other secret and that it had something to do with the murder.

The faint sound of rhythmic chanting caused him to look

back toward the lake. He could not see who was coming, be-

cause the road disappeared around a bend. It seemed to be a day

for singing, and this did not sound like a monk’s chant. It grew

louder, and then a strange group appeared around the trees.

Two bearers, carrying a large sedan chair suspended from long

poles on their shoulders, came trotting along. They were naked

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207

except for loincloths and scarves wrapped around their heads,

and they chanted something that sounded like “Eisassa, eisassa.”

The sedan chair’s grass curtains were rolled up on this warm

day, and Akitada saw that it contained the hunched figure of an

old man which bobbed and swung gently to the rhythm of the

bearers’ gait.

Sedan chairs of this size and quality were rare even in the

capital, where the old and infirm preferred ox-drawn carts or

carriages. But Akitada’s surprise was complete when he saw who

the traveler was.

The white hair and bushy black eyebrows were unmistak-

able. Lord Taira was on his way home from his meeting with

Sakamoto and the others. Akitada got up quickly and went to

busy himself with the horses, keeping his face down. The chant-

ing stopped abruptly as the group drew level.

“Ho!” shouted Taira.

Akitada peered over his horse’s crupper. The bearers had

lowered their burden and were grinning. Their eyes and Taira’s

were on the sleeping Osawa, who lay flat on his back in the

grass, his belly a gently moving mound, his eyes closed, and his

mouth open to emit loud snores.

“Ho, you there,” repeated Taira.

Osawa blinked, then jerked upright and stared.

“Who are you?” Taira wanted to know.

Osawa bristled and his face got red. “What business is it of

yours, old man?” he snapped.

The black eyebrows beetled. “I am Taira. I asked you your

name.”

“Taira?” Osawa slowly climbed to his feet. “Lord Taira, the

prince’s tutor?”

“Yes.”

Osawa bowed. “Begging your pardon, Excellency. This per-

son has long wished to make Your Excellency’s acquaintance,

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but has hitherto not had the pleasure. This person’s humble

name is Osawa, provincial inspector of taxes.”

“Hah.” Taira turned and craned his neck. This time he saw

Akitada, who stared back at him stolidly. “You there,” com-

manded Taira. “Come here.”

Irritated by the man’s manner, Akitada strolled up slowly.

They measured each other. On closer inspection Taira looked

not only old but frail. His back was curved and bony shoulders

poked up under his robe. No wonder he traveled by sedan chair,

and this one was large enough for two. Only the black eyes

under those remarkable eyebrows burned with life. “Who are

you?” Taira demanded.

“Er,” interrupted Osawa, who had come up, not to be ig-

nored. “Actually, he’s a convict, temporarily assigned to me as

my clerk. Can I be of some assistance, Excellency?”

“No,” snapped Taira without taking his eyes off Akitada.

After another uncomfortable moment, he said, “Move on!” to

the bearers. They stopped grinning, shouldered their load, and

left, falling easily into their trot and rhythmic “Eisassa” again.

Osawa stared after them. “What a rude person,” he mut-

tered. “He’s an exile, of course, even if he’s a lord. Ought to be

more polite to someone in authority. Come to think of it, the

prince used to live in Tsukahara. Wonder where Taira’s been.”

Akitada could have answered that, but instead he brought

up Osawa’s horse.

“Let’s go slowly,” Osawa said, as he climbed into the saddle.

“I don’t want to catch up with him. A dreadful old man. They

say he went mad when his pupil died. It seems to be true.”

“Has he always lived with the prince?”

“Oh, yes. Thought of himself as the prince’s right hand, I

suppose. They kept a regular court in exile. Taira would receive

all visitors and instruct them about the proper respect due the

prince. Complete prostration and withdrawing backwards on

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209

your hands and knees, I heard. Thank heaven, I never had to

go there. Members of the emperor’s family don’t pay taxes.

Hah! And both of them traitors.” Osawa’s good humor had

evaporated.

Akitada also had no desire to encounter Taira. The old

man’s stare had been disconcerting, but he did not for a mo-

ment think the prince’s tutor mad. He thought Taira had looked

suspicious. On the whole, he wished they would speed up and

pass the old man before he had a chance to warn Shunsei.

Fortunately, Osawa reached the same conclusion. “This is

too slow,” he said irritably. “Let’s hurry up and get past Taira, so we’ll reach Tsukahara before sunset.”

It was not even close to sunset. In fact, since they had left the

lake, the cool breeze had died away and now it was uncomfort-

ably hot. They whipped up their horses and galloped past the

trotting bearers and their burden in a cloud of dust.

Osawa was red-faced and sweating, but he kept up the pace,

and they soon reached the foothills.

The pleasant small village of Tsukahara nestled against the

mountains where the Ogura River came down and watered

the rice paddies of the plain. Its two largest buildings were a

shrine and the walled and gated manor of the Second Prince.

The Temple of the True Lotus and its monastery were another

mile up the mountain. Akitada would have liked a closer look at

the prince’s dwelling, but did not think it wise to be caught by

Taira.

The dirt road dwindled to a track winding and climbing

through the woods. It was wonderfully cool in the shade. Some-

times they heard the sound of water splashing down the moun-

tainside.

When they reached the monastery, both riders and horses

were tired. They found a small, rather humble temple com-

pound, comprised of only seven buildings. The temple had

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I . J . P a r k e r

neither gatehouse nor pagoda, and there were no walls to en-

close it. Surrounded by forest trees, the halls were built of

weather-darkened wood roofed with cedar bark and stood dis-

persed here and there among the trees wherever a piece of rea-

sonably level ground had allowed construction. Paths and steps

of flat stones connected the different levels; the approach to the

main Buddha hall was a very long and wide flight of steps

flanked by two enormous cedars.

It was peaceful here, and the air was fragrant with the smell

of cedar and pine. Ferns and mosses grew between the stones,

under the trees, and in the cedar bark of the roofs. Birds sang

in the trees and monks chanted somewhere. A sense of calm

descended on Akitada.

They left their horses and the mule with a shy young monk,

and followed an older one to the abbot’s quarters, a house so

small and simple it resembled a hut. The abbot was an old man

with pale, leathery skin drawn tightly over his face and shaven

skull. Osawa was known to him from previous inspections, and

they exchanged friendly greetings. Osawa introduced Akitada

and presented the customary gift, a carefully wrapped donation

of money. Then they were shown to their quarters, two small

cells at the end of the monks’ dormitory, and offered a bath in a

small forest pond.

Osawa wrinkled his nose at the idea of bathing in a pond,