Akitada stared at the old man, appalled. ‘Another expense? Purification rites? Next you’ll suggest we build a birthing hut out in the garden so the house won’t become polluted.’
Seimei did not look at him. ‘Such things are customary, sir. The empresses leave the palace when their time comes. The gods are offended by pollution.’
‘I’m not the emperor,’ thundered Akitada. ‘I simply cannot afford all that expense. Besides, I can’t imagine that Tamako would be more comfortable in a hut.’
Seimei folded his hands in his sleeves and raised his chin. ‘It is meant to protect your lady’s life and that of the child, sir. We should also have someone twanging a bowstring to drive the evil spirits away.’ He paused a moment. ‘And a medium to pray to the gods.’
‘Are you mad?’ Seimei knew very well his master’s aversion to anything that smacked of superstition.
Seimei fidgeted a moment, then said softly, ‘Better to lean on a stick than to fall down.’
That took Akitada’s breath away.
Theirs was a family where death had struck not long ago when his son Yori had died. Perhaps Seimei believed that had happened because they had not taken such precautions at his birth. In spite of the warmth in the room, Akitada shivered. He had no choice in this matter. Not if he did not want to be blamed again if anything went wrong.
‘You may speak to the yin-yang master,’ he said after a moment. ‘And the monk can come back at the time of the birth. Tora can twang his bow. But I will not have a half-crazed witch casting spells in my courtyard.’
Seimei smiled. ‘Very good, sir.’
There was a brief silence while Akitada mentally totted up expenses for the monk and the yin-yang master.
Seimei cleared his throat.
‘Anything else you’d like me to spend our dwindling funds on?’ Akitada snapped.
Seimei flushed a little. ‘No, sir. Tora went to the Kiyowara mansion to talk to a street vendor. He stopped by to talk to you, waited a while, but then said he’d be back later. I was to tell you that the young Lord Kiyowara was in a very bad temper the day of the murder. He rode down an old woman in the street.’
Akitada exploded. ‘What was Tora doing there? Any meddling in the Kiyowara case will make my situation worse. How will I explain to the Board of Censors why I sent my retainer to cause more trouble after they notified me of their displeasure?’
‘I am sorry, sir.’ Seimei shrank into himself. ‘I believe he was trying to help.’
Akitada grasped his head in frustration. ‘I wish everybody would stop helping me. If that is all your bad news, I think I’d like to be alone now.’
Seimei bowed and departed on silent feet, but Akitada heard the soft shuffle of dejection and felt guilty. His people suffered his misfortunes along with him and did not deserve his ill-tempered tongue-lashings. Especially not Seimei, that faithful man who had devoted himself to him, never asking for a life of his own or protesting against his master’s ill humor.
As a penance, he spent the day composing his defense against the accusations the censors were likely to bring against him. He had no doubt that they would build a monstrous case, a case that would use the murder of Kiyowara as only the latest in a long string of treasonable and rebellious acts.
The task was painful because he disliked bragging about achievements that seemed to him frequently flawed by misjudgements along the way or successful only by some lucky chance. But he weighed against this the injustices done to him over the years.
He began with his family background, reminding them of his illustrious ancestor, Sugawara Michizane, that brilliant, good, and loyal servant to the empire who had suffered exile and death at the hands of his political enemies. The Fujiwaras had believed for two centuries that Michizane’s ghost had visited misfortune upon them. Perhaps they might believe that he would also protect his descendant against unjust charges.
He mentioned his distinguished university career and the fact that he had placed first in the examination. Then he moved on to the special assignments he had accepted and brought to successful conclusions against everyone’s expectations. The case of the lost tax convoys from Kazusa, where he had foiled the plot of a treasonous abbot, was one of these. The removal of Uesugi, the warlord in Echigo who had attempted to seize control of a province, was another. He reminded them of the island province of Sado, where he had almost died and had suffered wounds that still caused him pain. In Sado, the emperor’s exiled brother had attempted to join with the hostile forces in the North to seize the throne. Oh, yes, they owed him better treatment than this.
At this point, Akitada interrupted his work to look in on Tamako. The women – she was with Hanae and Oyuki – were busy sewing, while Yuki crawled about between them and played with bits of colored cloth. It was a cheerful scene, and the slight fever made Tamako’s face rosy so that she looked deceptively healthy. They were cutting and sewing small garments from old robes. He thought he recognized a lovely rose-colored silk that he had particularly liked on Tamako. But for a boy? He said nothing about this, however, and instead chatted about the absent Genba and the dog Trouble, and how he missed them – yes, even that shaggy dog. For their part, they also kept their comments to happier times.
When Yuki began to whimper and pull on his mother’s sleeve, Hanae said, ‘He’s hungry,’ and put him to her breast. Akitada thought that soon he would see his own child at its mother’s breast. That made him smile, and he reached for Tamako’s hand.
Tamako looked first at him and then at Hanae with the baby, understood, and said, ‘What a very fortunate thing, Hanae, that you’re still nursing.’
What did she mean by that? Did she expect Hanae to nurse their child also? She had nursed Yori. Would she not do the same for this child? True, women of his class rarely nursed their own children, but Tamako had never behaved like them.
Hanae shot him a glance and said, ‘Don’t fret, My Lady. I won’t be needed,’ and Akitada understood that Tamako had made preparations for her death. Deeply shocked, he jumped up and left without another word.
The fears were back, and they were more real than ever.
In his study, he paced without finding any consolation or hope. In the end, he did what he had not done for a long time now. He retrieved his flute and walked outside with it. Playing his flute reminded him of Yori’s death. He would always associate it with death now. It was a great pity because before that dreadful time, the flute had given him many hours of pleasure and brought him peace when he had been troubled.
He was still playing, fumblingly because he had forgotten the tunes, when Seimei joined him on the veranda. His mind on death and dying, Akitada lowered the flute and asked anxiously, ‘Is anything wrong?’
‘No, sir. A messenger has arrived with a letter for you.’ Seimei held it out with both hands. ‘From Lady Kiyowara.’
Akitada was so astonished that he gaped at the prettily folded square for a moment before opening it. He caught a whiff of expensive incense, and the paper was thick and beautiful. The handwriting also was quite exquisite. The message was short: ‘Lady Kiyowara begs Lord Sugawara to call on her.’
‘She wants to see me,’ he said blankly.
‘Shall I get out your good robe and trousers, sir?’
Akitada looked up at the sun. Ladies of her rank expected promptness. ‘Yes,’ he said. He heard Seimei’s footsteps receding and called after him, ‘Thank you, Seimei. For everything.’
The steps paused. ‘It is a pleasure, sir. Always.’
THE WIDOW
In his second-best robe, the same one he had worn on his previous visit, Akitada presented himself to heavily armed retainers at the Kiyowara gate.
They had not been here before, and their martial demeanor struck an unpleasant note in this normally peaceful quarter of the city. Kiyowara’s rank and position permitted them, and they might have been brought from his provincial seat to attend his funeral and to protect the widow and her young son against unwelcome attentions, but Akitada felt as though he were walking unarmed into an enemy camp.
Still, they admitted him readily when he identified himself. A house servant, dressed in white hemp because
