Juro was lucky. His old lady had woken when the two friends had staggered homeward, singing at the top of their voices. She had watched Wakiya weaving off toward his own house after Juro had come in to face her wrath.

The headman and his people left, none the wiser about Wakiya’s killer. This did not trouble them unduly, however. After a decent wait of a day and a night in case someone volunteered information or the killer decided to confess, they let Wakiya’s daughter-in-law arrange for his funeral.

It was a poor enough affair, even after she had made the rounds asking for donations from his friends. Juro had sacrificed his drinking money for the week. After all, poor old Wakiya had been his best pal for onward of twenty years or more. They had both worked for the same landowner, doing much of the heavy work like cutting trees, plowing, and digging irrigation ditches. It had paid off in the end; they could both stop working and farm their own plot of land.

Juro would miss Wakiya.

But he wasn’t one to refuse a cup of wine after the funeral, especially not when he had donated his drinking funds to the pathetic affair the two monks had provided. And so it was only days after his drinking bout with his dead friend that Juro found himself tipsy again.

Halfway home, the thought crossed his fuzzy mind that there was a killer loose and that it was night again, and that he was walking the same road again. He came to halt and considered. The sky was moonless, being clouded over. He was still on the outskirts of the village and looked anxiously about him. All seemed quiet and peaceful. Here and there lights glimmered from a house, but no one was out and about.

Still, better safe than sorry, reasoned Juro. He would take another path home, one that he rarely used because it skirted a rocky gorge. In rainy months it was treacherous, because the water could wash away parts of it. But it was spring and had been dry. Besides he would be careful.

Whistling softly to give himself courage, he turned off the road and followed the path. When he got close to the gorge, he could hear the stream gurgling below. He stopped whistling and slowed down. The ground beneath his feet was rock and loose stones, and he walked close to the hillside.

Somewhere along the way, he thought he heard some stones fall. He stopped and listened. There was not a sound, except the rushing water below. Perhaps an animal had crossed the path, he thought, and started up again, moving a little faster, anxious to get home now.

Just before the blow fell, he heard another sound behind him, but by then it was already too late. A blinding pain exploded in his head, and he tumbled forward.

Chapter Four

Monks and Old Friends

Akitada woke with a heavy head and a sour taste in his mouth. The pain in his head came a moment later. He grimaced. Sitting up late with Kosehira and drinking too many cups of his good wine had been a mistake.

Well, the wine anyway.

Kosehira had been a pleasure as always. No one else had his cheerful disposition and kindness. No wonder his family was such a happy one. The next thought, however, was an unfortunate comparison. Perhaps his own family life had once been as happy, or at least harmonious, but it was so no longer. Tamako was gone, and the children could not fill that void. Akitada was deeply lonely, perhaps more acutely lonely than he had been after her death, when grief had blotted out all other emotions. He found himself wishing for such a family as Kosehira’s. He too wanted laughter and the cheerful noise of women and children around him.

He sat up and held his aching head. Well, it was not to be, and he might as well enjoy such pleasures vicariously while spending time with Kosehira and his brood.

But unlike the day before, Kosehira was all business this morning. A servant had brought Akitada his bowl of rice gruel and some fruit juice, announcing that his Excellency would be leaving for the tribunal as soon as Akitada was ready.

A governor of Kosehira’s stature traveled with a large retinue between his home and the tribunal. Akitada compared this to his recent post in Chikuzen province in Kyushu where they had found an empty tribunal with neither staff nor horses. Of course, Kosehira was a very wealthy man and closely related to the ruling Fujiwaras. It made it all the more surprising and endearing that he was a man without the slightest touch of arrogance, a simple, cheerful, friendly soul, and a very loyal friend.

The Omi provincial headquarters, unlike those in Chikuzen, once again impressed by their size and the large number of soldiers , officials, and clerks who occupied them. Greeted by salutes and fine displays of cavalry and infantry, they rode to the main hall and dismounted.

To Akitada’s surprise, Tora was already there and waiting for him.

“Did you see the guard, sir?” he asked Akitada, after having saluted Kosehira in the military fashion his new rank inspired. “That’s what I call a guard. It made me wish we’d had more time in Chikuzen. I could have whipped that ragtaggle bunch of peasants into great shape.”

Akitada said drily, “If you may recall, we barely made it out alive. I doubt if they would have taken kindly to your methods.”

Tora grinned. “Only a matter of time and the right methods. I’d like to look around here, if you don’t need me.”

Akitada glanced at Kosehira. “What are the plans?”

“I’m told Enryaku-ji is sending a delegation to bid you welcome. Meanwhile you may want to see if your people have everything they need. Let me know if I can send you some of my staff.”

Akitada controlled his irritation with Enryaku-ji. “Thank you, brother. Tora, you may look around, as you call it.”

He found that Kunyoshi, for all his advanced age and poor memory had a talent for organization. When he was shown to the large hall that contained the tribunal archives and now also Akitada’s staff and documents brought to Otsu from the imperial archives, he saw that desks had been set up for all the clerks and that each had a particular task. The senior officials in charge of the separate aspects of the case were gathered on the dais, where they would put their heads together to discuss the various problems. These gentlemen were Kono from the Bureau of Buddhism, Aikawa from the Bureau of Taxation, Kanazawa from the Censors Office, and Shiyoda, a recorder for the Council of State. Shiyoda outranked the others, but even he was one step below Akitada in rank. Akitada was to supervise all of these men, and his clerk from the Ministry of Justice was to supervise all of the other clerks. It was a good arrangement, provided all of these people got along and none showed undue favoritism toward either temple. Akitada could have wished none showed any favoritism toward the Buddhist faith and instead put their minds to preserving public lands that would pay taxes. Anything owned by a temple was tax exempt, and therein lay a problem.

He gathered the papers pertaining to the claims made by Enryaku-ji and carried them to an empty desk. There he rubbed some ink and then began to read, making notes in his tidy script. There was no need for him to do this. His clerk could as easily have done it, but Akitada wanted at least a working knowledge of what the situation was. Having finished with the documents, he returned them to his clerk and collected documentation pertaining to the disputed properties from the local files. The more he studied these papers, the more he became convinced that both temples had rashly and illegally appropriated land belonging to tax-paying individuals. How they had got away with it was not clear. He decided to ask Kosehira when a servant arrived to tell him that a deputation from Enryaku-ji awaited him in the reception hall.