joins the neck and laughed.
“That was stupid,” he drawled. “Of course I can’t let you live.”
With his face pressed into fresh chicken droppings, Akitada prepared to die. Death was never pretty, but better in chicken dung and by the sword than the way poor Yori had died. Better in a fight like a man, not like a blind woman running from a maniac’s knife. He thought of Tamako and braced himself.
But Matsue did not strike. Somewhere in the distance Akitada heard the sound of a galloping horse. He twisted aside, felt Matsue’s foot slipping, and grabbed for his legs. Matsue came down on top of him and knocked the breath out of his lungs. Akitada had only one thought, to get the sword back. A violent struggle ensued, but this time it was Akitada who rose with the sword in his hand.
The rider came to a halt in a cloud of dust and squawking, fluttering chickens. The slender figure in gray straddled the horse, controlling the animal with expert ease. Hiroko was certainly no obedient female.
“Is he the murderer?” she demanded.
Wiping the dung off his face, Akitada thought she looked as magnificent as those ancient warrior goddesses who rode and fought like men. “Yes,” he said wearily.
Matsue got up and stared at the fierce woman on the horse.
She looked back at him and her face contorted into a mask of fury. “Then what are you waiting for?” she cried. “You’ve got the sword back. Use it.”
Matsue exploded into action and flung himself at Akitada with a howl. Again they struggled for the sword, again the chickens scattered and cackled. Hiroko shouted. The horse snorted and danced just feet away. Matsue was desperate, but this time Akitada hung on to the sword and managed to free his arm. He started to back off, when Matsue delivered a vicious kick to his stomach that sent him staggering backward to the ground.
Hiroko screamed shrilly, and Akitada scrambled to his feet.
The horse burst past him, tossing him aside, its hooves barely missing him. He heard a shout, the sound of a thudding impact, and a howl of pain. Matsue was down. He lay moaning and twitching, as Hiroko spun the horse around in a spray of gravel and rode over him a second time. This time, Matsue lay still.
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
Matsue was motionless, but he was alive. Blood trickled from a head wound, and he had a broken leg and probably other injuries.
“Is he dead?” Hiroko slipped from Akitada’s horse and came to look. “No? I meant to kill him.”
“Why?”
“I’ve dreamed for years of murdering the man who destroyed us.” She handed Akitada the reins. “I’ll take the other horse and go on by myself.”
Akitada was aware of a sense of shame. Twice he had let Matsue get the upper hand and once he had been disarmed. And Hiroko had watched the whole ignominious affair. “No,” he said without looking at her. “I’m coming with you. You may run into your husband or his people.”
She said nothing and walked to the shed to get Matsue’s horse. Akitada looked after her, trying to think how to thank her for coming to his rescue. When she rejoined him, he said awkwardly, “You probably saved my life.”
“It was nothing. I’m only sorry he still lives.”
Her manner rankled. “Matsue must live to confess to his crime in court. Help me get him inside. He’s not going anywhere with that broken leg, and I’ll get back as quickly as I can.”
They had dragged the large Matsue almost to the threshold, when a small, bandy-legged peasant arrived and watched them in astonishment. He pointed at the unconscious Matsue. “What happened to my cousin?”
Akitada straightened up, wondering if this was a new complication. “An accident,” he said. “You must be the one who manages his property.”
The man thought the question over carefully, then nodded. “I work here.” He thought some more, letting his eyes move over them. “What kind of accident?”
“His horse threw him.”
The peasant looked at the horse and at the dead chickens and spat. “Horses aren’t for peasants. I told him so, but he got angry and hit me.” Shaking his head, he helped Akitada carry Matsue inside the house, where they dropped him on the floor.
Apparently the cousin had little love for Matsue and was not particularly bright. Akitada said, “He has a broken leg and got a knock on the head, so he may be babbling nonsense when he wakes up. Don’t pay any attention. Just put a splint on his leg, keep him still, and give him a bit of water now and then. We’ll borrow his horse for a little, but I shall bring it back by tonight.”
Matsue’s cousin nodded, and Akitada went back outside, where he helped Hiroko to mount and swung himself in the saddle.
They were both lost in unpleasant thoughts. Akitada ruminated about his pathetic performance with Matsue and assumed she did the same. No doubt she thought him completely inept. More to break the long, awkward silence than out of curiosity, he asked, “Where did you learn to ride like that?”
“Haseo taught all of us. It’s the warrior’s way.”
After another silence, Akitada said, “I should not have let so much time pass before righting this wrong.”
“It was good of you to think of us at all.”
He gave up. She had become indifferent, possibly even hostile. It served him right for desiring what could not be his. For a while they rode in silence through a land of green rice paddies, while he mulled over his long list of poor judgments and the human losses his inadequacy had caused. And always, in the back of his mind, the heaviest guilt of all. But that wound to his conscience was much too deep to dwell on, and he resolutely bent his mind to his purpose.
Breaking the second, longer silence, he asked, “Can you tell me anything that might help me find Tomoe’s children? I take it they are not with family or friends?”
“No. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks. What must be going through their minds now that their mother does not visit anymore.”
He did not mince his words. “They may be homeless. Or worse. The money their mother earned was for them. She lived on millet and water.” Hiroko turned a stricken face to him. He knew he burdened her with guilt also, but hiding the facts had brought nothing but tragedy to all of them. “I think they’re in someone’s care, and if that person depends on payment, he or she might be tempted to sell the children. Did she visit them often?”
“Dear heaven. I didn’t know. Yes. Every few weeks, I think. She would spend a day with them. She told me about Nobunari’s studies, and Nobuko’s pretty singing voice.”
“She was blind. How did she make the journey? Did someone take her?”
“No. She trusted no one, but she could make out shapes and managed to walk familiar streets.”
Akitada frowned. “She could have been followed without knowing it.”
Hiroko suddenly looked frightened. “Do you think Yasugi is behind this?”
“I don’t know who killed her. At the moment I’m worried about the children. You say the boy was being taught by someone. Did she mention a school or a tutor?”
“No. I should have asked. It seems now that I was always talking about my own troubles.” She hung her head.
A common failing, he thought, and more guilt to spread around.
But at least Hiroko was reunited with her daughter without further incident. When they reached the farm, the little girl was sitting under a tree.
“Suriko,” called Lady Yasugi. The little girl jumped up, shaded her eyes against the sun, and then ran toward them. Two women came from the house. Akitada looked for the men, but apparently they were working the fields.
