They dashed through the gate, ran for the rain barrel, and clambered up the wall. Tora and Akitada were ahead, pulling Ayako up behind them. In her hurry, she kicked the barrel over but reached the top of the wall, and then they were running along the tiles to the pines. There Tora and Akitada jumped down first, landing with jarring impact and barely catching themselves from tumbling over the cliff.

In the frantic rush of their escape Akitada had ignored the pain in his shoulders, but once he was outside the compound, his knees gave way and he had to lean against the wall for a moment.

From inside the temple compound came the sounds of shouting, then the clangor of a bell. Akitada looked up. Ayako was still on the wall, preparing to jump. She pushed off lightly and landed with a cry of pain. When he reached to steady her, she clutched at his arm.

“What is it?” Akitada asked.

“My ankle.” She shook him off, took a few steps, and staggered. “I twisted it,” she gasped. “It will be all right in a minute. Go ahead. Hurry!”

On the other side of the wall, voices cried out. Somebody had found the overturned rain barrel.

“No.” Akitada took her elbow. “It’s too dangerous for you to climb down alone. We’ll go together. That way, if you slip, I can catch you.”

Behind the wall the noise grew. A head appeared at the top of the wall. Ayako hesitated, then nodded.

They made their way down the crevice with frustrating slowness. Akitada was unfamiliar with the footholds and he was descending blindly and backward. But mostly his attention was on guiding and supporting Ayako. The process involved, of necessity, close proximity. In spite of the difficulty and urgency of the situation, Akitada was intensely aware of her scent and her slender body whenever they touched. He felt a powerful sense of protectiveness and the stirrings of desire. When they reached the ground, she clung to him for a moment before pulling free and limping off into the trees at a half run.

They found their horses, mounted, and regained the road. Behind them, inside the temple, the bell stopped ringing, and the shouts faded away.

The ride back was without incident. They reached the city as the sun rose over the eastern hills. Akitada planned to deliver Ayako to her father’s place, then return to the tribunal for a few hours sleep, but the girl, looking flushed and beautiful in the golden light of the rising sun, stopped outside a bathhouse that was already open for business.

“There won’t be any hot water at my house,” she said to Akitada, “and I must soak my ankle.” She paused, then added in a rush, “Why don’t you let Tora take the horses and join me? Your shoulders must be stiffening badly by now.”

They looked at each other. Her eyes were luminous in the morning light. She smiled nervously. Akitada realized that she had known all along about his injury and was touched that she cared. It seemed natural to accept her invitation.

“Take the horses back, Tora. I’ll walk home,” he said and dismounted.

* * * *

ELEVEN

A WORLD OF DEW

T

he woman who took their money led them to a small room with a large covered wooden vat. A stool served both for sitting and for climbing into the bath. There was a drainage hole in the stone floor near the vat, with two small buckets and bran bags beside it. The only other amenity was a raised platform covered with grass matting. Two faded cotton kimonos hung from a hook, and the air was moist and warm, smelling of wet wood and grass.

The woman pushed aside the heavy lid, and thick, moist steam rose against the sunlight coming from a small window. For a moment it looked as though they had stepped into a cloud of liquefying light. Akitada heard Ayako murmuring something to the attendant but was too tired and bemused to pay attention. He had not slept since the previous night. Mechanically he began to strip, dropping his clothes on the grass mat. He filled one of the small buckets from the vat, crouched near the drain, and tried to scrub himself with a bran bag, dimly aware that Ayako was doing the same. Almost instantly a sharp pain shot through his shoulder and he gasped.

When her arm reached past him and took the bran bag from his hand to help him, he was too tired to protest.

“Now get into the water,” she told him. “You will feel better soon.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, nearly asleep in the moist warmth of the room. Recalling himself with an effort, he peered at her through the steam. Her golden skin was luminous in the white vapor—a creature from another world. He asked, “What about your ankle?”

“Don’t worry.” She limped past him, glistening in the warm fog, stepped on the stool, and slipped into the steaming bath with the same smooth ease with which she had scaled cliffs and climbed walls.

He followed more clumsily, entering the water with a splash. The heat enveloped him instantly, driving hours of bitter cold winds and chill night air from his mind. He lowered himself slowly until the water lapped at his chin, his long legs pulled in to allow her room. The hot water soaked into his every pore. He closed his eyes.

But his tiredness fled; he was suddenly wide awake. Akitada had never shared a bath with a woman before, though families regularly bathed together, and bathhouses allowed strangers of both sexes to enjoy communal baths. This was unremarkable, he reminded himself.

Only it was not so in this instance. It was absurd to pretend that this shared bath was simply a practical conclusion to their shared adventure. He had desired Ayako from the moment she had stripped to her waist before their bout with the fighting sticks. Since then he had been unable to take his eyes off her for long, tracing her body through her clothes. His skin had heated to her touch, and now he was aware of his physical arousal.

Ashamed, he looked at her through the wisps of steam, wondering what to do, wondering if she would be angry or disgusted, if she would accuse him of lack of self-control or perhaps, worst of all, laugh at him.

Her eyes were closed. Beads of moisture lay like pearls upon her cheeks, her nose, her lips, and sparkled on her lashes. Her wet hair clung in black tendrils to her slender neck and softly rounded shoulders. Dimly seen through the water, one strand disappeared between her breasts. She was very beautiful. Akitada’s mouth became dry. He wanted to look away but could not. There was a single drop of moisture on her upper lip that the sunlight touched with the colors of the rainbow—like jeweled dewdrops sparkling on the grass in the morning sun. He closed his eyes again.

He awoke to her touch, finding her kneeling between his outstretched legs and gently massaging his shoulders.