I Parker: The Fires of the Gods

‘I also saw another famous gentleman. Ono Takamura was coming from the women’s quarters.’

‘The poet? He’s a favorite of the court at the moment. They say the collection he’s working on will be brilliant. A lot of people hope to be included.’ Nakatoshi pondered a moment, then said, ‘I would have thought him harmless. All he cares about is poetry and his comforts. He makes himself pleasant to people in power because they supply him with praise and luxurious surroundings. Did you know that he lives as a guest in the Crown Prince’s Palace?’

‘Does he really? I had much the same impression of the man, but I think I must try to talk to him. He may know something about other visitors that day. How does he come to be acquainted with Kiyowara’s wives?’

‘I don’t know, sir. Perhaps I can find out.’

‘Better not.’ Akitada rose. ‘Thank you, Nakatoshi. Please don’t mention this to anyone – for your sake as well as mine.’

Nakatoshi stood also. ‘Of course. But I wonder if it might not be better if I asked the questions. It’s easier for me to get access to some of the people close to Kiyowara. Won’t you let me help, sir?’

Akitada knew what he meant. Doors would be closed to him in too many quarters now. Nobody wanted to be seen to associate with those in disfavor. He smiled at Nakatoshi. ‘Not quite yet,’ he said. ‘Perhaps later.’ But he knew he would not involve this very nice young man in his troubles.

‘Be careful, sir.’

‘I’ll try to be, Nakatoshi. My best wishes to your wife.’

Nakatoshi blushed and smiled. ‘And mine to yours, sir.’

Ono’s reputation might have entitled him to quarters in a palace, but his room lacked the luxuries Kiyowara had enjoyed.

When Akitada was shown in by a palace servant, he found a somewhat mean space dominated by a small, old desk and shelving overflowing with books, scrolls, and document boxes. But the writing set on the desk was new and very beautiful. Boxes, brush holders, water containers, seals, and even the brushes were lacquered the color of autumn maples and heavily decorated with golden leaves and mother-of-pearl flowers.

Ono himself wore a casual green silk robe open over a heavy white under-robe and brilliant red trousers. This effeminate attire suited him, as did the lassitude with which he gestured towards a cushion, saying, ‘You find me hard at work, Sugawara. Please forgive the lack of amenities. When there are fires every day, one does not want to burden oneself with possessions. Alas, I cannot even offer you wine. I do not take my meals here, and my servant has gone out for ink.’

Akitada sat down. ‘Don’t concern yourself, sir. It’s very good of you to see me.’ On closer inspection, Ono was not only a handsome man, but also older than Akitada had thought. His hair, now that he was bare-headed, was turning quite gray, though the eyes were still large and bright and his face smooth. ‘I wonder,’ Akitada asked, ‘if you recall our meeting at Kiyowara’s house two days ago?’

Ono looked blank. Clearly, he had not recognized Akitada. But he smiled quickly and nodded. ‘Ah, yes. Of course. Poor Kiyowara. He has died, you know.’

‘Yes. The very day we met. I’m afraid he was too busy to see me.’

‘Ah.’ Ono nodded, but volunteered nothing else.

Akitada thought perhaps the poet was still confused and explained, ‘You were walking in the garden, reciting poetry. I was on the veranda of the reception room. Do you remember?’

Ono’s eyes lit up. ‘Oh, that poem. I’ve rewritten it completely. Wait a moment. Now, where did I put it?’ He stared at the shelves with their boxes and scrolls, shaking his head. ‘It’s a very great undertaking, putting together an anthology of the best poems of our time. There are so many submissions that my own work gets lost among them. Sometimes I despair.’

‘Please do not trouble on my account,’ Akitada said quickly. ‘It’s the murder of Kiyowara I came about. Being a close friend, you must have some thoughts on who could have killed him.’

‘Oh, I’m not a friend. No, not at all. I didn’t like the man. And I haven’t really thought much about his death.’

That was an astonishing and – under the circumstances – foolhardy admission. Akitada cheered up a little. The poet’s lack of common sense could turn out to be very helpful. He said, ‘Oh? I thought as a frequent visitor…’ and let his voice trail off.

Ono glowered. ‘Only of Hiroko and her children. I avoided Kiyowara. The man had neither taste nor talent. His was the soul of a bureaucrat.’

Being a bureaucrat himself, Akitada was not sure he liked this. ‘But if you consider his murder now, do you have any suspicions?’

Ono looked up at the ceiling and frowned in concentration. ‘I don’t know… there was some rumor. Some official was dismissed because Kiyowara insisted on it.’ He stared at his overflowing shelves for a moment, then shook his head. ‘No, I don’t recall exactly. Why do you ask?’

With an inward sigh of relief, Akitada accepted that Ono was simply too self-absorbed to care about those around him. Getting information from him was hopeless. He said blandly, ‘Just a matter of interest. With Kiyowara gone, there will be changes in appointments. Someone else will be put in his place. That can make for a powerful motive.’

‘You think so? In my world, men feel most strongly about love and art.’

‘In mine, ambition and greed are more common,’ Akitada said dryly. ‘I assume his son will succeed to the estates?’

This time, Ono got his drift and glared. ‘Katsumi is a very fine young man. He is devoted to his mother, who is my friend. I’ve known her and her son since both were children. I will not have anyone spread slanderous lies about them.’

Akitada raised his hands. ‘Forgive me. I put it badly. As I said, I know nothing of the family.’ He wondered if Ono was truly naive or so full of his own importance that he saw no need to hide his own motive or his relationship with another man’s wife. ‘I take it that the lady has influence at court on her own account?’

Ono was still irritated. He snapped, ‘Naturally. Kiyowara owed his position to her. The Minamoto daughters were raised to be great ladies, perhaps empresses. Their education and refinement are superb. Her sister is married to Yorimichi.’

Meddling in the affairs of the kuge, those of the highest rank in the nation, was like playing with fire, and Ono clearly considered his continued interest offensive. Akitada changed the subject. ‘Speaking of Lord Yorimichi, is he aware of the rumors about the rash of fires in the city?’

The poet relaxed a little. ‘Dear heavens, yes. They said the Biwa mansion would burn. Michinaga’s daughter and grandson, the retired emperor, reside there. Both Michinaga and Yorimichi went to touch their heads to the ground before the Buddha and prayed for rain. Well, there was a big fire, and then there was rain. They saved most of the palace. It is clear that the gods inspired the rumors.’ There was a pause, during which Ono stared at Akitada. ‘Fire,’ he said after a moment. ‘Now that you mention it, fire has great poetic possibilities. My own ancestress, Komachi, wrote that she was consumed by the fire of her passion. So powerful.’ His eyes grew distant. ‘I must discuss fire with Hiroko’s cousin Aoi. Yes, the sacred fire for purification – or destruction, leaving nothing but ashes – ashes to be blown away by the winds – the winds of fate.’ He swept out an arm to describe vast distances, then tapped his mouth with a forefinger and fell into an abstraction.

Akitada tried to find something to break the spell, but Ono blinked after a moment and focused on him again.