They approached the small town, a collection of fishermen’s

huts strung along the bay, with farmhouses, a couple of manors,

and a small temple set back on higher ground. The road skirted

the bay with its hard shingle beach. On the other side were

muddy rice paddies like irregular patches of dingy hemp cloth

sewn on a ragged green gown.

“Stop at those first houses,” Akitada called to the others.

“The road narrows there, and we’ll use the house walls to cover

our backs.”

“Like cornered rats,” Haseo shouted back, but he grinned.

Kumo was nearly on top of them. They had been seen a long

way back, and their pursuers had whipped their horses into a

gallop. Now they came, banner flapping, and raucous shouts of

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victory mingling with the pounding of hooves. Akitada, Haseo,

and Tora spurred their own nags into a last short burst of speed.

The first farm consisted of several independent buildings.

The main house with its steep thatched roof fronted the road,

but barns, kitchens, and other low buildings clustered around

and behind it. Narrow passages and small fenced gardens linked

the buildings. There was no one in sight. The men were proba-

bly in the fields, and the women had gone into hiding when

trouble arrived.

Haseo tumbled down before his horse had stopped. Half

running, half limping, he went to a side yard where the farmer’s

wife had pushed several tall bamboo poles in the ground to

support her drying laundry. He pulled up one of the sturdier

poles, letting the rest of the rig topple into the dirt, and

weighed it in his hand. With a grunt of satisfaction, he joined

the others.

Tora had also dismounted, his short sword drawn. Only

Akitada remained in the saddle, blocking the road, Tora’s

long sword in his hand as their pursuers halted in a cloud of

yellow dust.

Kumo’s helmet was brilliant in the sun, his armor, trimmed

with green silk, also shone with gold, and a golden war fan

flashed in his raised hand. The banner bore the insignia of the

high constable. Kumo’s men were all armed, their armor pol-

ished, their bows over their shoulders, and their swords drawn.

Bright red silk tassels swung from the horses’ bridles. Their faces were avid with excitement, with the hunger for blood. Only

Kumo looked utterly detached, his lips thin and his forehead

furrowed in a frown of distaste.

Akitada waited to see what Kumo would do. He no longer

felt the pain in his knee, or weariness, or even fear. He wanted to meet this man sword to sword. He wanted to kill him more than

he had ever wanted anything in his life.

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

357

Kumo shouted across, “Give yourselves up, in the name of

the emperor.”

In the name of the emperor? Akitada laughed.

Scowling, Kumo brought his horse a little closer. “I am the

high constable. You’re escaped convicts and under arrest.”

Akitada shouted back, “You know who I am, Kumo. Sug-

awara Akitada, imperial envoy. You’re under arrest for treason.

Tell your men to lay down their swords.”

Kumo’s people burst into laughter in their turn, but Kumo

raised his golden fan, and they fell quiet. “You’re outnumbered,”

he shouted. “If you don’t give up, you’ll be cut down like dogs.”

“Try it, you bastards!” shouted Haseo, stepping forward and

swinging his bamboo pole. Akitada hoped he was as skilled at

stick-fighting as Tora.

“If you want a fight, Kumo,” he shouted back, “let it be

between the two of us.”

Kumo was heavily armed and sat on one of his magnificent

horses, while Akitada wore nothing but Tora’s trousers and robe

and rode a worn-out nag which stood wide-legged, its head hang-

ing in exhaustion. Akitada was also becoming conscious of the

weight of Tora’s sword. He was much weaker than he had thought.

But his anger kept him there. This man had done his best to kill

him slowly and horribly and had failed. Now Akitada wanted a

quick and clean kill of his own. He could taste the sweetness of

such a victory, knew he could not lose, and gloried in the moment.

But Kumo gave him a look of contempt, then turned his

horse and rode up the embankment. There he stopped and

waited for his bannerman. It dawned on Akitada that he had

refused single combat and would conduct this like a battle, as a

general from a safe distance.

A battle? Stunned by this ridiculous turn of events, the fury

at the insult still gripping his belly like a burning vise, Akitada bellowed after him, “Stand and fight, you coward!”

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Kumo ignored him. The great man would not fight a mere

convict. He raised his fan and pointed it at Akitada, and his

men burst into raucous cries, spurred their horses, and came

at him, swords flashing in the sun, the horses’ flying hooves

splattering gravel.

Later Akitada could not remember how he had met their

charge, what had given him the strength to grip his horse

between his legs and force it to the side of the road so the at-

tackers had to pass on his right. The animal was stolid enough,

but with a sudden onrush of so many riders, it kept backing and

sinking onto its hindquarters, its eyes rolling in its head with

fear. Because the road was narrow, they came single file. Soldier

after soldier passed, each one slashing down or across with his

sword, in an almost comical imitation of a parade-ground drill,

except that he was the bale of rice straw they practiced on. He

parried, hacked, slashed, and swung the heavy sword, felt each

jarring contact with steel, the impact traveling up his arm like

fire; but he feared making body cuts more, because the blade

could get caught in the other man’s armor and there would

be no time to free it. Below him, on either side, Haseo and Tora

slashed and swung their weapons, but he was hardly aware of

them because the enemy came so fast.

And then they were past.

Two riderless horses galloped off, and two groaning men

rolled on the ground, their blood soaking into the hot earth. A

wounded horse screamed dreadfully, its legs flailing in the air as

it rolled on the body of its rider. Tora grinned up at him, his

sword dripping blood.

“That’s three of the bastards,” he called.

Akitada nodded. Kumo had foolishly given them the advan-

tage by sending his men singly at them. True, the road was nar-

row, but if he had ordered his men to use their bows and arrows,

or to dismount and attack on foot, their numbers would have

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

359

made short work of three weak adversaries. He glanced up the

road where the remaining five soldiers gathered for a return

sweep, and then at Kumo, who was watching impassively from

his embankment.

Haseo’s bamboo pole lay broken, but he helped himself to

the sword of the dead man under the wounded horse, then

stepped forward and quickly cut the suffering beast’s throat. Its

blood drenched him, but he returned to the others, swinging

the sword triumphantly, his face exultant.

Up on his embankment, Kumo raised his fan, and here they

came again, hooves thundering on the roadway, frenzied shouts

ringing, long, curved blades slashing and hissing through the

air. Akitada attempted to turn his horse, but this time the

abused nag had had enough. With a frenzied whinny, it reared,

unseating Akitada, and took off down the empty roadway ahead

of the attackers, legs flying.