Yoshiko looked stricken. “You mustn’t feel that way! This is your home, not Mother’s or mine,” she cried. “Do not let her spoil it for you and Tamako and your son. It will be a happy home again. Our family has lived here for many generations and will continue to live here through you.”
Akitada glanced around his room and out to the overgrown garden, now as covered with leaves at Nagaoka’s courtyard had been. From the direction of his mother’s room the voices of the monks penetrated even into his sanctuary. Like Nagaoka’s, this, too, was a house in disarray, but Yoshiko’s words touched something in his heart. She was right! It was up to him to give life back to the family home. Tamako would make short work of the weeds and choking vegetation outside and turn the garden into a flowering grove, while his son Yori, and in due time other children, would play outside, filling the place with their shrill shouts and laughter instead of the horrible drone of prayers for the dying. He smiled.
“There,” said Yoshiko. “That looks much better. Now tell me what happened to upset you so.”
He decided not to mention Toshikage’s problem, but told her of his night at the temple, and how he had run into Kobe in the city and ended up becoming involved in the murder of Nagaoka’s wife.
“It was foolish,” he said, when he was done, “to become so angry with Kobe for refusing what I considered a courteous request, but I have become used to being obeyed. No one has spoken to me in that manner for a long time now.” He added with a smile, “It will take some patience before I will become properly humble again.”
Yoshiko did not smile. She was sitting very still. He was dismayed to see her so pale, her eyes large with shock. Cursing himself for frightening her with his gory tale of murder and nightmare, he apologized.
“No, no,” she said, smiling a little tremulously. “It is nothing. But what will happen now? Who will help that poor man? Oh, Akitada, can you not do something? You could use your rank, perhaps. Or get some of your powerful friends to intercede.”
He looked at her in astonishment. “Of course not. My arrogance is not quite that great. Besides, it is by no means clear that the man is innocent.”
“Oh, but he is. He must be. You said yourself that you were not convinced of his guilt.”
Akitada sighed. “Yes, my dear. But that is not the same as believing him innocent. I am not satisfied that he had a motive, and the fact that Nagaoka’s wife was strangled before being hacked about suggests that she was not murdered by a drunken maniac. It is not logical. That is all.”
“Anybody could have done it. What about the husband? He must have been angry with his brother, if he suspected him of being his wife’s lover. Perhaps it was he who killed her and made it look as if his brother had done it. It would be the perfect revenge, wouldn’t it?”
She had spoken fervently, leaning forward a little, her eyes pleading with him to agree, and he was amused. Of course, she was quite right about Nagaoka’s motive, and he told her so. “But,” he said, “my hands are tied. Kobe will not let me speak to his prisoner, and I must do so before I can get any idea of what happened at the temple and of the relationship between the two brothers and Nagaoka’s wife.” He paused, and gave Yoshiko a glance of concern. “Are you quite well? You look a little feverish. Perhaps we had better not talk about the matter anymore. Do you think I should go to see Mother?”
His sister looked down at her hands and took a moment to calm herself. “Perhaps tomorrow. I am afraid that she may excite herself too much and bring up more blood.”
Akitada nodded. No doubt Yoshiko thought the sight of him would be so abhorrent to his mother that it might hasten her death. “I think I shall read a little,” he said, and watched his sister rise and leave without another word.
He spent the rest of the day depressed by his inability to cope with the assorted miseries he had found on his return. His mother’s hatred for him, even in her present condition, was sufficiently demoralizing, but then there was the matter of Toshikage, potentially dangerous not only to Toshikage but also to Akiko and their unborn child. Yoshiko’s unhappiness and his own pending report to the great men who held his future and that of his people in their hands also weighed heavily on his mind.
He missed his wife and son. Tamako and Yori, short for Yorinaga, had been his whole life until now. He hoped they were safe. Yori was only three, and by no means safe from the many illnesses which could strike young children so quickly and often fatally. And they might encounter highwaymen. He reminded himself that Tora and Genba rode with them and were both strong and experienced fighters. Besides, there were the bearers and some hired horsemen. Seimei, Akitada’s secretary, was too old, of course, to be much use against robbers, but his wisdom would keep them well advised. Still…
Akitada eventually went to bed. He spent a restless night, tossing and turning as he revolved all his troubles in his mind. Outside, the monks’ droning chants continued their unabated hum. He wondered at the cost and knew he would soon have to ask Yoshiko how large a gift the temple expected. Once during the night, he heard someone running, and the monks began a more frantic burst of chanting. Akitada rose and flung on some clothes, waiting for the summons which would call him to his mother’s side.
But it did not come. The house fell quiet again, and Akitada returned to his bedding. Toward morning he finally dozed off.
He sought out his sister as soon as he was dressed the next morning. She met him, looking exhausted, at the door of her room.
“Is Mother all right?” Akitada asked. “I heard some excitement during the night.”
“Another hemorrhage. A bit worse than last time. She finally fell asleep.” Yoshiko passed a hand over her dark-ringed eyes. “At least I think so. It is hard to tell if she is asleep or simply too weak to bother.”
“You are tired. Shall I go sit with her today?”
Yoshiko gave him a grateful look. “If you would. For just a few hours. I have not had any sleep. Don’t wake her, though.”
In the corridor outside his mother’s room, some five or six monks sat in a line, their eyes closed and their lips moving continuously, while prayer beads passed between their fingers. Akitada stepped over them and opened the door. They neither looked up nor paused in their chant.
His mother’s room was in semidarkness, the air overheated and thick with the smell of blood and urine. Braziers glowed here and there. The sturdy maid looked up at him with startled eyes, but Lady Sugawara lay still. She was on her back, hands folded across her stomach, sunken eyes closed, nose and chin jutting up sharply from a face which already looked more like a skull than a living human being.
Akitada gestured for silence and took a seat near the maid, whispering, “I shall stay for a while. Please do not let me trouble you. How has she been?”
“ ‘Twas bad in the night,” the maid whispered back. “But she’s been asleep the last hour or so.”
“Good.” Akitada prepared himself for a long vigil, but suddenly his mother’s eyes opened and fixed on him. “Mother?” he asked tentatively. When she said nothing, he tried, “How are you feeling?”
“Where is my grandson?” Her voice was shockingly loud and harsh in that stillness. “Have you brought my grandson?”
“Not yet. They will be here shortly. In a…” He stopped, seeing her face contract into a mask of fury.
“Get out!” she gasped, choking. “Get out of my room! Leave me alone!” The gasping turned to convulsive coughing. “I can… not even die in… peace … without you rushing me along…. Curse you … for …” She raised up suddenly, pointing a clawlike hand at him accusingly, her eyes filled with implacable hatred. But whatever she had meant to shout at him was never said. A gush of dark blood spilled from her mouth and over the bedding, and she fell back choking.