The next in rank was middle-aged and portly. The last was a young man, only in his early twenties. He had a stylish mustache as many young sparks did these days. He smiled, but not in a friendly manner. He seemed to be enjoying the coming confrontation.

The elderly man said, “I’m His Excellency’s senior secretary, Soga. His Excellency is unavailable. Did I understand the servant to say that you wished to report?”

Akitada bowed again. Another Soga? He still chafed under the memory of the late Minister Soga, his superior and Kaneie’s predecessor. It was unlikely that this man would treat him more fairly. “Yes, your Excellency. I had the honor to serve briefly as governor of Chikuzen province while certain crimes were committed there, and these led me to look into treasonable activities between Hakata businesses and China.”

The three men looked at each other. Secretary Soga said, “The Grand Minister has received a report from the Assistant Governor General at Dazaifu. It does not explain what you are doing here.”

Akitada swallowed. “Sir, I resigned my post when I received news of my wife’s death. I came home to look after my family.”

The portly man harrumphed. “You cannot resign. I assume you took unauthorized leave,” he said.

The young man’s grin broadened. It struck Akitada that they knew already what he had done and had merely waited for him to show up. That he had walked in on their meeting must give them great satisfaction.

The secretary asked, “Well, was it authorized leave?”

“Authorized?” Akitada felt himself flush. Did they not understand how a man might feel about the death of a beloved wife? No, clearly they did not. He said, “I properly informed my superior, the Assistant Governor General of the situation. I have two young children who were left without a parent. I also formally resigned my position, seeing that my return to the capital would take months. I thought it best to allow His Excellency, the Assistant Governor General, to appoint a replacement.”

A silence fell while they stared at him.

Then the young man said in a high, nasal voice, “You surprise me. I thought only the emperor made such appointments.”

“I meant an interim appointment,” Akitada corrected himself. He was beginning to sweat and could feel the moisture on his face and back.

The secretary frowned. “I see. Do I take it that the Assistant Governor General authorized your departure?”

“I assume so. I left before he could respond.”

Another silence. Akitada saw satisfaction on their faces. They had him now. He had left his appointed position without permission.

The heavy-set man asked in a silky tone, “And you returned to the capital when?”

“Early in the sixth month, sir.” Another pregnant pause ensued. In desperation, Akitada added, “I have been ill.” It was not a lie, though it hurt him to say it. He had been unable to function all this time, all these weeks, the entire summer. No wonder he was in deep trouble.

The admission, however, won him a temporary reprieve. The secretary said, “Well, it does explain some things. However, I think you will find that His Excellency, and indeed His Majesty himself, will consider your leaving your post so abruptly a serious offence. I shall inform His Excellency of your visit. You will, no doubt, hear from him.”

He was lost. The faces of his children and of his people, all trusting him to provide for his family, flashed across his mind. He bowed deeply again. Then, in despair and rising anger, he looked the secretary in the eyes and said, “Given the fact that I have served His Majesty well in uncovering the conspiracy and perhaps averting an invasion by our enemies, I had hoped for more understanding, sir.”

They were taken aback by his daring. The secretary cleared his throat and said coldly, “You will have to leave the decision regarding your service to His Excellency.”

Akitada bowed again and left.

Outside in the corridor a cluster of officials had gathered. They ducked away when he appeared or pretended to be in conversation. He bit his lip and walked away quickly. Behind him, he heard whispers and suppressed laughter.

It was the most humiliating moment of that day. He had been a fool to think that his reputation would see him through this trouble. His effort had been as pointless as hitching a horse with a rotten rope.

Many years ago, when he was still young, he had found himself in front of the censors to receive a stinging rebuke. That, too, had not been altogether deserved, but he had been young then, untried, and humble in his own inexperience. Now he was middle-aged and had served his country for more than twenty years. He had risked his own life and that of his retainers. He had lost Seimei, and Tamako had died in his absence because of the demands of his position.

Perhaps he might have averted her death if he had been here. He would at least have had a chance to ease it, to hold her in his arms, to tell her how much he loved her.

And for all his sacrifices and the many significant services he had performed for his country, he was now being humiliated, laughed at by men who had never had to risk anything. Anger welled up again and was instantly suppressed.

What did it matter when he had lost his wife—and the child he had never had a chance to get to know?

But he felt in need of some kindness and turned his feet toward the Ministry of Ceremonial. His friend Nakatoshi served as senior secretary there. Nakatoshi had once been Akitada’s clerk. His capabilities and family connections had earned him his present rank and position, and he had reached the same level as Akitada. Unlike others, Nakatoshi had been sorry to leave the Ministry of Justice and had in time become a close friend.

Nakatoshi was in—he had always been a most conscientious official—and greeted Akitada by getting up and coming to embrace him. His face shone with pleasure and concern.

“How are you, my dear friend?” he asked as he released him and invited him to sit. He studied Akitada’s face. “You look pale and thin. Are you well?”

Akitada gave a snort of bitter amusement. “Seeing that I’ve just lied to Kinsue’s Senior Secretary about having been too ill to report in a timely manner, that’s probably a good thing. No, my health is well enough, but I seem to have created a problem for myself.” He paused, then added, “And for my people. I seem to have lost my post at the ministry and am likely to be dismissed from government service.”

Nakatoshi gasped. “You must be joking.”

“It’s no joking matter, Nakatoshi.”

“Are you quite sure? I cannot believe it.”

Akitada gave him a bleak smile. “I come to you directly from the meeting. The truth is, I only know the Senior Secretary by name. The others didn’t bother to introduce themselves. One was middle-aged and fat. He had the look of one of the Fujiwaras of the chancellor’s family. The other was in his early twenties and supercilious. They enjoyed themselves.”

“But that’s outrageous! After all you’ve done and sacrificed for them! Does Kinsue know?”

“I have no idea.”

Nakatoshi sat stunned, shaking his head mutely. It was clear that he felt Akitada’s humiliation personally. It was why Akitada had come to his friend, and he started to feel a little better.

“Well,” he said more firmly, “I must make the best of it. If you know of any post that I might fill, anything at all that will keep the roof fixed and food on the table, I’d be very grateful.”

“Of course, but there is nothing a man like you could accept. Those posts are in the hands of the chancellor and his brothers. We must change their minds—if they have indeed already made them up. What about your old post at the ministry.”

“Already filled.”

“Already? Akitada, that suggests planning. Who hates you enough to want to ruin you?”

“Many people. The Sugawaras have never lacked for powerful enemies. We don’t have to do anything to make new ones. I should have known, but when the news came about Tamako … I wasn’t thinking straight. Nothing mattered then. All I felt was rage against fate. When fate itself was bent on destroying me, a few Fujiwaras hardly mattered.”