He mentioned his distinguished university career and the fact that he had placed first in the examination. Then he moved on to the special assignments he had accepted and brought to successful conclusions against everyone’s expectations. The case of the lost tax convoys from Kazusa, where he had foiled the plot of a treasonous abbot, was one of these. The removal of Uesugi, the warlord in Echigo who had attempted to seize control of a province, was another. He reminded them of the island province of Sado, where he had almost died and had suffered wounds that still caused him pain. In Sado, the emperor’s exiled brother had attempted to join with the hostile forces in the North to seize the throne. Oh, yes, they owed him better treatment than this.

At this point, Akitada interrupted his work to look in on Tamako. The women – she was with Hanae and Oyuki – were busy sewing, while Yuki crawled about between them and played with bits of colored cloth. It was a cheerful scene, and the slight fever made Tamako’s face rosy so that she looked deceptively healthy. They were cutting and sewing small garments from old robes. He thought he recognized a lovely rose-colored silk that he had particularly liked on Tamako. But for a boy? He said nothing about this, however, and instead chatted about the absent Genba and the dog Trouble, and how he missed them – yes, even that shaggy dog. For their part, they also kept their comments to happier times.

When Yuki began to whimper and pull on his mother’s sleeve, Hanae said, ‘He’s hungry,’ and put him to her breast. Akitada thought that soon he would see his own child at its mother’s breast. That made him smile, and he reached for Tamako’s hand.

Tamako looked first at him and then at Hanae with the baby, understood, and said, ‘What a very fortunate thing, Hanae, that you’re still nursing.’

What did she mean by that? Did she expect Hanae to nurse their child also? She had nursed Yori. Would she not do the same for this child? True, women of his class rarely nursed their own children, but Tamako had never behaved like them.

Hanae shot him a glance and said, ‘Don’t fret, My Lady. I won’t be needed,’ and Akitada understood that Tamako had made preparations for her death. Deeply shocked, he jumped up and left without another word.

The fears were back, and they were more real than ever.

In his study, he paced without finding any consolation or hope. In the end, he did what he had not done for a long time now. He retrieved his flute and walked outside with it. Playing his flute reminded him of Yori’s death. He would always associate it with death now. It was a great pity because before that dreadful time, the flute had given him many hours of pleasure and brought him peace when he had been troubled.

He was still playing, fumblingly because he had forgotten the tunes, when Seimei joined him on the veranda. His mind on death and dying, Akitada lowered the flute and asked anxiously, ‘Is anything wrong?’

‘No, sir. A messenger has arrived with a letter for you.’ Seimei held it out with both hands. ‘From Lady Kiyowara.’

Akitada was so astonished that he gaped at the prettily folded square for a moment before opening it. He caught a whiff of expensive incense, and the paper was thick and beautiful. The handwriting also was quite exquisite. The message was short: ‘Lady Kiyowara begs Lord Sugawara to call on her.’

‘She wants to see me,’ he said blankly.

‘Shall I get out your good robe and trousers, sir?’

Akitada looked up at the sun. Ladies of her rank expected promptness. ‘Yes,’ he said. He heard Seimei’s footsteps receding and called after him, ‘Thank you, Seimei. For everything.’

The steps paused. ‘It is a pleasure, sir. Always.’

THE WIDOW

In his second-best robe, the same one he had worn on his previous visit, Akitada presented himself to heavily armed retainers at the Kiyowara gate.

They had not been here before, and their martial demeanor struck an unpleasant note in this normally peaceful quarter of the city. Kiyowara’s rank and position permitted them, and they might have been brought from his provincial seat to attend his funeral and to protect the widow and her young son against unwelcome attentions, but Akitada felt as though he were walking unarmed into an enemy camp.

Still, they admitted him readily when he identified himself. A house servant, dressed in white hemp because of his master’s death, took him to the main reception hall and indicated a single silk cushion placed before an empty dais at the end of the large, dim room.

The dais was new since Soga’s days and suggested aspirations beyond Kiyowara’s recent rank – that or the expectation of an imperial visit. The coffered ceiling was lacquered dark brown, the heavy beams had gilded mounts, and the squares between were painted in a red and white design – probably the Kiyowara crest. The dais was covered with thick tatami mats edged in red brocade, and on the wall behind it was a large painting of flowering branches and birds. Someone had set up a lacquered curtain stand with costly brocade hangings and had placed three silk pillows, one in front of the others, on the tatami mats before it.

It was to be an official reception, something resembling an audience. In a way it was reassuring – the Kiyowaras did not intend to have him cut down by their soldiers. But Akitada’s placement below the splendor of the dais was also insulting. He considered his own descent far more ancient and noble than that of a Kiyowara.

At least they did not make him wait. A door slid open in the painted panel, and three people slipped in. Lady Kiyowara and her companion were gorgeously robed in scented silk, but wore short hemp jackets over their many-hued gowns. They were followed by a young male. Akitada guessed that this was the son and heir. He also wore expensive silks under his hemp jacket and looked pale and nervous.

Lady Kiyowara seated herself in the center of the dais, while her son and companion took their places behind. The arrangement meant that Lady Kiyowara intended to conduct the interview. It also implied that she would speak for the heir because of his youth.

Akitada was curious about the son, but could not get a good look at him, except to note a high forehead over slanted brows that met above his nose. He seemed to be fifteen or sixteen and was subdued for a young male who had just succeeded to his father’s title.

He had a slightly better view of the elderly companion, who held a small box. Neither woman had applied the thick white paste and heavy black and red paint common among upper-class women. Though this, too, was meant to signify mourning, Akitada preferred it. He disliked the custom, and Tamako rarely painted her face.

Both women held up fans, but these did not always hide the face and never the eyes. Lady Kiyowara appeared to be a few years older than Tamako, perhaps by five or ten, but she had fine features. Her elderly attendant was extremely plain. Neither looked particularly distraught.

Akitada hoped the son, at least, grieved for his father.

They exchanged bows. Lady Kiyowara studied him carefully over her fan. The fan was plain paper with a faint dusting of gold – very proper. Her eyes were thinly outlined in black, so subtly that they looked natural. It was very attractive. He must tell Tamako about this, he thought, then became impatient with the formalities.

‘You asked to see me, madam?’ he asked without preamble.

She blinked at his abruptness and shot a glance at her companion before saying softly, ‘Thank you for coming so promptly, sir, and at such an inauspicious time. Allow me to introduce my son and my lady-in-waiting. I sent for you because I have need of your advice. You are said to have a certain expertise in matters of this sort.’