The Emperor's woman Read online

  “I want to know how much you’re taking. There’s your sister’s future to be considered.”

  He snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. She’s almost as old as I am. Who’ll marry someone like her?” He tied the heavy bag and stuffed it inside his robe. The chest he simply slammed shut. Then he got to his feet, a little awkwardly with the heavy bulge under his clothes. “Looks like I’ll have to take care of both of you for the rest of your lives,” he said. “Come on, Mother. It’s getting late.”

  The mother grumbled a little, and the son bent forward and pulled her to her feet. Saburo caught a glimpse of a gray robe and a twist of white hair on a small and thin woman. Then they disappeared from view, though he could still hear them arguing.

  “What about the contracts?” the old woman protested.

  “They’re safe enough until tomorrow. Let’s go.”

  The light receded, steps moved away, arguments faded, a door closed, and it got quiet.

  Tokuzo’s brother had sounded unpleasant. Saburo scowled to himself. The whole family apparently lacked common decency. The brother had come for the gold Tokuzo had made as a brothel keeper. It was money earned by the women he had treated worse than animals. But his brother considered himself too good to become identified with the brothel business.

  Saburo thought about the money chest, emptied of its treasures and left unlocked. It still held the contracts, probably worth a good deal if sold to other brothel owners. Worth a great deal more to the women who were forced to sell their bodies every night.

  His experiences with harlots had been painful. Most had refused him; the rest had collected the fee, submitted with a shudder, and run from the room.

  But there was Genba.

  He had no way of getting into the lower part of the building. No doubt, the greedy pair who had just left had made sure all the doors were secured.

  But on second thought, it was worth checking. He went downstairs, taking fewer precautions than before, but moving with his customary stealth.

  He made a circuit of all the doors and found them all securely locked. Only the side door closest to the kitchen had a loose hinge that might be loosened further. He considered, then set to work. His other errand could wait.

  With the help of one of his clever tools, he managed to loosen the hinge until he could lift the door up and prop it open. No one was likely to pass through the courtyard at this hour and notice the farthest door standing slightly ajar, and he would be quick, get back out, and reattach the panel.

  It was pitch dark inside, but Saburo moved by instinct and touch in the direction of the room where he had watched Tokuzo’s mother and brother. The smells in this part of the house were of sake. Here the guests were rendered drunk enough that the whores could march them upstairs. His nose eventually identified the smell of fresh candle wax and led him to the right room. Feeling for the sliding door, he found it and pushed it open. Yes, this must be it. He might have risked looking for a lamp and lighting it, but memory took him to the money chest, and touch found the papers in its bottom. He scooped them out and shoved them inside his shirt, then made his way back to the door he had left open.

  But something had changed. There was a smell he had not noticed before. He paused and sniffed. Sweat and scented oil, he decided. Odd!

  He could make out the narrow rectangle of the door. In spite of the clouded sky, the outside was lighter than the thick blackness of this hallway. It struck him that he had left it nearly closed.

  Listening, he took a cautious step forward and brushed up against fabric. When he reached out a hand to feel what it was, he touched a face.

  The next moment, the paler rectangle of the world outside disappeared, and pain exploded in his head.

  The Trouble with Women

  In the morning Akitada found Genba waiting outside his study. He was in a cheerful mood because he had just left Tamako’s rooms, where he had played with the children again. Genba’s face promised that would not last.

  “Come in, Genba,” he said, opening the door. “Is something wrong?”

  “Yes, sir.” Genba stopped in the middle of Akitada’s study, clenching and unclenching his huge hands and looking about helplessly.

  “Well, sit down.” Akitada missed his customary morning tea and the bowl of gruel. Apparently, Saburo was late. He seated himself and watched as Genba lowered his heavy frame to sit, then rearranged his body to kneel instead and touch his forehead to the floor. “Don’t do that,” Akitada said. “We’ve never been formal with each other.”

  Genba nodded and looked at his master. To Akitada’s surprise, tears, the big man’s eyes were moist. Becoming seriously concerned, Akitada pressed him now. “Come on, speak up, man! You’re beginning to worry me.”

  Genba gulped. “Sorry, sir. Saburo’s gone!”

  Akitada raised his brows. “Saburo? What do you mean?”

  “He wasn’t there when I woke this morning. He’s gone. I looked everywhere. It’s all my fault.”

  “How so?”

  “A man called Tokuzo was murdered yesterday, and the police tried to arrest me. Tora talked them out of it. I think Saburo must’ve gone there last night. And he hasn’t come home. I think something bad happened to him.”

  Akitada’s jaw sagged. “What?” He took a breath. “Who is Tokuzo?”

  “He runs a brothel in the quarter, sir. He’s an evil man. Even Hanae says so.”

  “Hanae’s also involved, eh? What about Cook and my wife’s maid? Does my entire household carry on a secret life outside my home?”

  Genba flushed and bowed his head. “No, sir. Just me,” he mumbled.

  Akitada stared at him. “What do you mean?” He was astonished by the notion that placid, ordinary Genba had been leading a secret life. Only the big man’s obvious misery stopped him from smiling at the thought.

  “There is… someone, sir.” Genba’ big fists were kneading his huge knees. “A woman, I mean. I… her name’s Ohiro. And… and…”

  A woman! Genba, in his comfortable middle years-he was in his mid-forties-, had fallen in love. He seemed ashamed to talk about it, though. Akitada cut the stammering short, and said in a hearty tone, “But this is excellent news, Genba. I’m very happy for you. Will you bring your bride here? We’ll have to find you better quarters.”

  Genba’s eyes filled with tears. “Sir, she works in the Willow Quarter.” He looked down.

  “Oh.”

  A painful silence fell in which the big Genba seemed to shrink into himself.

  When they spoke again, it was at the same time, and both stopped again. Genba gave Akitada a look like a beaten dog. Akitada bit his lip. He owed Genba a great deal. Genba had been loyal and would have died for his master many times over.

  “Well,” he said, “we cannot always make our hearts obey our heads. I assume she will give up her profession?”

  “Oh, yes.” Genba’s fists started their kneading again. “We’ve been saving, both of us, to buy her out, but we didn’t have enough and now her owner has been murdered.” He paused. “That’s really how the trouble started, sir. Tora, Saburo, and I went to talk to Tokuzo, but the police were there already, and they wanted to arrest me because one of Tokuzo’s bullies told them I threatened Tokuzo the night before. Tora talked them out of it.”

  Akitada’s brows knitted during this tale. His first reaction was irritation that his retainers seemed to have the extremely bad taste of seeking out disreputable females and hanging about in brothels. And now Saburo seemed to have fallen into the same habit. But he suppressed his anger. Perhaps he would not have done so with Tora (in fact, he had been very blunt when Tora had married Hanae), but Tora was better able to take a tongue lashing. Genba suffered from the conviction that Akitada considered him a big useless, greedy lout and merely tolerated his presence in the household.

  “Tell me about Ohiro,” Akitada suggested. “If she has captured your devotion, she must be remarkable.”

  Genba was so astonished he gaped at hi
s master for a moment. Then his face lit up, and he said fervently, “She’s not like anyone I’ve ever known, sir. She’s sweet and loving and very, very brave. You’d have to be brave to live through the hell that happened to her.” Leaning forward a little, he looked at Akitada earnestly. “Sir, she lost her parents when she was young. Her uncle and his wife took her in. But her uncle started raping her when she was ten, and when his wife found out, she sold Ohiro to Tokuzo. Tokuzo’s raped her regularly and he beats her, but she never complains. And sir, she’s very pretty and could have any man, but she loves me.” This brought the tears to his eyes again. He sniffed. “I love her. I’ve promised to take care of her forever.”

  Akitada gave an inward shudder at the tale. He wanted to point out that nothing is forever, and that such women would say anything to get a man to buy out their contract, and if this Ohiro was really so very pretty, she would leave Genba the moment she had her freedom. He said none of those things, however. He asked, “How much money do you need?”

  Genba told him. “I know it’s too much. We thought we’d wait and save some more, but now that Tokuzo’s dead, she’ll be sold again.”

  Akitada looked outside at his garden, saw that the sun was already high, and got up. “Find out who the heir is. Then arrange to buy her out. I’ll give you the money. As for Saburo, I’m sure he’ll show up. He knows how to handle himself. Now I must go to work.”

  Genba was on his knees again, knocking his head against the floor. “Thank you, sir. I’ll pay the money back, I promise. If you have extra work, I’ll do it gladly. Or, if you permit it, I could find some work outside after I have done the chores here. And Ohiro is a hard worker, too.”

  Akitada headed out the door. “Nonsense, Genba. You’re family.”

  After taking care of some urgent ministry paperwork, Akitada went in search of the minister.

  Fujiwara Kaneie had just arrived and stood at the open door overlooking his private courtyard, hands clasped behind his back. He was watching a pair of swallows building a nest under the eaves.

  When he heard Akitada, he turned. “Oh, there you are. How are things going for your friend Kosehira?”

  “Very kind of you to ask, sir.” Akitada hesitated a moment, then said, “I’m in a quandary. In this situation, taking sides will surely affect a person’s career. I’m not concerned on my own behalf but on yours, sir. Had you not better remain in ignorance of the matter?”

  The minister chuckled. “I’m quite safe, but it’s nice of you to be concerned. No, speak freely… unless you’re afraid I’ll carry tales.”

  There was always that danger, even though Kaneie was not particularly close to the regent and his brothers and was, in any case, an honorable man. “It’s not that, sir, though there are some confidences I cannot divulge. Very well, then. The prince is under house arrest. He will not make any effort to defend himself. He says he doesn’t care and will take the tonsure soon. Surely those words should satisfy his enemies?”

  The minister pursed his lips. “He still has his supporters, and many a retired emperor has ruled from his monastery. No, in Atsuhira’s case I don’t think they’d be satisfied.”

  “Ah. That is difficult indeed.”

  “But you’re only concerned about your friend Kosehira. Can’t you clear him and leave Atsuhira alone?”

  “No, sir. There were letters. They had no relation to the plot, but Kosehira has destroyed them. Since it was known they had corresponded recently and he would not produce them, it looks very suspicious.”

  “But why did he destroy them if they were harmless?”

  Good question. Akitada could not reveal the affair with Lady Masako to Kaneie. He said, “Why keep them? Surely you and I live with too much paperwork all day long to keep our private correspondence also.”

  Kaneie nodded. “Yes, I see. Awkward. What are your plans?”

  “I want to speak to people who can clear either Kosehira or the prince. A large task, but perhaps I’ll find the right person quickly.”

  “If you don’t stay away too long, I can spare you. A few days won’t matter. And, Akitada, keep me informed.”

  “Of course, sir. Thank you.”

  Akitada returned to his office where he took some time to clear pending matters and write out precise instructions for his clerk and those who were working on current cases. Then he left the ministry.

  His next stop was to look in on a friend. Nakatoshi worked in the Ministry of Ceremonial. He had once been Akitada’s clerk and was a most able and loyal young man, who had deservedly risen in the government and now occupied the same position in the Ministry of Ceremonial as the one Akitada held in the Ministry of Justice. They had become friends over the years, and occasionally visited each other.

  Nakatoshi greeted him with a cheerful, “Working on something new?”

  Akitada sat down and accepted a cup of wine. “I suppose I’ve troubled you so often in the past that you no longer expect just a friendly visit. You’re quite right, as it happens. The problem concerns my friend Kosehira. You’ve met, I think?”

  Nakatoshi’s smile faded. “Yes. Don’t tell me you’re meddling in the affairs of Prince Atsuhira again?”

  The word “affair” could denote all sorts of complications in a man’s life. Akitada said, “In a manner of speaking. This is in confidence, Nakatoshi. It concerns a young woman the prince had been meeting secretly.”

  “Ah. That’s better.” Nakatoshi grinned. “I prefer romance to politics. Much safer.”

  “I don’t know about that. She was the Lady Masako.”

  His friend gaped at that. “Atsuhira’s been carrying on an affair with one of His Majesty’s women?”

  “Yes, but His Majesty had shown no interest in her.”

  “It makes no difference.” Nakatoshi frowned. “Didn’t she die a few months back?”

  “Yes. It happened near the prince’s summer villa, though that story was covered up.”

  “Naturally. What a fascinating scandal! But what’s your part in this? Or Kosehira’s?”

  Akitada explained, and Nakatoshi was appalled. Being bright, he immediately said, “So this death and the plot about the succession are tied together after all?”

  “They shouldn’t be, but I’m afraid they are.”

  “You cannot touch it, Akitada. I know you’re Kosehira’s friend, but this is too dangerous for you and your family.”

  “Well, it’s not the first time. I’ve had to decide a long time ago whether to look out for myself and my family or hold on to my convictions. My name and the fact I’ve made enemies will always put me at risk. Since it can’t be helped, it must be managed somehow. But I came, as usual, to get some information. I’d like to know more about Lady Masako’s family.”

  “Ah, yes. Minamoto Masaie. I take it he’s under suspicion also?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Masako is his oldest daughter. Masaie is lord of Sagami, a very powerful provincial overlord. They say he used his influence to have Masako enter the royal apartments, no doubt in hopes of becoming grandfather to an emperor.” Nakatoshi paused. “Yes, it all hangs together. Now that you mention it, I do have some news you may not be aware of. Maseie has been called to court. In view of what you say about Lady Masako and the prince, it may mean that he’s connected with the alleged plot.”

  Akitada said, “I doubt it, but that doesn’t mean much to those who wish to rid themselves of perceived threats.”

  “Well, it would make sense. Perhaps Masaie found that His Majesty wasn’t interested in his daughter and decided to back Atsuhira for crown prince.”

  It opened up new possibilities and confused the issue of Lady Masako’s death. Akitada chewed his lower lip. “It could be revenge, of course.”

  Nakatoshi looked blank. “You mean the court blames Minamoto Masaie for his daughter’s affair?”

  “Not the court. I was thinking of the Lady Kishi.”

  “Kishi? Oh, Prince Atsuhira’s wife. And you think her
brothers agreed to ruin the prince and anyone connected with him or Lady Masako? Well, that would be shocking.”

  “From what I hear, Kishi’s perfectly capable of acting on her own. And she’s likely to have taken serious offense.”

  “Ah. Women.” Nakatoshi shook his head. “What a muddle!”

  They both sighed, then chuckled. Thanking his friend, Akitada took his leave.

  The Beggars

  Saburo woke in a ruin, looking up through the broken roof high above him. Blue sky and golden clouds shimmered beyond the age-darkened beams and broken spars. He watched the clouds passing across the blue, and wondered if he was glimpsing a distant paradise.

  Gradually, he became aware of his other senses. Unpleasant odors assailed his nose. He tried to analyze them while watching the pretty clouds. Dirt, he thought. I’m smelling dirt and rotten things. Nothing in particular stands out.

  His arms were laid across his chest. He was quite comfortable except for an ache in the back of his head. He moved and hissed at the acute stab of pain that brought tears to his eyes.

  Somewhere close by, someone cleared his throat of phlegm and spat. Saburo swiveled his good eye as far as he could without moving his head. No good. He saw a dark, stained wall with a doorway into deeper darkness. Nothing else.

  The contrast between the golden clouds and this rotten, stinking place where he found himself struck him as ominous. Had he died? And was this his own hell, deserved for a multitude of sins?

  A rattling cough and more sounds of spitting.

  “Who’s there?” he croaked.

  “Me.”

  An old man’s voice.

  “Where am I?”

  A rasping laugh. “Honkoku-ji.”

  Not hell, then. And not death.

  Honkoku-ji was the ruin of an old temple compound. Saburo carefully lifted his head to turn it. This also hurt, but not as much. A strange figure sat near him in a Buddha pose. White-haired and white-bearded, the old man wore a red silk gown, a woman’s gown, with a priest’s stole over it. Many strands of prayer beads hung about his neck. He looked quite feeble. His eyes were dim with age and his hands resembled the claws of a chicken with their long yellow nails.