I. Parker: The Old Men of Omi

“Hmm,” said Tora judiciously. “I’ve slowed down a lot, too, but a man should never give up. We’ll practice every day. And I’ll get hold of a set of staves. I like using bo for a smoother movement. How about it?”

Akitada smiled. Tora had taught him the use of the fighting stick many years ago. At the time it was the only weapon a man like Tora was allowed. His sword fighting skills, acquired during a brief military stint, were mediocre, and Akitada had traded lessons with the sword for those with the bo. The memories cheered him, and he said, “Very well. It shall be as you say. I’m in your hands. Now tell me about your eye.”

Tora did so, concisely and with a good deal of anger. When he was finished, Akitada nodded.

“I share your anger, but there’s nothing I can do. If this man is really one of their peasants, they have a right to order him back to his fields.” He put on his shirt again and thought for a moment. “I suppose you could look into the matter, because they may well come back. From your description, they recognize no master but their own superiors. It’s despicable. But be careful. By all accounts those sohei are vicious.”

Tora grinned. “They don’t scare me, sir. Though I did notice something. One of those bastards had a weird tattoo on the back of his right hand. A circle with a triangle inside it. Doesn’t that mean he’s a convicted criminal?”

“I don’t know what strange practices the warrior monks may have. But you’re right. Some provincial governors still encourage tattooing repeat criminals. Besides this sort of thing is frequently done to members of a gang of highway robbers.”

“How can the monks take in convicts?”

“No doubt the man claimed that Buddha has saved him from a life of crime. Or perhaps he’s only a lay-monk. Many of the sohei are simply hired thugs. Anyway, be careful. Oh, and before I forget it, when you have the time, ride home to make sure all is well. And tell the children that they will attend the great shrine festival later this month. That will cheer them up.”

Tora’s smile broadened. “Will do, sir. Umm, suppose I leave late, spend the night, and return early tomorrow? That way I’ll be available to you during the day.”

Akitada suppressed a smile. “Excellent idea.”

?

The exercise had certainly done nothing for Akitada’s self confidence, and he was determined to stay out of Lady Yukiko’s way. After washing at the well, he changed into formal clothes and joined Kosehira on his ride to the tribunal.

He had a vague notion of paying a visit to the Masuda mansion to see how the young heir was getting along, but Kunyoshi was eager to show him what they had found in their search of the provincial archives. Since the papers related to dubious transfers of land from private owners to Enryaku-ji, Akitada sat down and started to go through them. The illegalities had been hidden rather cleverly, he found, and congratulated Kunyoshi on noticing that all was not as it should be.

In the end, however, there was not enough evidence to put pressure on the temple, and Akitada decided to put the documents aside until they could build a bigger case.

It was nearly midday when he got up and stretched. The unaccustomed morning practice had made him sore again, though he thought this a better soreness than the back pain from his ride to Otsu. He had just decided to eat in town and then climb up to the Masuda place, when Kosehira put his head in the door.

“Akitada! Am I glad you’re still here. I need a favor.”

“Gladly. What can I do?”

“Come, I’ll tell you on the way.” Kosehira noted belatedly that everyone had risen and was bowing to him. He said, “Oh, forgive me, gentlemen. Please don’t interrupt your work. I hope I see you all well this morning. Can you spare Lord Sugawara?”

They straightened and smiled, and Kunyoshi, always the spokesman, assured the governor that his lordship had permission to leave.”

Akitada chuckled when they were outside, but Kosehira looked distracted. “Listen,” he said. “Chief Takechi has sent a messenger. Something is wrong about that judge’s death. I can’t possibly leave. I have to meet with the prime minister’s secretary to account for the fact that I have given no support to Onjo-ji in their case against Enryaku-ji. As you may guess, the prime minister and his immediate family are supporters of Onjo-ji.”

“But surely you cannot be expected to act for one or the other before my delegation has sifted through the documents and the Ministry of Justice has decided on guilt or innocence?”

“Naturally, but that doesn’t mean the prime minister can’t try to muddy the waters.”

“Of course I’ll go to talk to Takechi, but you need merely tell this secretary that your hands are tied until the official investigation is complete.”

Kosehira sighed. “You’re too logical, Akitada. I must find some other method.”

Amused, Akitada went to have a horse saddled. It struck him for the first time that Kosehira did not always have an easy time of it in spite of being a member of the ruling family.

At police headquarters, Takechi was out, but they directed him to the judge’s house.

Nakano had done well for himself. His house aspired to mansion status. Nakano had built outbuildings, added a wall and a roofed gate, and laid out a garden in the back. The gate was open but two constables kept an eye on a group of onlookers in the street. It was a familiar scene that Akitada had encountered many times. A violent death drew the curious, and the law had to step in to protect the investigation.

He identified himself, telling the guards that he had come from the governor. Very properly, one of them went to notify the chief who was inside the house.

Takechi came out and greeted Akitada enthusiastically. “How good of you to come yourself, sir,” he said as Akitada dismounted and a constable took his horse. “This looks suspicious after all. I’d be very glad to get your opinion.”

They walked into the late judge’s residence. Akitada saw immediately that Nakano had spared no money on furnishings. The tatami mats were thick and hardly worn; the cushions looked plump and were of silk; numerous scrolls of scenes around the lake hung on the walls; and here and there, folding screens stood about with pictures of mountain temples and hermitages.

Akitada asked, “Did he belong to a wealthy family?”

“No. His father was a mid-level official in Aki province. I think he owned some land there, but nothing impressive. He earned this himself by investing in business.”

“You don’t say.” Akitada remembered the way Nakano had confiscated the large sum of gold he had carried in order to buy the child’s freedom. Nakano had relinquished it eventually when he realized Akitada’s background, but it had been done with great reluctance. No doubt he had “earned” some of his wealth in his capacity as judge.

Takechi took him to the judge’s study. This, too, was furnished well. Nakano had a large library and his desk was elegant and heavily carved. The writing utensils on it were made of jade or lacquer. Some sheets of paper with spidery handwriting lay on the desk. In a corner, his bedding lay spread out on a thick mat.

“He was lying here,” Takechi said, pointing to a place in the middle of the room. The floor was bare and showed scuff marks from many feet. The body was gone.

“Where is he now?”

“Back at headquarters. The coroner is in a quandary.”

Akitada raised his brows. “Why?”

“Because he thought it was a natural death and is no longer sure about it now.”

“Ah!” Akitada looked around. “What about the servants? Have they been questioned?”