in business. He lived on the allowance made to him by the

court. And now you really must excuse me.” He stood up. “I

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shall return after a while and sign the letter.” With a nod he left the room.

Akitada started rubbing more ink, his mind weighing what

Sakamoto had said. If the professor was involved in the plot, he

had handled himself very well just now. But last night he had

been drunk and babbled wildly. Such a man was a risky confi-

dant. Perhaps he really knew nothing. He seemed to have a good

reputation. Even Mutobe had not made any adverse comments

about him. If the prince had been murdered by someone other

than Mutobe’s son, that only left the young monk and Taira as

possible suspects. And, of course, the murder could be unre-

lated to the political issues. He was not really getting anywhere.

Taira, the man closest to the victim, was a complete enigma

to Akitada. He must be nearly seventy by now and had once

been favored by fortune. He had had a reputation at court as a

superb diplomatist. Taira was in the prime of his life when he

was appointed as tutor to the crown prince, a certain signal for

a rapid rise in the government hierarchy. Then Okisada had

been replaced by his half-brother, ending not only the prince’s

future, but Taira’s career also. To everyone’s astonishment, Taira

had followed Okisada into exile, although he was never clearly

implicated in the prince’s rash action against his brother. Such

loyalty became legendary. Would Taira murder the prince he

had served so devotedly?

Akitada hoped that Taira would make his appearance soon,

but the house remained silent, and he put his brush to paper to

write Sakamoto’s reply to Mutobe.

When he reached the reference to Shunsei, he paused. Sexual

relations between men were not uncommon either at court or in

the monasteries, but as a staunch follower of Confucius, Akitada

held strong convictions about family and a man’s duty to con-

tinue his line, and therefore he disapproved as much as

Sakamoto. However, such an affair was not so different from a

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

183

man’s relations with a woman. It also involved lust, passion, pos-

sessiveness, and jealousy—all motives for murder. He looked

forward to meeting this Shunsei.

The long-faced servant came in again. “The master asks if

you’re finished. He’s in a hurry.”

Akitada looked out into the garden. The groom was run-

ning down the path toward the pavilion with a broom and rake.

“Just finished,” he said, laying down his brush and getting

up. He gestured toward the garden. “After what happened, isn’t

your master afraid to entertain his learned friends in the pavil-

ion again?”

“Well, you’d think so,” said the servant. “It certainly gives me

the chills. It’s not as if it were in good repair, either. It’s going to rack and ruin.”

“The setting is beautiful. I suppose the view inspires poetry.”

The servant grimaced. “I don’t know about poetry. They

always talk a lot and keep us running, but we’re not allowed to

stay and listen. I doubt it’s poetry though, because mostly it

looks more like they’re arguing. Especially Lord Taira. He’s got a

terrible temper. I’ll tell the professor you’re done.”

Akitada walked out on the veranda. The sweeping of the

path and the pavilion completed, the fat servant was staggering

down the path with a stack of cushions in his arms. Four. Kumo,

Taira, Sakamoto, and one other. Shunsei? Like the disgruntled

servant, Akitada doubted it would be a social gathering and

wished again he could eavesdrop.

It was interesting that the servants were warned away

between servings. It meant confidential matters were being dis-

cussed. It was impossible to approach the pavilion unseen.

Or was it?

Akitada was wondering if he could stroll down there for a

closer look without causing undue suspicion when Sakamoto

rushed in.

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“Finished?” he cried. “Good.” He ran to the desk, snatched

up the letter, skimmed it, nodded, and signed. As he impressed

his personal seal next to the signature, he said, “My compli-

ments. An excellent hand and the style is acceptable.” Letter in

hand, he told Akitada, “I wish I had more time to talk to you. A

man like you could be very useful. I shall speak to the high con-

stable about you tonight.”

Akitada bowed. “Thank you, sir, but the high constable is

aware of my abilities.”

“As you wish.” Sakamoto handed the letter over. “Well, good

luck to you, then, and give my compliments to the inspector.

Tell him I’ll ask Dr. Nakatomi to take a look at him if he is still indisposed tomorrow.”

As Akitada walked back to the inn, he considered Nakatomi

as the fourth guest. Nakatomi had not only been Okisada’s per-

sonal physician, but it was he who had determined that the

prince had been poisoned by young Mutobe’s stew. Kumo,

Taira, and Nakatomi. It was crucial to find out what these three

men had to say to each other, and Akitada thought he knew a

way to get to the pavilion unseen.

C H A P T E R E L E V E N

T H E L A K E

Osawa was dressed and sitting in the sun on the veranda outside

his room. The veranda overlooked a narrow dusty courtyard

with a small empty koi pond and a twisted pine. Osawa no

longer looked ill. In fact, there was a sleek look of contentment

about him which changed quickly to disappointment when he

saw who had come into the room.

“Oh, it’s you. I must say you took your time. That lazy slug

Genzo has disappeared, too.”

Akitada explained and produced the letter.

Osawa made a face. “I suppose that means we’ll have to

move on tomorrow. I don’t understand what the big rush is, but

who am I to question the governor? Well, you two have had a

nice rest, anyway. You’d better both be up by dawn and have the

horses saddled. It’ll be a hard ride to Tsukahara.”

They would start their homeward loop, spending the night

in Shunsei’s monastery near Tsukahara. The monastery col-

lected the local rice taxes, and Osawa customarily visited it on

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his rounds. Monasteries also offered accommodations for trav-

elers, and, apart from the strictly vegetarian and wineless meals,

these were far more comfortable than sharing some farmer’s

hut or sleeping in the open. Osawa, Akitada knew by now, was

not given to roughing it.

Asking for instructions, Akitada was told, with some hem-

ming and hawing, to report to the landlady and make himself

generally useful. This astonished him, especially since Osawa

blushed and avoided his eyes.

In the kitchen a strange gray-haired woman was at work

preparing a meal, while their hostess, dressed in a fetching robe

with a colorful chrysanthemum pattern and with her hair

neatly tied up in a silk ribbon, gave her instructions for an elab-

orate feast.

“And be sure that there are plenty of pine mushrooms and

bamboo sprouts,” she told the older woman. “Master Osawa is

particularly fond of those. I’ll be serving him myself, but you

can bring the food and wine to the door of his room.” She

saw Akitada then. “Oh, you’re finally back. Would you bring in

more wood for the fire? There’s some soup left if you’re hungry,

but eat it quickly. I need you to go to Haru’s husband and buy

some awabi and a sea bream for your master’s dinner. His shop is next to the Bamboo Grove Restaurant. Tell him I’ll pay