Akitada thought her manner lacking in respect and humility, but he only remarked, “I assure you, madam, I am giving your case my personal attention. The day after tomorrow I shall preside over a public hearing of the matter. You would have been notified shortly.”

“A hearing?” she cried, a flush staining her porcelainlike complexion. “What good is a hearing? The criminals have confessed and must be sentenced.”

The old lady gave a frightened cry. She scooted a little closer to Akitada’s desk and bowed deeply. “Please forgive my daughter’s bad manners,” she murmured. “It is her grief and worry speaking. We came to town for a visit and saw the notices. It is merely to ask about them that we came, your Honor.”

Akitada opened his mouth, but Mrs. Sato was quicker. “No!” she cried. “I have no more patience. I want justice now. And since I’m not getting it, I am filing a complaint.”

Akitada’s mouth snapped shut. He locked eyes with the widow. She did not lower hers, and he read a challenge in her set face which told him negotiations were futile. Suddenly there was no doubt in his mind that this was the beginning of a well-planned campaign. “Very well,” he said coldly. “It is your right to do so. See my clerk. But you will all three attend the hearing anyway.”

* * * *

EIGHT

MOURNING THE DEAD

C

louds of incense drifted between the massive pillars, obscuring the carved and gilded ceiling beams and putting a haze over the black robes of the monks and the dark clothing of the mourners. The sweet smell overwhelmed the senses, and the hum of sutra chanting, the clanging of gongs, and the chiming of cymbals floated on the air in gentle waves. The celebrants circled and spun in a graceful ritual dance, and Akitada’s eyes closed and his fingers began to move in accompaniment on an imaginary flute.

Abbot Hokko, seated next to him, cleared his throat softly, and Akitada returned to reality, guiltily plunging his hands into his voluminous sleeves. The ceremony was drawing to its end, and not a moment too soon. Two hours of prayers, readings, and making reverent bows to the coffin of the late high constable, to the statue of the Buddha, and to Lord Makio, the chief mourner, were beginning to take their toll on Akitada who had been up most of the night preparing for the hearing.

He looked at the solitary, motionless figure of the new lord for a moment. Makio wore full armor, lacquered red and gold and laced with deep purple silk. He sat holding his black helmet with the gilded studs stiffly in front of him. His only concession to mourning was a white silk sash draped across his chest. He had not moved a muscle or changed his stern expression throughout the ceremony. Akitada knew that the wearing of the armor carried a message to himself. More important, his adversary was a man capable of great self-control. It would be a mistake to underestimate the new lord of Takata.

Akitada glanced at the long line of mourners from the Uesugi household. Some wore armor with the Uesugi crest prominently displayed and white mourning armbands, but the rest were in dark robes and the hempen jackets required for a funeral of the head of the clan. Their faces showed reverence or indifference, as the case might be, but no grief. The exception was a small boy at the end of the front row of male retainers and upper servants. His soft face was blotchy from weeping, and he sat sunken in despair, the stiff hemp enveloping him like a strange cocoon. A grandson? No, Makio had no children. Perhaps the old lord had befriended the child of a retainer and thus earned for himself the tears of affection none of the others were able to shed.

Akitada caught a quick movement out of the corner of his eye. A gray mouse had scurried from one of the pillars and ventured into the open space in front of the mourners. There it paused, twitching its nose. A half suppressed gurgle came from the child. He put a hand over his mouth, trying to stifle his laughter. Their eyes met and Akitada smiled, nodding at the mouse. To his delight, the boy lowered his hand and gave him a conspiratorial grin and a wink.

The ceremony ended and the mouse reconsidered and dashed back into its hole. The mourners filed out of the temple hall into the bright sunlight, where a carefully orchestrated cortege assembled to accompany the body of Lord Maro to its final resting place in the family tomb near Takata manor. The Uesugi held on to an old family tradition of burying their dead.

Akitada had already expressed his condolences to Makio before lending his official presence to the ceremony. He was not expected to attend the burial, but out of respect he could not rush off before the mourners.

He stood near the corner of the great temple hall and watched the milling crowd. A spirited black horse was led forward and Makio climbed onto its back—not without some difficulties, Akitada noted with secret satisfaction. It took three men to control the beast and lead it to its proper place in the line.

Someone tugged at his sleeve.

It was the small boy. He asked, “Is it true that you are the governor?”

“Yes. What can I do for you?”

“Will you help me find Grandfather?”

For a moment Akitada was confused. His heart contracted and he looked at the coffin which had been placed inside an elaborate palanquin and was being hoisted onto the shoulders of strong bearers. “Your grandfather?” he asked uncertainly.

“Grandfather did not come back from Lord Maro’s room the night the great lord died. I looked everywhere and asked everybody. Nobody could tell me. Then Kaibara-san told me Grandfather had gone into the mountains to mourn his master. But Grandfather would have said good-bye to me.”

The boy’s eyes filled with tears and his lip quivered, but he controlled himself well. How old could he be, eight or nine? He looked frail, but his large mourning robe had something to do with that.

“What is your grandfather’s name and position?”

“He’s called Hideo, sir. He served the old lord. Grandfather was the only one to take care of him. Grandfather loved the great lord. He was very sad he was dying, but he would never, never have gone away without me. Please, sir, you must believe me.” A sob escaped the boy.

Akitada bent down to put his arm around the narrow shoulders, but another arm intervened and snatched the boy up. Kaibara.

“Sorry, Excellency,” said the Uesugi steward. “The youngster is a nuisance. I hope he has not troubled you?”

“Not at all, Kaibara. I am very fond of children,” said Akitada with a smile—which slowly faded as he stood looking after them.

♦

Tora and Hitomaro looked surprised to be called to Akitada’s office as soon as he returned from the funeral. Hitomaro’s bruises had darkened, but he seemed otherwise fit again. Akitada had changed from his official court robe into a hunting coat and boots and told them to saddle three horses.