The prince rose, lips compressed with irritation. Both left without speaking to Akitada.

Time began to hang heavy, especially when Akitada’s thoughts turned again to Tamako’s condition and their precarious finances. After a while, he rose and stepped out on to the veranda to distract himself with a look at Kiyowara’s grounds.

He saw now that the water was an artificial lake, fed by a small stream that seemed to meander around the various buildings that made up Kiyowara’s villa. It was the sort of stream where nobles would gather during poetry month to compose verses and drink cups of wine sent floating downstream by servants.

The sound of a woman’s laughter made him look towards the pagoda. A moment later, the figure of a gentleman appeared on the narrow path that skirted the stream. He was about Akitada’s age and handsome in the smooth-faced way that was much admired at court. As he strolled closer, he glanced back over his shoulder and smiled. He touched his narrow mustache, perhaps to make sure that the encounter with the woman had not left tell-tale traces.

Akitada turned away, embarrassed, but the gentleman suddenly exclaimed, ‘The crickets cry: I sense the coming cold.’

Akitada swung back, but the stranger was not looking at him – was, in fact, unaware of him. He stood, his arms spread a little and his head cocked as if he were listening. Then he nodded. ‘Yes. Not bad.’ He walked closer to the small stream and paused to stare into the water. After a moment, he raised his hands once more and declaimed, ‘Everywhere the wind moves through dead grasses, and I shiver in the darkening night.’

It seemed a madman’s comment on this hot and humid summer’s day, and Akitada watched him nervously. Just then the man looked up from the stream and saw him. Far from being embarrassed, he called across, ‘Hello, there. I’m Ono. Well, what do you think? Will it do? What about “darkening night”? Is that too repetitious? I was thinking of loneliness and thoughts of death.’

Not a madman then, but a poet. Perhaps there was little difference. Akitada suppressed a smile. He had never been consulted about poems before, because his lack of talent and interest in that direction was too well known among his friends. After a moment’s hesitation, he said, ‘I like it, but how do you find the inspiration in this weather?’

Ono looked astonished. ‘What does the weather matter?’ he asked and walked away.

Akitada returned to his cushion. So this was Ono Takamura, the famous poet who was said to be working on a collection of poetry to be presented to the emperor this year. What had he been doing in Kiyowara’s women’s quarters? But it was none of his business.

Surely the prince’s visit could not have lasted this long. The sun was already high in the sky, he was hungry and thirsty, and he had been kept waiting for almost two hours. That was insulting. Even high-ranking nobles could at least dispatch a servant to express their regrets at the delay. Clearly, Kiyowara had no intention of receiving Akitada and did not care how rude he was. Akitada was tempted to leave, but sneaking away like a beaten dog did not sit well with him. He jumped up again and stalked angrily to the door, flinging it open to call for a servant.

The gallery outside was empty. To his right lay the way to the entrance courtyard; to the left, a pair of elaborate doors must lead to Kiyowara’s quarters. Akitada opened his mouth to shout for a servant, when he heard raised voices behind Kiyowara’s door. At least one of the voices was male; the other, slightly higher, might belong to either a man or a woman. Both sounded very angry, but he could not make out words.

Akitada hated to be caught eavesdropping and ducked back into the reception room, closing his door softly. He considered that his errand had just become even less likely to be successful. Kiyowara would be in a bad mood.

A door slammed and steps rushed by outside. Then there was silence. He waited a few moments longer and peeked out again. The gallery was empty, the doors closed just as they had been before.

It would be best to leave and return at a more auspicious time. Akitada tiptoed away and quietly left the Kiyowara compound. Someone in the courtyard saw him pass and called after him, but Akitada simply walked faster until he regained the street outside. There was little point in telling a servant about his futile visit and why he had decided not to wait any longer.

UNDER SUSPICION

The rest of that day and the following one passed without bringing any hope of positive change. The heat continued, and there had been too little rain to assure a good harvest. Tamako was feeling feverish, and Akitada and Tora set about hanging wetted hemp panels over curtain stands in her pavilion, while the maid Oyuki plied a large fan to cool her mistress.

Akitada was increasingly anxious about Tamako, even though she kept assuring him that she felt quite well again now that the room was so much cooler. He placed his hand on her forehead and found it still very hot and dry. Jokingly, he said, ‘Let’s hope this heat doesn’t mean our son will turn out to be a hothead.’

She did not smile. In fact, he thought she looked near tears. Perhaps his words had reminded her of Yori. Yori had not really been a hothead, just a very lively and clever child. He had been born in the bitter cold of northern Echigo, where the three of them had survived despite the extremes of climate and hardship. It was ironic that the comfortable life of the capital should have proved so much more dangerous.

Back in his study, Akitada was looking through old correspondence for the name of some past friend who might be willing to speak up for him when Seimei appeared with tea and news.

‘There has been another fire,’ he said as he poured. ‘They say the people will petition His Majesty to appease the anger of the gods.’

Akitada was cynical about such superstitious delusions. ‘Fires happen all the time, and the emperor is still very young and no doubt busy with his wives and concubines. His first duty is to give the nation an heir. And the chancellor supports him in this. His granddaughter has just joined the emperor’s ladies.’

Seimei looked disapproving. ‘The petition asks that the first prince be declared heir because the gods have turned against the second prince.’

‘Not very likely to be successful,’ muttered Akitada, sipping his tea.

Seimei switched to another topic. ‘One of the new appointees died very suddenly yesterday.’ He paused to see if his master was interested. ‘It seems even the nightingale in the plum tree cannot escape misfortune,’ he pointed out.

This was a mistake because it put Akitada in mind of his dead son and the possibility that this time he could lose both Tamako and his unborn child. He snapped, ‘What are those people to us? Less than nothing. Rather tell me that an old friend has come to town, or that there’s a promise of a good harvest.’ Or, he thought, that my wife has given me another son.

Seimei said defensively, ‘This Kiyowara Kane was the Junior Controller of the Right. He was one of your superiors. When he is replaced, it might mean some changes in the ministry.’

Akitada stared at him. ‘Kiyowara Kane has died? You must have misheard. I was at his house yesterday. He was alive and well.’

‘Nevertheless, he is dead today.’ With a certain morbid satisfaction, Seimei went on: ‘A man’s karma is a turning wheel. You can no more stop it than flowing water. And he had just achieved high office, too. They say Heaven never bestows two gifts at the same time. He may have been given wealth and power, but what is that if he has not life?’

The subject had brought forth a spate of Seimei’s sententious sayings, and Akitada interrupted quickly: ‘When did he die?’ And then, remembering the overheard quarrel: ‘And how?’