The Old Men of Omi Page 5

  Akitada enjoyed the meal, but the sight of Yukiko, her head bent over her tray, eating little, and never once raising her eyes to him, made him feel guilty. He wished now that he had been friendlier. She had taken time to amuse him because he was a guest, and he had made her feel ashamed.

  Well, he would find a chance to reassure her.

  Chapter Seven

  Death of a Judge

  When Akitada woke the next morning and thought about his encounter with Lady Yukiko, he panicked. The whole conversation had been most uncomfortable and improper. Not only must he not seek her out to reassure her, he must do his best to avoid any more private meetings.

  Having made this decision, he felt better and got up. He would start his day with some exercise and then ride into town with Kosehira. There he could look in on the progress of the temple case, and then … well then surely something would offer.

  Slipping on his hunting trousers over his undergown, he tied them at the waist. Then he put on his boots, stuffing the trousers inside. Taking his sword, he went to look for Tora.

  Tora was at the well in the service area, splashing water on his face and using an end of his shirt to dry himself.

  “Good Morning, Tora!” Akitada called out. When Tora turned, he gaped. “What the devil has happened to you?”

  Tora grinned and touched his left cheek. “You mean this? Does it show?”

  “Yes. You have a black eye. What have you been up to now? You know we have to behave ourselves while we are guests of the governor.”

  “Not my fault. I got a fist in my face when I asked a bunch of monks what they were up to.”

  Akitada raised his brows. “Oh. I don’t suppose you feel much like a work-out then?”

  Tora snorted. “What makes you think that, sir?” He grinned. “About those monks …”

  “Later! Get your sword.”

  He followed Tora to his room in the guest quarters and was astonished to see that he had tidied up the place. His bedding was rolled up neatly, and he had placed his clothes carefully over a stand with his sword hanging from its end and his empty saddle bag folded underneath. Akitada had expected something quite different. Had Tora’s wife taught him so well? He watched as Tora tucked his jacket into his trousers, put on boots, and took down his sword.

  “We could go outside, but there’s gravel. In the stable yard we’d have more solid ground,” Tora said.

  “I don’t relish being watched by the grooms. As for the gravel, are you trying to make excuses again?”

  Tora grinned. “Never! You’d better watch yourself, sir!”

  They laughed and jumped lightly down into the small courtyard outside Tora’s room. The area was small and private, being fenced in. Akitada felt surprisingly well and immediately went into the familiar crouching stance. Tora followed suit, and with a mutual shout they began their practice. This consisted of a series of set exchanges to remind them of the appropriate responses to each move. Tora took the lead. He was clearly more familiar with the sequence. Akitada bit his lip: he had forgotten too much.

  Worse, he was soon out of breath and his reactions slowed. Sweat started trickling down his face and back.

  “It’s getting warm. Let’s shed these shirts,” he proposed.

  They stripped to their trousers and continued. For a while, the cool air on Akitada’s wet skin felt wonderfully refreshing, and he got in a few good moves. But soon he tired again and made mistakes. Ashamed of his poor performance, he kept on a while longer until a badly handled move made him slow to respond to the next attack, and Tora’s sword almost sliced into his arm.

  They stopped. Akitada was bent double to catch his breath, and Tora wiped more perspiration from his face.

  “You need regular practice, sir,” Tora said, eying Akitada’s exhausted stance.

  “Yes. That was a shameful performance,” Akitada acknowledged, straightening. “I had no idea that a few months of doing nothing could ruin a man so completely.” He stretched. “I’m past it, Tora. I’m an old man. I don’t think I’ll ever be as good again as I was.”

  “Hmm,” said Tora judiciously. “I’ve slowed down a lot, too, but a man should never give up. We’ll practice every day. And I’ll get hold of a set of staves. I like using bo for a smoother movement. How about it?”

  Akitada smiled. Tora had taught him the use of the fighting stick many years ago. At the time it was the only weapon a man like Tora was allowed. His sword fighting skills, acquired during a brief military stint, were mediocre, and Akitada had traded lessons with the sword for those with the bo. The memories cheered him, and he said, “Very well. It shall be as you say. I’m in your hands. Now tell me about your eye.”

  Tora did so, concisely and with a good deal of anger. When he was finished, Akitada nodded.

  “I share your anger, but there’s nothing I can do. If this man is really one of their peasants, they have a right to order him back to his fields.” He put on his shirt again and thought for a moment. “I suppose you could look into the matter, because they may well come back. From your description, they recognize no master but their own superiors. It’s despicable. But be careful. By all accounts those sohei are vicious.”

  Tora grinned. “They don’t scare me, sir. Though I did notice something. One of those bastards had a weird tattoo on the back of his right hand. A circle with a triangle inside it. Doesn’t that mean he’s a convicted criminal?”

  “I don’t know what strange practices the warrior monks may have. But you’re right. Some provincial governors still encourage tattooing repeat criminals. Besides this sort of thing is frequently done to members of a gang of highway robbers.”

  “How can the monks take in convicts?”

  “No doubt the man claimed that Buddha has saved him from a life of crime. Or perhaps he’s only a lay-monk. Many of the sohei are simply hired thugs. Anyway, be careful. Oh, and before I forget it, when you have the time, ride home to make sure all is well. And tell the children that they will attend the great shrine festival later this month. That will cheer them up.”

  Tora’s smile broadened. “Will do, sir. Umm, suppose I leave late, spend the night, and return early tomorrow? That way I’ll be available to you during the day.”

  Akitada suppressed a smile. “Excellent idea.”

  ∞

  The exercise had certainly done nothing for Akitada’s self confidence, and he was determined to stay out of Lady Yukiko’s way. After washing at the well, he changed into formal clothes and joined Kosehira on his ride to the tribunal.

  He had a vague notion of paying a visit to the Masuda mansion to see how the young heir was getting along, but Kunyoshi was eager to show him what they had found in their search of the provincial archives. Since the papers related to dubious transfers of land from private owners to Enryaku-ji, Akitada sat down and started to go through them. The illegalities had been hidden rather cleverly, he found, and congratulated Kunyoshi on noticing that all was not as it should be.

  In the end, however, there was not enough evidence to put pressure on the temple, and Akitada decided to put the documents aside until they could build a bigger case.

  It was nearly midday when he got up and stretched. The unaccustomed morning practice had made him sore again, though he thought this a better soreness than the back pain from his ride to Otsu. He had just decided to eat in town and then climb up to the Masuda place, when Kosehira put his head in the door.

  “Akitada! Am I glad you’re still here. I need a favor.”

  “Gladly. What can I do?”

  “Come, I’ll tell you on the way.” Kosehira noted belatedly that everyone had risen and was bowing to him. He said, “Oh, forgive me, gentlemen. Please don’t interrupt your work. I hope I see you all well this morning. Can you spare Lord Sugawara?”

  They straightened and smiled, and Kunyoshi, always the spokesman, assured the governor that his lordship had permission to leave.”

  Akitada chuckled when they were outside, but Kosehir
a looked distracted. “Listen,” he said. “Chief Takechi has sent a messenger. Something is wrong about that judge’s death. I can’t possibly leave. I have to meet with the prime minister’s secretary to account for the fact that I have given no support to Onjo-ji in their case against Enryaku-ji. As you may guess, the prime minister and his immediate family are supporters of Onjo-ji.”

  “But surely you cannot be expected to act for one or the other before my delegation has sifted through the documents and the Ministry of Justice has decided on guilt or innocence?”

  “Naturally, but that doesn’t mean the prime minister can’t try to muddy the waters.”

  “Of course I’ll go to talk to Takechi, but you need merely tell this secretary that your hands are tied until the official investigation is complete.”

  Kosehira sighed. “You’re too logical, Akitada. I must find some other method.”

  Amused, Akitada went to have a horse saddled. It struck him for the first time that Kosehira did not always have an easy time of it in spite of being a member of the ruling family.

  At police headquarters, Takechi was out, but they directed him to the judge’s house.

  Nakano had done well for himself. His house aspired to mansion status. Nakano had built outbuildings, added a wall and a roofed gate, and laid out a garden in the back. The gate was open but two constables kept an eye on a group of onlookers in the street. It was a familiar scene that Akitada had encountered many times. A violent death drew the curious, and the law had to step in to protect the investigation.

  He identified himself, telling the guards that he had come from the governor. Very properly, one of them went to notify the chief who was inside the house.

  Takechi came out and greeted Akitada enthusiastically. “How good of you to come yourself, sir,” he said as Akitada dismounted and a constable took his horse. “This looks suspicious after all. I’d be very glad to get your opinion.”

  They walked into the late judge’s residence. Akitada saw immediately that Nakano had spared no money on furnishings. The tatami mats were thick and hardly worn; the cushions looked plump and were of silk; numerous scrolls of scenes around the lake hung on the walls; and here and there, folding screens stood about with pictures of mountain temples and hermitages.

  Akitada asked, “Did he belong to a wealthy family?”

  “No. His father was a mid-level official in Aki province. I think he owned some land there, but nothing impressive. He earned this himself by investing in business.”

  “You don’t say.” Akitada remembered the way Nakano had confiscated the large sum of gold he had carried in order to buy the child’s freedom. Nakano had relinquished it eventually when he realized Akitada’s background, but it had been done with great reluctance. No doubt he had “earned” some of his wealth in his capacity as judge.

  Takechi took him to the judge’s study. This, too, was furnished well. Nakano had a large library and his desk was elegant and heavily carved. The writing utensils on it were made of jade or lacquer. Some sheets of paper with spidery handwriting lay on the desk. In a corner, his bedding lay spread out on a thick mat.

  “He was lying here,” Takechi said, pointing to a place in the middle of the room. The floor was bare and showed scuff marks from many feet. The body was gone.

  “Where is he now?”

  “Back at headquarters. The coroner is in a quandary.”

  Akitada raised his brows. “Why?”

  “Because he thought it was a natural death and is no longer sure about it now.”

  “Ah!” Akitada looked around. “What about the servants? Have they been questioned?”

  “There are only two. A young couple. They swore nobody came during the night. It must have happened at night. The wife found him in the morning when she brought him his gruel.”

  “You saw the body here. What did it look like to you?”

  Takechi scratched his head. “Well, he was lying just there. On his stomach. His legs were drawn up a little and his arms were out like this.” He spread his arms wide. “There were no wounds. It looked as though he’d become faint and fallen down. His bedding hadn’t been slept in.” Takechi gestured toward the neat quilts. “I figured he’d been working at his desk and got up to go to bed when death overcame him. He was an old man after all.”

  “How old?”

  “In his eighty-second year. When a man gets that old, death isn’t a surprise. It can happen any moment.”

  Akitada went to look at the papers on the desk. The judge seemed to have written down details of a legal case. “Any idea what he was working on?” he asked the police chief.

  Takechi shook his head. “It’s something to do with the imperial pheasant preserve. I couldn’t make it out. The two servants can’t read, but they thought he was writing down a record of his cases. Reminiscing, you know.”

  Akitada nodded. Old men were prone to doing that. He’d found himself remembering events of the past since Lady Yukiko had asked him to tell her about them. It was strange, this connection between past and future. The young wanted stories, and the old spent their declining years telling them. And so the past was likely to color how the next generation would think and act.

  Suddenly depressed, he put such reflections from his mind and admired the fine writing utensils, picking them up one by one and turning them in his hands to study the decorations. Among them was a small wooden carving, a contrast to the delicate workmanship of the other items. It appeared to be a figure of Jizo, the Buddhist divinity who was variously the protector of children, women, and travelers. Such figures, carved from wood or stone, abounded in the land, being found along roadways everywhere. More than any other divine representation of the Buddhist faith, Jizo seemed to belong to the people.

  This figure was roughly made. Unlike the stone statues beside the roads, it was small enough to hold easily in one’s hand.

  No doubt it had had some special meaning for the judge or he would not have kept it on his desk beside the pretty objects. He replaced it and turned to look about the room but saw nothing else of interest. “Have you spoken to the servants?”

  “Yes. If you’ve seen enough here, perhaps you’d like to talk to them yourself, sir?”

  As it turned out, the young couple occupied roomy quarters in the former stable. The judge had evidently no longer any need for horses. They were greeted by the wife, who was holding a baby and trying to control a half-naked toddler at the same time. She bobbed several bows, looking distracted and gesturing for them to come in.

  Akitada saw that they were quite poor. The room was bare except for some worn bedding, a few chipped utensils, and an iron cooking pot over a meager fire.

  They remained standing. Though the floor had been swept, there were no cushions or reed mats to sit on. Such abject poverty was unusual for a couple who clearly served as the main servants in a large household.

  The chief smiled at the frightened-looking woman and tickled the toddler’s neck. He asked, “Where is your husband, Tatsuko?”

  She looked vaguely guilty. “Kiyoshi went to the harbor looking for work. We have no money and no food.”

  “Ah,” said Takechi, “the judge forgot to pay you?”

  A glint of anger appeared in her eyes. “He’s always slow, and then he takes back some of our earnings for rent. There’s two more of us now.” She nodded toward the children. “What will happen? He owed us wages. I don’t even have enough for the children to watch a puppet play.”

  “I don’t know.” Takechi glanced at Akitada, who was already searching his sash for some money to give her.

  Akitada said, “I take it Nakano was a tightwad. I will never understand how anyone can treat his people this way. I expect they worked hard for what he paid them.” He passed several silver coins to the young woman. “Here, this should help for a while. Do you know who inherits?”

  She shook her head. “He never married.” She was staring at the silver in her hand, then looked up. “Thank you, your honor
,” she cried and fell to her knees, bowing so deeply that the child at her breast sent up a loud squalling.

  “Never mind.” Akitada gave her a hand to help her up. “Did you or your husband hear anything last night?” he asked.

  “Nothing. We’re too far from the house and sleep soundly. Did he cry out or something?”

  Akitada said, “We don’t know. I wondered if you might have heard a visitor come or leave.”

  She gazed at him, shaking her head. “A visitor? He had no visitors. He had no friends either. I don’t think anyone liked him, and he didn’t like people.”

  The loneliness of old age. Neither family nor friends. But in this case, Akitada could not dredge up much pity.

  Takechi said, “There’s a cousin in the capital and a niece or two in Nara, daughters of a sister he lost touch with. I assume one or the other will claim the property.”

  “What will become of us?” she asked again, holding the child more closely.

  Takechi patted her shoulder. “I’ll keep you in mind and will try to get you your pay, but I think your husband had better look for other work. And a place to stay.”

  She nodded and started to cry.

  Chapter Eight

  Dead Men Don’t Speak

  They returned to police headquarters and the adjoining jail. This jail was very different from the one Akitada remembered, where he had occupied the single cell in the old office. Now he found a separate building with an astonishing ten cells and assorted other rooms. Eight of the cells were occupied.

  “Do you have this much crime in Otsu now?” he asked Takechi.

  “This time of year we have more transients than at other times, and outlying districts send us their most serious criminals. Three judges reside in Otsu now, and our provincial headquarters can handle crimes much more efficiently than in the past. It’s a good thing, but it means more work for me.”

  He headed for a door at the very back and opened it. Within lay a simple room, well lit by several open shutters to the outside. The floor was scrubbed wood, and rolls of bamboo mats were stacked against a wall.