ond Prince was by far the island’s most exalted political exile.

Reaching for his wine cup, the prince raised his eyes from

the crane to the mountaintop. Gilded by the last ray of sun, it

looked as if a line of pure gold had been drawn between earth

and heaven. He drank deeply and murmured, “It is time. The

light is almost gone.” His tone and expression were filled with

deep emotion, but he slurred his words a little. Grimacing, he

pressed a hand to his stomach. “What did you put in that prawn

stew, Toshito?” he asked the young man on his left.

“Nothing, Your Highness. The woman uses just prawns, a

bit of seaweed, and herbs. I was told it is your favorite.” Mutobe

Toshito looked annoyed. He was the governor’s son and filling

in for his father tonight.

The professor said peaceably, “It smelled delicious, Toshito.

I am sure His Highness enjoyed the local specialty. What a

thoughtful gesture. We were all pleased to see him eat with a

good appetite for a change.”

“There is nothing wrong with my appetite, Sakamoto,” said

the Second Prince irritably, and belched.

“Is Your Highness feeling unwell?” The other elderly man, on

the prince’s right, touched his arm solicitously. Taira Takamoto

had been the prince’s tutor and shared his exile now.

The Second Prince shook off Taira’s hand, his face white

and drawn. He kept massaging his stomach. “Shunsei,” he

murmured querulously to the handsome young monk sitting

silently across from him, “come closer and massage my neck.

I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

3

You are the only one who gives me pleasure these days. Will you

stay the night?”

The young monk flushed and bowed deeply. “I am expected

at the temple tonight, Highness,” he said apologetically. His

voice was soft and his eyes moist with adoration. He got up and

went to kneel behind the prince.

The Second Prince fidgeted. “Never mind! Go, if you prefer

their company. Is my room ready, Sakamoto?”

The professor got to his feet. “I’ll see to it immediately,

Highness.”

Lord Taira emptied his cup and rose also. “I shall make sure

that His Highness has all he needs. Good night, all.” The two

older men walked away toward the house. After a moment, the

handsome monk bowed and followed them.

Only young Toshito remained with the prince. He looked

after Shunsei with an expression of distaste.

“You d-don’t approve of my lover?” the Second Prince said

with some difficulty.

The young man flushed. “I . . . I beg your pardon, Highness?”

“D-don’t bother to pretend. I’ve been aware that you and

the governor disapprove of my t-tastes as much as my politics.

It could not matter less to me. We shall prevail against the

tyranny of an unlawful regime at l-last.”

The governor’s son stiffened and said uneasily, “I must

remind you, Highness, that you were sent here as a prisoner. You

are not likely to leave, certainly not as long as you voice treasonable intentions. And I’m afraid I shall have to report your words

to my father, who will, in turn, report them to the emperor.”

The Second Prince did not answer. He turned to look after

the others, who had almost reached the house. Suddenly he

groaned and bent forward, clutching his belly with both hands.

Toshito jumped to his feet. “What is it? Are you ill?”

4

I . J . P a r k e r

“Help me, please!” The prince’s voice rose to a shout of agony.

Sweat beaded his face. He reached convulsively for his throat,

choking out the words, “Loosen my collar! I cannot breathe.”

The young man approached and leaned down to tug at the

prince’s collar, but the brocade robe fit tightly and he had to use both hands. To his horror, the prince began to scream again.

His arms flailed wildly, delivering weak blows to Toshito’s face

and chest.

Down at the lakeshore, the startled crane had raised its head

at the first shout. Now it spread its huge wings and flew off, a

flapping fish in its long bill.

The others came running back to the pavilion.

Young Mutobe was still trying to restrain the wildly jerking

prince. “Calm down, Highness,” he gasped, and then shouted to

Shunsei, “Run for the doctor!” But it was too late. The prince

went first rigid and then limp in Toshito’s arms and sagged

heavily against him. He lowered the body to the ground.

Shunsei fell to his knees next to the prince and wailed,

“Beloved, do not leave me yet.”

Lord Taira was still out of breath, but his face contorted,

and he struck the governor’s son so violently in the chest that

the young man went tumbling backward and fell against the

railing.

The professor knelt to check the prince’s breathing. “He’s

dead,” he said.

“Murderer!” Taira pointed a shaking finger at Toshito, who

lay where he had fallen, stunned with surprise. “You and your

father did this. Did you think we would not hear his scream for

help? We all saw you choke him. You killed a son of heaven. Not

even the present government will countenance such sacrilege.”

In the shocked silence which followed Taira’s words, the first

frog croaked in the reeds of the darkening lake.

C H A P T E R O N E

V I S I TO R S

The two high-ranking officials from the capital arrived in the

tribunal of Echigo on a late summer afternoon.

When Seimei brought the news, Akitada was sitting on the

remnants of the veranda in his private courtyard. He had been

practicing his flute, while his young wife played with their baby

son in the small enclosed area between their living quarters and

the ramshackle assortment of halls and stables which made up

the official headquarters of the province. It was no elegant

courtyard with stones, lanterns, clipped trees, and raked gravel

streams, but just a small square of dirt with a few weeds growing

in the corners of the broken fence and under the veranda. They

had been quite happy that afternoon. Tamako had swung the

baby high up toward the limpid summer sky and laughed at the

child’s delighted gurgling. And Akitada had smiled as he prac-

ticed “Dewdrops on the Autumn Grasses.” But he had felt a

small pang of guilt when her sleeves slipped back and he saw

how thin her arms had become.

6

I . J . P a r k e r

He should not have brought her here to this inhospitable

place where the rain and snow blew into their rooms, and the

winters were as cold as their reception had been. But she had

come eagerly, putting aside her old life to be a good and loyal

wife to a struggling government official.

Sometimes he wished Tamako were a little less correct about

her duties. Before the birth of his son there had been intimacy

between them. In their nights together she had begun to open up

to him, to share her secret thoughts after sharing her body.

Because he was quite deeply in love with this slender, intelligent

woman, he wanted her to be more to him than a dutiful wife and

mother of his children. He loved his new son dearly but was jeal-

ous of the attention she lavished on him. It seemed that she had

little time left for her husband now, that all her love and devo-

tion were given to the child. But these feelings he kept to himself.

When old Seimei shuffled out on the veranda with his news,

Akitada laid down his flute with a regretful glance toward his

young family. “More messengers from Heian-kyo?” he asked,

looking up at the thin white-haired man, who was servant, sec-