The mother was still rocking her child, humming a tune and cradling his head against her breast. But her brows contracted with worry. “Tatsuo?” she pleaded. “Don’t go to sleep now, my little sparrow. Speak to your mother.”

Dear heaven, thought Akitada, what have I done? He ran to the door to call for assistance.

Outside a small group of people waited. The other parents had left with their children, but Tora, Motosuke, and the officials stood there anxiously, their relief fading when they saw his face.

“He killed the boy,” Akitada told them harshly.

Tora was the first to react. He took a sword from one of the soldiers and went to Joto, calling over his shoulder, “We’ll need chains.”

The mother suddenly screamed, only once, but it was a sound Akitada would never forget. Laying the dead child tenderly on the floor, she staggered toward Tora and Joto. Halfway there, her steps faltered, she swayed and began to fall. Tora jumped to catch her.

He was not fast enough. Ducking under his arm, she snatched the sword from him and raised it with both hands. Joto shrieked and lifted his arms to shield his face as Tatsuo’s mother struck. The sword severed his forearm but glanced off his head. Blood spurted everywhere. Joto screamed. This time she plunged the blade deep into his chest. The abbot’s eyes opened wide, he made a gurgling sound, and then his body, in purple silk and pearl embroidery, convulsed and fell. Blood bubbled from his mouth and his eyes glazed over.

Before Tora could stop her, the mother pulled the weapon from his chest and raised it to stab the corpse again.

♦

When Tora found him, Akitada was standing before the great Buddha statue in the dim temple hall, staring up at the smooth, golden face with its remote expression.

“Sir?”

Akitada made no answer.

Tora sighed and shuffled his feet. “There’s a Lieutenant Nakano who wants to talk to you.”

“Tell him to go away.”

“Nakano’s recognized one of the monks.”

“Tora, leave me alone!”

Tora hesitated, then blurted out, “The man he recognized is the former garrison lieutenant. A fellow called Ono. He led the two convoys before the last one. After the first one, he said he barely escaped with his life when highway robbers attacked them. The second time he did not return and was presumed dead. Now he turns up in Joto’s gang.”

Akitada turned around. Tora’s eyes were anxious. “Tell the governor,” Akitada said, his voice flat, “but by the Buddha, by the souls of your parents, leave me alone now!”

He returned to his contemplation of the statue. After a moment, he heard Tora’s steps receding. Silence fell in the dusk of the great hall.

The lips of this Buddha were soft, full, and finely shaped, like the child’s. But the Buddha did not smile. No gap-toothed boy’s grin here! The Buddha’s eyes looked downward, vaguely toward Akitada, but their glance was immeasurably remote.

The flickering light from candles and oil lamps created the illusion that the Buddha was breathing.

“Amida?” whispered Akitada. “Why the child? Why destroy the seed before the plant blossoms and bears fruit?”

There was no response. Some people believed that the Buddha was everywhere, in all creatures, even in man. Others spent hours calling his name to force his manifestation or to reserve a place for themselves in paradise. The child had chanted all day. Was he now in paradise? Was Joto, who had also chanted? And what was this place, this hell, where people struggled and loved so painfully, praying to indifferent gods for a better life?

A moth appeared from nowhere, flew into the flame of the candle before the image, and, with a dry hiss, perished, leaving behind charred wings and a small trace of smoke.

They would prosecute the poor woman for Joto’s murder. Perhaps, in her grief, she did not care, but her husband had come to stare at the body of his son, tears silently streaming down his cheeks. He had put his arms around his wife with a look of love and despair on his face. He had whispered endearments, begged her to consider the other children, himself, their old parents.

But she had remained stonily silent even when the soldiers took her away.

Women could be fierce creatures who lived by their own rules, incomprehensible to their men. Men followed simple laws, their own ambitions, their duties as they saw them, considering their power over others their birthright. So what if the women and children suffered the consequences of their failures?

Akitada raised his eyes from the burned moth to the golden face again. All representations of the Buddha were male. They had large ears, signifying their ability to hear prayers, and a rounded prominence on top of the skull, signifying omniscience. Perhaps Amida could read his thoughts.

A sudden movement of air disturbed the candle flames and caused a shadow to cross the golden face. For a moment, it seemed as if the heavy-lidded eyes looked into Akitada’s and the Buddha inclined his head.

“Sir?” Tora had tiptoed in again. “The palanquin waits. It’s time to go back.”

Akitada heaved a long sigh and turned away from the statue. “Yes,” he said. “I must go back. That poor woman. We will tell them that Joto attacked me, and she took your sword to save my life.”

Tora opened his mouth, then nodded.

♦

Back in the official palanquin on their way to the city, Motosuke gradually lost his look of distress. Eyeing Akitada’s pale, set face nervously, he said, “I know how you must feel. The poor little child—a thing you really could not have foreseen. But you must think of the good that has come out of this day. And you must think of the future. You have conducted this entire investigation brilliantly. I shall make a point of telling His August Majesty so myself. I know you will go far in the service of our nation.”

Akitada lifted the curtain. They were entering the city. People lined the road, bowing their heads respectfully as the palanquin passed. What price authority?

Motosuke gave him another anxious look and continued his false cheer. “On the whole, we really have had some splendid luck. Those evil females hanged themselves, Ikeda was killed by your admirable Seimei, and that poor demented creature took Joto’s life. Heaven knows what trouble all those murderers might have caused if they had lived.”

Akitada said nothing. His hand slipped into his sash and touched some small, smooth pellets. Cool, rose-colored quartz. Prayer beads.

* * * *

TWENTY