They attracted a certain amount of embarrassing notice.
In one lakeside village, a group of children abandoned their games to follow them, adding their own, astonishingly rude variations to Osawa’s song, and later an old woman gathering berries by the road clapped both hands over her ears as they passed. But Osawa was irrepressible.
Finally, toward noon, his throat rebelled, and they stopped for a rest at the crossroads to Tsukahara. A small grove of trees provided shade from the sun which had blazed down on them more and more fiercely as the day progressed. Osawa produced a basket of food and wine, which his betrothed and her mother had packed for him, and shared generously with Akitada while praising his bride’s talents and business acumen. Then he stretched out under a pine tree for a short nap.
Akitada went to sit on a rock near the two horses and the mule, who were grazing under a large cedar. From here he had a view of the road, the lake, and the mountains embracing them from either side. Far, far in the distance lay the ocean that separated him from all that mattered to him in this world. He wished he could solve this case and return. The trouble was he seemed to be no closer to finding Okisada’s murderer than before he started.
He thought about the four men in Minato and their meeting in the lake pavilion. There was no longer any doubt that they had been plotting and were still determined to rid themselves of Mutobe and son. Was Kumo planning a rebellion?
Sakamoto was too weak to be more than a minor player. From the cavalier fashion in which Taira had spoken to him, it was clear that the others thought the same. Taira and Nakatomi were unknown factors. Nakatomi had sounded both sly and clever, but his relatively modest status as a mere physician made it unlikely that the others would treat him as an equal. He had probably been used only to prove that Okisada had died from young Mutobe’s stew. And if so, what had Okisada really died from? And who had killed him? And why?
Akitada’s thoughts turned to Taira. He had been closer to the prince than anyone else, and even the few words the man had spoken before the fat servant’s accident proved that the others looked up to him. The trouble was that Taira was too old to lead a rebellion on his own account. And so Akitada came back to Kumo, a man he had come to respect, even admire. And to the prince’s murder.
He shook his head, dissatisfied, and glanced up the dirt road toward Tsukahara. Buddhist monks had settled in the foothills above Tsukahara, seeking higher ground to build Konponji, their temple. Shunsei lived there. Tsukahara was close enough for Okisada’s periodic visits to his friends at the lake and at least once, on his last visit, his fondness for Shunsei had caused him to bring the young monk along.
Akitada would have preferred not to probe into the details of a private love affair of two men, but Kumo had been worried that Shunsei might reveal some secret during the trial. Had the four men been talking about the fact that prince and monk had been lovers? It was possible, but given both Kumo’s and Sakamoto’s nervousness, Akitada suspected that there was another secret and that it had something to do with the murder.
The faint sound of rhythmic chanting caused him to look back toward the lake. He could not see who was coming, because the road disappeared around a bend. It seemed to be a day for singing, and this did not sound like a monk’s chant. It grew louder, and then a strange group appeared around the trees.
Two bearers, carrying a large sedan chair suspended from long poles on their shoulders, came trotting along. They were naked except for loincloths and scarves wrapped around their heads, and they chanted something that sounded like “Eisassa, eisassa.” The sedan chair’s grass curtains were rolled up on this warm day, and Akitada saw that it contained the hunched figure of an old man which bobbed and swung gently to the rhythm of the bearers’ gait.
Sedan chairs of this size and quality were rare even in the capital, where the old and infirm preferred ox- drawn carts or carriages. But Akitada’s surprise was complete when he saw who the traveler was.
The white hair and bushy black eyebrows were unmistakable. Lord Taira was on his way home from his meeting with Sakamoto and the others. Akitada got up quickly and went to busy himself with the horses, keeping his face down. The chanting stopped abruptly as the group drew level.
“Ho!” shouted Taira.
Akitada peered over his horse’s crupper. The bearers had lowered their burden and were grinning. Their eyes and Taira’s were on the sleeping Osawa, who lay flat on his back in the grass, his belly a gently moving mound, his eyes closed, and his mouth open to emit loud snores.
“Ho, you there,” repeated Taira.
Osawa blinked, then jerked upright and stared.
“Who are you?” Taira wanted to know.
Osawa bristled and his face got red. “What business is it of yours, old man?” he snapped.
The black eyebrows beetled. “I am Taira. I asked you your name.”
“Taira?” Osawa slowly climbed to his feet. “Lord Taira, the prince’s tutor?”
“Yes.”
Osawa bowed. “Begging your pardon, Excellency. This person has long wished to make Your Excellency’s acquaintance, but has hitherto not had the pleasure. This person’s humble name is Osawa, provincial inspector of taxes.”
“Hah.” Taira turned and craned his neck. This time he saw Akitada, who stared back at him stolidly. “You there,” commanded Taira. “Come here.”
Irritated by the man’s manner, Akitada strolled up slowly.
They measured each other. On closer inspection Taira looked not only old but frail. His back was curved and bony shoulders poked up under his robe. No wonder he traveled by sedan chair, and this one was large enough for two. Only the black eyes under those remarkable eyebrows burned with life. “Who are you?” Taira demanded.
“Er,” interrupted Osawa, who had come up, not to be ignored. “Actually, he’s a convict, temporarily assigned to me as my clerk. Can I be of some assistance, Excellency?”
“No,” snapped Taira without taking his eyes off Akitada.
After another uncomfortable moment, he said, “Move on!” to the bearers. They stopped grinning, shouldered their load, and left, falling easily into their trot and rhythmic “Eisassa” again.
Osawa stared after them. “What a rude person,” he muttered. “He’s an exile, of course, even if he’s a lord. Ought to be more polite to someone in authority. Come to think of it, the prince used to live in Tsukahara. Wonder where Taira’s been.” Akitada could have answered that, but instead he brought up Osawa’s horse.
“Let’s go slowly,” Osawa said, as he climbed into the saddle.
“I don’t want to catch up with him. A dreadful old man. They say he went mad when his pupil died. It seems to be true.”
“Has he always lived with the prince?”
“Oh, yes. Thought of himself as the prince’s right hand, I suppose. They kept a regular court in exile. Taira would receive all visitors and instruct them about the proper respect due the prince. Complete prostration and withdrawing backwards on your hands and knees, I heard. Thank heaven, I never had to go there. Members of the emperor’s family don’t pay taxes.
Hah! And both of them traitors.” Osawa’s good humor had evaporated.
Akitada also had no desire to encounter Taira. The old man’s stare had been disconcerting, but he did not for a moment think the prince’s tutor mad. He thought Taira had looked suspicious. On the whole, he wished they would speed up and pass the old man before he had a chance to warn Shunsei.
Fortunately, Osawa reached the same conclusion. “This is too slow,” he said irritably. “Let’s hurry up and get past Taira, so we’ll reach Tsukahara before sunset.” It was not even close to sunset. In fact, since they had left the lake, the cool breeze had died away and now it was uncomfortably hot. They whipped up their horses and galloped past the trotting bearers and their burden in a cloud of dust.
Osawa was red-faced and sweating, but he kept up the pace, and they soon reached the foothills.
The pleasant small village of Tsukahara nestled against the mountains where the Ogura River came down and watered the rice paddies of the plain. Its two largest buildings were a shrine and the walled and gated manor of the Second Prince.
The Temple of the True Lotus and its monastery were another mile up the mountain. Akitada would have liked a closer look at the prince’s dwelling, but did not think it wise to be caught by Taira.
The dirt road dwindled to a track winding and climbing through the woods. It was wonderfully cool in the shade. Sometimes they heard the sound of water splashing down the mountainside.
