The Convict's Sword (15 page)

As he strode quickly along the wide street past the Court of Abundant Pleasures and the Halls of State, the first light appeared where the eastern mountains met the starry sky. It was already getting warm, and his formal silks hampered his movements and made him perspire. The brief respite of yesterday’s cooling rain had not lasted, and the increased humidity added to the unhealthy, sticky feeling. Akitada briefly wondered about the smallpox rumors and hoped that by now fears were subsiding. Of course, that would bring Soga back all the more quickly.

The first wave of senior officials was already arriving for duty. They, at least, had not abandoned the capital yet. Akitada passed through the gate of the Ministry of Popular Affairs, hoping that Kunyoshi was in already. He was. Akitada found him bustling about with stacks of documents, muttering under his breath. Nobody else seemed about. Nakatoshi had referred to the archivist as very elderly, and Akitada, who had thought little about it in the past, now realized that Kunyoshi must be nearly Seimei’s age, though he certainly moved more easily. He called out, “Good morning.” Kunyoshi did not respond but went on with his chore and his muttering. Akitada caught the words, “ . . . told him to put these away . . . I’m sure of it . . .”

It was only when Kunyoshi was returning that he noticed Akitada. His face lit up. “Ah, it’s you sir. I did not hear you. Did you get my note? I left it with that nice young clerk of yours.”

Akitada bowed. “Yes, I came to thank you.” He said it loudly, knowing that the old man was somewhat deaf.

Kunyoshi’s eyes, disconcertingly, watched his lips. Then he smiled. “No need. Glad to do it. Hope the information helps.”

“Well, I did have one or two questions. You indicated, I think, that some property which used to belong to the Utsunomiya family is now under the control of the incumbent governor of Izumo. A Fujiwara, I think?” It was a safe guess. Most men in position of authority were Fujiwaras. Theirs was a large clan with many branches, and the Fujiwara chancellors, as well as the Fujiwara empresses, saw to it that they had supporters in all the key positions.

“Oh, yes. Fujiwara Tamenari. Of course, he does not administer the land himself. Customarily the income from the rice harvest and other products is divided evenly between the cultivator and the government. I assume that is the case in this instance.”

“When did the property become public land?”

Kunyoshi frowned and scratched his head. “Now, where did I put my notes?” He shuffled among the papers on a shelf, muttered, went to another shelf, then to his desk, and ended up standing still, with both hands rubbing his skull as if that would stir his memory.

“It does not have to be a precise date,” said Akitada—though that would certainly have helped. “Can you recall anything? Was it about five years ago?”

“What?”

Akitada repeated his question.

Kunyoshi shook his head. “I would not want to say when I cannot recall. It may come to me later.” He looked depressed.

Izumo Province, thought Akitada. It was too far away, on the Japan Sea, but a rich province and an important one for its ancient shrine to the gods. “Was it a large estate?”

“Oh, dear me, yes. A very rich plum for the nation. And for the governor, who is wealthy enough himself. I must say, under the circumstances he should pay the taxes on the questionable acres. I suggested as much.”

Akitada felt a new respect for Kunyoshi. Standing up to a Fujiwara must have taken considerable courage. “I hope,” he said with a smile, “you have not made any enemies.”

“Hah! At my age? What do I have to lose?” Kunyoshi opened his mouth and grinned so widely that Akitada could see almost every one of the few remaining yellow teeth. Like horses, men in their old age seemed to grow long in tooth, nose, and ear.

Akitada gestured at the many shelves full of documents. “The nation would lose an indispensable servant,” he said with a smile.

Kunyoshi turned shy. He looked down at his gnarled fingers, rubbing them nervously. “Once perhaps,” he said sadly, “but not anymore. I don’t hear well and I’ve become forgetful. Who wants an archivist who forgets things? It’s time I left.”

Akitada had never liked working in the law archives of the Ministry of Justice. It was dreary, dull work that involved much climbing up and down to reach tall shelves and a great amount of dust. Surely this was very hard on an old man. “Won’t you like having time for your family?” he asked.

“I have no family. It would not have been fair to them. You see, this . . .” he gestured to the shelves and documents, “was all I wanted. Just to work in my humble way at something I could do well.” He added wistfully, “But not anymore. Not anymore.”

Akitada was dumfounded. Such a choice amounted to a renunciation of the world just as much as if he had chosen to become a monk. The sages, who knew a great deal more than the Buddhist crowd, taught that it was a man’s duty to take a wife and have children. That rule even took precedence over serving one’s sovereign and superiors faithfully. Where would the world be without the family structure? It was the very foundation of life. Knowing that he had a family made it desirable for a man to work and serve his country. And now this old man, having outlived his parents and siblings, had no place to call home. Akitada said lamely, “I see. I’m very sorry. What will you do?”

Kunyoshi looked through the open doors toward the northern mountains. They were bathed in the golden light of the rising sun, and the distant roofs and pagodas of the great monasteries of Mount Hiei shimmered among the trees. “My life is short. I suppose I shall become a monk,” he said without enthusiasm and smiled a little sadly. “They keep records in monasteries.”

Akitada returned to his own paperwork a much chastened man and persisted until Nakatoshi told him it was time to leave for Tora’s hearing.

When Akitada passed through the front of the building, dozens of men and women stopped their quiet conversations and turned to look at him hopefully. “There he is,” someone in the back hissed loudly, and instantly all of them knelt and touched their heads to the floor. Akitada stopped in surprise. Then he saw a few petitions being raised above the bowed heads and realized that word had spread. His receiving the rejected petitioners had encouraged others to try their luck.

He told them, “Thank you all for coming and waiting patiently, but today I must attend a court hearing and won’t be back until late. Perhaps tomorrow will be a better day.”

They sat up. There was a small babble of conversation until one man—yes, it was old Chikamura, back to find out when he could take possession of his home again—bowed and thanked him. The rest joined in a quaint chorus of humble mutterings. Akitada’s heart warmed. Serving his emperor and his fellow subjects was the finest work a man could do.

Police headquarters bustled with activity. The red-coated figures of policemen with their odd black hats and their bows and arrows were everywhere. Akitada climbed the steps to the Metropolitan Court hall in the wake of a nun in a white cotton robe and veil. He thought that she must be young by the nimble way she skipped up and felt regret that such a young woman should have resigned herself to the emptiness of a religious life. To his mind, such a step was to be taken only in old age or after the loss of a husband. At the doors to the hall he caught up with her and thought he detected a whiff of perfume. No doubt it was only incense.

Inside, they were separated by the red-coated policemen, who took Akitada’s name and directed him to the front of the courtroom. The nun joined the audience.

Hearings were held continuously. Each time a new case was called, the audience would shift and change, as those who left made room for newcomers. Judge Masakane was concluding a case. The prisoner apparently was a thief, and a number of witnesses who had appeared against him were on their way out. New witnesses assumed their places. Akitada recognized Lieutenant Ihara beside the stonemason and his wife, all waiting to be called to testify against Tora. He found a place near them.

Masakane had been a judge in the Metropolitan Court for as long as Akitada could remember. All judges were adjuncts to the imperial police, passing sentences based on the evidence submitted by police investigators on culprits arrested by police constables. More often than not, those found guilty ended up in one of the two prisons maintained by the police. The system depended on all cogs in the process operating in a fair and unbiased manner. But there was considerable oversight and, by and large, it worked better and far more efficiently than the old system under the Ministry of Justice.

Much of Akitada’s early trouble with Soga had stemmed from his fascination with police work and criminal trials. He used to spend too much time observing in the courtroom and, occasionally, meddling in an investigation. Judge Masakane certainly knew him by sight and suspected him of being a spy for the ministry. That he did Akitada an injustice—Akitada admired Masakane’s fairness and acumen—did not matter in this instance.

As the thief, sentenced to one hundred lashes, was dragged from the hall, a hum of anticipation stirred through the crowd. They knew the next case involved a vicious murder. Masakane, seated in the center of the large dais with scribes on either side of him to record the proceedings and the verdict, glanced up and saw Akitada. He scowled, raised his baton and brought it down sharply on the wooden boards.

“Bring in the next defendant.”

The judge resembled a small, ill-tempered turtle in his old age. His fine robe of heavy green silk with its flaring shoulders looked like a shell from which a shrunken head and two small hands emerged and motioned without disturbing its rigid shape. Masakane’s round skull, nearly bald now, was pale and spotted, and a beaky nose came down over thin lips and a receding chin. But his eyes were still bright and black as they watched Tora who, once again in chains, was led in between two guards and made to kneel and prostrate himself before the judge. The corners of Masakane’s mouth turned down in disapproval.

“So you are the person accused of murdering a blind woman. State your name!” he barked.

Tora began to recite his name, place of residence, and service to the Sugawaras. Masakane’s eyes flickered toward Akitada. “Name only! Pay attention, imbecile,” he snapped. Instantly, one of the guards brought his leather whip down across Tora’s buttocks.

Akitada clenched his hands. The judge had recognized him. Since he resented his presence, he would make Tora pay. It was not fair, but neither Tora nor Akitada had any recourse. Akitada certainly could not reprove a judge in his own court. He was thinking about leaving, when he felt a hand on his arm.

Kobe gave him a tight smile and said in a low voice, “Ignore his honor. He must have his little show of temper before he can proceed. Seems to feel it instills proper respect in the defendant and the crowd.”

Akitada frowned. “I don’t remember that. He was always very sure of himself, and there was little or no flogging in his courtroom. Why the change?”

“He thinks people take advantage of him because of his age. Rumors that he’s getting too old for the job have made him bitter.”

“That is bad for Tora.”

“Oh, don’t worry. Masakane will be fair—or at least fairer and more predictable than the others. He follows the law to the letter.”

Masakane, who was listening to the reading of the charges, cast an irritated glance in their direction, recognized Kobe, and bowed. He rapped his baton twice, making the scribe break off in mid-sentence, and called out, “Make room there in front for the superintendent. And . . . er . . . for his companion also.”

A shuffling and rearranging ensued as they made their way to the front and bowed to Masakane.

“Allow me to introduce my friend, Your Honor,” Kobe said to Masakane. “Lord Sugawara is the defendant’s master and came to speak on his behalf.”

Masakane grunted, “Is that so?” and bowed slightly to Akitada.

Up close, the judge looked more human, though Akitada could not be certain if he was grimacing or smiling. Akitada said, “It is always gratifying to see justice dispensed by a superior judge, but it is true that I have a personal reason for being here today.”

“Hmmph,” said the judge. “Well, let’s not waste any more time on pleasantries. Get on with reading the charges.”

As Akitada listened, he glanced across the crowd and noticed the nun again. She was trying to get closer, perhaps to hear better, or to see the defendant. It was clear that her interest in the proceedings went beyond that of the rest of the crowd. Akitada wondered who she was. He decided to keep an eye on her, and perhaps speak to her after the hearing.

When the scribe had finished, Judge Masakane said, “Very well. Let’s have the police report.”

Lieutenant Ihara stepped forward, bowed, and recited the circumstances of Tora’s arrest and the condition of Tomoe’s body and of her room. In the crowd, the nun pushed back her veil a little and craned her head. She had a pale, very handsome face dominated by a pair of extraordinary eyes.