But this made them doubly dangerous to Akitada, a former member of the Ministry of Justice. He would have to argue his case against their prejudice, and not only his livelihood, but also his honor was at stake.

He wore his second-best official robe and court hat and carried his notes in his sleeve. These he had reviewed during the sleepless hours of the night until he knew the points by heart, but such was his insecurity that he did not dare leave the details up to his memory. The mind plays tricks at the worst moments, and he could not afford to be struck dumb during the interrogation.

The sky was overcast. There had been talk that the long-awaited rainy season would finally start. The summer heat with its ineffectual thunderstorms had been enervating in the capital and disastrous for the rice farmers. Akitada eyed the clouds with misgiving. With his luck, he would arrive wet and bedraggled, his fine robe and trousers splashed with mud. He walked faster and managed to arrive dry, if out of breath and perspiring.

Lack of sleep and a general sense of impending defeat put him at a disadvantage, and things did not start well. A servant showed him into a small, airless room used as a waiting area, leaving the door to the hallway wide open. People passed back and forth, glancing curiously at Akitada, who began to feel like a condemned man on public display before his execution.

Eventually, the five official censors who would hear his case arrived also. They, too, looked in at him, some of them coldly, others frowning. Akitada bowed, recognizing a few faces: three were Fujiwaras and cousins of the emperor and the chancellor, the other two were unfamiliar. Not one of them looked as if he would deal fairly with a Sugawara.

He continued to wait. The perspiration on his skin dried into assorted itches, and the tie of his hat dug uncomfortably into the skin under his jaw. It seemed to take a long time for them to arrange themselves. Perhaps they were already discussing his punishment among themselves. Even exile became a distinct possibility. He thought of Sado Island and shivered in the warm, close air of the anteroom in spite of his heavy formal robe and full trousers.

At long last, the servant reappeared to call him into the hearing room. There had been a time in Akitada’s life when he would have knelt immediately inside the door and touched his forehead to the floorboards. But he had risen in the world since then and was no longer a callow and timid youth. He swallowed his fears and walked in, head held high, telling himself that his past accomplishments had surely made him a better man than the five stiff, black-robed officials lined up on the dais.

Apart from the censors and himself, the room also contained a scribe, who sat to the side behind a low desk to take down the proceedings, and a secretary, who hovered behind the censor in the middle.

When he reached the cushion placed for him, Akitada bowed and said, ‘I am Sugawara Akitada and hope to be allowed to explain the matter that caused the present inquiry.’

Waiting for a response, he looked from face to face. The chief investigator was one of the Fujiwaras and surprisingly young. He was flanked by the two other Fujiwaras, men in their forties or fifties with dull round faces and heavy bodies. The two men on the ends were the strangers to him: one elderly, with a neatly trimmed white beard, the other thin and long-jawed. They barely stirred or changed expression when his eyes met theirs. Were they waiting for more, for signs of abject humility, for pleading? He stiffened his resolve. They would not see him grovel or beg for leniency.

Finally, the young man in the center said petulantly, ‘You may be seated.’

Akitada sat, removed his notes from his sleeve and placed them carefully before him. Then he looked up expectantly. He thought he saw some signs of unease; they looked at each other, fidgeted, frowned. Akitada said, ‘I am at your service, gentlemen.’

More fidgeting. It occurred to Akitada that they found themselves saddled with a problem they did not know how to address. His self-confidence rose marginally.

The Fujiwara in the center was senior in rank even though he was the youngest. The colored strips on his court hat marked the upper fourth rank. He was in his twenties and still slender, unlike most of the chancellor’s family. Akitada thought he looked the sort of young man who would have done well as an officer in the guard. Perhaps he wished himself there. Now, he clearly struggled to live up to his duties and resorted to bluster.

‘You stand accused of very serious crimes,’ he announced with a frown. ‘I would have expected more humility under the circumstances.’

‘I am guilty of no crime and have no reason to be ashamed of the way I have performed my duties,’ Akitada returned, staring back.

This angered the young man. He leaned forward, pointing his baton at Akitada. ‘What? Do you deny your transgressions while assigned to the Ministry of Justice? Do you deny that you have disobeyed your superiors? And that you have set yourself against the proper authorities by interfering in an official murder investigation? These are serious offenses, and there is strong suspicion that you may be guilty of the crime.’

Akitada regretted angering the man for the sake of self-respect. Puppies such as he could be dangerous even when they were ineffectual.

He bowed deeply and said, ‘I deny the charges, My Lord. I am here today to serve his Majesty as I have done all of my life.’

His reply left the other at a loss how to proceed. He glowered, opened and closed his mouth, but found no words. Akitada scanned the faces to his right and left. Not one offered to speak. All looked irritated. A bad start.

The bearded older man bit his lip, then glanced towards his superior and said, ‘Perhaps the scribe may read out the charges so that Lord Sugawara can respond to them. If necessary, the members of the Board can then question him as to details.’

There was a murmur of agreement.

The ranking Fujiwara flushed. ‘Thank you, Akimoto. I was about to say so.’

It occurred to Akitada that the older man must be the career soldier Minamoto Akimoto. He had the look and was known for a fine military career in his youth. Akimoto did not look happy to be here, and that, too, might work against Akitada.

The scribe bustled up to help the chief censor find the correct document, and the reading of the charges commenced.

The account cited his angry outburst against his superior and the subsequent ill-fated visit to the Kiyowara mansion the day the counselor was murdered. Unnamed witnesses reported on Akitada’s reaction to his demotion and his determination to find the man responsible.

Clearly, his former colleagues at the ministry had been eager to provide this information.

The document next outlined a long list of past offenses. For this, they had gone all the way back to the beginning of his career. Almost all of the examples fell in the category of disobedience or neglect of duty. They went on and on from his disobedience in attending criminal trials when he was still a mere apprentice clerk, to his other appearance before the Board of Censors upon his return from Kazusa when he had been charged with exceeding his powers in the investigation of missing tax payments.

Akitada clenched his hands inside the full sleeves and gritted his teeth in silence.

They had built a case against an arrogant official who had consistently overreached himself, disobeying instructions and behaving in the manner of someone so power-hungry that he would stop at nothing. The complaints of his previous superior, Minister Soga, featured prominently.

The reading eventually concluded. Akitada wished he could simply blank out the reminders of past struggles and disappointments. When the final word faded, he took a deep breath.