“Good morning, wife,” he said.
“Good morning, husband.” She covered herself, then stretched out a hand to touch his face. “You need a shave,” she said.
He kissed her anyway, feeling the surge of desire returning, but suppressed it. They would be embarrassingly late for the congratulations if he delayed.
He got up and found the traditional wedding offering left outside the door. A tray with elegantly arranged rice buns waited there. When he returned with it, Yukiko was sitting up, twisting her hair into a knot. She seemed to him the most exquisitely lovely woman he had ever seen, and she was his. He knelt to offer her the tray.
She smiled, took the top bun, and offered it to him. Looking at each other, they ate the sweet, honey- flavored treats.
“May the gods smile on this day,” he said formally.
Yukiko blinked. “Oh. I almost forgot. It’s the shrine festival today. And the sun is up already. We must hurry, Akitada.” Already she was up, looking for her robe that he had carelessly tossed aside last night to make love to her.
A little disappointed, he said, “I meant it is the day of our marriage.”
She paused, looking stricken. “I’m sorry, Akitada.” And then, “I know I shall make many mistakes.”
He got to his feet to find the robe, placed it around her shoulders, and held her. Burying his face in her scented hair, he murmured, “In my eyes, you can do no wrong. And you’re quite right. We must hurry.”
∞
The preparations for the Grand Shrine Festival took most of the awkwardness from their first appearance together as man and wife. Everybody was far too busy to stare or tease or burden them with best wishes and good advice.
In the courtyard, two ox-drawn carriages stood ready to carry the women and children down to the lake shore. The men would ride. Kosehira, as the governor and a guest of honor, had an escort. Akitada, Kosehira’s sons, and Tora trailed behind. Tora wore his half armor and a sword.
When they reached the lake, they separated. Kosehira was greeted by Abbot Gyomey on behalf of the sponsoring temple, Enryaku-ji, and by the shrine priest of the Hiyoshi-Taisha shrine. Seven mikoshi, the portable shrines containing the kami of the sacred shrines of the mountain, had gathered at Hiyoshi-Taisha in preparation for their boat journey on the lake between Sakamoto and Karasaki. Shrine ceremonies preceded this departure.
Akitada and Kosehira’s sons supervised the arrival of the women and children—who took their places behind screens—and then found their own seats on the grandstands nearby. Tora departed to search the crowds for the puppet man. Takechi and his men were also about.
After the shrine service, the ornate mikoshi began to make their journey to the lake. The procession was solemn and colorful. Shrine priests in red, white, and black attire carried large paper lanterns , shrine maidens, miko, in their traditional red and white jackets and trousers, tossed paper flowers, little boys in court dress performed small dances as they walked, and the mikoshi, very handsome in red lacquer and gilt, each carried by twenty strong, bare-chested young men, passed one by one. The Buddhist priests walked in their black robes, accompanying the image of Monkey, the messenger of the Mountain King and guardian of Mount Hiei.
Akitada had seen the festival before, years ago. It was a strange mix of Buddhist and Shinto observances and divine beings. Today his eyes searched for a killer. Tora reappeared briefly at his side to report that Takechi’s men had found no puppet man in the city. They were now stationed among the crowd here and in the area where the fair was taking place. There had been no sign of him there either. Chances were good that he had indeed left Omi to return to whatever northern province he had found a home in. In was extremely unsatisfactory.
Fortunately, Akitada had other, more pleasant, things to occupy his mind. As soon as the procession had passed, Kosehira and his sons joined it on horseback. The crowd of onlookers dispersed to follow. Akitada remained to look after the women and children.
He found that Kosehira’s wives wanted to return home, and Akitada saw them safely into one of the carriages. Yukiko and the children were to stay with him and return later in the other carriage.
He left his horse with the servants, and they walked the rest of the way to the lake shore. The children, both Kosehira’s and his own and Yuki, skipped ahead excitedly. He and Yukiko followed.
His wife looked very fetching in a pink gown with a white embroidered Chinese jacket. She was dressed for the outing and her long hair was gathered and tied with a white silk bow in back. He thought her enchanting and told her she resembled the cherry blossoms on the trees that lined the road. She thanked him and blushed.
The ceremony of carrying the mikoshi on board a barge festooned with straw ropes and colorful bunting was nearly complete by the time they reached the lake. Crowds had converged here, and they had to slip in between people to find a place where the children could see.
What with all the pushing of the crowd, Akitada was afraid of losing one of the children, though Yukiko had told them to hold hands with each other so they would not get separated. Then he almost lost Yukiko as a fat man pushed past him, followed by an equally large family. He looked about frantically and finally found her. After this incident, he kept his arm around her for the rest of the ceremony.
By the time, the barge had been rowed out into the lake, the crowd was headed back toward the fair. They were still all together, for which Akitada gave silent thanks, but he now worried about the fair; It was much larger than the last one where they had temporarily misplaced young Arimitsu. And now they had three additional children to watch.
The fair presented a cheerful picture with its many-colored awnings of fabric stretched between bamboo poles. Kites flew overhead, causing the boys to point and plead. Paper lanterns swung in the breeze, and music came from all sides. Delicious food smells hung in the air, and everywhere vendors shouted their wares.
They were very busy for the next hour and blessedly lost not a single child. Coppers passed from the children to vendors of sweets, more coppers from Akitada to the children. There was a puppet show, but its master had a regular stand for his stage, and he did not limp. A story teller enthralled the children for a while, until they discovered dancers in elaborate lion and dragon costumes dancing on a stage. Akitada took every opportunity to draw Yukiko close, or at least hold her hand. They laughed a good deal, and he was as deeply happy as he had been in many years.
And then he saw the man.
He was ordinary looking, gray-haired and deeply tanned, and he stood watching the puppet show. Something about his expression had caught Akitada’s attention, a sort of sneering intentness. As if he could feel his stare, the man suddenly turned his head and looked at him. For a moment their eyes locked, and Akitada knew he was looking at the killer. Then the man turned abruptly and disappeared into the crowd.
Akitada was shaken by the encounter. Instinct told him to follow the man, but he could not leave Yukiko and the children. He scanned the crowd and eventually thought he recognized one of the constables. Waving him over, he described the man and sent him after him.
He was beginning to tire of the entertainment and long for a peaceful rest on Yukiko’s veranda, when he saw the man again. This time he was walking away from them with a pronounced limp.
Akitada decided to take the risk. “Yukiko,” he said to his wife, “can you manage the children for a little? There is something I have to do.”
She raised her brows and giggled. “Certainly, my husband.”
He did not correct her mistake and dashed after the limping man.
Chapter Thirty-Four