“Look.” Akitada chuckled and pointed to a fresh sheet of paper with large black characters.” ‘Mountain Tiger Wanted Dead or Alive for Murder and Robbery—Bandit is seven feet tall, of gruesome appearance and hairy body, and has the strength of a dragon!’ Apparently there is a gang of robbers working the highway.”

Tora grinned widely. “Is that what it says?” He flexed his muscles. “The strength of a dragon? That’s very flattering.”

Akitada turned to him, astonished. “You are this Mountain Tiger? Of course, ‘Tora’ means tiger.”

“Well, in a manner of speaking it may be me,” the young man said, flushing slightly. “But it was all a mistake.”

“What? So now he’s a wanted man?” Seimei cried. “A bandit and a murderer, even if he’s not seven feet tall or very hairy. Pull your sword, sir! We’ll turn him in.”

“Whoever he is, he just saved our lives,” Akitada reminded him and turned back to Tora. “Are you one of the Mountain Tigers or not?”

“No.” The young man met his eyes squarely. “You don’t have to believe me, but I got caught taking shelter in a cave with them. The soldiers tore up my papers, saying they were stolen. Before I knew it, they were putting chains on everyone and talking about chopping my head off. I grabbed the officer’s sword and made a run for it.” He waited defiantly for Akitada’s decision.

Akitada looked hard at him. “Did you kill anyone while trying to escape?”

“No. Once I had the sword, they wouldn’t come near me. I ran as hard as I could down the mountain, and in the next village I left the sword leaning against the warden’s house.”

Akitada sighed. “Very well. I believe you. But I had better get you some papers before we reach the next barrier.”

Tora looked rebellious. “I’m not setting foot in any tribunal.”

“Nonsense,” said Akitada. “You offered to serve me. I cannot travel with a wanted man.”

Seimei muttered darkly, “You’ll be sorry, sir, if it turns out to be a pack of lies. A hawk does not become a nightingale, and in the service of His August Majesty one does not employ highway robbers.”

Akitada ignored him.

Getting papers for their dubious companion proved surprisingly simple. The local magistrate was awed by Akitada’s credentials and did not question his sudden need to hire an additional servant with the astonishing name of Tora and the appearance of a ruffian.

Tora expressed his gratitude through cheerful and eager service. He looked after the increasingly weary Seimei and found them the best lodgings at the lowest rates. This last was important, for though Akitada traveled on the emperor’s business, he could not afford the usual escort of armed men and was forced to manage with a very small amount of silver and several bags of rice for provision and barter.

But the best part of the bargain for Akitada was that Tora began or ended each day of travel with a lesson in stick fighting. His belief in their new servant’s good character grew by leaps and bounds.

Seimei was scandalized by these lessons, protesting that no gentleman fought with such a weapon. Ignored, he took refuge in grumbling and criticizing Tora’s lack of respect at every opportunity.

The day they caught their first distant glimpse of Mount Fuji, Akitada stopped his horse in wonder. Hazy and ethereal, the great snowcapped cone swam into sight as on a cloud. His heart filled with such awe and pride in his homeland that he could not speak.

Seimei remarked that there seemed to be smoke coming from the mountain’s top.

“Ha, ha!” Tora laughed. “You should see the great spirit at night. He spits fire like a dragon.”

“Fire and snow,” marveled Akitada, his eyes moist with emotion. “It must be very high.”

“Oh, it reaches all the way to the sky,” said Tora, stretching up an arm to illustrate. “People who climb to the top never return. They go directly to heaven.”

“There is no medicine against foolishness,” snapped Seimei, irritated beyond forbearance by the reprobate servant’s know-it-all manner and lack of decorum. “Keep your tongue between your teeth until you learn who your betters are.”

Tora looked hurt. “What? Don’t you believe in the gods in that great capital of yours?”

Seimei did not bother to answer.

At Mishima they began the long ascent to Hakone. This mountain pass was the longest and highest on the Tokaido. The skies clouded over and a heavy silence seemed to hang in the air among the dark pines and cryptomerias.

A government barrier had been erected between the steep mountainside and Hakone lake, a desolate sheet of water mirroring sky and mountaintops. Here, for the first time since they had left the civilized world of the capital, they encountered evidence of harsh frontier justice. Displayed at eye level on shelves near the barrier were the heads of criminals, each accompanied by a plaque describing his misdeeds, a lesson and a deterrent to would-be offenders.

Akitada, though nauseated by the sight, forced himself closer to read the plaques, nearly twenty of them. Murder, rape, robbery, fraud, and one case of treason. The authorities in this eastern province took their responsibility for checking travelers seriously.

He rejoined the others, profoundly uneasy about Tora’s fate, should the barrier guard decide to question his identity. There was no guarantee that his own status was sufficient to save his new servant’s head, if Tora was arrested for his supposed crimes.

He looked around. About twenty people ahead of them awaited their turn. The line moved slowly. No one escaped scrutiny at the Hakone barrier.

A guard approached and asked for their papers. After glancing at them, he motioned them past the waiting line and into the inspection office.

Ducking under a curtain, they found themselves in a large room with a packed dirt floor, facing a low bench in front of a raised wooden platform. Tora and Seimei went to kneel on the bench. Akitada remained standing.

On the platform sat a uniformed and fiercely mustached captain of the guard with three soberly dressed officials behind him and a scribe at a low writing desk off to the side.

The guard handed Akitada’s papers up to his commander with a whispered comment. The captain ran his sharp black eyes over Akitada, then scrutinized Seimei and Tora. Then he read all the documents, some of them twice.

Akitada felt beads of perspiration on his upper lip and his palms. This was a far cry from the deferential reception he had come to expect at checkpoints. He jumped a little when he heard a curt bark. “Approach, sir!”

Akitada’s official standing meant that he should give the orders, not the other way around, but he could not risk drawing attention to Tora and so he obeyed without protest.