The Convict's Sword (30 page)

“Moved to another place.”

“Why?” He remembered the ironbound chest. Why had they left their loot behind? Not to mention their prisoner.

The Scarecrow opened the street door and pushed Tora out. “Smallpox,” he said. “Next door and a few houses up the street and behind us. Almost everybody’s gone from this quarter. We found out this morning.” He locked up and motioned for Tora to start walking.

Smallpox.

Tora thought of the amulet seller in the market. It must be spreading fast. He wondered about the man in the storehouse. Maybe he had been locked up and left to die because he had smallpox. Tora shivered. “Why didn’t someone tell me?”

The Scarecrow snapped, “I just did. Shut up and get your legs moving.”

Stupid question. They hadn’t cared what happened to him. It was Kata who had sent the Scarecrow back for him. And that might be an ominous sign, too.

The street lay deserted, but when they passed the neighbor’s house, Tora saw the paper seal with the official warning on the door. A faint sound of chanting could be heard. Someone was dead or dying inside. He felt sorry for the family.

But then, he was not exactly on his way to a celebration himself. And what was he to do about the poor wretch in the storehouse?

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

BROKEN TIES

 

 

 

Akitada felt more like himself the next morning, but Seimei was still feverish. Akitada had more medicinal gruel and herbal infusions prepared, helped the old man again to the latrine, and then got dressed for work. He was already late. The sun was rising and he should have been at the ministry hours ago. After checking again to make certain Seimei was comfortable and giving the cook instructions about his care, Akitada sought out his wife.

Tamako was waiting for him in her room. The bedding had been put away, and she knelt fully dressed in the center of the room, her eyes downcast and her hands folded in her lap.

“Good morning,” he said formally, making her a slight bow.

“Good morning,” she answered, bowing also.

“I wished to speak to you before I leave,” he said, feeling ill at ease before such calm expectancy.

She bowed again. Since she did not raise her head, he could not make out her mood.

He sighed and sat down. “I was disappointed in you yesterday,” he said. “It seemed to me that you were neglecting both our son and a sick old man. I have heard your explanations and cannot accept them. Therefore I thought it best to explain how I wish my family’s affairs conducted in the future.”

She said nothing, but bowed her head a little more. In the uncertain light it was hard to see, but he thought she looked pale. He decided on a gentler approach. “Tamako, I know you have been past reason worried for our son’s life because of the rumors of another smallpox epidemic.” She looked up then and opened her mouth to speak, but he raised his hand. “No, let me finish. You cannot know what happens outside this house. You spend your life here with our child and hardly ever see anything of the world.” He remembered Lady Yasugi’s impassioned protest of such a cloistered life and went on quickly. “I realize that this limits your awareness, and such ignorance can greatly multiply one’s fears, but you must trust me in this. I have been both in the Greater Palace and in the city. Your fears are groundless. Besides, our lives are in the hands of the gods and there is little we can do to guard against fate.”

She raised her chin defiantly. “I have been told that the disease is even among the highest ranking nobles; that, in fact, His Majesty has contracted it.”

“Nonsense. Who has said such things?”

“I may spend my days here,” she said, a little tartly he thought, “but I receive visitors. Yesterday, your sister Akiko stopped by with Lady Koshikibu. Lady Koshikibu was the empress’s nurse, and it was she who told me the news from the imperial household. Akiko came to tell me that she is making preparations to leave for the country with her children. I meant to tell you last night, but . . .” She compressed her lips.

He had stormed out of the room, furious that his son could not read yet and worried about Seimei. Now he covered his compunction with bluster. “That is dangerous gossip indeed. Lady Koshikibu must be deranged to pass along such information. You are not to pass it further.” He envisioned the panic that would strike the capital—no, the nation—if such a thing became known. “Furthermore,” he added, “it cannot be true, or I would have heard.”

Tamako looked away. “As you wish.”

“Very well. Now there’s the matter of Seimei. He’s still feverish this morning. I wish him to be cared for in my absence. If you’re too afraid to visit him, you may delegate one of your maids to tend to his needs, but someone is to watch over him all the time. If his condition worsens in the slightest, you will send for me and for a doctor.”

She bowed. “I had intended to do so,” she said stiffly. “He sent us away yesterday and we were afraid to disturb his sleep, or you would not have found him alone.”

It might have happened that way. Seimei was very stubborn about accepting help. Akitada unbent a little more. He would give Tamako the benefit of the doubt. “I’m very glad,” he told her. When she did not react, he added, “I did not know what to think yesterday when I found him in an overheated room without so much as a drop of water. I couldn’t imagine how my family could have forgotten their obligation to Seimei, of all people. He has served my family from his childhood and has been like a father to me. He’s part of my family.”

Tamako’s eyes had widened. “Oh,” she said, “now I see. You thought I would let Seimei die for fear of infection.”

Aware that he had somehow offended again, he said briskly, “Well, I’m very glad I was wrong. Let’s say no more about it. And when Seimei is well again, he can take Yori’s lessons in hand.”

“There is another problem. I am told that both Tora and Genba are occupied with your errands. We are out of supplies and I had sent Genba for them last night when you countermanded my orders.”

He realized that she was very angry with him. Perhaps he should have explained the situation. “You know what Tora’s doing. I had to send Genba to stand watch at Lady Yasugi’s villa. She is the young woman who was nearly raped. Yesterday I caught one of her attackers creeping into her home. Since she is young, beautiful, and alone except for a maid, her need was greater. Send your maid to the market for today. Genba should be back soon.”

There was a pause. Then she said, “Very well.”

He felt relief at having settled the matter so easily and was about to rise and leave for the ministry, when Tamako spoke again.

“Perhaps,” she said, her voice as tight as the clenched hands in her lap, “as you have lost all confidence in me, it is time for you to consider taking a second wife. It would be a wise thing to do. You no longer trust me to supervise your household or to teach our son, and I have not given you any other sons, which you must wish for when life is so uncertain. You and Yori are the last of your father’s line and . . .”

Seized by a sudden rage, Akitada bounded up. “No!” he shouted. “I do not want another wife or more children. I want order in my household.” And he stormed from the room.

All the way to the Greater Palace, he muttered under his breath.

Women! The very idea of having to deal with more than one. The Great Sage had warned men against over-familiarity because it made females dictatorial. Tamako was punishing him for his just reproof of her behavior by threatening to withdraw her affections. For that was what the suggestion of taking another wife amounted to. Go ahead and see if I care, was what she had implied. He stalked along, rehearsing in his mind what he would tell her that night, and became more and more miserable in the process. He could not recall a time in their years of marriage when they had had such a quarrel.

Tamako had changed. She no longer cared for his company as she had in the days before Yori had begun to capture all her attention. Perhaps he had been more abrupt lately than usual, but there had been many serious matters on his mind. A wife should make allowance for a husband’s greater responsibility. He felt alone and hurt by her words, and that angered him some more.

Sakae awaited him at the ministry. “Have you heard, sir?” he cried. “The emperor is sick. He may die.” He was practically hopping about in his excitement.

Akitada stopped. “What do you mean?” he demanded. The emperor was barely thirteen years old, and a healthy young man. The possibility of his dying seemed completely remote.

“He has smallpox.”

Akitada sucked in his breath. Could it be true? Could the disease really have entered the sacred inner palace itself and infected the emperor? He glared at Sakae. “How do you know this?”

“Someone working in the chamberlain’s dormitory told someone in the headquarters of the inner palace guards. The page who carries messages between bureaus stopped by this morning and told us. It was still quite early.” This last Sakae added to show that they had been at work long before Akitada arrived.

“You are a clerk in the Ministry of Justice,” Akitada said sharply. “I would have thought that you might have learned about the unreliability of hearsay evidence. Until we receive official word about His Majesty’s condition, I will not permit you to bandy about such dangerous gossip. Do you understand?”

He brushed by the gaping Sakae and went into his office. Nakatoshi was bent over the usual pile of correspondence. He rose and bowed. “Good morning, sir.” He added with a smile, “You look more yourself today, sir.”

Akitada touched his eye. It felt normal. He had almost forgotten about it. It seemed a long time since he had tangled with the three thugs. The thought gave way to the vivid image of Lady Yasugi lying on the ground, her clothing tangled about her legs. At the time he had been preoccupied with the villain who had meant to rape her. Now the image suddenly became powerfully erotic. He curbed his imagination firmly, smiled at Nakatoshi and said, “Good morning, and thank you.”

“Has Sakae told you the news about the emperor?”

Akitada felt the smile fade on his face. “Surely there is no truth to that?”

“His informant wasn’t the only one, sir. I was told the same story by the senior clerk of the crown prince’s office. I’m afraid he’s a very reliable source. It’s disturbing news, not only because of His Majesty’s life being in danger, but also because there are apparently already plans for change in case the worst happens.”

Though Nakatoshi’s words referred to matters of national importance—how the next emperor would deal with matters of government and who would take the most cherished positions upon his accession—Akitada’s first thought was that he had once again put himself in the wrong with Tamako. And to be fair, if even the sacred person of the emperor was not safe from this terrible contagion, Tamako could be forgiven her fears. “Dear heaven,” he muttered and sat down, staring blankly at the pile of paperwork awaiting his attention.

“I mentioned it, sir, because Minister Soga would have called at the palace to present his wishes for His Majesty’s recovery and to offer prayers on his behalf at the temple.”

Of course, and Soga would have been thrilled at the opportunity. Or would he? With smallpox in the imperial household, Soga would surely have made his excuses. Akitada was struck by an unpleasant suspicion. “Surely I’m not expected to fill in for him?” Access to the imperial residence was restricted to nobles of the fifth rank and above, and he did not qualify.

“I’m afraid so, sir. I’ve taken the liberty to send a message that His Excellency is away and that you’re taking his place. I expect that you’ll be given special permission.”

“Dear heaven,” said Akitada again and glanced down at himself. “But I cannot go like this.” When Nakatoshi did not reply, he got to his feet. “I suppose I’d better go home and change into my court robe.”

“I shall take care of business here, sir.” Nakatoshi gave him an encouraging nod, perhaps because Akitada’s lack of enthusiasm was so manifest.

Akitada reentered his home less than an hour after he left it. The first person he encountered was Tamako. She looked pale and drawn and—shockingly—very sad. Bowing, she asked, “Is anything wrong?”

He tried to gauge her mood. Had she been crying? “It appears the emperor is really ill. I must change into my court robe and call at the palace.”

“How terrible,” she murmured. “I hope he will recover. Allow me to be of assistance.”

Feeling guilty, he protested, “That’s not necessary. Seimei . . .” But Seimei was ill. There was no way to avoid her company. The court robe was a very awkward costume to get into and out of.

She said, “Seimei is resting. I believe he is better, but not well enough to get up. I am sorry that I can offer only my own clumsy services.”

Tamako was not clumsy about anything she did. Such phrases were common in polite exchanges between married people who merely tolerated each other. He felt his stomach twist with misery. “Thank you.”