Genba frowned. “Yes, terrible story, but what has she got to do with anything?”
“Maybe revenge. Maybe nothing. The master and I thought if we could find someone who really hated Tokuzo, we could tell Kobe about it.”
“The master is very kind, seeing he has his own troubles.”
“You’re family, Genba.”
Genba hung his head and muttered something.
“What? You did what?”
Genba sighed.
“You told the master you’re leaving him? You can’t be serious. You can never leave him. You’ve sworn to protect him and his family.”
“I’m no good anymore,” said Genba, his voice breaking.
Tora shook his head. He looked from Saburo to Genba. “So. Both of you have turned your backs on him. For shame!” He strode to the cell door and pounded on it. “We’re going,” he shouted.
Saburo got up. “He told me to leave.”
Tora just gave him a look.
The door creaked open. Behind them, Genba had gotten to his feet. “I think, “ he said, “he smelled like he’d just come from the bath house.”
The Mountain Villa
Having to wait for whatever Lady Kishi or his sister Akiko might report frustrated Akitada, who normally handled such errands himself. Since the ministries observed their two days of rest per week, he decided he would take a look at the place where Lady Masako had died. Thus, the day following Akiko’s visit, he got on his horse early in the morning and set out.
It was springtime in the countryside. He had almost forgotten about that in the capital. Or rather, he had been too preoccupied with his various troubles. Now he and his horse enjoyed the gallop through rice fields still under water and ready for their first seedlings. The sun was very bright and reflected blindingly from the watery surfaces.
Akitada’s spirits lifted. The sight of farmers planting their fields, ensuring rice harvests that would feed the nation, filled him with pride. It was hard and humble work, performed by poor, uneducated men and women, but it gave his country its strength. The gods watched over the rice culture, and the emperor himself worshipped them, bowing deeply to these kami, and praying for a good harvest every year. Surely, before such blessings, his own troubles counted for little.
When he reached the foothills, woods closed in on the narrow road, and the scent of pine and cryptomeria hung in the moist air. Bright green ferns uncurled from cushions of darker green moss, and small star-shaped flowers bloomed among them. Then the road turned rough and stony as it climbed ever more steeply into the mountains. Soon the trip became arduous for rider and horse.
Akitada’s thoughts turned to Lady Masako’s death and brought a feeling of danger that became more palpable the close he came to the top of the mountain. He looked over his shoulder from time to time, but saw no one on this path. Even so, he shivered with a strange foreboding.
At a turn in the path was a small clearing, and here stood a simple hut that must be the caretaker’s. On its wooden stoop an old man sat in the sun, dozing. Apparently he had not heard Akitada’s approach even though his horse made a good deal of noise on the loose rocks.
“Good Morning, Uncle!” Akitada called out. It was a common form of address for elderly men. But this old man seemed ancient, and he might have used “grandfather.” This time, he turned his head slightly and grunted a reply. Something about his unfocused glance told Akitada that he must be partially blind. It did not promise well for finding out who had visited the prince’s villa last winter.
His horse was tired, and Akitada dismounted to let it graze beside the path. Walking up to the old man, he asked, “Are you Prince Atsuhira’s servant?”
The old man blinked, cleared his throat, and asked in a cracked voice, “Who are you?”
“Lord Sugawara. A friend of your master’s.”
The old man reached beside him and brought forth an old kettle and a stick of wood that might have been part of a broom or rake once. With the stick, he beat on the kettle, producing high, reverberating sounds that sliced the air and sent a number of birds into flight and Akitada’s horse into the woods.
Akitada covered his ears. Was the man demented? “Stop that!” he shouted.
The man put the kettle and stick down and gave him a toothless smile. Then he leaned back against the door jamb, closed his eyes, and went back to sleep.
It was hopeless. Akitada turned away. He could see the roof of the villa among the trees on the crest. How could such an old, blind, and demented man take care of anything, let alone a building easily half a mile and a steep climb away?
He shook his head and caught his horse.
He had just swung himself back into the saddle when he heard someone coming up the path and turned. An old woman was climbing toward him, bent double under a huge pile of brushwood tied to her back.
He watched her reach the hut, then stop and release the rope tying the load to her back. She straightened and looked at the dozing old man.
“What d’you want, old man?” she shouted.
He opened his eyes and pointed to Akitada.
So the banging on the kettle had brought the old woman, most likely the man’s wife. Akitada smiled. They had their own ways of communicating.
The old woman had turned and now regarded him with slack-jawed surprise.
Akitada dismounted again. “I’m Lord Sugawara,” he told her. “I’ve come to talk to you and your husband about what happened last winter and to have a look at the villa.”
She said, “I didn’t hear you coming up the road. Sorry, sir. My hearing’s not good anymore.” She glanced at her husband and chuckled. “But my eyes are still good. Between us, we manage. Nobody’s been here since then. His highness and the police were here then, and a gentleman who’s a friend of the master’s. His highness was in such a state. How is he now?”
“Still not very well. That’s why I’m here. Sometimes three pairs of eyes and ears are better than two. I suppose the police officer asked you if anyone went up to the villa the night Lady Masako died.”
She nodded. “Nobody came but the pretty lady and his highness, sir. That’s what I told them. It was a terrible thing, such a pretty young lady killing herself like that! And his highness never knowing what she was about.”
“You expected both of them that day?”
She looked down and twisted her hands in her mended robe. “They’d come when they could. They were in love,” she murmured. “You could tell. They were so much in love, so happy.” She sighed and wiped her eyes.
“These visits had happened before, and you had seen them together?”
She looked up briefly, then glanced in the direction of the villa. “Four times. The first two times they came together. His highness stopped and asked us to make a fire and heat some wine he’d had brought along. Then they sent us home. The other times, they didn’t come together. His highness told us to keep things ready for them, and they didn’t stop but went straight up. Him on his black horse with the white patch, and her on her gay one. Both looking so handsome. Like something in a fairy tale.” She dabbed at her eyes again.
She was clearly a romantic soul, but Akitada stuck to the important facts. “And the last time, the fifth time?”
“The last time was the fourth time, sir.”
Well, that was very precise; she seemed to have an excellent memory. Akitada glanced at her husband, who was awake now and was watching them with a smile. “Does your husband remember it the same way?”
The old man said, “It’s a busy day. Coming and going.” He chuckled.
“He’s not himself most of the time, so you can’t tell what he remembers. We’re getting old. Don’t know what’s to become of us now.”
There were more victims in this case than Lady Masako and her imperial lover. Akitada said, “I’ll try to remind the prince. Perhaps he’ll let you move back to the city and get someone younger to stay here.”