hawk circled above, looking for field mice or a careless dove.

It would have been altogether pleasant, except for Akitada’s

assignment and his companions’ ill humor. The former he

could do nothing about; the latter he tried to ignore. Osawa was

becoming used to his horse and did not do too badly, but he

clearly disliked riding and was in a foul humor, which he took

out on Genzo. The scribe kept slipping off his mule, causing

delays while Akitada dismounted to help him back in the sad-

dle. Genzo maintained a sullen silence under the barrage of

ridicule and reproof heaped upon him by Osawa, and Akitada’s

assistance made his antagonism worse instead of better.

They reached the hamlet of Hatano by midday and stopped

at a small temple. In the grove of cedars surrounding the temple

hall, they ate a light repast of cold rice wrapped in oak leaves

and drank water from a well bubbling among mossy rocks.

Osawa, still in a bad mood, maintained distance between him-

self and his helpers, choosing to sit on a large rock near the well while making Akitada and Genzo squat on the ground next to

their mounts.

Akitada was glad not to have to engage in chitchat with

either of his companions. As soon as feasible, he left to relieve

himself and inspected the collar of his robe by unpicking some

threads. Both the imperial documents that commanded him to

investigate Prince Okisada’s death and Governor Mutobe’s safe

conduct were still there and in good condition. But he cursed

himself for his carelessness; he should have foreseen his robe

might need cleaning, though he had not expected to bleed quite

so copiously over it. Masako must have washed out the blood-

stains. But had she removed the documents first and later rein-

serted them and sewn up the collar?

If so, had she recognized the imperial seal? Could she read?

Her rough manners and the fact that she was a girl suggested

I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

125

that Yamada probably had not bothered to teach her, concen-

trating his efforts on his son instead. He had certainly not called on her to help him with his bookkeeping. But wouldn’t she have

taken the documents to her father, who would have recognized

them immediately? She had not done so, or Yamada would have

mentioned it. It was puzzling and worrisome.

They remounted and continued the journey for another

mile when Akitada’s horse shied and unseated him. He landed

hard on his hip and right shoulder and stared in surprise at his

saddle, which lay beside him in the road. The big black had

jumped off the roadway into a rice paddy, where the deep mud

prevented him from galloping off. Akitada picked himself up to

a snicker from Genzo. Osawa frowned but said nothing. When

he looked at his saddle, Akitada saw that both saddle band and

back strap had broken because someone had partially cut them.

Genzo’s work, he thought, but he said nothing. Instead he

caught the black and, slinging the saddle and saddle packs over

his shoulder, rode the rest of the way bareback.

They reached the manor of Kumo Sanetomo, high constable

of Sadoshima, before sunset. They had passed through rich rice

lands, dotted here and there by small farms and modest

manors, but Kumo’s estate was very large even by mainland

standards. The walled and gated manor house was surrounded

by a cluster of service buildings and an extensive garden. The

whole looked more like a small village than a single residence.

Deep, thatched roofs covered the main hall and attached

pavilions. The garden stretched beyond. A separate enclosure

contained stables, kitchens, storage buildings, and servants’

quarters.

Akitada was intrigued by these signs of wealth. “The high

constable’s manor looks more like a nobleman’s seat than a

farm,” he said to Osawa, who was saddle sore and glowered.

“All those stables must contain many horses, and he probably

126

I . J . P a r k e r

employs and houses a hundred servants. If the place were better

fortified, it might be a military stronghold.”

Osawa grunted. “Kumo, as his father before him, is very

wealthy. Horses are his particular fancy. Being a descendant of

an old noble family, he carries on its traditions of hunting,

swordsmanship, and archery from the back of a horse. Wait till

you see the residence. I doubt there are many better in the

capital.”

The big double gate opened promptly at their approach.

Kumo’s servants were well-dressed and healthy-looking men

who took the animals and directed the travelers to the main hall

of the residence. There an elderly house servant in a black silk

robe received them and led them into a small but elegant room.

Sliding doors were open to the garden, panels covering storage

areas had landscape paintings pasted on them, the rice mats

underfoot were thick and new, and on the large black desk

rested lacquered and painted writing boxes, jade water contain-

ers, bamboo brush holders, and a small, delicate ivory carving

of a fox.

Osawa took one of the cushions near the desk, leaving

Akitada and Genzo standing. After a minute, a young woman in

a pretty green silk robe entered and placed a tray with refresh-

ments before Osawa. She bowed and informed him that her

master would come immediately.

He did. They could hear his firm steps and deep voice in the

corridor outside before he flung back the sliding door and

ducked in. The doorway was not particularly low, but Kumo

was one of the tallest men Akitada had seen. He guessed him to

be about his own age and in excellent physical condition.

Dressed in a copper-colored brocade hunting jacket and brown

silk trousers, Kumo wore his hair loose to just above his broad

shoulders and had a full mustache and short, well-trimmed

chin beard. Perhaps he meant to combine the costly costume of

I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

127

the court noble with the manly appearance of the military

leader. His eyes, strangely light in the deeply tanned face, passed indifferently over Akitada and Genzo, who had knelt and bowed

their heads at his entrance.

“Ah, it’s my good friend Osawa,” Kumo said, his voice filling

the small room, much as his large figure dominated it.

Osawa bowed deeply. “It is my very great pleasure to call on

Your Honor again.”

Kumo laughed, seating himself on the other cushion and

pouring wine from a flask into the two cups on the tray. Both

flask and matching cups were of Chinese porcelain. He passed

one of the cups to Osawa. “Never mind all the respectful

phrases, my friend. I’m just a simple farmer who is honored by

the visit of our governor’s most trusted advisor. Please, eat and

drink. You must be quite exhausted from your long journey.

How is His Excellency these days?”

Osawa blushed with pleasure at the attention. “Not so well,

I’m afraid,” he confided. He drank, he nibbled, and he became

expansive. “In fact, he’s quite distraught. His son is awaiting

trial, you know. The governor paid him a visit just the other

day. I expect he was trying to elicit some shred of evidence in

his favor.”

“Ah.” Kumo shook his head. “A dreadful tragedy. Was he

successful? The trial is set for the end of this month, is it not?”

“Yes. It’s only a week away. And he was not successful, I

think. His spirits were quite low when he came back, and his

servants say he does not sleep at night.”