The dumpling man shook his head in wonder. ‘Who needs a medium after a death?’

‘You got me there,’ Tora said. ‘The world’s full of strange things.’

He bought another dumpling – for Hanae because he felt guilty – and they parted on friendly terms.

As he was walking homeward, he pondered something even stranger than the beautiful fortune-teller. The young Lord Kiyowara had looked a lot like the boy in the market.

FOREBODINGS

As if things were not bad enough for the Sugawara household, Tamako’s condition suddenly took a dramatic turn the next day. She had spent a restless night and refused food in the morning. She complained of feeling feverish again. Akitada went out early to buy some things in the market, hoping to tempt her with oranges, sweet plums, mushrooms, chestnuts, a fresh bream from nearby Lake Biwa. He paid a boy to carry his purchases home and called on Kobe to find out how the investigation was going.

Since Kobe was out, Akitada returned home – to hear a monk chanting. Monks were generally called only if someone was seriously ill or near death. Akitada rushed into the house and burst into his study, where Seimei was bent over paperwork.

‘What’s wrong?’ he gasped.

Seimei looked up. ‘Nothing. When the pains started, Her Ladyship thought it was time. She sent for the doctor, but the pains subsided again. The doctor left a draught for her fever.’ Seimei shook his head. ‘Some unusual concoction. I could not find anything about it in my herbals. I hope the man knows what he is doing.’

Fear had drenched Akitada in cold perspiration. He loosened his collar. ‘But how is she now? Never mind. I’ll go see for myself.’ He turned on his heel and dashed off, bursting into Tamako’s room without announcing himself. His wife was resting on her bedding with a picture scroll open beside her. The monk’s chanting was so loud that he must be sitting outside her lowered shades. ‘I heard you were unwell,’ Akitada shouted. He was relieved that all seemed normal, but was becoming angry with himself for his unwarranted panic.

Tamako rolled up the picture scroll. ‘It was nothing. I was a little feverish, and there were some pains, but they stopped. I’m very sorry to disappoint you.’

Weak with relief, Akitada sat down abruptly and brushed the film of moisture from his face. ‘I was afraid,’ he said. ‘The chanting and the doctor… I suppose I… I keep remembering last year.’ He heaved a deep breath to steady himself. ‘Never mind. All is well? The pains are gone? You’re feeling quite… all right?’

She smiled a little and nodded. ‘Poor Akitada. This is harder for you than for me. Be patient. The child will be born, and the gods will protect it.’

They had to raise their voices.

‘Yes… but must we have the monk? It’s impossible to talk with that howling going on.’ He glared at the shades.

She hesitated. ‘They won’t like it if we send him back so quickly.’

He recalled that it was customary to have the sutras chanted to protect mother and child during birth, but they had not done so in Echigo when Yori was born because the heavy snows had prevented it. Akitada had experienced chanting only for the deaths that had occurred in his family. He shuddered. ‘If it makes you feel better, let him stay,’ he decided.

She reached for his hand. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Let him go. He makes me nervous, too.’

Back in his study, Seimei waited with his house robe.

‘How much is in the money box?’ Akitada asked, taking off his robe and untying his full silk trousers.

‘Apart from Tora’s gold, fifteen pieces of gold, about thirty of silver, and twenty strings of copper cash.’

So little.

‘Tell the monk he’s not needed quite yet and give him what you think is adequate for his work.’

‘Very well. But perhaps we should speak to a yin-yang master, sir. To cast the child’s fortune and to perform proper purification rites.’

Akitada stared at the old man, appalled. ‘Another expense? Purification rites? Next you’ll suggest we build a birthing hut out in the garden so the house won’t become polluted.’

Seimei did not look at him. ‘Such things are customary, sir. The empresses leave the palace when their time comes. The gods are offended by pollution.’

‘I’m not the emperor,’ thundered Akitada. ‘I simply cannot afford all that expense. Besides, I can’t imagine that Tamako would be more comfortable in a hut.’

Seimei folded his hands in his sleeves and raised his chin. ‘It is meant to protect your lady’s life and that of the child, sir. We should also have someone twanging a bowstring to drive the evil spirits away.’ He paused a moment. ‘And a medium to pray to the gods.’

‘Are you mad?’ Seimei knew very well his master’s aversion to anything that smacked of superstition.

Seimei fidgeted a moment, then said softly, ‘Better to lean on a stick than to fall down.’

That took Akitada’s breath away.

Theirs was a family where death had struck not long ago when his son Yori had died. Perhaps Seimei believed that had happened because they had not taken such precautions at his birth. In spite of the warmth in the room, Akitada shivered. He had no choice in this matter. Not if he did not want to be blamed again if anything went wrong.

‘You may speak to the yin-yang master,’ he said after a moment. ‘And the monk can come back at the time of the birth. Tora can twang his bow. But I will not have a half-crazed witch casting spells in my courtyard.’

Seimei smiled. ‘Very good, sir.’

There was a brief silence while Akitada mentally totted up expenses for the monk and the yin-yang master.

Seimei cleared his throat.

‘Anything else you’d like me to spend our dwindling funds on?’ Akitada snapped.

Seimei flushed a little. ‘No, sir. Tora went to the Kiyowara mansion to talk to a street vendor. He stopped by to talk to you, waited a while, but then said he’d be back later. I was to tell you that the young Lord Kiyowara was in a very bad temper the day of the murder. He rode down an old woman in the street.’

Akitada exploded. ‘What was Tora doing there? Any meddling in the Kiyowara case will make my situation worse. How will I explain to the Board of Censors why I sent my retainer to cause more trouble after they notified me of their displeasure?’

‘I am sorry, sir.’ Seimei shrank into himself. ‘I believe he was trying to help.’

Akitada grasped his head in frustration. ‘I wish everybody would stop helping me. If that is all your bad news, I think I’d like to be alone now.’

Seimei bowed and departed on silent feet, but Akitada heard the soft shuffle of dejection and felt guilty. His people suffered his misfortunes along with him and did not deserve his ill-tempered tongue-lashings. Especially not Seimei, that faithful man who had devoted himself to him, never asking for a life of his own or protesting against his master’s ill humor.

As a penance, he spent the day composing his defense against the accusations the censors were likely to bring against him. He had no doubt that they would build a monstrous case, a case that would use the murder of Kiyowara as only the latest in a long string of treasonable and rebellious acts.

The task was painful because he disliked bragging about achievements that seemed to him frequently flawed by misjudgements along the way or successful only by some lucky chance. But he weighed against this the injustices done to him over the years.

He began with his family background, reminding them of his illustrious ancestor, Sugawara Michizane, that brilliant, good, and loyal servant to the empire who had suffered exile and death at the hands of his political enemies. The Fujiwaras had believed for two centuries that Michizane’s ghost had visited misfortune upon them. Perhaps they might believe that he would also protect his descendant against unjust charges.