Of course he could not do anything of the sort. For one thing such a telling would require privacy, and he feared that being alone with his friend’s daughter had become far too unsettling.

But he was secretly pleased that she thought so well of him.

∞

Kosehira arrived that evening looking tired, but the eager greetings from his children, who had watched for him, and the sight of Akitada cheered him instantly. Making an apologetic gesture to Akitada, he listened to the excited tale his youngest son was bursting with—it involved the capture of a lizard who had escaped again—and he admired a drawing by his youngest daughter, then laughed out loud when the next daughter’s kitten took exception to the dog and lashed out. The dog squealed and ran, and the kitten chased after it.

Only after greeting his wives and enquiring about the time of the evening meal did he take Akitada by the arm and walk him into the garden.

“What a day!” he said. “You must forgive me. There were so many callers with complaints, petitions, reports, invitations, and suggestions that I couldn’t get away sooner. Have you been bored?”

Akitada smiled. “Not at all. Your daughter Yukiko showed me your beautiful garden.” He made this admission half fearfully, wondering what her father would make of it.

Kosehira shot him a curious glance. “Good, Yukiko has made herself useful. What do you think of her?”

“She is quite beautiful and charming. And I take it she’s a clever girl also.”

Kosehira chuckled. “Did she tell you she studies Chinese?”

“You aren’t supposed to know.”

“I knew all along. Yukiko has her own mind. She always gets what she wants. Since she’s also sweet and affectionate and loves people and animals, I don’t have the heart to deny her. I’m afraid I’ve always doted on her and she knows it. Don’t tell her.”

Akitada smiled and promised. There was something wonderful about the bond between a father and a daughter, he thought. He loved his children equally, but Yasuko could melt his heart with her smile. Still, the subject of Yukiko made him uncomfortable and he changed the subject. “Any interesting business in Otsu?”

“Oh, nothing. Though we do seem to have a crime or two. Someone may have killed an old judge in town, and up in the Echi district, two old men have been attacked on the road. Both are dead.”

“I suppose,” said Akitada slowly, “that this isn’t bad, given the very busy highways passing through your province.”

Kosehira sighed. “You’re right, of course, but when a judge is involved, I have to pay attention.” He cheered up. “Now come and let’s see what cook is surprising us with. My first lady sounded very mysterious about their plans this morning.”

The surprise was roasted pheasant. Normally prohibited to devout Buddhists, pheasant tended to make people bend the rules. The traditional hunting skills still thrived among noblemen who enjoyed hunting the birds both with bow and arrow and with falcons. Kosehira’s table had been provided with several birds as a gift to the governor from a friend who owned a pheasant preserve and supplied the imperial table with the birds.

Akitada enjoyed the meal, but the sight of Yukiko, her head bent over her tray, eating little, and never once raising her eyes to him, made him feel guilty. He wished now that he had been friendlier. She had taken time to amuse him because he was a guest, and he had made her feel ashamed.

Well, he would find a chance to reassure her.

Chapter Seven

Death of a Judge

When Akitada woke the next morning and thought about his encounter with Lady Yukiko, he panicked. The whole conversation had been most uncomfortable and improper. Not only must he not seek her out to reassure her, he must do his best to avoid any more private meetings.

Having made this decision, he felt better and got up. He would start his day with some exercise and then ride into town with Kosehira. There he could look in on the progress of the temple case, and then … well then surely something would offer.

Slipping on his hunting trousers over his undergown, he tied them at the waist. Then he put on his boots, stuffing the trousers inside. Taking his sword, he went to look for Tora.

Tora was at the well in the service area, splashing water on his face and using an end of his shirt to dry himself.

“Good Morning, Tora!” Akitada called out. When Tora turned, he gaped. “What the devil has happened to you?”

Tora grinned and touched his left cheek. “You mean this? Does it show?”

“Yes. You have a black eye. What have you been up to now? You know we have to behave ourselves while we are guests of the governor.”

“Not my fault. I got a fist in my face when I asked a bunch of monks what they were up to.”

Akitada raised his brows. “Oh. I don’t suppose you feel much like a work-out then?”

Tora snorted. “What makes you think that, sir?” He grinned. “About those monks …”

“Later! Get your sword.”

He followed Tora to his room in the guest quarters and was astonished to see that he had tidied up the place. His bedding was rolled up neatly, and he had placed his clothes carefully over a stand with his sword hanging from its end and his empty saddle bag folded underneath. Akitada had expected something quite different. Had Tora’s wife taught him so well? He watched as Tora tucked his jacket into his trousers, put on boots, and took down his sword.

“We could go outside, but there’s gravel. In the stable yard we’d have more solid ground,” Tora said.

“I don’t relish being watched by the grooms. As for the gravel, are you trying to make excuses again?”

Tora grinned. “Never! You’d better watch yourself, sir!”

They laughed and jumped lightly down into the small courtyard outside Tora’s room. The area was small and private, being fenced in. Akitada felt surprisingly well and immediately went into the familiar crouching stance. Tora followed suit, and with a mutual shout they began their practice. This consisted of a series of set exchanges to remind them of the appropriate responses to each move. Tora took the lead. He was clearly more familiar with the sequence. Akitada bit his lip: he had forgotten too much.

Worse, he was soon out of breath and his reactions slowed. Sweat started trickling down his face and back.

“It’s getting warm. Let’s shed these shirts,” he proposed.

They stripped to their trousers and continued. For a while, the cool air on Akitada’s wet skin felt wonderfully refreshing, and he got in a few good moves. But soon he tired again and made mistakes. Ashamed of his poor performance, he kept on a while longer until a badly handled move made him slow to respond to the next attack, and Tora’s sword almost sliced into his arm.

They stopped. Akitada was bent double to catch his breath, and Tora wiped more perspiration from his face.

“You need regular practice, sir,” Tora said, eying Akitada’s exhausted stance.

“Yes. That was a shameful performance,” Akitada acknowledged, straightening. “I had no idea that a few months of doing nothing could ruin a man so completely.” He stretched. “I’m past it, Tora. I’m an old man. I don’t think I’ll ever be as good again as I was.”

“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.”