A hush fell in the hall. Then the crowd parted to allow a veiled woman and two elderly people to approach the dais. With a sinking feeling, Akitada saw that Mrs. Sato and her parents had arrived. The widow wore modest hemp instead of silk on this occasion. He decided against calling her to testify before this hostile crowd. Ignoring her presence, he continued.

“I have studied the documents in the case carefully. Certain statements of the three suspects were left unverified, an oversight which had to be corrected before the case could be heard. Now witnesses have stepped forward to support parts of the prisoners’ stories. That development, taken together with the fact that only two of the men have confessed and both have since recanted, could mean that the murder was committed by someone else.”

The hall became noisy. Someone shouted, “Watch out! He’s letting them get away with it.” Someone else cried, “Where’s our own judge?” In front, Mrs. Sato called on the Buddha and wrung her hands as her parents supported her on either side.

Akitada rapped his baton until some order was reestablished and then told Chobei, “Sergeant, bring in the prisoners.”

Umehara, Okano, and Takagi were led in to cat calls, clenched fists, and spitting from the crowd. They wore chains that looped from their ankles to their wrists, and were made to kneel in front of the dais. Three constables moved in with whips at the ready and expressions of happy anticipation on their faces.

Umehara cast a frightened glance at Akitada, then stared at the floor. Next to him Okano twitched the skirt of his robe with a shaking hand and turned a tragic face toward the crowd. Only the slow-witted farmer looked unconcerned; he grinned and nodded to Akitada, Hamaya, and anyone else who looked familiar.

Akitada suppressed a sigh. At least Tora had made sure the prisoners were cleaned up and fed.

He took the three men through their testimony quickly, stressing their activities in town before the murder, and their explanations for the gold found on them. He had Okano speak twice about the unknown travelers who had called at the inn and left again while the actor was in the bath, and he asked Takagi about leaving his bundle unattended.

Twice there were jeers and laughter. The constables made little effort to stop them. To judge from their broad grins, they shared the crowd’s feelings.

When Akitada called for witnesses, the noise subsided a little. One by one, market vendors, shopkeepers, money changers, waitresses, and soup sellers, all familiar faces in the market, or neighbors and relatives of someone in the crowd, stepped forward and knelt. Their testimonies substantiated the three prisoners’ claims.

An uneasy silence had fallen when Akitada dismissed the last witness and had Tora escort the prisoners out. He scanned the crowd. People looked puzzled, uncertain. He felt a stirring of hope.

He was thinking of releasing the three pathetic men as quickly as possible and began, “Today’s testimony throws considerable doubt on the guilt of the three defendants . ..” when there was a cry of protest and the widow pushed past the constables to face him.

She threw back her veil and bowed. “This person is the widow Sato. As the widow of the slain man, I ask this court’s permission to make a statement.”

It was her right. Akitada compressed his lips and nodded.

She turned her head to look at the crowd. There was a murmur of admiration at her youth and beauty. “My husband was a humble man like most of you,” she told them in a clear voice. “He worked as hard for his coppers as you do. Is it right that he should die for the greed of another man?”

“No,” they muttered.

“Is it right that his killers—his confessed killers—should go unpunished to roam the streets and kill again?”

“No.” There were shouts now.

“This,” she cried, pointing at Akitada, “is not a proper court. You must not permit it to release my husband’s murderers. Where is our own judge? How can an official born and raised in the distant capital know our people and our laws? Our lawful judge would not let my husband’s killers escape their just punishment. Our own judge would not permit my husband’s restless spirit to cry for justice.”

Akitada was using his baton to stop her harangue and point out a governor’s duty to oversee the administration of justice in his province, but he saw the angry faces in the crowd and knew his words would make no difference.

Mrs. Sato shot him a triumphant glance. “We have all heard about the pardons given to murderers and robbers in the capital,” she told him, “and we hear how those criminals repeat their crimes, yes, even in the very grounds of the emperor’s palace. Injustice today brings more murder tomorrow. Already there are two more bodies in this tribunal. Is that the kind of justice you offer?”

“No,” roared the crowd, shaking their fists in the air and surging forward.

Akitada had listened with a frozen expression. Not only was this woman, who had turned her back to him earlier so disrespectfully, calling people into open defiance of a duly appointed governor, but her arguments and her references to the deplorable conditions in the nation’s capital proved her to be well-informed. Such knowledge went quite beyond the background of a mere innkeeper’s wife. And why had she of all people stepped forward as the spokeswoman for the faceless threat to his administration?

Chaos reigned in the hall. The crowd moved against the restraining arms of the constables. Tora was back, his hand at his sword, looking up at him for an order, but Akitada shrank from committing public bloodshed. He scanned the crowd for some sign of support, however small.

Chobei, the insubordinate sergeant of constables, sneered at him openly. Next to him, the dismissed coroner smirked with satisfaction. Their thoughts were written on their faces: The fool from the capital was about to lose his position, perhaps even his life.

Glaring at Chobei and pointing his baton at him, Akitada raised his voice to be heard over the noise of the crowd. “Sergeant, give that woman ten lashes for inciting a riot.”

There were gasps from the crowd and it became quiet. He scowled at their startled faces. “And if there is anymore trouble from anyone here, that number will be doubled—and given to each troublemaker.”

Chobei gaped at him. Tora’s sword hissed as he drew it from its scabbard. The crowd drew back and a tense silence suddenly filled the hall. Chobei shook his head and retreated.

And Mrs. Sato laughed softly.

Furious, Akitada rose to his feet. “Sergeant,” he called out, “you will either carry out my order or my lieutenant will have your head.”

Tora stepped up to Chobei, his sword in both hands.

Chobei turned white. Beads of sweat glistened on his face. After a moment, his shoulders slumped and he approached the widow. She cried out and tried to sidestep him, but he seized her arm. When he reached to strip her gown from her shoulders, Akitada snapped, “Leave her dressed.” He had no wish to give the crowd a chance to ogle a half-naked woman as beautiful as this one. Besides, his stomach churned already at what was about to take place.