law had lived here, and Tamako still owned the land and maintained a garden where her childhood home had stood. But lately, the good people lived within walled compounds with massive, barred gates, and women emerged only in the company of male servants. Perhaps an elderly nun could have passed without attracting the attention of three hoodlums, but this one was a young and attractive woman, and the street was empty. She was about a hundred yards ahead of Akitada, who cursed his voluminous white silk trousers and the stiff, heavy robe, clothes that were not only hot but cumbersome.
Up ahead, the hoodlums stopped the nun, one barring her way and the other two closing in from behind. She backed against the earthen wall and seemed to make entreaties, which they greeted with bursts of laughter. When they began to manhandle her, Akitada started to run, shouting, “Leave her alone!”
He fell almost instantly over the loose folds of his trousers. Scrambling up, he fully expected to see the bullies take to their heels. Not only was he an awkward witness-they probably intended to rape their victim-but his formal court robe and hat marked him as an imperial official of rank and should have put fear into their cowardly hearts.
But nothing of the sort happened. They turned their heads to look at him and burst into laughter. Furious, Akitada gathered up the legs of his trousers before continuing. They laughed even harder at this and, after a brief exchange, two of them started toward Akitada. The third stayed with the nun.
Akitada stopped. The two rascals sauntering toward him with grins on their faces were not about to make a humble apology. They looked as if they expected to have some fun with this official in his stiff robe, ballooning trousers, and elaborate headgear. Akitada was in excellent condition and trained in wrestling, but a confrontation with two robbers was unwise at this juncture. He was unarmed and hampered by his ridiculous clothing. And, besides being a nuisance in a fight, his robe had cost him many months of salary and he was hardly in a position to sacrifice it to a couple of hoodlums at this time in his career. He considered slipping off the outer robe, but when he began to undo his sash, the two changed their deliberate saunter to a fast walk. There was no time.
Beyond them, their companion was now struggling with the nun. Akitada scanned the ground for something he could use for a weapon. There was nothing. Hereabout, the streets were kept clean. He shouted again for help, this time for constables, but all remained silent. Then the nun screamed, and Akitada resigned himself to a fight and crouched.
The two thugs stopped a few feet away, looked him over, and laughed some more. The taller one, who was missing his front teeth and whose nose had been broken a few times, sneered, “Look at that. The puffed-up little toad wants to fight.”
“He, he, he,” snickered his companion.
The nun screamed again. Akitada kept his eyes on the face of the big ruffian. “All three of you will be in trouble, if you don’t stop your friend this instant,” he announced through gritted teeth.
“What kind of trouble?” asked the big fellow, raising his brows. “You’ll make us wear those big trousers of yours, maybe? Or tickle us with the ribbon on that silly hat?”
“He, he, he, he,” sniggered his companion, flexing beefy hands. Apparently he lacked the gift of witticisms. Possibly-with that vacant look in his small eyes-he lacked any wit at all. But Akitada did him an injustice, because he suddenly asked in a high voice, “He looks like a puffball. You wanna play ball with him, Jiro?” They laughed.
“What business do you have, bothering your betters?” Akitada demanded, casting a hopeful glance down the street behind him. It remained empty, but he now saw that it led to a bridge over one of the canals. He decided to make a quick retreat that way.
While his would-be tormentors were still laughing at his question, he managed to cover half the distance before the big man shouted, “Hey, stop!”
Naturally, Akitada ignored him and kept backing away as fast as he could while stumbling over his trousers. They broke into a run and caught up with him at the bridge. He sidestepped the smaller and quicker of the two, who pelted full speed onto the center of the bridge, where he came to a halt.
The other man slowed in time, narrowing his eyes specula tively. There were no handy sticks or rocks lying about, but a cedar seedling grew just at the edge of the canal. Akitada reached down and pulled it up. The big man snorted with derision and jumped forward, reaching for Akitada’s left arm. Akitada twisted away and shoved the bristly cedar plant straight into the other man’s eyes. The bully screamed and staggered onto the bridge, holding his face. Here he collided with his companion, who had collected his few wits and was rushing to his assistance. Akitada made quick work of tipping both into the canal below by kicking their feet out from under them.
He did not wait to see if they could swim but gathered his trousers and ran up the street. The third man had the nun on the ground. Akitada flung himself on his back. The thug tried to throw him off.
“Run,” Akitada cried to the nun, digging his fingers into the man’s throat. She lay sprawled on the ground in a tangle of robes and silken undergowns, slender legs bare except for her white socks, long black hair tumbling from under her veil, and eyes huge with terror. She scrambled to her feet, gathered up her skirts, and took off up the street.
He saw no more, for he was whipped around and his back and head made violent and painful contact with the wall behind. The nun’s assailant was choking, but he knew a few things about street fighting. With a grunt of pain, Akitada let go and slipped off the man’s back.
The situation had deteriorated, for if the other two had climbed out of the canal, he was faced with three angry hoodlums who would hardly settle for robbing him of his fine outfit and the amusement of watching him run off in naked humiliation. In fact, the brute who had attacked the nun was so outraged at the interruption of the rape that he came at Akitada with fists flying. Akitada ducked, but not fast enough. His eye took the full impact of the fist. He sat down abruptly on the ground.
Lights flashed wildly inside his head. He knew he must move, must take some action, but he could do no more than raise his arms to protect his head. He fully expected a vicious beating, but instead his ears registered shouts and receding footsteps. Cautiously he lowered his arms, pushed his lopsided hat out of his face, and saw with his good eye that his assailant was running toward the bridge, where his wet companions were making frantic gestures for him to hurry. Slowly and painfully, Akitada turned his head the other way.
A very odd-looking old man with a long staff was coming down the street.
Akitada was too surprised to get up. The man was covered from head to toe in a large, extraordinary garment of many colors and patterns vaguely reminiscent of the patchwork stoles worn by Buddhist clergy, and his staff seemed to have a Buddha figure at its top. He was not a monk, because he had luxurious white hair and a full beard.
The white-beard stopped in front of him, and uttered a hoarse, “Ah!” Bending forward a little, he studied Akitada with the detached interest of a small boy who has found a strange lizard or beetle. Akitada bowed from his sitting position. The old man bowed back.
“Thank you for coming to my aid, Uncle,” said Akitada, using the polite term for an elderly person of the lower classes. He thought the old fellow must be one of the poor eccentrics who lived on a few coins or a bowl of food donated by the servants of the wealthy. He was probably senile, but such venerable age demanded courtesy, regardless of condition. And he was grateful that he had come tottering along when he did.
“You are welcome,” said the old man gravely.
Akitada got to his feet. He was puzzled why the thugs had run, and looked around for a constable or perhaps a soldier. But the street was empty. Various aches and pains made themselves felt. He arched his back, decided that it was only bruised, and found that a sleeve was torn from his robe. He brushed at the dirt on his skirts and inspected the tears and stains in his white trousers ruefully. He hoped his clothes could be mended but had his doubts. Still, it might have ended worse. Now that the excitement was over, he began to feel angry.
“You should do something about that eye,” said the old man, bending closer and peering at him critically.
The eye had swollen shut and throbbed unpleasantly, but Akitada’s good eye revealed that the old man’s eccentric garment, though dirty and a bit ragged, was a patchwork of fine silks and brocades and that his staff was beautifully carved and lacquered. Wondering, Akitada asked, “Did you see what happened?”
“I see most things.”
“Then you saw the nun and the three men who attacked us?”
The old face creased in thought. “Perhaps. There are many nuns about. Also robbers and thieves. Were they robbers?”
“Yes.” Akitada decided that the old-timer probably could not see very well. “Do you often pass this way,
