At home, another poem awaited him:

“That scent of sandalwood on your sleeve; it is with me still. But I lie awake and only the moon lights my room.”

It was a seductive verse, and it’s invitation was clear. He grew warm at the thought of Yukiko, half asleep in her bedding, longing for him. Biting his lip with frustration, he crumpled up the letter. What did she expect? That he would slip into her room under cover of darkness to make love to her? Yes, he thought, that was precisely what she suggested.

He spent a very disturbed night, worried that she might take the initiative and come to him instead.

∞

In the morning, an excited Kosehira greeted him. He was waving a letter in the air.

“Look at this!” he cried. “It took me by surprise.”

Akitada approached warily. Letters had become dangerous in his recent experience. But Kosehira was smiling.

“It couldn’t be better!” he said “And I didn’t have to wrangle an invitation. Here! Read!”

Akitada took the letter. Scanning it quickly, he saw that it was from Nakahara Nariyuki. He vaguely knew him as a prominent nobleman who was in the service of the retired emperor. The letter was an invitation to a pheasant hunt for Kosehira and Akitada. Puzzled by Kosehira’s delight, he handed the missive back, saying, “Very kind of him, but I don’t hunt. Still, I suppose I must accept. Where is his estate?”

“Oh, Nakahara lives here in Otsu. Has for years. His house is on the small side since he spends most of his time at His Retired Majesty’s palace. As that is a short distance from Otsu, it’s a feasible journey back and forth, but it means he doesn’t entertain much. His staff is too small.” Kosehira chortled. “If you ask me, he’s a bit of a miser. Looks like he solved the problem of welcoming you by getting Taira Sukemichi to invite us to a hunt.”

Akitada frowned. “I see. But that makes us Taira’s guests, not Nakahara’s. I should be able to get out of it.”

Kosehira laughed again. “You don’t understand how these things work, brother. Taira owes Nakahara a lot of favors. I think it was Nakahara who got his father the post of overseeing the imperial pheasant reserve. Now Nakahara is a regular guest at every hunt. And you cannot offend Nakahara. He’s much too important in politics in the capital. Don’t look so dejected. You’ll like it. It’s spring, the country around there is beautiful, and there is a surprise.”

Akitada was afraid to ask. “What have you cooked up, Kosehira?”

“Taira’s lands include Okuni. Now what do you say?”

“Okuni?” It took Akitada a moment to remember. “You mean the village where the two old men were killed?”

“The very one.”

“Oh.” Akitada considered. They would leave Otsu, and that was indeed fortuitous at the moment. And there was the promise of investigating the puzzle of the Jizo figures. Yes, it would be just as well to remove himself from the lovely Yukiko before he lost his mind completely. He smiled at his friend. “Very well, if you have a mind to go, I look forward to it. But Kosehira, keep in mind that I don’t like killing animals for sport and haven’t handled a bow in a decade or more.”

“As to the bow, you won’t need it. They use falcons. A very refined form of hunting that emperors engage in.” He smiled broadly. “We’ll make a nobleman of you yet.”

They laughed.

Suddenly Akitada felt lighthearted again. Kosehira always had this effect on him.

∞

But the next morning brought another poem. He heard the letter slide under his door.

She had written, “The storms of spring have scattered the blossoms, and my heart has grown wintry cold.” This time she had added, “I must see you before you leave!” and had underlined the “must.”

He felt a sudden fear that she might do something rash unless he talked to her. Tucking the note away, he opened the shutters to look out.

The stars were still out though the night sky paled in the east. They were to make an early start, and any moment a servant would come to wake Akitada. No doubt Kosehira and his family were also stirring. It was an impossible time for a meeting.

Yet Akitada dressed quickly and went out into the dark garden. It was still filled with scent of late azaleas and other flowers. In the dim light under the trees he walked carefully. She was waiting at the koi pond as he had guessed and looked up at his step.

“Who is it?” she asked softly.

“Akitada,” he said in an equally low voice. “This isn’t wise, Lady Yukiko. We may be seen.”

“I don’t care.” She came quickly to him. “I had to see you before you go,” she said. “There was no other way since you would not come to me.”

He flinched. He could not see her face clearly, but thought she looked pale and tense. Perhaps this mood was preferable to the passionate declarations of love, but it suggested that he had caused her pain. He felt a wave of tenderness. He did not want to hurt her.

“Forgive me,” he said gently. “It has pained me greatly to treat you this way. I have been a coward.”

She said nothing to this but lowered her eyes.

“I’m not worthy of your fondness, Yukiko. You must not think of me any longer. Not in this way. I … I cannot be what you wish.”

She made an impatient sound and turned away. He felt like a brute.

“Yukiko,” he pleaded, “you have honored me beyond anything a poor fellow like me deserves. But I am your father’s age. In fact, we call each other ‘brother.’ You must see that I can be no more than an uncle to you and his other children.”

She still said nothing. There was a strange stiffness to her slender back. He wanted to go to her and hold her, but this time he would not do so.

He said uncertainly, “It hurts me very much to see you like this.”

She turned then, and he saw in the dim light that she had been crying. “No,” she said, dabbing impatiently at her face with one of her sleeves, “It’s not your fault. I’m ashamed. I have been foolish and must ask your pardon for behaving like a silly, love-struck girl. You see, I’d been encouraged to think you might … no, I won’t blame others.” She covered her face with her hands, then looked up again. Her eyes were swimming in tears. “What you must think of me! I’m not at all this way as a rule. I’m quite sensible. I never write poems to men, not even in my thoughts.”

He said helplessly, “They are lovely poems. I shall treasure them.”

She raised her chin a little. “I made a mistake. You see, I thought—mistakenly—that you liked me. That you were just shy, or reluctant to approach me because I am my father’s daughter. I know better now. Please forgive me for having troubled you.”

“There’s nothing to forgive.” He wanted to tell her that she had filled his heart with joy and love again, but that was impossible. In the end, he simply added, “I must go. They will be looking for me. Good bye, Lady Yukiko.”

As he turned away, he felt sick with the pain of this parting.

Chapter Nineteen

Falconry

Kosehira was puzzled by Akitada’s mood on the long ride to the imperial pheasant reserve and kept trying to cheer him up. He pointed out that the weather was clear, the rice paddies already green with new rice, and ahead lay some fine entertainment. After several miles of silence or mono-syllabic comments, he asked, “Is anything the matter, brother? You seem very glum. Is it the hunting still that troubles you?”

Akitada returned to the present and forced himself to smile at Kosehira. “Nothing is wrong, brother,” he lied, then offered, “I’m a little preoccupied with those Jizo murders. If someone is going around killing people, he must be stopped quickly. Unfortunately, I don’t know where to begin to look for him. If the two murders at Okuni turn out to have been the work of the same killer, we have a very serious problem. I’m sorry if I’m bad company. I shall try to do better.”