Black Arrow (5 page)

But then the weather had turned dismal and the winds bitterly cold. No wonder Echigo was a place where the emperors used to send their political enemies. And now they had sent him and Tamako to this godforsaken place.

Akitada closed his eyes against the dreary grayness, stubbornly blocking such thoughts from his mind. It was this confounded bellyache. At his age, being appointed deputy governor, even if it was just a provisional appointment with limited powers and even more limited salary, was an extraordinary piece of luck. Here he could make a name for himself and prove his worth.

He gulped more air and wondered how he would get through the banquet tonight. Any reluctance to sample the offered dishes would be interpreted as an insult. Perhaps it was wiser to stay home. No! He must find out how things stood. He could not go on this way. Conditions in the tribunal were intolerable. He wanted to replace the entire staff, but where to find loyal men in this hostile city? Why was everyone against him?

A horrible sound—like the distant wailing of a lost soul, culminating in the bellowing of an angry bull—tore at his ear drums. He jumped, looked about wildly, and rushed around the corner.

There, just below the rear veranda, stood a very strange creature. For a moment, Akitada thought he was a ghost, the ghost of an old man with long, unbound white hair and a large white beard blowing crazily in the wind.

When the old man saw Akitada, he slowly lowered a big conch shell from his lips. He was dressed in short, dark cotton trousers and a full-sleeved blouse of black and white checks with strange tassels hanging about his neck, and he stood motionless and silent, supporting himself on a carved staff. He stared fixedly at Akitada.

“What in the Buddha’s name do you think you are doing, blowing that thing here?” Akitada demanded in a shaking voice. “This is the tribunal and you’re trespassing. Get away from here or I’ll call the constables.”

Without taking his sharp black eyes off Akitada, the old man slowly hooked the conch shell to his belt and stepped a little closer. Akitada, irritated by this latest example of disrespect, glared back. He was amazed at the darkness of the old man’s skin, blackened rather than bronzed by exposure and all the more startling for the contrast with the silver-white mane and beard. His eyes fell to the man’s legs, naked from the knees down to his bare feet, and as dark and leathery as his face.

In this cold.

A hungry beggar. Suddenly shame overwhelmed Akitada’s anger. “Forgive me,” he said to the old man, bowing slightly. “How rude of me. I have not been feeling very well and you startled me. It is cold outside and I am sure you have not eaten. You are welcome here, but I have nothing to offer you. If you will go across the courtyard, you will find the kitchen.” He pointed. “Tell them that the governor said to fill your bowl until you have had enough and to find you a warm place to sleep.”

The beggar, inclining his head slightly, like a haughty nobleman, turned away. A strange piece of fur, attached to his belt in the back, flapped as he melted into the dusk.

Behind Akitada, a door opened with a creak, and Tora asked, “What was that cursed noise?”

Akitada turned. Tora, in his shaggy bearskin, reminded him of one of the northern barbarians. “Do you plan to wear that pelt tonight?” he asked irritably. “You look like a wild animal.”

Seimei appeared behind the young man. “Her ladyship says your clothes are ready, sir. And she wonders about the strange sound a moment ago.”

“Thank you, Seimei. It was an old beggar blowing a conch shell. A peculiar way of asking for alms, but perhaps he is a mute. I sent him to the kitchen for food and lodging. Try to find him some straw boots, Seimei. The poor old fellow was barefoot in this weather.”

Tora asked, “Was he wearing a checked blouse and carrying a tall staff?”

“Yes. You know him?”

“Not really, sir, but you’ve just met a
yamabushi.
They’re holy men that live in the mountains and pray to the Buddha by standing naked under a waterfall in the middle of winter.”

“Then they must be mad,” Akitada said impatiently and headed for his quarters. “Come along.”

Tamako greeted Tora with a smile. Of her husband’s three lieutenants, he was the only one admitted to their private quarters. Though Tora had been an army deserter when his path crossed Akitada’s, there was a strong bond of mutual obligation between them. They owed their lives to each other. And Tora’s loyalty to his master extended also to his young wife and the rest of the Sugawara family in the capital. Even Akitada’s mother, the ill-tempered old dowager, had been softened by his cheerful willingness to be of service to her.

Tora sat down near the door and watched as Akitada, with his wife’s help, dressed for the visit to Takata.

“What do you hear from Genba?” Akitada asked, slipping out of his robes and handing them to his wife.

“He’s settled in nicely. Has a room above a rice-cake baker’s and all the rice cakes he can eat. His landlord’s besotted with wrestling. He wants to enter Genba in the regional matches.”

“Good,” Akitada said, his voice muffled by a silk undershirt he was slipping into. “The baker may win back his investment. After all, Genba used to be a wrestling master.” He emerged from the shirt and reached for a pair of voluminous white trousers made of stiffened silk. “I am glad the local people accept him. They respect wrestlers. Soon we will find out about the strange mood in town.”

Akitada had reason to trust his three lieutenants. They had proven their loyalty. In return he had offered Genba and Hitomaro employment though they were fugitives from murder charges in their home provinces. Genba had killed in self-defense when two provincial constables had been ordered to assassinate him because his lord’s son had had a fatal accident during a wrestling bout. And Hitomaro had avenged his young wife who had committed suicide after being raped by his neighbor.

Justice was not always evenhanded.

Akitada frowned and said, “I hope you and Hitomaro are careful when you visit Genba?”

“We change into old clothes and leave by the back. Genba doesn’t have much to report yet, except that people are scared of a draft for the northern front.”

Akitada sat down to slip on a clean pair of white socks and tie the legs of his trousers securely below his knees. He shook his head. “Doubtful. That trouble should be over as soon as the snows come. By the by, how does the weather look to you? Rain, do you think?” Back on his feet again, he accepted, one by one, several light silk robes in shades of blue and topped these off with a finely patterned dark blue brocade vest.

“It smells like snow. You should have a fur cloak like mine. Neither rain, nor snow, nor wind can get through this.” Tora stroked the rough fur lovingly.

“No, thank you.” Akitada sat down again and took the round silver mirror his wife handed him to adjust the formal black silk hat over his topknot. He sniffed the air. “The warmer that bearskin gets, the more it reeks,” he said.

Returning the mirror to Tamako, Akitada stood up and reached for the silver-gray formal gown with its rich pattern of intertwined pine branches. Tamako helped him put it on and adjusted it lovingly. He smiled at her. “I feel like Prince Genji, who made all the ladies swoon with the fragrance of his robes. Are you not worried about sending your husband among the beauties at Takata?”

“I thought it was Tora who needed watching with the ladies.” She glanced at the bearskin coat and added with a twinkle in her eyes, “Though perhaps not tonight.”

Seimei came in, carrying a straw rain cape. “Everything is ready, sir. The horses are waiting.”

“We’d better be on our way.” Akitada sat down to put a pair of leather boots over his black silk slippers. Before leaving, he turned to Tamako, who was folding away his discarded clothing, and said, “Don’t wait up for me, my dear.. I shall be late.”

“Return safely!” She made him a formal bow, and turned away quickly to hide her anxiety.

In the courtyard, a pair of constables stood beside four horses. The constables were in uniform and armed with bows and arrows. One had a banner announcing Akitada’s rank as governor.

Akitada felt something cold touch his face and cast an uneasy glance at the rapidly darkening sky as he mounted his horse. White spots danced before the dark shapes of the buildings. Snow. Seimei extended the straw cape and Akitada flung it about his shoulders awkwardly, fastening it across his chest. The wind tore at his headdress, and he tightened its cords. Already a fine dusting of snow covered the horse’s mane. He nodded to the others, and they set out into the approaching storm.

* * * *

TAKATA

hey rode against an icy head wind that drove needle-sharp sleet into their faces, and Akitada’s nausea faded. His mind was occupied with the disquieting gossip about his host’s murderous intentions toward him. It came from the lowest source, but at the moment he had nothing else to go on, and the Uesugi had not been welcoming so far. Besides, everything that had happened so far in Echigo supported such ugly rumors.

The small village of Takata huddled at the foot of a steep hill which dominated the surrounding plain. The land for miles around belonged to the Uesugi family, as did the village. On the very top of the hill, the curving roofs of the family compound rose sharply against the darkening skies. The Uesugi manor was a stronghold that hovered above the plain like a huge hawk perched on a rock, its wings spread in readiness for its prey.

A troop of soldiers, in full battle gear and carrying pennants bearing the Uesugi crest, awaited them on the road outside the town. Their officer dismounted and approached stiff-faced and stiff-legged, bowed, and announced that the governor’s party would be escorted the rest of the way.

This reception felt more like an arrest than an honor, but Akitada was intrigued in spite of the unpromising appearance of things. This was his first experience with warlords.

“You know,” he said to Tora as they rode up the narrow paved road from the village, “the placement of this residence makes it far more impregnable than the miserable wooden palisades we have been building around forts in the plains. A remarkably good idea!” He looked back and saw that the hill controlled the post road to the north. “In fact,” he added, “nobody approaches without being seen or passes without their permission.”

“It feels like a bad place,” Tora grumbled, looking up at rock and stone foundations and precipitous walls. “I’ll be glad when we turn our backs on it. Remember that curse.” He shuddered. “I bet the hall is full of those angry ghosts.”

The first gateway, surmounted by a watch tower, came into view, and the road suddenly narrowed between rock outcrop-pings on both sides. They had to ride single-file. It would be easy to defend this gate. Any attacking army would be squeezed through the eye of a needle and deprived of its striking force. Akitada looked at the walls. The sheer drop below the foundations made it impossible to use ladders. And the walls were crowned with wooden galleries that had loopholes cut into them. Beyond, the steep roofs of many halls rose against the murky gray skies.

They passed through the gate, traversed several courtyards terraced into the mountainside, and came to a halt before the main hall. Here another honor guard of mounted warriors was lined up behind a middle-aged man in a handsome black-and-white-patterned silk robe. He stood alone, legs wide and arms folded across his broad chest.