Because of Fujiwara marriagepolitics, intrigue within the imperial family was always a danger, andpunishment usually fell heavily on the innocent, on loyal servants and dutifulofficials along with their families, rather than the highly placed principals.
Therefore Akitada stared at theelegant paper with particular horror. It lay on his desk between the blackarrow which had killed Kaibara and saved Akitada’s life and the lacquered boxof Tamako’s shell-matching game. Men played deadly games everywhere. Not onlywas he about to risk his life to secure this province, but the letter representeda bloody upheaval about to happen in the capital, and on his, Akitada’s,report. Yet duty required him to make this report. By a twist of fate, he wasforced to destroy lives, careers, and families, perhaps his own included, whenhe had struggled all along to avoid bloodshed.
Akitada knew that another manwould burn the letter and forget its contents. Echigo was a remote province. Ifthe insurrection collapsed here, the disaffected prince in the capital mightwell give up his aspirations.
But weighed against the presentand future danger to the emperor, this was not an option open to Akitada. Whatif the news of the collapse of the northern uprising prompted desperate actionin the capital? And what guarantee was there that an ambitious prince might notplot again, and again?
He raised his hands to his faceand groaned.
“What is the matter, husband?”Tamako had entered silently, wide-eyed with concern. She looked frail in themorning light, her hands resting protectively on her swelling body.
Akitada smiled bleakly. “I amafraid I may have failed both of us,” he said. “I no longer know what is to bedone.” He closed his eyes. “And I think I am about to fail the emperor nomatter how I choose to act.”
He heard the rustle of her silkgown as she sank down next to him, then felt the warmth of her body pressed tohis. “You cannot fail me,” she whispered, “no matter what you do. It is not inyou.” She withdrew a little. “You will fail yourself only if you shirk yourduty. And how can you fail the emperor if you obey his laws and perform yourduty?”
He shook his head and smiled alittle at her fervor. “Here,” he said, pushing the letter toward her. “Thisaffects you and our unborn child as well. Read it!”
She read. “Whose is this?” sheasked.
“It is Prince Okisada’s seal.”
She drew in her breath sharply.“I see.” Her eye fell on the arrow on his desk. “Would you aim an arrow into adark cave because you thought a bear was moving inside?”
A bear? A cave? What did shemean? Perversely, Tamako’s words conjured up another memory: White Bear, Kaoru’sdog. Kaoru’s long bow. Akitada’s hand went to the arrow. By its length and rarefeather it was a contest arrow, not an ordinary soldier’s issue. He recalledHitomaro’s amazement at Kaoru’s bow, his skill with it. Like his coroner, hisnew sergeant of constables was an enigma.
The more he thought about it,Kaoru’s education and his difference from the other outcasts were mysteries hehad not pursued because there were more urgent problems to be solved. Was thisjust a minor puzzle, or was it at the heart of the Uesugi stranglehold on thisprovince? And how was it connected to Kaibara’s death?
“Akitada?”
He was snatched back to thepresent. “What?”
“I only meant that you cannotknow the situation in the capital. If you release the arrow, it may merelywound the bear, or kill its cub. Then you may be hurt instead.”
How astute she was. “Yes. I know. That is the problem.” He turned his attention to the arrow again,twisting it this way and that.
Tamako frowned. “A hunter might wait for another opportunity,” she remarked anxiously.
“Yes. You are quite right.Thank you.” He smiled at her, noting that the protective hand rested on her softly rounded belly again. Women played by their own rules, followed their own concept of honor, he thought and was surprised at the discovery.
She blushed as if she had read his mind. “Forgive me. It was not my place to advise you.”
“On the contrary. I think you have helped me solve another mystery.”
“Oh?” Her pale face lit up,then looked puzzled. “Again?”
“Yes. Your final match in our shell game led me to Sunada.”
“The ladies with the lutes!”She clapped her hands. “But how?”
“The murdered woman owned a lute, a very expensive, rare one. After the murder, that lute was gone. I realized that only Sunada could have bought it, or had the taste to do so. And he would have taken it away with him.”
“How horrible!” Tamako’s eyeswere large with shock. Then she added quickly, “But he must have loved her very much to have spoiled her so,” and her eyes lit up as if a thought had crossed her mind. She glanced at the shell-matching game. “Did the game … cost very much?” she asked, half hopeful, half afraid.
Akitada did not know how to answer. He had paid much less than it was worth. Had not the curio dealer said the shell-matching game had been ordered as a gift for an Uesugi lady years ago? He had a dim memory of those same flowers and grasses among the decorations on a suit of armor in the Takata armory.
Would Tamako think he did not love her? The female mind drew the most astonishing conclusions sometimes. He said, joking though his heart was afraid, “However you might rate my affection,I certainly would never entertain any murderous thoughts.”
Puzzlement, then comprehension and embarrassment passed quickly over her face. But to Akitada’s relief, she burst into laughter. Tamako laughed like a child, eyes sparkling, head thrown back, pink lips revealing perfect white teeth. She rarely practiced the custom of blackening her teeth as ladies in the capital did. And this was not ladylike laughter either. It was wholly infectious, and Akitada joined in.
The door opened, and Tora looked in curiously. Behind him Hamaya and the two clerks craned their necks.
Akitada glanced back at his wife.Her hand now covered her mouth in the prescribed manner, but above it her eyes sparkled with mirth.
“Come in, Tora,” said Akitada,smiling at his wife, who rose and, bowing to him, left the room. “What is it?”
“Kaoru sent me. Sunada wants totalk to you. Kaoru doesn’t dare leave, not after what happened with the Omeyawoman. He’s afraid Sunada might kill himself.”
“Thank you,” Akitada said,jumping up, “this could be important. Anything I can use to avoid open war withUesugi would be heaven-sent.”
The atmosphere around the jail was tense. Guards manned the entrance to keep away the curious. In spite of this, two cripples had taken up position near the steps and raised sad faces to Akitada. He could not understand their piteous cries and was about to toss them some coppers, when Tora said, “Sunada’s servants. They followed him and have sat here ever since.”
In the common room more constables snapped to attention. Kaoru was seated outside Sunada’s cell door.He looked tired, but rose immediately and bowed to Akitada.
“Sergeant,” said Akitada, “I want you to send one of the constables to Captain Takesuke and request five of his best men to carry a dispatch to the capital.” His eyes fell on the barred window of a cell door which was suddenly crowded with three familiar faces.
Only Takagi’s wore the usual vacant smile. Umehara looked pale and frightened, and Okano had been weeping.
“Why are they locked up again?”Akitada asked.
“I did not want to take any chances this time, sir,” Kaoru said in a low voice. “Not after my recent negligence.”
“Let them out.”
The three men tumbled out hurriedly to express their gratitude. Okano, who had a flowered scarf tied about his face, looked more like a farmer’s wife than ever. He insisted on kissing the hem of Akitada’s gown. Umehara was gabbling something about salmon stew, and Takagi asked for his gold coins again.