Akitada slept better than he had expected, and this time dreamlessly, but the moment he opened his eyes the memory of the boy was back with him. He got up and opened the shutters. Sunshine and bird-song cheered him, and suddenly he knew what he must do. His spirits lifted. He was going back for the child. He would have no peace otherwise and would imagine, in lurid detail, the boy’s suffering for every moment of his waking hours. His Hikone report to the ministry could wait another day. The minister would assume that negotiations had taken longer.

As he dressed, he thought about his wife. In all justice, he must let her know of his decision to bring a new member into their household. Besides, she needed to make preparations for the child. The conversation would be painful to both of them, however.

Akitada was pacing when Seimei came in with tea and rice gruel. He returned an absent-minded, ‘Good morning,’ and then said, ‘thank you.’

Perhaps he should suggest to his wife that they needed a youngster to help her in the garden? But the boy was too young to be much use, even if he had learned to mend nets and gut fish. Could he appeal to Tamako’s pity for his condition? That would have worked in normal times, but a woman who had recently lost her only child could hardly be asked to devote herself to someone else’s – and the boy would need a great deal of care and teaching. Perhaps the best thing to do was simply to inform her of his decision and let her choose her own way. Once the child was here, Tamako would either open her arms to him, or ignore him. If the latter, Akitada would make up for her neglect. Her opinion of him could hardly get any worse, but he had no wish to cause her unnecessary pain or make unreasonable demands.

Seimei came in again and cleared his throat.

‘Eh?’

‘Your rice gruel and tea are getting cold.’

‘Oh. Yes.’ Akitada looked at the food absent-mindedly.

‘Cook has complained about Tora. She says he spends his nights in the city with some female. And he is very rude to her.’

Akitada grimaced. Tora’s love affairs were legion, though to give him credit, he did not have to pay for his pleasure. ‘Cook is an ill-tempered female,’ he said. ‘What do you think?’

Seimei sighed. ‘He has been getting very unreliable, right when we need his help badly. The roof leaks in several places. Both house and garden have been neglected for too long.’

Part of that responsibility lay with Akitada, but he did not care to discuss it. He said irritably, ‘Very well, I’ll put a stop to whatever Tora is doing.’

Seimei bowed and withdrew.

Abandoning his morning meal, Akitada went to look for his wife. He found her in her room, sewing with her maid. The floor was strewn with piles of fabric, mostly ordinary cheap stuff, and Tamako was again wearing a plain cloth gown herself.

He stared at the scene in puzzlement. Surely they had not become so poor that they had to dress like common people. It occurred to him that grief had caused her to make some religious vow of simplicity. The Buddhist priests occasionally preached such doctrines, no doubt so their congregation would donate their wealth to the temples. He had always thought that their expensive stoles belied their vows of austerity. Heaven forbid that his wife should decide to become a nun.

He blurted out, ‘What are you doing?’

Tamako flushed at his tone. ‘We’re sewing new robes, trousers, and shirts for Tora and Genba, and a few everyday clothes for Cook, Oyuki, and me. Did you wish me to do something else?’

He wanted to pursue the subject of his wife’s working like a servant, dressed in servant’s clothes, but decided against it. ‘I have something to discuss with you.’

The maid, a dainty and very neat woman who had been with Tamako since both were young girls, pushed the needle into the fabric she was working on, bowed, and left the room. Akitada looked after her, wondering why Tora had never seemed interested in her. She was still quite pretty, even after an ill-conceived marriage had ended in widowhood.

Bringing his attention back to his errand, he said, ‘I am leaving for Otsu this morning.’

‘Again?’

‘Yes. There’s something I left undone.’

‘I see.’

‘Er … it concerns a child.’

‘A child?’

‘Yes. There’s a child, a boy. He’s about five years old.’

‘I don’t understand.’

Why was it so difficult to speak to one’s wife? Akitada fidgeted, then burst out, ‘I have decided to raise him.’

Tamako gave a small gasp and rose, the fabric on her lap falling to the floor, along with thread and needle. ‘What boy?’ Her voice was tight with shock. ‘Five years old? In Otsu? You never mentioned …’ She had turned quite pale.

So much for breaking the news gently. ‘I’m sorry, Tamako. I should have told you right away, but I didn’t want to upset you further. I have thought and thought how to tell you about him.’ He pleaded, ‘The child needs a loving home and someone to teach him and raise him properly. He’s a very nice little boy.’ Seeing her face contract with pain, his heart sank and he muttered again, ‘I’m sorry.’

At least she did not burst into angry speech, as he had expected. She said tonelessly, ‘Of course you must bring the child here. He will be welcome.’

‘You won’t be troubled,’ he promised anxiously. ‘I can look after him myself.’

She gave him a searching look and seemed to want to say or ask something else, but in the end she merely nodded.

‘Thank you,’ said Akitada. ‘I hoped you would understand.’

Tora had to be woken to saddle his master’s horse.

Akitada, for once conscious of his surroundings, eyed him with a frown. ‘Another late night?’

Tora blinked. ‘Not really, sir. Long day yesterday.’

Akitada, who thought he had had an equally long day, had no pity. ‘You might as well saddle yours, too,’ he said. ‘We’re going back.’

‘Back?’ Tora stared at him in dismay. ‘To Hikone?’

‘No. A place called Awazu, a fishing village on the lake just beyond Otsu.’

Tora had promised to take Hanae to Uji today. ‘Will we be gone long?’ he asked, a futile question, for they would certainly not be back in time, even if they turned right around. Tora’s face grew longer.

In a deceptively calm voice, Akitada asked, ‘Am I interfering with some personal plans of yours?’

‘In a way.’ Tora was too preoccupied to notice his master’s growing anger. ‘I had promised to take … a young lady to Uji today. I was going to put her on a horse behind me.’ In an afterthought, he added, ‘It’ll give the horse some exercise.’

Akitada exploded. ‘Don’t make up lame tales about exercising the horses when you want to take one of your doxies on an outing. I regret to interfere in your plans -’ Akitada’s voice dripped icy sarcasm – ‘but I must insist.’

Tora flushed. ‘That’s all right, sir,’ he muttered and glumly finished saddling the horses.

‘Take a sword. I’m carrying gold on this trip.’

Akitada led his horse into the courtyard and mounted. Tora remained in whispered conversation with Genba, who kept shaking his head.

‘What is it now?’ Akitada snapped.

‘Just asking Genba if he can get a message to Hanae … that’s the young woman’s—’

‘Genba has better things to do than to carry messages to your women. Hurry up. I’m waiting.’

Tora obeyed, but he maintained a hurt silence all the way out of town. Akitada ignored him and kept up a good pace. They crossed the Kamo River against a stream of farmers who brought their produce in heavily laden ox carts or in huge baskets slung on their bent backs and headed for the mountains, still shrouded in morning mist.

Akitada had brought a large amount of gold because he suspected that he would not get out of the transaction cheaply. The gold was the reason Tora was with him and why they were both armed. The highways were not safe these days.