“Thank you.” She gave a shiver and changed the subject. “It seems strange to feel fear in this beautiful place.”
“Genba will take care of that when he gets here.”
“You are very good.”
A brief silence fell. No doubt she wished him gone, but Akitada still hoped for something more, some small piece of information he might use to find Tomoe’s killer. “May I ask your father’s name?” he asked.
She stiffened. “It cannot matter. I bear the Yasugi name now.”
So she still tried to protect her secret. He could not probe further and bowed to her. “Thank you for your hospitality,” he said formally. “If you permit it, I shall take another stroll about the garden to make sure all is well. Genba should arrive at your front gate within the hour. He’s a big man with a large smile.”
She murmured her thanks, and he stepped off the veranda and onto the garden path. The events of the day had finally managed to give him a headache. He looked forward to a hot bath, food, and bed. Retracing his steps, he checked the gardens and service buildings, visited the back gate again, finding it securely locked, and explored the shrubbery underneath the troublesome pine branch. Eventually he made his way to the front gate, where he found Anju waiting for him.
She said ungraciously, “I have to let you out. The gate can only be locked from the inside.”
He nodded. “Keep an eye on your mistress. If you can find a sharper weapon than your master’s sword, use it. As soon as Genba arrives, you can relax.”
She bowed. “I’m sure the master will be much obliged.”
The two wings of the big double gate were barred by a ponderous beam that it would take two sturdy men to lift. But a smaller gate was cut into one of the panels. This was bolted by two sliding bars. A short chain led from this gate to a bamboo rattle. Nobody could pass in or out without alerting the household. He waited for her to open this gate, but she stared at him, almost as if she were still trying to decide if he was friend or foe. Then she made a strange sound, something between a grunt and a chuckle, and slipped the bars back. The small gate flew open with a loud rattle of the bamboo sticks, and he stepped through.
“It’s Murata,” she said.
He turned, but the gate slammed shut with another rattle, and he heard the bolts slide into place and her footsteps recede.
For a moment he was confused. Murata? Had he misheard? What had she meant by it? Then it came to him that she must have given him Lady Yasugi’s family name. Most helpful, of course, but why had she done so in defiance of her mistress’s wishes?
Perhaps Anju had a purpose of her own. Her mistress had made it clear that, far from being her devoted servant, Anju was her watchdog, loyal only to Lord Yasugi. But this was surely not in her master’s interest. Akitada wondered again about the relationship between the wealthy lord and his third wife. Perhaps, being elderly and uncertain of his power to attract a pretty young woman, Yasugi was filled with jealous suspicions.
Lady Kose had said he had taken pity on her because she had been a poor widow. Strange, he had almost forgotten that. As she had not given Yasugi any children, her position was especially weak. It lent some credence to her claim that she was afraid to have Yasugi find out about Tomoe. But was any husband so unreasonable as to hold a harmless meeting between sisters against his wife? No, it was more likely that she feared the connection because of some past indiscretion. And Anju? Why was she making trouble for her mistress?
He was suddenly exhausted. Rubbing his throbbing head, he cast another glance at the Yasugi villa’s imposing gates, many tiled roofs, and well-kept walls, and went home through the evening dusk.
Genba admitted him with the news that Tora had not returned yet. He was chewing, and Akitada was tired and irritated. He said sharply, “Why are you always eating? For heaven’s sake, at least put the food away and empty your mouth when you answer the gate.”
Genba hung his head. “Sorry, sir. My supper. Your lady is sending me out on errands and I grabbed a bite while I could.”
“Hmm… I’m afraid I have another, more important assignment for you.”
Genba looked nervous. “Her ladyship needs ink, paper, and brushes to teach the young master. And cook wants more rice and some dried fish.”
“I don’t care what they told you,” Akitada snapped. “You have no time for silly errands. You’re to go to a villa in the western city. I found two women there alone and had to chase a ruffian away who had climbed into their garden. Heaven knows what would have happened if I hadn’t come along. He was one of the men who attacked us yesterday.”
Genba broke in, “You found the nun?”
“Yes, but she’s no nun. She is Lady Yasugi, wife of a wealthy provincial lord, and she has only a maid with her. They expect an escort to take them to their country estate, but meanwhile they’re in desperate danger. Take your bow and arrows and a short sword. And hurry. It’s growing dark already, and those thugs will probably return at nightfall.” He gave Genba directions and then went into the house.
Tamako and his son were in her room, sitting close together, looking at a scroll of pictures and poems by the light of a tall candle. Yori scrambled up, crying, “Come and see the fine book Mother found. There are pictures of rabbits and foxes, and of frogs and birds. And all of them are dressed like people.”
Akitada swung his small son up into his arm and went to look. Tamako greeted him with a smile. “Welcome home. Your eye looks much better.”
He doubted that, but nodded. “You make a charming picture reading together. How is Yori’s reading coming along?”
“Oh, exceedingly well,” she said brightly.
“I hate reading,” Yori informed his father. “I’d much rather practice with my sword.”
His mother flushed and shook her head at Yori. Something about that small message between mother and son irritated Akitada.
“Come, Yori,” he told the boy, “let’s sit down and you can read to me what it says next to these pictures.”
Tamako said quickly, “It is in grass writing and too difficult for a child of Yori’s age.”
Akitada glanced at the book. The writing looked pretty simple to him. “Why? He has been studying with Seimei for two years now. At least he can guess at some of the words. Here, Yori. What is it that the frog says to the rabbit?”
Yori bent over the page and giggled. “‘Why don’t you jump into the pond, silly rabbit?’ And the rabbit says, ‘I don’t like to get my fur coat wet!” He giggled again and rolled the scroll to the next picture.
Akitada firmly returned to the picture and said, “That’s not at all what is written here. Try again.”
Yori stuck out his lower lip. “I don’t want to. I like my story better.”
“Yori,” said his father sternly, “you cannot always have things the way you want them. We must learn to read and write so that we can carry out our duties to the gods and our emperor when we grow up. Now read!”
But Yori could not or would not. He ran to his mother and hid his face against her shoulder.
“Why is he refusing a simple request?” Akitada asked his wife.
Tamako sighed. “Yori is still practicing his Chinese characters and cannot read grass writing yet. He tries, but it’s very difficult. I well remember how I struggled and how ashamed I was when my father. ..” She stopped when she saw Akitada’s face and said, “He’s still very little.”
“He is nearly five. I could read when I was his age. Girls are not expected to learn as quickly.” A sharp pain shot through Akitada’s head. “It seems to me that you pamper Yori too much. Seimei tries to make him do his work, but you only sit and look at pictures with him and so, of course, he runs to you when he should be hard at work. I’m not pleased with his progress.” He glared at Yori in his mother’s protective embrace. The realization that Yori preferred her company rankled.