Tora shook his head and said bleakly, “No, it’s no good. I just stopped in to tell you I’ll be leaving in the morning.”

“What?” cried Akitada and Seimei together.

Tora said, “I tried, but I cannot serve you. These clothes you gave me are what officials wear, and officials are the scum who suppress the poor workingman. You sent me to talk to people who wouldn’t tell their dog’s name to an official. I can’t do your work and I’m tired of explaining that I’m not an official and that you, a lord, are trying to help them. Even my friend Hidesato, who’s been like an older brother to me, took off when he heard who I was working for.”

It was a long and passionate speech for Tora and left Akitada wordless, but Seimei looked down at his own neat blue robe and asked, “What foolish talk is this? Our clothes mark our respectable and honorable work. In the capital ordinary people look up to us. How can you wish to remain a low person all your life?”

“That is not what Tora means, I think,” Akitada said quickly. “It seems people feel differently about our profession here. The honest farmer works in his paddies and the shopkeeper runs his little shop. Then the well-dressed official comes and takes their hard-earned money for the government and presses the men into military service or corvée.”

Tora nodded. “He steals, you mean. By the Buddha, I would not have worked for a cursed official like you for ten bars of gold if you hadn’t been a good man. You aren’t like the rest of them. But I can’t betray my own people. And Hidesato thinks I did.”

Akitada and Seimei looked at each other.

“Tell me about your friend,” Akitada said.

Tora sighed. “He was my sergeant when I was a raw recruit. Him and me, we’ve been through a lot together. He taught me stick fighting to take my mind off my parents dying. He also showed me how to shoot an arrow straight and how to lay my hands on a kind whore when we hadn’t been paid for months. He saved my neck more than once when I was in trouble, and I covered for him when he was drunk or out of the camp to visit his girl.” Tora paused and gave Akitada an apologetic look. “I know you saved my life, but that’s different. It was easy for you. All you had to do was tell the bastards who you were and they let me go. You’re a lord. Hidesato’s ... like a brother.”

Seimei bristled, but Akitada laid a restraining hand on the old man’s arm. He felt a sharp pang of envy for this stranger who had won Tora’s loyalty while he had failed to, but said only, “I understand. Perhaps we can find Hidesato together and explain to him.”

“You would do that?”

“Certainly. I consider you my friend.”

Tora flushed and hung his head. “Your kind of people don’t have friends among my kind of people.”

“Why not? I look forward to meeting Hidesato and hope you will introduce me to the crippled wrestler and his daughters.”

Tora’s face lit up. “Higekuro? How about right now? He should be finished with his last students.”

Akitada smiled. “Why not?”

♦

They found Higekuro and Otomi playing a game of go while Ayako was mending one of the bows.

Tora made the introductions. Akitada was astonished at the crippled man’s size and muscular build. Even more impressive was the natural manner with which he received Akitada. There was nothing servile in his courteous bow or in the unaffected way in which he directed his daughters to bring some wine for his noble guest. He made no apologies for the poor offerings, and his speech was that of an educated man.

Akitada looked about the simple room with pleasure. It was clean and seemed to have everything a man might need in a home: a comfortable dais on which to rest and play a game, warmth from the cooking stoves on which simmered a savory meal, a few boxes for his belongings, and children who honored and served him.

The two young women wore the plainest of cotton gowns, but they were slender and graceful, one very pretty and shy, the other quick in her movements and openly curious about him. When Akitada gave her a smile, she tossed her head a little. The gesture was unexpectedly charming.

Higekuro stroked his thick black beard and asked about wrestling in the capital. Akitada told him what he knew, and they fell into an easy conversation about various sports and how they were played in the capital and in the provincial towns. Akitada recalled his own pastimes: football games, horse races around the imperial guard barracks, a brief but enjoyable set of lessons from a wrestling champion, and the continuous and exacting training in swordsmanship. Higekuro countered with similar childhood memories until Akitada asked in great surprise, “Do I take it that you, too, were raised in the capital?”

“Yes, but I was exiled as a young man.” Higekuro smiled at Akitada’s astonishment. “Come, the story is not unusual. I was raised in one of the ‘good’ families and trained for a military career. When one of my uncles was convicted of treason, all the members of our family were sentenced to exile, their property confiscated, their honors revoked. I was a married man with a young family, and my only skill was wrestling. Fortunately, that profession allowed me to support my parents till they died. I lost my wife soon after but raised my daughters to adulthood before I had the accident that crippled me.”

Throughout this tragic tale, the smile did not leave his face, and Akitada was deeply moved by such courage. “You have had a very difficult life,” he said awkwardly.

“Not at all. I’m a fortunate man. Ayako helps me run the school, and Otomi is earning more every day with her paintings.” He smiled with great pride and affection at his daughters.

Akitada met the serious eyes of Ayako, who had seated herself near them to listen to their talk. Her hands lay idly in her lap, but he saw their finely drawn strength and the long, capable fingers with their blunt nails and guessed at their strength.

Her sister had convinced Tora to play a game with her. Otomi was smiling up at him. He smiled back in a besotted fashion as she placed a game piece on the board with a softly rounded feminine hand. Into Akitada’s mind flashed the memory of the small cold hand of the widowed child in the Tachibana mansion, and he was struck by the differences between the three young women.

With an effort he returned to his conversation with Higekuro. “The governor mentioned your daughter’s fine reputation as a painter. May I see some of her work?”

“The governor, you say?” Higekuro clapped his hands sharply. But Otomi and Tora were bent over their game and oblivious to the others. When her sister put a hand on Otomi’s shoulder, she turned. A series of quick hand and lip movements passed between father and daughter, then Otomi bowed and smiled at Akitada. She rose and went up the steps to the loft, returning with an armful of scrolls. She placed them on the dais before returning to Tora and the go board.