Island of Exiles

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Akitada lay among the bracken and looked at the tops of gently swaying trees and at the winking stars until he was dizzy.

The world was filled with the scent of grass and clover, the clear chirruping of waking birds, the touch of a cool, dew-laden breeze. He had no wish for more.

But Haseo did. “The chains,” he said softly, creeping up.

“We’ve got to get the chains off. Do you still have your chisel or hammer?”

Akitada knew he did not, but he sat up and felt his clothing.

“I lost them somewhere inside.” He looked at the dark form of his companion and felt ashamed and irresponsible. “I’m sorry.

That was careless,” he said humbly. “I should have remembered.” All that work and now they would be caught because the chains would keep them from getting away from the search parties which would soon start combing the mountainsides. He glanced at the sky again. There was a faint but perceptible lightening toward their left. The east. As far as he could make out, they were on the far side of the mountain, well above and to the back of the cliff with the badger holes. This was good, because they could not be seen or heard from the work site.

Haseo sighed. “Never mind. I lost mine, too. Look, maybe you’d better tie up my leg. I’m getting a bit faint. Here. Tear up my shirt.”

Akitada could not see much of Haseo, but he felt the fabric thrust at him and groped for Haseo’s leg. His fingers touched blood, lots of it, warm and slick under his touch. He ripped the shirt into strips, folded a part of the fabric, and told Haseo to press it over the wound, then tied it into place as firmly as he could.

“Stay here,” he told Haseo, “while I look for a rock to work on those chains.”

After much trial and failure, they found that draping the chain over a rock outcropping and then hammering away at it with a loose stone would eventually break a link. The small chinking noise terrified them in case someone should hear, and they paused many times to listen. All remained quiet, and they decided finally that they were too far from the mine entrance to be heard. But they were both exhausted by the time they had freed themselves.

And it was no longer night. The light had changed to a translucent gray, and the mountainside around them was filled with ominous dark shapes and obscure forms. They were far from safe, for with daylight their pursuers would find them gone. All around rose other peaks, wooded and rocky. Night still hung over the west, or they might have seen the sea. They would have to make their way down this mountain and get as far away from the mine as possible. The trouble was that neither knew exactly where they were. Haseo explained apologetically that he had not thought of escape when he was brought here, and Akitada had been unconscious.

Akitada looked curiously at Haseo in the growing light. He noticed for the first time how much thinner he had become since they had met inside the harbor palisade. Haseo was looking him over also and smiled. No doubt, thought Akitada, I look a great deal worse than he, even without a blood-soaked bandage around my leg. Two less likely creatures to make a successful escape from the top of a mountain guarded by Kumo’s men could hardly be imagined. But they were free and had a chance, and that was wonderful. He chuckled.

“Why do you laugh?” Haseo asked.

“We look terrible, but by heaven, we will make it,” said Akitada, and raised a grin on Haseo’s drawn face. “Your leg still bleeds. Can you walk?”

Haseo got up and took a few steps to look down the mountainside. “Come on,” he said. “This way. It’ll stop bleeding, and if it doesn’t, I’ll at least put some distance between myself and those bastards before I collapse.”

As the sun slowly rose over the mountains, they scrambled through gorse, brambles, and shrubs, sliding part of the way on their backsides, until they reached a small stream. It bubbled and splashed downhill, making its way around rocks and over them until it reached a small basin, where it pooled, clear as air, before washing over a rock outcropping in a small waterfall.

Here they drank thirstily and then washed themselves. The water was cold, but it removed layers of dust, sweat, and dirt and made both of them feel nearly human.

It was such a pleasant place, and so peaceful-the only sign of life a rabbit, which scampered off-that they paused to tend to their injuries. Akitada tore up his shirt and replaced the blood-soaked bandage on Haseo’s leg. The bleeding seemed to have lessened, but Haseo was pale and shivered even though the day was warming and they were sitting in the sun.

“I’m going to slow you down,” Haseo said, when he got to his feet.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m limping myself.” Akitada’s knee had not taken well to the hurried descent. It was painful, and Akitada feared it would swell again.

Haseo glanced at it and chuckled weakly. “Two cripples.” They smiled at each other, though there was little to smile about, and followed the stream downhill. Akitada liked Haseo’s cheerfulness. The silent, glowering prisoner in the stockade had been a different man. This Haseo had both courage and a sense of humor. And he spoke like an educated man.

“Why weren’t you speaking when we first met?” Akitada asked after a while. “I thought you hated us.” Haseo’s face darkened. “I did. I found that when the constables and guards heard me speak, they were quite likely to use the whip on me. Mind you, it took me a while to work this out. I used to think that a man with my background might make a difference in the way the prisoners were treated. But my sugges-tions and comments were not well received by either the guards or my fellow prisoners. When one of the other prisoners ratted to the soldiers that I planned to complain about their brutality to the next official I encountered, I learned my lesson. My back’s a constant reminder not to trust anyone. So I stopped talking altogether.”

“But you spoke to me in the mine.”

Haseo smiled crookedly. “By then I knew you were like me.

Too clever to know when to shut up. Who are you, by the way?”

“Sugawara Akitada. I’m an official on temporary assignment in Sadoshima.”

“Sugawara?” Haseo raised his brows and whistled. “And an imperial official! But you mean you used to be. What crime did you commit?”

“None. I’m neither a prisoner nor an exile. I’m a free man.” Haseo fell back into the grass and burst into helpless laughter. Akitada stopped and chuckled.

“Well,” he corrected himself, “I’m theoretically a free man.

The problem is getting back to provincial headquarters in Mano to establish my identity. And the gods only know what will await us there.”

Haseo stopped laughing and sat up slowly. “You are serious?

But what happened?”

Akitada bent to give Haseo a hand and winced at the pain in his knee. “It’s too long a story. Let’s keep moving and I’ll try to tell you some of it on the way.”

But when he turned, his eyes caught some movement on the other side of the stream. A large furry animal of some sort?

Perhaps, but he did not think so.

“Take cover,” he whispered to Haseo, and crossed the stream. His knee hurt, but he had to find out if they had been seen.

He caught sight of the squat brown figure almost immediately. Resembling some lumbering bear with a curly mane from this distance, the goblin was hurrying uphill with two buckets of water. Akitada scanned the area. Could they be that close to the mining camp? The hillside was empty, but evidently the stream was where the goblin got the water to cook with. Dear heaven, what if she had seen them? He could not take that chance.

The Ezo woman was not particularly agile at the best of times, and the full buckets hampered her. When she stopped to look back, Akitada was certain. He made a dash and seized her shoulders to swing her around. Water splashed from the buckets, and she gave a little cry.

Now that he had caught the woman, Akitada did not know what to do with her. Prudence suggested killing her, or at least tying her up to gain them a little more time, but he remembered the extra food she had brought him and could not bring himself to do either.

She looked up at him with an expression that was part fear and part joy. He dropped his hands, and she set down the buckets and smiled the familiar gap-toothed grin. “You safe,” she said, nodding her head. “Good! You go quick now.” A dirty brown hand gestured downhill. When he did not move, she said, “They looking in mountain.” Her arm swept upward and waved a circle around the mountain looming above to indicate that the search had not progressed from the mine yet.

Haseo came up behind him. “We cannot let her go,” he said softly.

Akitada swung around and hissed, “No. She won’t tell.” He wished he were as certain as he sounded. Her words had implied that she would not, but what if she had lied to save her neck? It was a terrible risk to take, and he was risking Haseo’s life also.

Haseo shook his head. “Don’t be a fool. She’s the enemy. I’ll do it, if it bothers you too much.” He brought his hand forward and Akitada saw that he was clutching a large rock.

He stepped between Haseo and the woman. “No. She saved me from the fire and was kind to me. I cannot repay her by letting you murder her.”

They spoke in low voices while she watched nervously.

Someone shouted in the distance, and she cocked her head.

“You go now. Quick or they kill!” she said urgently, gesturing toward the valley.

Akitada put his finger to his lips, and she nodded. He turned and took Haseo’s arm and pulled him back into the trees.

Haseo dropped the rock. “That was foolish. They’ll be after us faster than you can blink an eye. You should have left her to me. I would have made sure of her.”

Akitada just shook his head.

They struggled on, following the stream down the mountain as fast as their legs could carry them while listening for sounds of pursuit. Fearful of being seen from above, they stayed under the cover of trees, though it slowed them down.

But all remained quiet, and eventually, out of breath and unable to run anymore, they reached the valley. The stream had widened and the mountains receded on either side of them.

They saw the first signs of human habitation, small rice paddies or vegetable patches tucked on narrow plateaus. Haseo helped himself to a large radish and a half-ripe melon at one of these, and they stopped briefly to devour the food and wash it down with water.

Later they skirted a few small farms, cautious about being seen, even when the buildings looked like abandoned shacks.

Akitada feared that the peasants were loyal to Kumo and would report to him the sighting of escaped miners. Walking became more and more difficult. They needed rest, but fear of their pursuers kept them plodding on doggedly.

The sun was setting when they staggered down yet another hill and found a road.

“I cannot go any farther,” said Akitada, dropping down under a fir tree, one of a small copse, and rubbing his painfully swollen knee. “How is your leg?”

Haseo stood swaying. He looked terribly pale. “Bleeding again, I think,” he mumbled. “Don’t really want to know.” Then he collapsed into the deep grass.

Akitada waited for him to sit back up, but Haseo had either fallen asleep or passed out. He crawled over and checked. The bandage was soaked with fresh blood. But Haseo was breathing normally, his mouth slack with exhaustion. He needed rest and a doctor’s care.

A small stream passed nearby, and Akitada slid down to it.

Pulling up some moss, he soaked it in the cold water and held it to his knee. He was faint with hunger and worried about Haseo.

He had no idea where they were, but assumed the road in front of them led eventually to Mano. Moving southward should bring them to the sea. But roads were traveled by people, and they would attract attention. It struck him for the first time that they had a choice between risking recapture or dying from their injuries or lack of food in the wilderness.

When his knee felt a little better, he gathered more moss and wetted it, then crawled back to where he had left Haseo.

But Haseo was no longer alone.

Peering down at his sleeping figure stood a youngster of about ten who had a load of kindling tied to his back. He wore only a ragged shirt and did not look much better than they. Perhaps that was why he did not run away when Akitada approached.

“What’s wrong with him?” he asked, pointing to Haseo’s bloody bandage.

“He got hurt coming down the mountain,” said Akitada, busying himself with undoing the bandage and packing the wound with the wet moss instead. “Do you live around here?”

“In the village. If he’s hurt, you should take him to Ribata.” Akitada stopped what he was doing. “Ribata? The nun Ribata?” he asked the boy, dumbfounded. “Do you know her?” The youngster made a face at such stupidity. “Of course. She lives here, doesn’t she?”

Akitada stood up and looked around. “Here? Where?” The boy pointed up the mountain on the other side of the road. “Up there. You can see the smoke. That means she’s home.

Sometimes she goes away.”

Akitada regarded the child dubiously. Why would the nun live here on a mountain? Yet the more he thought about it, the more he was inclined to believe. He squinted at the thin spiral of smoke rising above the tall cedars halfway up the mountainside.

Both nuns and priests withdrew to lonely mountain dwellings to spend their days in prayer and meditation. And they were probably not far from Mano. He asked the boy, “How far is it to Mano?”

The youngster pursed his lips and looked at the sun. “You might get there by night, maybe, but you’d better have her look at your friend first. She set my arm after I broke it last year.” In the distance a temple bell rang thinly. The boy straightened his load. “I’ve got to go,” he said, and trotted away.

Akitada looked at the sleeping Haseo and decided to move him a few feet into some shrubbery out of sight from the road.

Then he crossed the road and a field of tall grasses and began his climb through the forest toward Ribata’s hermitage. He found a footpath after a while, but it was steep and when he finally emerged from the forest path into the small clearing, he was drenched in sweat and could not control the trembling in his legs.

A tiny wooden house, covered with morning glory vines and surrounded by a small vegetable plot, stood in the clearing.

Below lay the grassy valley and beyond rose another wooded mountainside. A few feet from him was an open cooking fire with a large kettle suspended from a bamboo tripod. An appetizing smell drifted his way. Ribata’s hermitage was simple but adequate and resembled many such places in the mountains around the capital. Only an abundance of flowers, the blue morning glories which covered its roof, the golden bells of day lilies, yellow rape, and purple asters, suggested that the hermit was a woman of refined tastes. The small place was so well hidden among the trees and vines that only those who knew of its existence would find it.

Greatly cheered by all of this, Akitada approached the hut and called out, “Is anyone home?”

It was indeed Ribata who appeared in the doorway, looking as slender and aristocratic in her white robe and veil as he remembered her. He bowed. “Forgive this intrusion, reverend lady, but a boy from the village directed me here. I have a friend who is wounded.”

She shaded her eyes, then came down the steps to peer at him more closely. Half naked, dirty, and with his hair and beard grown wildly about his face, he imagined he was hardly a welcome visitor, but she recognized him. “Taketsuna? Praise to the all-merciful Buddha,” she murmured. “Is it really you? We had almost given you up.”

Akitada had not thought of himself as Taketsuna for such a long time that her mistake made him laugh. Or perhaps it was finally seeing a friendly face, being greeted with pleasure, being made welcome-all of this signaling his return to safety, to a world he knew, having crossed the threshold between a living death and life. He found it hard to stop laughing, but then his legs started shaking again, and he stumbled to the small porch and sat down. “We escaped from one of Kumo’s mines,” he explained. “But can you come with me to help my friend? He has lost a lot of blood from a leg wound. We must get to provincial headquarters in Mano as fast as possible.” She asked no questions. Saying, “Rest while I get ready,” she disappeared into the hut. Akitada leaned against one of the beams supporting the roof and basked in the warmth of the sun, unaware that tears gathered in his eyes and slowly spilled. Bees swarmed in the morning glories above him. Doves cooed in the branches of a cedar, and far above a kite rode the breeze in leisurely circles. He closed his eyes.

“Masako? Toshito?”

Akitada jerked awake, not quite sure where he was for a moment. Then his surroundings took shape and meaning, and he saw that Ribata had come out of her hut. She held a bundle and was looking toward the forest. Akitada stumbled to his feet.

“Masako? Masako is here? And Toshito? Mutobe’s son Toshito?

I thought he was in prison in Mano.”

“They are both here.” Ribata scanned the trees. “When you did not return before the trial, the children decided to escape.

Masako helped Toshito by putting a sleeping powder in the guards’ soup. They came to me and have been here ever since. I cannot imagine where they are. We will need their help.” Akitada tried to make sense of this. Ribata had made it sound quite natural that Masako should be with Mutobe’s son. Whatever one might think of a young lady helping an accused murderer escape from his jail cell by drugging his guards, their coming here to hide had been smart. Perhaps the nun had suggested it herself on one of her visits to the young man. Perhaps she had even supplied Masako with the correct herbs to mix into the guards’ food. Ribata seemed to have a knack for appearing in interesting situations. But Masako here?

Akitada wondered what he would say to the girl when they met.

He had not thought of their lovemaking in many weeks. That time seemed incredibly remote, though he found that her involvement with Toshito did not sit too well with him.

“I must go back to my friend,” he said, moving toward the path down the mountain. “He is beside the road near a small stream and a stand of firs. If I go ahead, can you follow?” She nodded. “I know the place.”

He limped down the mountain, crossed the field and the empty road, and found Haseo still fast asleep in the grass where he had left him. Shaking his shoulder gently, he waited until his companion sat up groggily, then said, “Good news. I’ve found some shelter for us with someone I know. It’s quite safe.

And there is a good chance that Kumo has not taken over the island yet.”

Haseo tried to stagger to his feet and failed. “How do you know it’s safe?” he demanded, looking around anxiously.

“My friends are also hiding. It’s too long a story to tell now, but there is a nun who has healing skills. Her hermitage is up on that mountain. She will see to your wound.” Akitada’s eyes searched the line of trees on the other side of the road. There was no sign of Ribata and the others yet. He was becoming impatient and worried that they were too close to the highway. “Come, lean on me. We will walk across to the forest and wait there.” Haseo’s eyes followed his. “Sorry,” he said. “You’ll have to go without me. I can stay here.”

“No. Just hold on to me. If I have to, I’ll carry you on my back. You pulled me behind you in the mine, and this is nothing compared to that.”

Haseo submitted with a weak chuckle, and they made their way across the road, and from there through the field of tall waving grasses toward the steep, wooded mountainside.

But Haseo sat down abruptly in the middle of the field. “It’s no good,” he gasped. “I have no strength left.” He looked dreadfully pale and, to Akitada’s dismay, blood was seeping from his makeshift bandage again. They had nothing left that could be turned into bandages and regarded each other helplessly. Haseo grinned a little. “You know, for an official and nobleman you’re a remarkably generous and patient man, Akitada. I was right to trust you.” It was the first time Haseo had used his personal name.

Akitada felt touched and honored. “We put our reliance in each other,” he said, squeezing the other man’s shoulder. “When we reach provincial headquarters, I’ll see what can be done about your case, though I’m afraid that I have no influence with the government in Heian-kyo.”

“Never mind. I have some friends,” Haseo said. “Perhaps now, after what has happened to me, they will try their utmost.

There is a chance now where there was none before.”

“Good.” Akitada shaded his eyes against the setting sun and peered toward the mountainside. There they were finally. Three figures emerged from the trees, two women and a man.

Toshito reached them first. Akitada almost did not recognize him. The slender, pale young man he had last seen in the prison cell had become a sturdy bearded peasant. Toshito seemed to have the same problem; his eyes searched their faces, before he nodded to Akitada. But there was nothing friendly or grateful about his welcome.

“Who’s your friend?” he asked bluntly.

“A fellow prisoner. We escaped from Kumo’s mine.” The women joined them then. Ribata gave Haseo a very sweet smile and bowed, her hands folded. “Thanks to all-merciful Buddha you are both safe.”

Akitada made the introductions, adding somewhat stiffly,

“It is very good of you to come to our assistance. I’m afraid my friend is too weak to walk up the mountain.” When Ribata knelt beside Haseo to check his wound, Akitada’s eyes went to Masako.

Like Toshito, she wore rough peasant clothing and her long hair was tied up in a scarf. She blushed charmingly when their eyes met, and he found that her beauty touched him as strongly as it always had.

“How are you, Masako?” he asked, his voice soft with their remembered friendship.

She flushed more deeply and took a step closer to Ribata.

“I’m well, thank you, my lord. And very glad to see you alive and w . . .” Her voice trailed off. He guessed that she had meant to say “well,” but that he looked too shocking for that word.

Her manner puzzled him, and her address proved that she knew his identity. Had she told the others? Well, it did not matter any longer.

“I see you know who I am,” he said. “Did you read the documents hidden in the lining of my robe?” She looked uncomfortable but nodded. “I felt paper.

Since water would have ruined it, I undid the stitches. I saw the imperial seal-just like one in the governor’s office-but I put everything back after I had washed your gown.”

“I know. Thank you.” He wanted to pursue the matter, but decided to wait and instead ask about her relationship with the hostile Toshito. Glancing across to him, he said, “Ribata tells me that you helped the governor’s son escape. That was brave and generous, but surely not very wise. Your father must be frantic with worry about your safety and reputation.” The young man had caught his last words and came over now, his face dark with anger. Putting his arm around Masako’s shoulders, he said sharply, “My wife is under my protection and her reputation is above reproach, so I’d advise you to watch both your tongue and your manners in the future.” Akitada was taken aback-literally. He stepped away from them, his eyes on Masako for confirmation. “Your wife?” She buried her face in Toshito’s shoulder. It was answer enough. Akitada met the smoldering anger in the other man’s eyes and bowed. “My sincere felicitations,” he said lightly. “I had no idea.” Then he turned his back on both of them.

Haseo was explaining his injury to Ribata. “It’s been bleeding all day and part of the night or I’d be as strong as an ox,” he said apologetically.

Ribata nodded. “Yes. I see. Putting moss on the wound was good. Few people know that it stanches bleeding and cools the fever in the wound.”

Haseo smiled up at Akitada. “My friend’s idea.” Toshito, still glowering, joined them. “We could put him on some branches and drag him up to the hermitage, but it will take two strong men to do it, and Lord Sugawara does not look very fit.”

“Oh, no, I’ll walk,” cried Haseo, shocked.

“I’m perfectly capable,” snapped Akitada.

They solved the impasse by Toshito and Akitada supporting Haseo between them. It was an unpleasant collaboration, as their arms touched behind Haseo’s back. For Akitada the journey turned into torment, especially after they began their climb up the mountain. His pride did not allow him to ask for rest periods. Instead he forced himself to keep step with the younger and much healthier Toshito. Somehow they dragged Haseo to the narrow wooden veranda and set him down.

Ribata and Masako disappeared inside, and an awkward silence fell. Haseo was dozing, much as Akitada had earlier.

Toshito stood glowering. Finally Akitada could not bear it any longer. “So you and Masako came here to hide out?” he asked, though the answer was obvious.

Toshito’s lips twisted and he did not bother to answer. There was nothing conciliatory in his manner. Akitada wondered if Masako had told him of their indiscretion. Surely not. But his earlier remarks could not account for this much antagonism.

Could Toshito be blaming Akitada for not having arrived in time to clear him? Whatever the reason, their stay here would be more than uncomfortable if this continued. Akitada swallowed his resentment and tried again.

“I did my best for you and succeeded in getting the information that will clear you,” he said. “I was on my way back when your enemies stopped me.”

“I did not ask for your help and I had nothing to do with what happened to you,” snapped Toshito, and stalked away.

“Hmm,” murmured Haseo, opening his eyes. “That’s a very angry young man. What did you do to him?” Akitada flushed. “Don’t pay any attention to him,” he said evasively. “He’s a moody fellow who has been accused of a murder he did not commit. Perhaps he worries that we will draw our pursuers here.”

But Akitada knew there was more to Toshito’s hostility than mere resentment that he and Haseo had intruded into their safe haven. He recalled that Toshito used to bristle at him even when he thought of him as the prisoner Taketsuna. No, surely the problem was jealousy. Toshito either suspected or knew of his affair with Masako.

The tangled relationships between the men and women in the hermitage complicated matters. He tried to gauge the situation later, when Ribata cleaned Haseo’s wound and applied powdered herbs and various ointments, wrapping his leg again in some clean hemp bandages. When Haseo left to lie down, she asked to see Akitada’s knee.

“So. You have sought out trouble and found it, my lord,” she murmured, probing his leg.

Though she had addressed him as Taketsuna earlier, she knew very well who he was and that he had been trying to clear the governor’s son. Almost her first words to him had shown it, but he had been too shocked at the news that Masako and Toshito were with her to think clearly. He wondered how long she had known, and remembered her friendship with the Kumo family, but he only said, “Yes. And I’m afraid I have lost your flute.”

She looked up then and smiled. “Never mind. It is your life which matters.” Then she glanced through the door of the hut to where Masako was cooking over the open fire while her husband watched. “And that matters not only to you, but to your loved ones.”

Was Ribata reminding him that his duty lay elsewhere?

Of course, Masako’s marriage solved his problem. There was now no need to take her into his household. He should have been glad, but was perversely irritated and hurt that she had preferred the immature, ungracious, and inept Toshito. In fair-ness, Toshito was probably only a few years younger, and yet I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

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had already achieved an official position which was both more secure and better paid than Akitada’s. But it rankled.

In his resentment he reminded himself that her background, though upper-class, was severely lacking in proper upbringing and that her manners had never been ladylike. In that sense she certainly matched her new husband perfectly.

Akitada looked at her figure critically, trying to find fault. She was attractive, but no more so than his wife or other women he had had. There was a certain coarseness about her. All those muscles, while useful, were certainly not feminine. Yet, as much as he tried to soothe his hurt pride, the memory of how she had clung to him in her father’s room came unbidden, the way she had pulled him down to her and taken him passionately, hungrily into her embrace. Had she truly felt nothing at all?

A sudden sharp spasm in his knee recalled him.

“There,” said Ribata, vigorously massaging a palmful of ointment into his sore joint. “That should help. Go get some rest now. We’ll wake you when the food is ready.” Haseo had stretched out under a pine and was asleep already. Akitada suddenly felt drained of strength, but he walked over to Toshito, who greeted him with a scowl.

“You probably want to know what I learned about the prince’s death,” Akitada said.

Toshito looked toward Masako, who shot an anxious glance their way. “Not particularly,” he said.

Akitada raised his brows. The fellow’s manners were insuf-ferable. But he had no intention in wasting any more time on the puppy, so he said, “There was no murder. Okisada either died accidentally or committed suicide by eating fugu poison.” Toshito turned a contemptuous face toward him. “Ridiculous,” he snapped. “I was there, remember? No one ate fugu fish, least of all Okisada. And why would he kill himself when he intended to claim the throne?”

Akitada felt like knocking the smug fool to the ground.

Turning away abruptly, he said, “Nevertheless, he did,” and walked away to join Haseo.

The weather had remained dry and pleasant in the daytime but grew much cooler at night. Here in the mountains it was chilly in the shade and they had no clothes except their ragged pants. Akitada shivered and worried about Haseo, who looked flushed in spite of the cold. He found a sunny, sheltered hollow for himself, where he slept fitfully until Masako’s touch on his shoulder returned him to consciousness.

“The food is ready,” she said aloud, then whispered, “What did you say to Toshito?”

Akitada sat up. Tempting smells came from the large pot over the fire, and he felt ravenous. “Nothing to worry you. I told him that the prince committed suicide. He scoffed.”

“Oh.” She was going to say something else, but Toshito called to her.

Haseo looked better. He was less flushed and more inclined to take notice of the others. “Those two are in love,” he told Akitada with a nod toward the young couple.

They were standing close together, and as Akitada met Toshito’s eyes, the young man put a possessive hand on the girl’s hip.

“He doesn’t like you,” Haseo said. “Must be the jealous type.

Though why he should worry about a pathetic scarecrow like you, I cannot fathom.”

Akitada, for his part, could not fathom Masako. After their meal, he found an opportunity to talk alone with her. She was washing their bowls in a stream that ran behind the hermitage.

Toshito had gone to gather more firewood.

“Why did you make love to me, Masako?” he asked.

He had startled her and she dropped one of the wooden bowls into the water and had to scramble after it. The delay gave her time to gather her wits. In her typical fashion, she, too, was blunt. “When I found out why you had come and what power you had, I knew you could help us. That is, help both Toshito and Father. I was desperate. But the papers were secret and I could not ask you, so I tried to win your regard . . . by other means.”

He flinched as though she had slapped him. “So you seduced me, and I was fool enough to allow myself to be seduced,” he said bitterly.

She nodded.

Akitada turned away, angry and shamed. There were many kinds of love. Their relationship had been only lust on his part after all, but something altogether different on hers. He had at least felt a strong attraction to her, but she had merely manipulated him to gain her ends. And she had done what she did for another man, for Toshito. It struck him as abominable that some women, like Masako, strong, independent, and unconventional, would not hesitate to give their bodies to another man to save their husbands or lovers. He thought of Tamako. He would gladly sacrifice his life for her and his new son, and believed she would do the same for him, but he hoped she would never sleep with another man for any reason. The very thought made him sick.

Masako whispered, “Don’t tell Toshito, please. He’s jealous of you.”

“Of course I won’t tell. But I hope you don’t think I helped your father because you slept with me.”

“I shall always be grateful,” she said softly.

He glared at her. “I’m sorry we met.” She hugged herself and began to cry.

“Twice,” he said. “You lay with me twice, and all the time you only wanted to place me under obligation to you?” She gulped and sniffled, but said nothing in her own defense or to salvage some of his pride. After a long silence, Akitada said bitterly, “So be it. I wish you both well.” Then he turned and limped away.

Haseo watched him coming back. “Why in such a temper?” he asked lightly. “Did the pretty flower slap your face?” Akitada managed a laugh as he sat down beside him. “Of course not. She is married now and I’m a married man also.

And you? Do you have a wife and children?”

“Three wives and six children, two of them sons.” Haseo sounded both proud and sad. “I hope they have gone to my first wife’s parents. She comes from a wealthy family. My other wives were quite poor. And you?”

“One wife and one son. He’s only six months.”

“You must miss them.”

“Yes. Very much.” His need for Tamako suddenly twisted his heart. He had been a fool to desire another woman.

“Only one wife for a man of your station?” Haseo marveled.

“She must be exceptional.”

Akitada nodded. “She is.” And he wished for her with every part of his being.

The rest of the evening both Toshito and Masako avoided him. After their meal-a vegetable stew thickened with millet-

they disappeared into the forest together. Akitada watched them with a certain detachment and put his mind to other matters.

Now that he was rested and fed, and his knee was no longer so painful, he was becoming increasingly nervous about their safety. His eyes kept scanning the highway in the darkening valley below. He could not be certain that the goblin had kept their secret, and even if she had, Kumo would have been notified of his escape by now and would extend the search to the surrounding areas soon enough. He could not afford to let Akitada escape. Ribata’s vine-covered hermitage was not visible from below, but Akitada recalled the tracks they had made through the tall grasses of the valley.

The trouble was, they had neither weapons nor horses. If Kumo sent armed men after them, as he must surely do, they would either die here or be taken back to the mine to face a worse fate.

He was glad when night fell, and the possibility of an attack became remote. Candles and lamps were extinguished early and they prepared for sleep. The women stayed in the hut, but Ribata came out with blankets for her guests and spoke briefly to Toshito, who nodded and disappeared on some errand.

In spite of his blanket, Akitada awoke, shivering, long before dawn. He got up and started moving his body vigorously to warm his sluggish blood. His knee felt much better. Haseo still slept, and there was no sign of Toshito. Eventually, as the night sky slowly paled, he decided to make himself useful and gathered sticks for the fire. When it was burning, he squatted beside it and rubbed his chilled arms.

A touch on his shoulder made him jump. Masako held out his blanket. “Put it around you until the sun comes up.” He did and watched her heating water for rice gruel, regretting his anger of the day before.

“How far is it to Mano?” he asked.

“Half a day’s walk with a shortcut. The road passes on the other side of this mountain.” She left to go back into the hut.

Only a few hours’ walk? Akitada felt fit enough. Surely Haseo could manage a short journey, one that would become easy once they reached the road. After that-well, they would deal with whatever came.

Masako returned. “Ribata wants you,” she said.

When he ducked into the shadowy room, he found the nun at prayer. She sat in the center of the small square space, perfectly straight and still. Dark wooden beads passed through her thin fingers like beans falling through the ribs of a bamboo strainer. He could not see her face clearly, but her lips moved, and now and then he caught a word or cadence from a sutra.

He sat down across from her, quietly waiting, wondering again about this strange, aristocratic woman who seemed content to lead a simple, religious life so far from court. Good manners and respect for her present status forbade his asking questions. Once he reached Mano and the governor and started an investigation into Kumo’s activities, and those of his fellow conspirators, he hoped that the tangled relationships between the Kumo family, the late prince, and Ribata would also unravel.

As if she knew what he was thinking, Ribata said, “You should both be able to travel in another day. Then the governor will reconvene the court and Toshito’s name will be cleared.” She sighed and folded her hands around her beads. “Life is filled with pain. But the young people can settle down and raise their family. And you, too, will be eager to return to wife and child.”

Akitada nodded. He thought of the baby son he had left behind. Children often sickened and died during their first year.

“Place your trust in the Buddha and all will be well,” said the nun.

“Yes.”

He suspected that she was steering his thoughts to his family and smiled in the darkness because she had succeeded. His heart swelled with love and gratitude for the slender girl he had left behind among strangers, far from her home and family. He remembered how she had stood in the doorway, holding their son in her arms. Smiling bravely, she had faced their separation without complaint, certainly without self-pity, her back straight and her voice strong when she called out, “We will be waiting when you return.”

The sun was rising outside and the first ray crept through the door. It touched Ribata’s sleeve and shoulder, then lit up her pale drawn face. She moved out of its light and looked at him.

Her eyes were extraordinarily bright for a woman her age.

“I am happy for you,” she said. Then she reached into her sleeve and held out a flute to him. “And I am returning this to you. I hoped that you would come for it someday.” He took it, uncertain, raised it into the sunlight, and saw that it was Plover’s Cry, the flute she had given him in Kumo’s garden, the flute taken from him by Wada.

“But how did you get it back?” he asked, shocked.

“Sanetomo returned it to me. It seems the regrettable Wada had it in his possession. Sanetomo recognized it, of course.” Sanetomo?

Then Akitada remembered the name, and drew in his breath sharply. Kumo Sanetomo had returned the flute to its owner.

She must have known what had happened to him all along, he thought, his mind racing at the implications. And Ribata had sent Toshito away the night before. The knowledge of what his errand must be came too late; the damage was surely done by now. In his anger and despair Akitada almost broke the flute in his hands.