Akitada turned to look, and there, in the light of a small oil lamp, stood the slender figure of his wife, Tamako, her face tearful and pale with anxiety.

* * * *

FIFTEEN

THE WRESTLING MATCH

T

ora and Hitomaro were sitting in their quarters, their noses in their morning rice bowls, shoveling the steaming food down with the help of chopsticks, when the first eerie sound reached their ears from across the tribunal compound. Both lowered their bowls simultaneously and looked at each other. And both started to laugh.

“That infernal flute!” cried Hitomaro, shaking his head. “It’s worse than ever.”

Tora set down his bowl and slapped his knees in glee. “It means he’s feeling better. I was worried. There’s that nasty cut. And then his fretting about the little boy. That has been eating away at him like a hungry rat at a rice cake.”

Hitomaro snorted. “Considering our other troubles, what’s so special about the child?”

Tora looked at him in feigned surprise. “I don’t mean to offend you, Hito,” he said, “but any moron can see our master is fond of children. You shouldn’t have told him the boy was probably dead. That was not a kind thing to do to him.”

Hitomaro flushed. “So that’s why he got so angry.” A particularly discordant note sounded from the main hall, and he flinched.

“Well,” said Tora magnanimously, “we all make mistakes. The main thing is that his wife has taken him in hand. I knew he’d be all right when she looked for him at the hearing yesterday. Did you see his face?”

Hitomaro smiled. “He was embarrassed. Who wants to be checked up on by his wife? Imagine, he never told her about being wounded. She had to find out from Hamaya. I bet she had a few things to say to him.”

“Nothing like a good argument with a pretty wife to give a husband ideas about settling the matter without words,” Tora said with a grin.

In the distance, the flute started over with the same exercise. They sat and listened to its wailing and shrieking for a moment, then shook their heads and burst out laughing.

“Especially,” chortled Tora, “a man who’s really fond of children.”

The door opened and Akitada’s elderly secretary came in. “And what is so funny?” Seimei asked, seating himself.

“Seimei, my wise old bird,” Tora greeted him. “Glad to see you up and around again. Why didn’t you manage to lose that infernal flute?”

Seimei gave Tora a cold look.

“Welcome,” said Hitomaro with a bow. “We are honored by your visit.”

Seimei smiled graciously and bowed back. “Thank you, Hitomaro. It’s a pleasure to see you well.”

“So how’s the master today?” Tora asked, undaunted. “Did his lady’s special touch put things right with him?” He winked broadly at Hitomaro.

Seimei shuddered. “There is no medicine against your foolishness, Tora. As Master Kung Fu said, ‘Rotten wood cannot be carved, nor a wall of dried dung troweled.’”

Hitomaro grinned. “What did his lady say about the master’s injury?”

“When she found out, she couldn’t wait for the end of the hearing. She came to see him for herself.” Seimei shook his head. “So impulsive!”

“I like spirit in a woman,” observed Tora. “What a day! First the master solves the case of that mutilated body and locates a missing deserter when a whole garrison of soldiers could not find the bastard, and then the master’s wife makes him send everyone home so she can take care of him. He went like a kitten, too. And now listen to him.” He laughed again.

Across the yard the flute performed a series of elaborate but jarring trills before rising to a climactic shriek and falling silent. They held their breaths, but all remained quiet. Seimei said in a tone of reproof, “You should have looked after your master better, Tora. It’s lucky only the master and I knew she was there.”

Tora flushed and hung his head.

Seimei was pleased with this reaction and added for good measure, “He was extremely feverish. It was all he could do to walk to his room.”

“Oh, come on,” said Hitomaro with a glance at Tora. “You know how he is when he thinks it’s his duty.”

Seimei sniffed. “Her ladyship made him comfortable and sent for Dr. Oyoshi. The doctor’s face still looks very bad, but I must say I was glad to make his acquaintance. A very knowledgeable man. His medicine eased my cough right away. We consulted together and made up a special tea from some of my herbs for the master—it was ginseng and mint, with a touch of gardenia and a pinch each of willow bark and cinnamon, so soothing to a weakened constitution—and added an interesting powder the doctor brought with him. The medicine soon produced a sound sleep, and the master awoke this morning feeling much better. This is what I came to tell you. Also that he wants both of you in his office now.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so right away?” Tora was up and out the door, before Hitomaro and Seimei could get to their feet to follow.

The scene they found in the courtyard stopped them.

A group of about twenty armed and mounted warriors, with Uesugi emblems on their clothes and on the flying banners, waited in the wintry sun in front of the tribunal hall. There were several riderless horses, one of them with a gold-lacquered saddle and crimson silk tassels fluttering from its shining tail and halter.

“Surely not the Emperor of the North himself?” Tora said. “Do you suppose Uesugi’s found the boy?”

“Let’s go find out,” said Hitomaro.

♦

For Akitada, the Lord of Takata was an unexpected and, at the moment, unwelcome visitor.

After a restful night covered with scented silken quilts and protected from the cold drafts by carefully placed screens, he had woken to the tender ministrations of his wife. Greeted with fragrant hot tea and Tamako’s soft eyes and sweet smile, he had dressed and started his day in a very pleasant frame of mind in spite of his worries. His morning gruel was subtly flavored with herbs, and a new, much larger brazier made his office very comfortable. And then he had played his flute.

The Lord of Takata and two senior retainers were announced by Hamaya just when Akitada had felt near success with a particularly tricky passage. He reluctantly put down the flute. His visitors looked slightly taken aback by Akitada’s scowl.

Now Uesugi was seated on a silk cushion on the other side of the broad desk, while his companions knelt behind him. Akitada watched sourly as his wife poured some wine for his visitors.