“I’m not looking forward to it,” he confessed when they stopped at the bottom of the steps.

Kosehira laughed. “You’re only the hundredth visitor today. They won’t pay much attention. Just say your bit, and creep back out. Backward, mind you.”

Yes. He had almost forgotten about that. Much depended on his not placing a foot wrong or neglecting proper protocol. He felt the sweat breaking out on his forehead. Better get it over with before he started dripping all over the chamberlains’ shining floors. He started up the stairs.

As it turned out, Kosehira was right. When he gave his name and purpose to a guard at the door to the chamberlains’ office, he was conducted into a large room where three formally attired nobles awaited him. He entered, knelt before the one in the center, and touched his forehead to the polished wooden boards.

“You are Sugawara, acting Minister of Justice?”

“Acting Minister of Justice” sounded very grand, but Akitada felt thoroughly inadequate to the present situation and merely murmured his assent.

“Why have you come?”

At this he sat up and delivered his prepared speech. He managed to do so without stammering, then bowed and immediately returned to his previous position.

“Very dutiful, Sugawara,” said one of the great men—Akitada was not sure who any of them were—“Your wishes will be delivered to His Majesty. He is grateful for the prayers of the nation.”

Akitada did not know how he was to respond to that and therefore remained perfectly still. There was a brief silence, then another voice said impatiently, “That is all. You may now proceed to the temple.”

Akitada rose to his knees, bowed again, and retreated backward, hoping he would not miss the doorway and fetch up against the wall. A hand touched his shoulder, and the guard motioned him to rise and depart. The worst was over.

Kosehira waited outside. “I’ll come with you to the temple,” he said. “It never hurts to pray.”

A practical attitude. They walked the short distance together, exchanging news about their families and their work. It was a measure of Kosehira’s worry that he was unusually subdued.

No monks were sweeping the steps of the temple gate today. All was quiet and neat until they had crossed the temple garden. When they were climbing the steps together, they heard the soft hum of sutra chanting. They stepped into the shadowy solemnity of the temple hall and the heavy scent of incense. The only light came from the tall tapers that burned before the monumental figures of three golden Buddhas. Smaller statues of the celestial generals danced in front of them. Each of the Buddhas wore swirling gilded robes and stood before a large gilded nimbus. By a trick of the flickering candlelight and the haze of incense against the shimmering gold, it seemed as if the statues were alive. The generals turned and dipped and the Buddhas smiled as they emerged from the divine fire.

The chanting monks—dark-robed and seated in the shadows—were almost invisible against the side walls, but a gorgeously attired priest in purple silk and a rich brocade stole occupied the central mat before the altar. He sat cross-legged, apparently in prayer. Kosehira approached him, bowed a greeting and murmured, “My friend Sugawara and I came to pray for His Majesty.” The priest turned his head, gave Akitada a long glance from under heavy lids, and nodded.

They knelt side by side on another mat, performed the customary obeisances, and then assumed the posture of meditation.

Akitada had been raised in the faith and was familiar enough with its rituals, but his true spiritual center was with the ancient gods of Shinto. At heart, he did not approve of the foreign faith, though it was not wise to say so when it was practiced with such devotion by those in power. He listened to the hum and throb of the chant and stared up at the image before him. Judging by the small jar of ointment in the statue’s left hand, this was Yakushi Nyorai, the Buddha of healing. Akitada concentrated on saying a prayer. After all, he was praying for the sovereign and he wished the young emperor well. Indeed, he had been glad to hear he was not dying.

But his mind drifted to worldly matters. He would have to go home to change again, and that meant meeting Tamako to report on the emperor and discuss the problems of sending her and Yori into the country. The complications involved were beyond him. She would leave without him, and he could hardly stop her. Given her feelings at the present time, this separation was likely to deepen the breach between them. As he thought of her words again, they seemed to him a rejection of who and what he was. He could not bridge the distance between them without changing himself into someone he did not want to be.

Defeated, he turned his mind to Tomoe’s murder. Lady Yasugi’s stunning confession that they were sisters had opened new possibilities. He considered their conversation. Something was wrong about it. Her sadness—and there had been a very deep sadness behind their strange exchange—troubled him. Even grief for her sister did not account for it. Besides, he was not convinced that the two women had been very close. They had only met again recently, and Tomoe’s way of life must have shocked the fastidious Lady Yasugi. And why the fatalistic acceptance of a joyless marriage in so young and beautiful a woman? Yasugi was a much older man. Could she truly be so attached to him that his coldness caused her hopelessness? Akitada did not think so. He decided to pay her another visit and ask more questions. There was, for example, Tomoe’s husband who had abandoned her because of her blindness. The sisters had been very unlucky in their husbands. As had been the parents who had raised their daughters to be dutiful. Neither girl had turned out to be the meek, obedient creature they had envisioned. If he approached the past carefully, Lady Yasugi might confide in him.

Perhaps they could walk together in the garden. She was a woman of great beauty and grace and capable of strong affections. Her defiance of her husband in order to help her sister proved that. When looked at in that way, her rebellious spirit seemed admirable. She had certainly shown courage. He smiled at the memory of the noble beauty dressed in that unattractive nun’s garb and mingling with the common crowd in the courtroom.

A touch on his sleeve brought him back to his surroundings. Kosehira signaled some warning. He glanced up at the image of the Buddha and then over to the priest. The priest was glaring at him. Puzzled, Akitada looked at Kosehira.

“You are smiling,” whispered his friend.

Akitada guiltily rearranged his face, but the priest still glowered. Putting on a rapt expression, Akitada said in an audible undertone, “I thought I saw the Holy Yakushi nod his head. No, I’m sure of it. I take it to mean that he has heard my prayer.”

The priest cleared his throat. “Blessed be Amida. A sign! Thank you, young man. You must have a very pure mind to break through the barrier and receive an answer. I have only once been blessed in that manner. What was your name again?”

Akitada stuttered his name.

The priest nodded. “A good omen. A Sugawara praying for His Majesty. A very good omen.”

Akitada quickly performed the closing obeisances. He and Kosehira left after bowing to the priest, who graciously bowed back.

Outside in the temple garden, Kosehira doubled over in laughter. “You liar,” he gasped. “I know you too well. Do you know who that was?”

Akitada glanced back nervously. “No. I just assumed he was someone important. That fine robe . . .”

“It was the late Emperor Sanjo’s brother, the present emperor’s uncle.”

“Dear Heaven. No wonder he looked outraged.”

“You made a good recovery. He was impressed by your spirituality.” Kosehira burst into more giggles. “And by the fact that the great Michizane’s descendant is praying for the emperor. If he remembers, chances are excellent that he will put your name up for promotion.”