I. Parker - The Emperor's woman

“She’d heard the news. I told her to stay home. Her face looks terrible.”

Saburo nodded. “Did she have any idea who might have killed her master?”

“No. I wish I could find out. I know our master could do it, but I really don’t want him to know about my troubles. Now that Tokuzo’s dead, we have a bit more time to save the money we need.”

“You told her that?” When Genba nodded, Saburo said dryly, “I bet that made her happy.”

Genba recalled the tears in Ohiro’s eyes and hung his head. “What else can I do?”

“Talk to the master. You can ask to borrow the money and let him take it out of your wages.”

“Saburo, she’s a prostitute. He won’t want her in his household.” Genba sat down abruptly and buried his face in his hands. “There’s no hope for us,” he mumbled indistinctly.

“Look at me!” snapped Saburo.

Genba did and saw the fierce look in Saburo’s good eye. “What?”

“Look at my face, you dolt. If there was hope for someone like me, what reason do you have to sit there whining about your hardships? Even a starving warrior will hold his toothpick high.”

Genba smiled at that. “Sorry, Saburo. You’re a good man. I’ll think about it.”

“Tell the master what’s happened. As for Tokuzo, I’ve got a good mind to do a little snooping there.”

“Thank you.” Genba hesitated, then said in a rush, “I’m glad you’re one of us,” and left quickly before he got maudlin.

Prince Atsuhira resided with his family in the Tsuchimikado Palace, the property having been given to him by his father, the ex-emperor when there was still a hope that he would become crown prince and succeed to the throne. But the late chancellor Michinaga and his sons had other plans and shifted the succession to one of Michinaga’s grandsons instead.

Atsuhira had submitted with very good grace. To his credit, he only wished for a peaceful life and was not adept at court politics. Still, he had his supporters, men who liked him as a friend as well as men who hoped to advance themselves by throwing in their lot with him.

Of late, the prince had withdrawn from social life and even from appearances at court, much to the regret of many ladies. He had the sort of good looks and elegant manners that had caused them to call him “Shining Prince” after Genji, that famous romantic hero in Lady Murakami’s book.

When Akitada was finally admitted to his presence, there was little left of the brilliant aura that once surrounded him.

Their meeting was possible only after some planning. Akitada had prepared for it by going back to the ministry where he dispatched one of the junior clerks to the archives for documents relating to the prince’s property holdings. The young man dashed off eagerly and returned somewhat dusty, with a huge stack of bound maps and rolled scrolls.

Akitada selected a reasonable number of these and sent the rest back. The young man then accompanied Akitada, carrying the documents and a small writing box.

They arrived at the Tsuchimikado Palace with a proper air of importance and demanded to speak to the prince. A guard at the gate denied them access. The prince was apparently under house arrest.

“I’m here on official orders from the Ministry of Justice,” snapped Akitada. “Send for your superior this instant.”

After a short wait, a senior officer, wearing the uniform of the outer palace guard, appeared, a captain by his insignia, and a member of a family in power at court. He frowned and drawled, “What is all this? I have not been informed. You’re Sugawara, are you? What business does the Ministry of Justice have with His Highness?”

Akitada made the man a slight bow-received with a mere nod-and said stiffly, “It has been thought proper at this time to confirm the extent of His Highness’s holdings, since they are likely to play a part in the legal proceedings.”

The captain’s face cleared. In fact, he looked positively eager. “Ah! Is that the case? My apologies. They must be moving more quickly than we thought. Still, rules are rules. May I check the documents?”

Akitada waved the clerk forward, and the captain investigated each scroll and volume before nodding.

“Yes. Quite correct,” he said cheerfully. “Well, I have no objection, of course, but I don’t think he’ll see you. He won’t talk to anyone. A bit mad, if you ask me. There have been outbursts. Even his ladies are afraid to go near him.”

“I see. Please tell him that I must see him urgently. Umm, perhaps you should say it is in his best interest.”

The captain smirked at this and showed them to a very elegant reception room. Akitada paced nervously. Much depended on his seeing the prince, and seeing him alone. He became aware of soft sounds-silken rustlings and whispers. Behind the dais a series of screens with painted scenes of mountain landscapes hid an adjoining room. No doubt, eyes were glued to the narrow gaps between the panels. The prince’s household was curious about his purpose here. He could not blame them. Their own lives and fates were tied to those of their husband and master.

To his relief, it was not the captain who returned, but an elderly man in a sober brown silk robe. He introduced himself as the prince’s majordomo and led the way to an inner apartment past several courtyards where cherry trees bloomed. True to their poetic meaning of impermanence, they had scattered their petals like snow across the gravel.

Happiness had indeed been short-lived for Prince Atsuhira.

There were no guards at the door to the prince’s room. This, too, made things easier. Apparently, the prince was allowed a certain amount of privacy out of respect for his person.

“Wait here,” Akitada said to the young clerk, taking the documents but leaving the writing utensils with him. “I’ll call when I need you.”

The majordomo opened the door, announced, “Lord Sugawara,” let Akitada walk in, and then closed the door behind him.

The room was dim. The green reed shades to the outside had been lowered, and the bright sunlight outside left only faint golden patterns on the polished wood floor. The prince sat hunched over a scattering of books and papers. Akitada was shocked to see how much he had changed from the cheerful young man he used to know. They were nearly the same age, but Atsuhira’s sagging figure had nothing in common with the athletic young man who had liked riding, sports, and hunting in the mountains.

Atsuhira’s face was pale and drawn. He raised listless eyes to Akitada.

“I remember you,” he said in a flat voice. “You used to be at Kosehira’s parties.”

“Yes, Highness.” Akitada looked around the room and back at the solid door. They seemed to be alone, and the apartment was self-contained, without those screens and temporary walls that could be erected in large spaces to divide them into many smaller rooms. Still, he lowered his voice when he said, “Kosehira has told me of your difficulties.”

The prince frowned. He looked at the documents under Akitada’s arm. “I’m confused. Are you here because Kosehira sent you, or because my enemies are already dividing up my lands?”

“The former.” Akitada set the documents down and bowed. “I’d like to be of service if you will allow me.” Seeing the prince hesitate, he added, “You may recall that I was once able to intercede in the matter of a stolen letter.”

The prince flushed, then gestured to a cushion, and Akitada sat.

“Very good of you to come,” the prince said, sounding listless again, “but I need no help this time.”

“Surely, Highness, you must defend yourself against the false charges of insurrection and treason.”