not expected to fill in for him?” Access to the imperial residence was restricted to nobles of the fifth rank and above, and he did not qualify.
“I’m afraid so, sir. I’ve taken the liberty to send a message that His Excellency is away and that you’re taking his place. I expect that you’ll be given special permission.”
“Dear heaven,” said Akitada again and glanced down at himself. “But I cannot go like this.” When Nakatoshi did not reply, he got to his feet. “I suppose I’d better go home and change into my court robe.”
“I shall take care of business here, sir.” Nakatoshi gave him an encouraging nod, perhaps because Akitada’s lack of enthusiasm was so manifest.
Akitada reentered his home less than an hour after he left it. The first person he encountered was Tamako. She looked pale and drawn and-shockingly-very sad. Bowing, she asked, “Is anything wrong?”
He tried to gauge her mood. Had she been crying? “It appears the emperor is really ill. I must change into my court robe and call at the palace.”
“How terrible,” she murmured. “I hope he will recover. Allow me to be of assistance.”
Feeling guilty, he protested, “That’s not necessary. Seimei…” But Seimei was ill. There was no way to avoid her company. The court robe was a very awkward costume to get into and out of.
She said, “Seimei is resting. I believe he is better, but not well enough to get up. I am sorry that I can offer only my own clumsy services.”
Tamako was not clumsy about anything she did. Such phrases were common in polite exchanges between married people who merely tolerated each other. He felt his stomach twist with misery. “Thank you.”
In his room, he undressed silently while she lit incense in a long-handled burner. The room filled with the heavy aromatic scent of expensive male perfume. Akitada wrinkled his nose at it. She lifted the court robe, the train, and the full white silk trousers from their trunk and spread them over a wooden stand.
“I tore the trousers and the robe,” he said. “Did someone mend them?”
“Yes.” She took the incense burner by its handle and passed it back and forth under the stand, letting the faint spiral of scented smoke rise into the folds of the clothing. “It was not too bad. The robe only needed re- stitching, and the tears are hardly noticeable in the fullness of fabric.”
“Thank you.” He stood there, feeling helpless and uncomfortable in his underrobe and stockinged feet. Belatedly he remembered his cap. Risking a glance at the mirror, he winced, took off the cap, and studied his eye. The bruises, though they had faded, were still there and made him look like a hooligan.
“I have some cosmetics,” she said. “They should hide those bruises.”
“I’m not wearing powder and paint,” he said, shocked by the notion.
She bowed her head. “I am sorry. I should not have suggested it.”
They fell silent again as he waited for her to finish perfuming his clothes.
After a long while, he said, “I should not have spoken so harshly to you earlier. Especially when it turns out that you were quite right about the emperor.”
“It does not matter,” she said listlessly.
She held out the silk trousers, and he put his hands on her shoulders as he stepped into them. Their physical closeness was an irritant, and he stepped away from her as soon as he could. Feeling guilty, he searched for something else conciliatory to say. “Let Yori practice his reading until we can buy more paper and brushes.”
“As you wish.” She helped him with the gown and seemed to avoid touching him, then turned to get his sash, his elaborate headgear, and his baton of office. Kneeling before him, she placed these articles at his feet and bowed. “Do you wish for anything else?”
“N-no. Thank you.” He watched as she rose and left the room-so silently that he was aware only of the softest rustle of silk and the slightest whisper of her feet on the polished boards. The door closed noiselessly. It was as if his wife had dissolved into air. Putting on the sash by himself was a struggle.
His progress on the way back was awkward, as always when he was forced to wear formal dress. Nakatoshi awaited him with the official pass that would admit him to the Imperial Palace. Sakae hovered in the background, looking smug. Akitada took the opportunity to apologize for having doubted him earlier. Sakae’s smug expression turned into a smirk. He accepted the apology with a humility that was as excessive as it was false.
At Kenreimon, the central gate to the Imperial Palace, Akitada presented his pass to an officer of the palace guard, a man much younger than he and well above him in court rank. He was waved through without so much as a curious glance. No doubt a stream of well-wishers had already paid their respects, and Akitada was of less significance than any of them.
Before him lay the inner wall and another gate, Shomeimon, nicknamed the “Bedroom Gate.” It was thatched with cypress bark and only slightly smaller than the outer one. He climbed the three steps, had his credentials and costume inspected by two stern-faced officials, and descended on the other side.
He now stood in the South Court of the Imperial Palace. The Audience Hall, known as the Purple Sanctum, rose directly before him. It was very large but as simple as a Shinto shrine, unpainted and roofed with thick cypress bark. A wide staircase led up to its veranda.
To his right and left were other halls, and beyond the Audience Hall rose more roofs in bewildering succession. Akitada looked around the courtyard, scene of many imperial festivities and sacred rituals, and at the famous cherry and orange trees on either side of the grand staircase. These things he had only heard about. Then he gazed at the people in the courtyard, some walking, others standing about in groups. They were either not afraid of contagion or valued the opportunity to show their devotion more highly. Palace servants in white with tall black hats mingled with courtiers and senior Imperial Guard officers carrying bows and arrows.
Akitada caught some surprised glances at his own robe and retreated nervously. He saw now that the inner wall was a double covered gallery that led off to the east and west, but he did not know where to turn.
One of the officials at the gate had waved casually toward the left. Akitada began to walk that way along the covered gallery. Men passed him, giving him curious stares; he was a stranger here. All of them outranked him, and he did not dare ask them for directions. When he reached another set of steps into the courtyard, he saw that the gallery continued into a separate enclosure and stopped. He looked doubtfully at the two halls ahead. Most visitors seemed to be headed toward the second of these. Akitada followed them into the graveled courtyard and walked under the trees, looking for one of the palace servants. Alas, there were none.
He had just made up his mind to risk interrupting one of the small groups of nobles, when he recognized a face. His old friend Kosehira stood chatting with several others, his pudgy hands fluttering and his round face unusually serious. Akitada stopped.
One of the men with Kosehira noticed him and said something. Kosehira turned, cried out, “If it isn’t Akitada!” and rushed over. Good old Kosehira. He had always treated Akitada as a friend, even if he had long since outstripped him by several ranks.
They embraced. “What did you do to your face?” demanded Kosehira. “Been in the wars again?”
“Just a disagreement with a thug. How are you, Kosehira?”
“Never better. My family grows and my garden is beautiful just now. You must see it. I have moved the waterway and built a charming poetry pavilion in the far corner. It’s so inspiraenve you would have poetry flowing tional that even you vould have poetry flowing from your lips
“Kosehira,” said Akitada nervously with a glance at his friend’s companions, “surely this is not the time and place, when His Majesty is so ill. And aren’t people afraid to come here?”
“Oh, that. Well, we’re not likely to be admitted to his presence. Everyone is very concerned, but I hear he is not too bad. Young people seem to shake these things off so easily. They say he’s hardly marked at all. Dreadful disease, of course. A lot of people have left for the country. All is well at your house, I hope?”
“Yes,” Akitada said, bemused, “and yours?”
“Of course. I’ve added three more children to my brood. Two sons and a puny little girl. I seem to spoil my little ladies more than the boys. And how fares your family? Any new lovely ladies?”
Akitada smiled. “No. Both Tamako and Yori are well.”
Kosehira cocked his head. “Only one child? In all those years? Come, that is too bad of you. I know of any number of well-born young women who would eagerly join your household and provide you with a large family. As a matter of fact, one of my own cousins…”
“Please, Kosehira, not now. I’m here to pay my respects and have no idea where to go.”
Kosehira looked puzzled. “But how did you get in?”
Akitada produced his pass. “I’m representing Soga.”
