Island of Exiles (42 page)

Was Ribata reminding him that his duty lay elsewhere?

Of course, Masako’s marriage solved his problem. There was now no need to take her into his household. He should have been glad, but was perversely irritated and hurt that she had preferred the immature, ungracious, and inept Toshito. In fair-ness, Toshito was probably only a few years younger, and yet I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

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had already achieved an official position which was both more secure and better paid than Akitada’s. But it rankled.

In his resentment he reminded himself that her background, though upper-class, was severely lacking in proper upbringing and that her manners had never been ladylike. In that sense she certainly matched her new husband perfectly.

Akitada looked at her figure critically, trying to find fault. She was attractive, but no more so than his wife or other women he had had. There was a certain coarseness about her. All those muscles, while useful, were certainly not feminine. Yet, as much as he tried to soothe his hurt pride, the memory of how she had clung to him in her father’s room came unbidden, the way she had pulled him down to her and taken him passionately, hungrily into her embrace. Had she truly felt nothing at all?

A sudden sharp spasm in his knee recalled him.

“There,” said Ribata, vigorously massaging a palmful of ointment into his sore joint. “That should help. Go get some rest now. We’ll wake you when the food is ready.” Haseo had stretched out under a pine and was asleep already. Akitada suddenly felt drained of strength, but he walked over to Toshito, who greeted him with a scowl.

“You probably want to know what I learned about the prince’s death,” Akitada said.

Toshito looked toward Masako, who shot an anxious glance their way. “Not particularly,” he said.

Akitada raised his brows. The fellow’s manners were insuf-ferable. But he had no intention in wasting any more time on the puppy, so he said, “There was no murder. Okisada either died accidentally or committed suicide by eating
fugu
poison.” Toshito turned a contemptuous face toward him. “Ridiculous,” he snapped. “I was there, remember? No one ate
fugu
fish, least of all Okisada. And why would he kill himself when he intended to claim the throne?”

Akitada felt like knocking the smug fool to the ground.

Turning away abruptly, he said, “Nevertheless, he did,” and walked away to join Haseo.

The weather had remained dry and pleasant in the daytime but grew much cooler at night. Here in the mountains it was chilly in the shade and they had no clothes except their ragged pants. Akitada shivered and worried about Haseo, who looked flushed in spite of the cold. He found a sunny, sheltered hollow for himself, where he slept fitfully until Masako’s touch on his shoulder returned him to consciousness.

“The food is ready,” she said aloud, then whispered, “What did you say to Toshito?”

Akitada sat up. Tempting smells came from the large pot over the fire, and he felt ravenous. “Nothing to worry you. I told him that the prince committed suicide. He scoffed.”

“Oh.” She was going to say something else, but Toshito called to her.

Haseo looked better. He was less flushed and more inclined to take notice of the others. “Those two are in love,” he told Akitada with a nod toward the young couple.

They were standing close together, and as Akitada met Toshito’s eyes, the young man put a possessive hand on the girl’s hip.

“He doesn’t like you,” Haseo said. “Must be the jealous type.

Though why he should worry about a pathetic scarecrow like you, I cannot fathom.”

Akitada, for his part, could not fathom Masako. After their meal, he found an opportunity to talk alone with her. She was washing their bowls in a stream that ran behind the hermitage.

Toshito had gone to gather more firewood.

“Why did you make love to me, Masako?” he asked.

He had startled her and she dropped one of the wooden bowls into the water and had to scramble after it. The delay gave her time to gather her wits. In her typical fashion, she, too, was blunt. “When I found out why you had come and what power you had, I knew you could help us. That is, help both Toshito and Father. I was desperate. But the papers were secret and I could not ask you, so I tried to win your regard . . . by other means.”

He flinched as though she had slapped him. “So you seduced me, and I was fool enough to allow myself to be seduced,” he said bitterly.

She nodded.

Akitada turned away, angry and shamed. There were many kinds of love. Their relationship had been only lust on his part after all, but something altogether different on hers. He had at least felt a strong attraction to her, but she had merely manipulated him to gain her ends. And she had done what she did for another man, for Toshito. It struck him as abominable that some women, like Masako, strong, independent, and unconventional, would not hesitate to give their bodies to another man to save their husbands or lovers. He thought of Tamako. He would gladly sacrifice his life for her and his new son, and believed she would do the same for him, but he hoped she would never sleep with another man for any reason. The very thought made him sick.

Masako whispered, “Don’t tell Toshito, please. He’s jealous of you.”

“Of course I won’t tell. But I hope you don’t think I helped your father because you slept with me.”

“I shall always be grateful,” she said softly.

He glared at her. “I’m sorry we met.” She hugged herself and began to cry.

“Twice,” he said. “You lay with me twice, and all the time you only wanted to place me under obligation to you?” She gulped and sniffled, but said nothing in her own defense or to salvage some of his pride. After a long silence, Akitada said bitterly, “So be it. I wish you both well.” Then he turned and limped away.

Haseo watched him coming back. “Why in such a temper?” he asked lightly. “Did the pretty flower slap your face?” Akitada managed a laugh as he sat down beside him. “Of course not. She is married now and I’m a married man also.

And you? Do you have a wife and children?”

“Three wives and six children, two of them sons.” Haseo sounded both proud and sad. “I hope they have gone to my first wife’s parents. She comes from a wealthy family. My other wives were quite poor. And you?”

“One wife and one son. He’s only six months.”

“You must miss them.”

“Yes. Very much.” His need for Tamako suddenly twisted his heart. He had been a fool to desire another woman.

“Only one wife for a man of your station?” Haseo marveled.

“She must be exceptional.”

Akitada nodded. “She is.” And he wished for her with every part of his being.

The rest of the evening both Toshito and Masako avoided him. After their meal-a vegetable stew thickened with millet-

they disappeared into the forest together. Akitada watched them with a certain detachment and put his mind to other matters.

Now that he was rested and fed, and his knee was no longer so painful, he was becoming increasingly nervous about their safety. His eyes kept scanning the highway in the darkening valley below. He could not be certain that the goblin had kept their secret, and even if she had, Kumo would have been notified of his escape by now and would extend the search to the surrounding areas soon enough. He could not afford to let Akitada escape. Ribata’s vine-covered hermitage was not visible from below, but Akitada recalled the tracks they had made through the tall grasses of the valley.

The trouble was, they had neither weapons nor horses. If Kumo sent armed men after them, as he must surely do, they would either die here or be taken back to the mine to face a worse fate.

He was glad when night fell, and the possibility of an attack became remote. Candles and lamps were extinguished early and they prepared for sleep. The women stayed in the hut, but Ribata came out with blankets for her guests and spoke briefly to Toshito, who nodded and disappeared on some errand.

In spite of his blanket, Akitada awoke, shivering, long before dawn. He got up and started moving his body vigorously to warm his sluggish blood. His knee felt much better. Haseo still slept, and there was no sign of Toshito. Eventually, as the night sky slowly paled, he decided to make himself useful and gathered sticks for the fire. When it was burning, he squatted beside it and rubbed his chilled arms.

A touch on his shoulder made him jump. Masako held out his blanket. “Put it around you until the sun comes up.” He did and watched her heating water for rice gruel, regretting his anger of the day before.

“How far is it to Mano?” he asked.

“Half a day’s walk with a shortcut. The road passes on the other side of this mountain.” She left to go back into the hut.

Only a few hours’ walk? Akitada felt fit enough. Surely Haseo could manage a short journey, one that would become easy once they reached the road. After that-well, they would deal with whatever came.

Masako returned. “Ribata wants you,” she said.

When he ducked into the shadowy room, he found the nun at prayer. She sat in the center of the small square space, perfectly straight and still. Dark wooden beads passed through her thin fingers like beans falling through the ribs of a bamboo strainer. He could not see her face clearly, but her lips moved, and now and then he caught a word or cadence from a sutra.

He sat down across from her, quietly waiting, wondering again about this strange, aristocratic woman who seemed content to lead a simple, religious life so far from court. Good manners and respect for her present status forbade his asking questions. Once he reached Mano and the governor and started an investigation into Kumo’s activities, and those of his fellow conspirators, he hoped that the tangled relationships between the Kumo family, the late prince, and Ribata would also unravel.

As if she knew what he was thinking, Ribata said, “You should both be able to travel in another day. Then the governor will reconvene the court and Toshito’s name will be cleared.” She sighed and folded her hands around her beads. “Life is filled with pain. But the young people can settle down and raise their family. And you, too, will be eager to return to wife and child.”

Akitada nodded. He thought of the baby son he had left behind. Children often sickened and died during their first year.

“Place your trust in the Buddha and all will be well,” said the nun.

“Yes.”

He suspected that she was steering his thoughts to his family and smiled in the darkness because she had succeeded. His heart swelled with love and gratitude for the slender girl he had left behind among strangers, far from her home and family. He remembered how she had stood in the doorway, holding their son in her arms. Smiling bravely, she had faced their separation without complaint, certainly without self-pity, her back straight and her voice strong when she called out, “We will be waiting when you return.”

The sun was rising outside and the first ray crept through the door. It touched Ribata’s sleeve and shoulder, then lit up her pale drawn face. She moved out of its light and looked at him.

Her eyes were extraordinarily bright for a woman her age.

“I am happy for you,” she said. Then she reached into her sleeve and held out a flute to him. “And I am returning this to you. I hoped that you would come for it someday.” He took it, uncertain, raised it into the sunlight, and saw that it was Plover’s Cry, the flute she had given him in Kumo’s garden, the flute taken from him by Wada.

“But how did you get it back?” he asked, shocked.

“Sanetomo returned it to me. It seems the regrettable Wada had it in his possession. Sanetomo recognized it, of course.” Sanetomo?

Then Akitada remembered the name, and drew in his breath sharply. Kumo Sanetomo had returned the flute to its owner.

She must have known what had happened to him all along, he thought, his mind racing at the implications. And Ribata had sent Toshito away the night before. The knowledge of what his errand must be came too late; the damage was surely done by now. In his anger and despair Akitada almost broke the flute in his hands.

Akitada slowly laid the flute on the floor between them.

Hot fury at the betrayal churned in his belly and pounded his temples. With an effort he kept his hands from shaking; with another effort he controlled his voice. “Where is Toshito?” There was a moment’s silence, then she said vaguely, “He’ll be back soon.”

Imagining what this might mean, Akitada clenched his hands. Then he gestured to the flute. “I cannot accept your generous gift after all.” When her eyes met his, puzzled, he added harshly, “And I am not beaten yet.” Rising abruptly, he inclined his head, saw with satisfaction that he had shocked her, and left the hut.

Outside, the early sun made golden patterns on the ground, and birds were singing, but the valley below still lay hidden in white mist. Masako was stirring the morning gruel in the kettle.

Akitada looked at her suspiciously. He had met with more female duplicity lately than in his entire previous life. It seemed likely now that she had told Ribata of his mission, and that Ribata had alerted Kumo.

Haseo was up. He stood at a spot overlooking the valley and shaded his eyes against the sun. High in the translucent sky circled the first kite. The world was dew-fresh and very beautiful.

Akitada had too recently emerged from continuous night not to feel an almost dizzying fear of losing his fragile freedom again.

“Haseo,” he called out. “We must leave.” Haseo did not turn. Instead he motioned to Akitada, who repeated, more urgently, “We must leave immediately. I think we have been betrayed.”

“Ah.” Haseo nodded without surprise and pointed to the foot of the mountain on the far side of the valley. Where the sunlight had melted away a narrow patch of fog, gray rocks and towering cedars floated like a small island in the sea of white which filled the rest of the valley.