The Convict's Sword (36 page)

Genba peered out, then opened the small door. He looked guilty, but that had become Genba’s ordinary expression lately. And he was eating again. When Akitada stepped through, he saw Lady Yasugi’s unpleasant maid standing there with a silly smirk on her round face. Two folding chairs had been set up against the wall of the gatehouse, and a basket filled with food and wine flasks stood between them.

“Hmm,” Akitada said pointedly, giving Genba a frown. “Anything to report?”

Genba gulped down a mouthful of food and croaked, “Nothing, sir. All quiet.”

Akitada turned to the maid. “And your lady rested well?”

“Yes, sir. She’s in the garden.” She shot Genba a glance, then led the way. As soon as they stepped out into the sunshine of the garden, she pointed, “Over there,” and left to continue her tryst with Genba. Akitada decided to forgive Genba, and walked toward the woman who had so quickly taken possession of his thoughts.

She was leaning over the railing of the small bridge, tossing bits of food to the fish below, making a charming picture in spite of her severe gown of dark grey brocade and the fact that her hair was looped up at her neck in a rather matronly fashion.

When she heard his steps on the gravel, she jerked around, her face pale and her eyes wide with fright. The fear passed quickly into a rosy blush. She had not painted her face today and looked more delicate.

Perhaps his surprise at her appearance showed, for her hands flew to her face and hair, and she gasped, “Oh. I did not expect to see you again, my lord.”

“I’m sorry I startled you. I only came to make certain all was well.” His eyes drank her in hungrily.

“Thank you. I expect my husband any moment.” An expression almost of despair passed over her face and she looked down. “You must want Genba back. There is no need for him to stay any longer.”

“I have not missed him at all,” lied Akitada. She looked up then, and he became lost in the faint pink flush just beneath her pale skin. Before he could stop himself, he said, “This morning you are as lovely as the roses.” To his delight the color deepened and her eyes widened with pleasure.

Instinctively they moved closer to each other. “You have been very kind to me,” she said softly, her eyes searching his face as if she were trying to memorize it. “I had almost forgotten how kind a man can be.” Her eyes filled with tears. She turned and started walking away from him.

“Wait,” he cried, his voice hoarse and the words tumbling out without thought. “I came to speak to you, to ask you to trust me. I know you fear your husband. I saw the look in your face when you thought I was he. There is a way for you to escape that bond . . . if you wish.”

She stopped, but did not turn around. Shaking her head, she said, “No. Please do not press me. I cannot leave my marriage, and you must not speak to me this way.”

He went to take her by the shoulders and turn her toward him. “Why not?” he asked. “I’m only a senior secretary in the Ministry of Justice, and not at all wealthy like your husband, but my family is old and respected. I offer you my protection. My love.” He felt strangely lightheaded at having spoken words he never intended to say. He marveled how suddenly he had made this drastic change in his household arrangements, in his life, and in the lives of his family. And he waited, holding his breath, for her answer.

She stared up at him, frozen in surprise. Then her color deepened again and her eyes softened. “Oh,” she whispered, “if only I could.” Her hand crept up to touch his cheek.

Feeling triumphant, he pulled her against him. “It’s simple. Just say ‘yes,’ ” he murmured against her hair, thinking how much he liked her scent, the feel of her body against his, her caressing hand on his face.

For a moment they clung together, then she began to fight free. He saw that tears were running down her face and released her. “What’s the matter?” he asked anxiously. “A woman may leave her husband in the same way in which a man may divorce his wife. You need not even see him again. Come with me now. You can write to him, and I can see to it that everything is made legal. I’m quite good at law,” he added with a smile.

But she shook her head and looked at him through her tears. “It cannot be. Now or ever.” She snatched his hand and pressed it against her wet cheek. “My dear Akitada, you have given me the strength to go on, and for that I shall always be deeply grateful. If you care for my well-being, please do not ask again.” She released his hand gently.

He opened his mouth to protest, to argue, but such an expression of intense pain came into her face—still so beautiful even with tears glistening in her eyelashes and sliding down her cheeks—that he could say nothing.

“Please give me your word,” she insisted.

He hesitated. “If you promise to call on me when you need help.”

She nodded. “But,” she said, “we must not meet again. It is dangerous for you to be here now. My husband may arrive at any moment.”

“What could he do? Surely he doesn’t beat you?” demanded Akitada angrily.

She sighed. “Sometimes. But he has better ways to punish me.”

“How can you stay with a man like that?” he raged.

She gave him a reproachful look and he relented, consoling himself with the conviction that she would soon enough be driven into his arms. He knew now that she was not indifferent to him.

He could not take his eyes off her, and after a moment he realized that she wanted him to go. Casting about in his mind for ways to prolong the meeting, he recalled that other matter, her relationship with the murdered blind woman, her sister. But he did not know how to question her about their parents and asked instead, “Will you miss the capital?”

Her eyes softened. “I was once very happy here as a child, but that was a long time ago. I married and moved away, and for a short while I was happy then also. Now there is only grief.”

“Yasugi’s estate is in the Tzusuki district, I think?”

She looked a little taken aback. “You are well-informed.”

“I care about you. And I’m not convinced you’ll be safe with him.”

Her face paled. “Oh. You must not follow me. Promise you won’t!”

“I cannot promise. You may need me.”

She stamped her foot, eyes flashing. “No. I forbid it. I shall deny knowing you.”

She was very beautiful in her temper, and he laughed. “Very well,” he said. “When we meet again, I shall not admit knowing you unless you give me permission.”

She relaxed. “Thank you,” she murmured with a look that was almost flirtatious.

He stood gazing at her, wanting her, and trying to think of something else to say. But there was no more time. The maid came rushing down the path, shouting and waving her arms.

“Dear heaven,” breathed Lady Yasugi and looked around frantically. “My husband is here. He must not see you. What shall we do?”

They had no chance to discuss the matter, for the maid arrived and poured out her excited report. From the gate building came the sounds of horses and the shouts of men.

“I must go,” Lady Yasugi cried, and before Akitada could stop her, she had gathered up her skirts and was running back toward her room. At that moment, her husband set foot in the garden and took in the scene with a sweeping glance.

He gave a single roar. “Hiroko!”

She faltered and stopped as abruptly as a deer hit by an arrow, then walked slowly toward her husband, her head lowered and her hands folded against her breast. When she reached him, she knelt. Akitada could not hear what they said to each other, but he knew from her husband’s gestures that he was angry, and from the way she hunched her shoulders that she was desperately afraid.

Enough! Seeing her like this was unbearable. Setting his face, Akitada went to meet the man whom he already hated with every fiber of his being.

Yasugi, a short, squat figure in a fine blue hunting robe and white silk trousers, awaited him, his broad face flushed with anger. He was said to be in his early sixties, but age had not been kind. He had too much soft, lax flesh: a misshapen belly, small hands with fingers like fat white worms, and heavy jowls that pulled down the corners of his mouth before joining a triple chin. He straddled the narrow path and scowled, as if to signify that the master of the mansion had returned and caught the adulterers red-handed.

Bristling inwardly, Akitada bowed. “Do I have the honor of making the acquaintance of Lord Yasugi?”

Yasugi glared. “What are you doing here? And what have you and my wife been up to?” His voice was loud and insulting.

Akitada was offended and decided to show it. His own pedigree was much better than this man’s, and money was not everything. He drew himself up and said coldly, “I beg your pardon. I must have made a mistake. Please direct me to your master.”

Yasugi stared for a moment. Then he growled, “I’m Yasugi. Your man says your name is Sugawara. That does not explain what business you have with my wife and in my home.”

“Ah,” said Akitada, raising his brows. He let his eyes travel over the figure of his host, then remarked coldly, “You really should take better care of your property. I had the good fortune to protect your valuables and your lady from an attack by bandits yesterday. I came back today to make sure the villains had not returned, but now that you have finally found the time to see to matters yourself, I shall be glad to be on my way.” He nodded to Yasugi, whose eyes had narrowed, then bowed to his still kneeling wife. “I wish you a safe journey, my lady.”

Without raising her head, she murmured, “Thank you, my lord.”

Apparently her husband had second thoughts. “Perhaps I’ve made a mistake. I’ve had a long and thirsty ride. Will you join me in a cup of wine?”

Akitada said stiffly. “Thank you, sir, but I have neglected my own affairs too long and shall not trouble you further. Your maid will explain what happened.” He brushed past Yasugi, who had to move aside, and walked quickly back to the gate, where Genba was helping with the horses.

“Leave that!” he shouted, glowering at Yasugi’s men, and stalked out through the gate.

When Genba caught up, his face was anxious. “Is something wrong, sir?”

“That man’s an unmannered brute,” Akitada raged. “We’re well rid of him and his people.”

But not all of his people. Not the slender woman who had knelt on the gravel path before her monster of a husband and trembled at the brutal punishment awaiting her for having entertained a man in his absence. Akitada clenched his fists in impotent fury. Why had the cursed man arrived just then? Another few minutes and she would have agreed to come with him or he would have been gone.

Perhaps fate was punishing him for the sins of a past life—though he had enough fresh ones to choose from. If he had not pursued her for his own pleasure, she would not have to suffer now. Instead of protecting her, he had exposed her to even more vicious treatment.

Genba trotted behind him, puzzled by his master’s mood. After a while, he said timidly, “I hope I haven’t done wrong in striking up a friendship with the maid, sir. I thought she might have some information.”

Akitada stopped and turned. “Really? That was good thinking. I owe you an apology. What did you learn?”

Genba flushed. “No need to apologize, sir. I enjoyed the food she offered. Her name’s Anju and she’s worked for Lord Yasugi all her life. Her grandmother was his wet nurse. She’s very loyal to him, but . . .” Genba paused, giving Akitada an uncertain glance, “she doesn’t like her mistress much.”

“I gathered as much. Come, let’s walk on while you report. Did she reveal any private matters between her master and mistress?”

Genba’s color deepened. “Matters of the bedchamber, you mean?”

“No, of course not,” Akitada snapped, though he had meant that also. “I refer to their daily life together. Her position in the household. Do they live together like a normal couple?”

It was badly put and Genba said instantly, “I wouldn’t know how normal couples behave to each other, but according to the maid, this lady is disliked by everyone in the household, and her husband is often angry with her. The servants think she’s either been unfaithful or refuses to . . . give him a child. Anju says the lady drives her husband crazy with her bad moods. Sometimes she makes him so angry that he shouts and beats her.”

Genba paused when he saw his master’s bleak face.

“Go on.”

“That’s all. It must be a terrible life for both of them, sir. Why do you think they are still together? Why doesn’t he divorce her?”

Akitada said bitterly, “More to the point, since the man beats her, why doesn’t she leave him?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

Akitada sighed. “I don’t know either, Genba. I was hoping you could explain it.”

He was in an impossible situation: She would or could not leave an abusive marriage, and he had promised not to interfere unless she asked for help. He could only hope for a future when she would change her mind and come to him.

They were approaching a private home, when its gate opened suddenly, and a harried servant appeared. “There you are, doctor,” he cried. “Come in quickly. The master’s having the bloody flux, and the third lady is covered with boils.”

Akitada said quickly, “I’m no doctor,” and pulled Genba away.

“This smallpox is a terrible disease,” offered Genba, looking back at the servant who stood wringing his hands and looking up and down the street.

“Yes. Tomorrow you will take the family to my sister’s country place.”

“People have been leaving in droves. I hope they have wagons and oxen left at the rental stable.”

Akitada had not thought of that. “Do the best you can, but be careful whom you deal with. If you see someone in ill health, leave quickly and go elsewhere. Tora’s not back yet, and I’m worried about him.” He stopped at the corner of Suzako Avenue. “I have another errand, but will be home soon.”