Sakamoto’s place. He recognized it immediately because it was the only one with a pavilion on the lakeshore. The distance was shorter than he had expected, because the lake formed a small bay here, and the road he had followed had made a wide loop. There was no one in the pavilion yet.
He glanced up at the sun: at least an hour until sunset.
Returning to shore, he put on his robe and boots again, found a dry and comfortable spot among the grass and buttercups, and lay down for a nap.
When he awoke, the shadows had thickened and gnats had left behind itching spots on his face and hands. The sun was almost gone, and the sky had changed to a soft lavender. Akitada got up and stretched, disturbing a large ibis fishing in the shallows. It thrashed away through the reeds with a clatter, its curving red beak and pink flight feathers bright against the large white body, then took flight over the open water, followed by the scolding ducks.
Waterfowl presented an unforeseen problem. Ducks in particular always set up a loud clamor when disturbed. But he would have to risk that. He decided to do some more exploring first.
This time he not only removed his boots and robe, but his pants and loincloth also, and waded naked into the muddy water, sloshing along, his bare feet sinking deep into the mud and feeling their way among sharp bits of debris and reed stubble.
When he emerged from the reeds, the water was chest-high and the bottom of the lake smoother and less soft. Some fishermen were a long way out in the middle of the lake. They would hardly see a swimmer at that distance, and as soon as the sun was gone, they would be making for home.
He swam about a little, the water cool against his hot and itchy skin, and felt quite cheerful and optimistic about his plan.
Above, seagulls dipped and dove, their wingtips flashing gold in the last rays of the sun, their cries remote and mournful. He had a good view of the shoreline and saw that he would have to rely on the reeds to hide him.
And there they came, small figures moving down the hillside from Sakamoto’s villa, a servant running ahead carrying a gleaming lantern. It was time.
Akitada swam back to his hiding place to rest a little and eat his rice dumpling. He did not want his empty stomach giving him away with inappropriate rumblings later.
Then he set out, cutting boldly across the small bay, swimming smoothly. The sun had disappeared behind Mount Kimpoku, and the land lay in shadow while the sky still blazed a fiery red, turning the surface of the lake the color of blood. The fishermen were headed home to their families, and up ahead, lit eerily by lanterns, waited the pavilion where an imperial prince had died of poison.
He caught glimpses of the seated men and saw servants popping up and disappearing as they brought food, knelt to serve, and then left again. The closer he got, the more chance there was that someone would glance his way and notice the head of a swimmer bobbing in the lake. And this time he would not be able to talk himself out of it with Kumo.
When he was within a hundred feet, he turned back toward the reeds and slipped into their protection. Progress became slow and difficult. Akitada moved in a crouch, using channels left by
fishermen whenever possible. Once he froze after raising an egret.
It flew off, awkwardly flapping its huge wings until it was air-borne and soared like a silver ghost across the darkening sky.
Abruptly the reeds stopped, and an open channel of water stretched between him and the pavilion. Someone had cleared away the water grasses to make sure no boats could approach the pavilion unseen. Such precautions made his undertaking seem all the more vital.
Up in the pavilion, in the yellow light of lanterns hanging from the eaves, he could see the four men. They sat facing each other and were eating and talking quietly.
Kumo, the only one who wore his hair loose, had his back to Akitada. Next to Kumo sat the gray-haired, round-shouldered Sakamoto. Another old man, probably Taira, with white hair and improbably black brows, looking bent with age and scrawny as an old crow in his black robe, sat across from Sakamoto. The fourth man must be Nakatomi. He was partially hidden by Kumo’s broad back, but wore a rich robe of patterned blue brocade. Whoever he was, fortune had treated him well.
But Akitada could not remain forever in the shelter of the reeds. He did not relish the idea of crossing open water, but decided that, being in the light, the four men would not notice a lone swimmer in the dark lake. This conviction was almost immediately put to the test when Kumo got up and stepped to the balustrade. Akitada sank down, keeping his face half sub-merged. But Kumo merely emptied the dregs from his wine cup and returned to the others.
Moving slowly and smoothly so he would not make any noisy splashes, Akitada half swam, half crawled through the shallow water, keeping his face down so that his dark hair would blend with the water.
When he was close enough to hear them, the water no longer covered him completely and he had to hurry. Slithering across the mud on his belly, he scraped his skin painfully on stubble, but he kept his face down until he reached cover.
He had almost made it when there was a shout above, and he stopped. Naked and defenseless, he lay in the mud, imagining an arrow in his back, though it was not likely that any of the four was armed. But nothing happened, and after a moment he peered up. The surly servant was running up the steps, and Sakamoto asked for more wine.
With a sigh of relief, Akitada crawled into the darkness under the pavilion and waited for his heart to stop pounding and his eyes to adjust. A few straggling weeds grew on the muddy bank he crouched on. If he raised himself to his knees, he could touch the boards above his head. Wide cracks between the boards let light fall through in slender ribbons which undu-lated on the waves slapping softly against the timbers and creeping up the shore. He could hear the conversation of the men above as perfectly as if he were sitting beside them.
The supporting beams-there were eight of them-rested on large flat rocks covered with slimy moss. The three outer-most supports disappeared into the lake water. Beyond was the lake and darkness.
Someone-he did not recognize the voice-was saying in a peevish tone, “You should really maintain your property better, Taro. These boards creak alarmingly every time that fat servant steps on them.”
Sakamoto sounded humble and apologetic. “I had no intention of ever using this place again after the tragedy. But the present emergency-”
There was a snort of derision.
Kumo cut in, “We all agreed that this meeting needs the privacy which only this pavilion affords.” Akitada smiled to himself and brushed off a mosquito with muddy fingers. More of the pesky insects hovered in the thin beams of light, and he considered slipping back into the water.
Someone moved above, and a thin cloud of dust descended. He looked up, wondering how strong the old floor was.
They had fallen silent after Kumo’s words. Someone belched loudly.
Then the first speaker-he guessed it was Taira-spoke again.
“I personally saw no need for all this fuss,” he said, his voice tight and bitter and the tone accusatory. “The worst possible thing you could do was to draw attention to us at this juncture. The trial is next week, and I see no reason why it should not go the way we expect. Tomo will make certain; won’t you, Tomo?” Tomo? Oh, yes. Nakatomi, the physician.
“I shall testify to nothing but the truth,” a sharp, slightly nasal voice responded.
Someone muttered something.
“Yes, Tomo,” drawled Kumo, “provided you can confine yourself to the cause of death.”
“What else would a physician be asked about? I am not a witness or a suspect. I was not here at the time, as you recall.”
“Suspect?” cried Sakamoto. “You think we are suspects? Dear heaven, has it come to that? Oh, why did this have to happen?”
“Stop that foolish whining,” snapped Taira.
“What if the judge asks Nakatomi about the prince’s health?
What will we do then?” Sakamoto’s voice was tense and worried. “He was his personal physician, after
