him of his companions. He turned, his face grim, and pulling his short sword, went to the man on the second horse. Akitada saw the bloodied, blackened, swollen face, the eyes so puffy that it was a wonder the man could see, and he heard the man’s high scream of fear, before he realized that he was looking at Wada and that Tora meant to kill him right here in the middle of the road to Mano.
“Wait!”
Tora turned, and Akitada saw the deadly determination in his eyes. “He dies,” Tora said, his voice flat. “He would’ve died yesterday, but I kept him around to show us the way.”
“Not here and not now,” Akitada said. “I don’t want to remember our meeting this way.”
Tora reluctantly put back his sword. He came to Akitada and took him into another bear hug.
“Thank you, my friend,” Akitada said when they finally released each other. “And who is your other companion?” Tora grinned. “That’s Turtle. A bit of a coward, but his heart’s good. He’s my servant.”
Akitada raised his brows. “I see you’ve risen in the world.
Congratulations on the new armor. You do look like a man in need of a servant.”
Tora had the grace to blush and looked at Haseo, who had sat down beside the road to adjust the bandage on his leg. “Your friend’s hurt?”
Haseo made Tora a slight bow. “It’s just a cut which likes to bleed. We’re anxious to get to Mano before Kumo catches up with us, and I’ve already caused too many delays with my infernal leg.”
“Never mind, Haseo,” said Akitada. “We can ride now. I see no reason to transport the despicable Wada. Let him run alongside. And Tora’s servant can walk, too.” Turtle slid from his horse and rubbed his behind. “Glad to,” he said cheerfully. “He’s not a very comfortable horse.” Tora unpacked his saddlebag and passed his spare trousers and robe to Akitada. To Haseo he gave the wide-sleeved jacket he wore over his armor. Then he frowned at their callused, scarred feet. “How did you walk like that?” he asked Akitada, taking off his boots.
Akitada said, “Thank you, but your boots won’t fit. And my feet have become accustomed to worse than road gravel.”
“Uh-oh!” Haseo grabbed his arm. He was looking up the road toward the north. Where the road disappeared around the foot of the mountain, a dust cloud had appeared. It moved rapidly their way.
“Kumo,” cried Akitada, and swung himself on Turtle’s horse. “Come on. We’ll try to outrun them.” Tora cut loose a whimpering Wada, who tumbled heavily onto the road, where Tora kicked him out of the way, and called to Haseo, “Here, get on!” before running to his own horse.
Turtle stood, staring at them with frightened eyes. “What’s happening?” he cried. “Who’s coming? Please, take me with you, master!”
Tora was in the saddle. “Sorry, Turtle. No time. Hide in some bush. If I can, I’ll come back for you.”
“Tora, your sword,” cried Akitada, bringing his horse alongside Tora’s. After the merest moment of hesitation, Tora passed over his long sword and offered his helmet, but this Akitada refused. Then they cantered off after Haseo.
The nags were not up to a chase. Having spent all their miserable lives in post stables, fed on small rations of rotting rice straw or trotting back and forth between the two coasts, carrying fat merchants or visitors on leisurely trips, they had never galloped. Now, beaten and kicked into a burst of speed, they lathered up, started wheezing and heaving, and eventually slowed to an agonized trot. Behind, the dust cloud came on rapidly, already revealing horses, men, and the flying banner.
Haseo shouted to Akitada, “We’ll have to make a stand. Are you any good with that sword?”
“Adequate,” Akitada shouted back. He had kept up his practice with Tora, and he was not about to give up the sword.
“Sorry.”
Haseo nodded. He eyed Tora’s short sword, but evidently decided against asking an officer in robust health to render up his only weapon to an invalid.
Looking about for a suitable place to face their pursuers, Akitada knew their chances of winning were slim. They were badly outnumbered and lacked weapons. Tora, with his short sword, would have to dismount, because a horseman had the reach on him with a long sword. His only chance was to fight on foot, slashing at the horses’ bellies or legs, and then killing the riders when they were tossed.
They approached the small town, a collection of fishermen’s huts strung along the bay, with farmhouses, a couple of manors, and a small temple set back on higher ground. The road skirted the bay with its hard shingle beach. On the other side were muddy rice paddies like irregular patches of dingy hemp cloth sewn on a ragged green gown.
“Stop at those first houses,” Akitada called to the others.
“The road narrows there, and we’ll use the house walls to cover our backs.”
“Like cornered rats,” Haseo shouted back, but he grinned.
Kumo was nearly on top of them. They had been seen a long way back, and their pursuers had whipped their horses into a gallop. Now they came, banner flapping, and raucous shouts of
victory mingling with the pounding of hooves. Akitada, Haseo, and Tora spurred their own nags into a last short burst of speed.
The first farm consisted of several independent buildings.
The main house with its steep thatched roof fronted the road, but barns, kitchens, and other low buildings clustered around and behind it. Narrow passages and small fenced gardens linked the buildings. There was no one in sight. The men were probably in the fields, and the women had gone into hiding when trouble arrived.
Haseo tumbled down before his horse had stopped. Half running, half limping, he went to a side yard where the farmer’s wife had pushed several tall bamboo poles in the ground to support her drying laundry. He pulled up one of the sturdier poles, letting the rest of the rig topple into the dirt, and weighed it in his hand. With a grunt of satisfaction, he joined the others.
Tora had also dismounted, his short sword drawn. Only Akitada remained in the saddle, blocking the road, Tora’s long sword in his hand as their pursuers halted in a cloud of yellow dust.
Kumo’s helmet was brilliant in the sun, his armor, trimmed with green silk, also shone with gold, and a golden war fan flashed in his raised hand. The banner bore the insignia of the high constable. Kumo’s men were all armed, their armor polished, their bows over their shoulders, and their swords drawn.
Bright red silk tassels swung from the horses’ bridles. Their faces were avid with excitement, with the hunger for blood. Only Kumo looked utterly detached, his lips thin and his forehead furrowed in a frown of distaste.
Akitada waited to see what Kumo would do. He no longer felt the pain in his knee, or weariness, or even fear. He wanted to meet this man sword to sword. He wanted to kill him more than he had ever wanted anything in his life.
Kumo shouted across, “Give yourselves up, in the name of the emperor.”
In the name of the emperor? Akitada laughed.
Scowling, Kumo brought his horse a little closer. “I am the high constable. You’re escaped convicts and under arrest.” Akitada shouted back, “You know who I am, Kumo. Sugawara Akitada, imperial envoy. You’re under arrest for treason.
Tell your men to lay down their swords.” Kumo’s people burst into laughter in their turn, but Kumo raised his golden fan, and they fell quiet. “You’re outnumbered,” he shouted. “If you don’t give up, you’ll be cut down like dogs.”
“Try it, you bastards!” shouted Haseo, stepping forward and swinging his bamboo pole. Akitada hoped he was as skilled at stick-fighting as Tora.
“If you want a fight, Kumo,” he shouted back, “let it be between the two of us.”
Kumo was heavily armed and sat on one of his magnificent horses, while Akitada wore nothing but Tora’s trousers and robe and rode a worn-out nag which stood wide-legged, its head hanging in exhaustion. Akitada was also becoming conscious of the weight of Tora’s sword. He was much weaker than he had thought.
But his anger kept him there. This man had done his best to kill him slowly and horribly and had failed. Now Akitada wanted a quick and clean kill of his own. He could taste the sweetness of such a victory, knew he could not lose, and gloried in the moment.
But Kumo gave him a look of contempt, then turned his horse and rode up the embankment. There he
