She had lost interest in him, and Akitada was glad to make

his escape so easily. In spite of her denials, he was certain that

she, and her husband, knew something that was connected with

the prince’s death and the poisonous fugu fish.

Having delivered the fish to Takao’s mother and fetched

some water for her, he found that she wished him gone. Snatch-

ing up a rice dumpling in lieu of his evening meal, he left for

the lake.

When he passed Sakamoto’s house, he saw that the gates

were closed again and all was quiet inside. He had to walk a long

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191

way before he found a place to get down to the water. An over-

grown field, shaded by large firs and oaks, suited him perfectly.

He worked his way through the undergrowth and brambles to

the muddy bank, where thick reeds hid most of the lake, stirring

up first a rabbit and then a pair of ducks, which protested loudly

and flew off with a clatter of wings. He was fond of waterfowl,

but could have done without them at this juncture. Taking off

his boots and outer robe, he waded into the water, parting the

reeds until they thinned enough for him to see along the shore

to Sakamoto’s place. He recognized it immediately because it

was the only one with a pavilion on the lakeshore. The distance

was shorter than he had expected, because the lake formed a

small bay here, and the road he had followed had made a wide

loop. There was no one in the pavilion yet.

He glanced up at the sun: at least an hour until sunset.

Returning to shore, he put on his robe and boots again, found a

dry and comfortable spot among the grass and buttercups, and

lay down for a nap.

When he awoke, the shadows had thickened and gnats had

left behind itching spots on his face and hands. The sun was

almost gone, and the sky had changed to a soft lavender. Akitada

got up and stretched, disturbing a large ibis fishing in the shal-

lows. It thrashed away through the reeds with a clatter, its curv-

ing red beak and pink flight feathers bright against the large

white body, then took flight over the open water, followed by

the scolding ducks.

Waterfowl presented an unforeseen problem. Ducks in par-

ticular always set up a loud clamor when disturbed. But he would

have to risk that. He decided to do some more exploring first.

This time he not only removed his boots and robe, but his pants

and loincloth also, and waded naked into the muddy water,

sloshing along, his bare feet sinking deep into the mud and

feeling their way among sharp bits of debris and reed stubble.

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When he emerged from the reeds, the water was chest-high

and the bottom of the lake smoother and less soft. Some fisher-

men were a long way out in the middle of the lake. They would

hardly see a swimmer at that distance, and as soon as the sun

was gone, they would be making for home.

He swam about a little, the water cool against his hot and

itchy skin, and felt quite cheerful and optimistic about his plan.

Above, seagulls dipped and dove, their wingtips flashing gold in

the last rays of the sun, their cries remote and mournful. He had

a good view of the shoreline and saw that he would have to rely

on the reeds to hide him.

And there they came, small figures moving down the hill-

side from Sakamoto’s villa, a servant running ahead carrying a

gleaming lantern. It was time.

Akitada swam back to his hiding place to rest a little and eat

his rice dumpling. He did not want his empty stomach giving

him away with inappropriate rumblings later.

Then he set out, cutting boldly across the small bay, swim-

ming smoothly. The sun had disappeared behind Mount

Kimpoku, and the land lay in shadow while the sky still blazed a

fiery red, turning the surface of the lake the color of blood. The

fishermen were headed home to their families, and up ahead, lit

eerily by lanterns, waited the pavilion where an imperial prince

had died of poison.

He caught glimpses of the seated men and saw servants

popping up and disappearing as they brought food, knelt to

serve, and then left again. The closer he got, the more chance

there was that someone would glance his way and notice the

head of a swimmer bobbing in the lake. And this time he would

not be able to talk himself out of it with Kumo.

When he was within a hundred feet, he turned back toward

the reeds and slipped into their protection. Progress became slow

and difficult. Akitada moved in a crouch, using channels left by

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193

fishermen whenever possible. Once he froze after raising an egret.

It flew off, awkwardly flapping its huge wings until it was air-

borne and soared like a silver ghost across the darkening sky.

Abruptly the reeds stopped, and an open channel of water

stretched between him and the pavilion. Someone had cleared

away the water grasses to make sure no boats could approach

the pavilion unseen. Such precautions made his undertaking

seem all the more vital.

Up in the pavilion, in the yellow light of lanterns hanging

from the eaves, he could see the four men. They sat facing each

other and were eating and talking quietly.

Kumo, the only one who wore his hair loose, had his back to

Akitada. Next to Kumo sat the gray-haired, round-shouldered

Sakamoto. Another old man, probably Taira, with white hair

and improbably black brows, looking bent with age and

scrawny as an old crow in his black robe, sat across from

Sakamoto. The fourth man must be Nakatomi. He was partially

hidden by Kumo’s broad back, but wore a rich robe of patterned

blue brocade. Whoever he was, fortune had treated him well.

But Akitada could not remain forever in the shelter of the

reeds. He did not relish the idea of crossing open water, but

decided that, being in the light, the four men would not notice

a lone swimmer in the dark lake. This conviction was almost

immediately put to the test when Kumo got up and stepped to

the balustrade. Akitada sank down, keeping his face half sub-

merged. But Kumo merely emptied the dregs from his wine cup

and returned to the others.

Moving slowly and smoothly so he would not make any

noisy splashes, Akitada half swam, half crawled through the

shallow water, keeping his face down so that his dark hair would

blend with the water.

When he was close enough to hear them, the water no

longer covered him completely and he had to hurry. Slithering

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I . J . P a r k e r

across the mud on his belly, he scraped his skin painfully on

stubble, but he kept his face down until he reached cover.

He had almost made it when there was a shout above, and

he stopped. Naked and defenseless, he lay in the mud, imagin-

ing an arrow in his back, though it was not likely that any of the

four was armed. But nothing happened, and after a moment he

peered up. The surly servant was running up the steps, and

Sakamoto asked for more wine.

With a sigh of relief, Akitada crawled into the darkness

under the pavilion and waited for his heart to stop pounding

and his eyes to adjust. A few straggling weeds grew on the

muddy bank he crouched on. If he raised himself to his knees,

he could touch the boards above his head. Wide cracks between

the boards let light fall through in slender ribbons which undu-

lated on the waves slapping softly against the timbers and creep-