead.”

  The old man sighed. With his gnarled finger he traced the design on the lacquer box. “The chrysanthemum is the last flower to bloom,” he murmured. “Its petals fall and the young grasses shrivel and die when the storm of winter touches their brief lives. Death,Governor, is a wide gate no one can close.”

  Akitada clenched his fists. “Never mind! You cannot understand.”

  The priest laughed very softly.“On the contrary. I, of all people, understand very well. If you know who I am,you should also know that.”

  The man’s complete detachmentfilled Akitada with fury. He leaned forward and stabbed an accusing fingertoward him. “I know that you are the late Lord Maro’s older brother, the uncleof Makio,” he growled. “I know that you have a grandson, Kaoru, who has playedvarious roles-among them those of a humble woodcutter from the outcast villageand my sergeant of constables. I know about the crime of which you stoodaccused. I know that you fled, giving up your birthright and hiding among theoutcasts as a mountain priest.” He paused and pulled from his sleeve thedocument he had found at Takata and tossed it on the desk. “And now I also knowthat you were innocent of the murder of that woman and child. Read your brother’sconfession.”

  The old man ignored the paper. “Didmy foolish grandson reveal so much?”

  “No. Kaoru did everything he could to protect your secret. Every time I asked questions about you or his background, he became evasive. But I noticed that he was as familiar with a hermit’s life in a mountain cave as with the secret passages in Takata manor.”