He cast a glance around in case one of the sohei was lurking. Seeing nobody, he went to the shed.
The smell of blood was strong. Saburo’s body was gone, but four others lay about. The ground was wet and slick with blood. Tora checked them. All sohei and all dead. Two had died from the wounds he had dealt them, but the other two had been merely disabled. Now they had their throats cut.
He looked around, half hoping. If Saburo had killed them, then he might not be too badly hurt.
“Saburo?”
An answering shout came from the hut. He walked across. The door stood open. Clutching the sword, Tora looked in.
Saburo sat on the floor. Beside him knelt the wood gatherer’s wife, her face bloody and bruised, but her hands busy bandaging Saburo’s left thigh. The bandage was leaking blood, and Tora guessed that he had been slashed badly.
“How is it, brother?” he asked.
“It will do. Did you get that bastard Kojo?”
“Yes.”
Tora’s strength gave way again, and he flopped down.
“Are you wounded?” Saburo asked anxiously.
“I don’t think so. Just very tired. And my head hurts.”
“Sorry, brother.”
“It’s nothing.” He looked at the young woman. “I’m very sorry,” he told her. “We saw, but we were too far away. Are you all right?”
She looked back at him with dull eyes. “No,” she said. “But it was my karma.” She glanced over to a corner of the room. Tora saw that she or Saburo had put her child there. The boy was much too still. “He was a very good boy,” she said. “He always did what we told him.” She bowed her head, then looked back up at Tora. “Why?” she asked him. “Why did they kill such a good little boy?”
Tora sighed. “I don’t know, love,” he said heavily. “I don’t know why terrible things happen. I’m very sorry we couldn’t stop them.”
“Not your fault,” she said listlessly and finished tying Saburo’s bandage.
“What will you do?” Saburo asked.
“Go home and ask my neighbors to help me bring my husband home. I’ll carry Kaoru myself.”
“You’re not hurt?” Tora asked.
“I’m strong,” she said and go to her feet.
Tora said, “We have horses, back in the woods.” It was a long way and uphill, but he would have to go and get them. Saburo could not walk.
“No. I want to go alone.” She lifted her dead child to cradle him in her arms and kiss his bloody face.
Tora started to his feet, but Saburo said quietly, “Let her go. She needs her grief.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
A Strange Case
Akitada reached his bed long after Kosehira’s household had retired. A sleepy porter had admitted him and taken his horse. Akitada was thankful that the sure-footed beast had known its way home on its own. His bedding had been laid out by Kosehira’s servants, and he flung his robe over the clothing stand, pulled off his boots, and fell asleep as soon as he lay down.
The next morning promised another sunny day. Akitada woke late, avoided the garden, washed, dressed, and ate the gruel provided by another servant, then headed for the stables. Kosehira joined him shortly and they rode to work together.
“I’m almost finished with the temple investigation,” Akitada said casually on the way.
“Ah. What will you do next?”
Here it was. Akitada smiled at his friend. “I must return to my duties in the capital.”
This clearly distressed Kosehira, who said nothing for a moment.
“You have been a kind, generous, and patient host. I shall always remember this visit fondly,” Akitada added.
He would always remember it for quite different reasons; for that matter, he had used almost the same words to bid her goodbye.
Kosehira said, “I’m sorry.” His tone was almost funereal. He added for good measure, “Sorrier than you’ll ever know.”
Akitada could not let this pass. “Why? I shall not be far away, and we shall meet again in the capital. I hope you come often.”
Kosehira looked into the distance, a distance that consisted of the great lake, shimmering in the sun and surrounded by green mountains. “It’s just … I had hoped …” He paused, then asked, “But what about the Great Shrine Festival? You were going to stay for that and have your children join us.”
Ashamed, Akitada muttered something about not having reckoned on finishing quite so early and not having permission to stay away from the ministry. It sounded lame, but Kosehira did not argue.
At the tribunal, they went their separate ways, and Akitada returned to the archives to discuss his report with the others.
Essentially, both temples had engaged in quasi-legal land transfers to themselves by offering landowners tax free status. Since Akitada disapproved strongly of these attempts to evade fair taxes, he had made a careful list of all the cases during the past decade, with the recommendation to disallow them. Nothing would come of this, but he thought those who complained all the time that taxes had shrunk and demands on the government grown should see one reason why this was so.
More complicated were cases where temples had appropriated land without the approval of the owners. In some situations, this involved land grabs of unimproved acreages belonging to the emperor with the promise to turn the land into productive rice fields. This option was granted to tax-paying landowners, but it had been the temples that had accumulated vast acreage this way.
Lastly there was the matter of disputed land, that is, of land claimed by both temples. All of these cases had been carefully traced through the documents, and the outcome showed that Onjo-ji had legal rights in nine of the cases, while Enryaku-ji could claim only one disputed tract.
“Enryaku-ji won’t like it,” the tribunal archivist remarked, smiling with satisfaction.
Kunyoshi, the imperial archivist, was quick to dash such hopes. “We can assert the correctness of our findings, but getting them to hand back the land is another matter.”
Akitada said, “It doesn’t matter. I shall write my report and urge strongly that the various abuses be stopped immediately and that Enryaku-ji be assessed a penalty for its strong-arm methods. Following upon the attack on the tribunal, we may, for once, see some small measure of success.”
They nodded their agreement.
Akitada thanked them for their work, adding, “The rest of the chore is mine. I shall remain to write my report. You will want to wish to return to your families.”
They did and left quite happily.
Akitada stayed behind to work on his report. The archives were disconcertingly empty. Only Kosehira’s archivist and a clerk were still present, and they worked at returning all the documents to their proper places. Their voices reached his ears from time to time, as did noises of moving ladders and, once, of dropped boxes.
But it was not this that kept him from concentrating on his writing. Neither was it the complex nature of the case. He had prepared his notes carefully and could work quickly from them.
Yukiko he put firmly from his mind.
The matter of the murders troubled him, however, as did the fact that he would have to leave things in the hands of Chief Takechi. He expected to be gone from Otsu the next morning. True, Takechi was a capable man and it was his case after all. But even so he felt that he was letting him down—and Kosehira, too—by withdrawing from the investigation at this point.
As for Yukiko: he no longer saw his departure as a cowardly flight. Their relationship had reached the point where his continued proximity was embarrassing and painful for her. No, he must leave. And so he worked industriously until midday when thoughts of the murders intruded again and his stomach growled. Rinsing out and putting down his brush, he stretched his stiff back, and got up. He would have another meal with Takechi and settle matters between them.