Black Arrow (32 page)

Akitada asked the prisoner, “Do you persist in your identification?”

Goto cried, “It’s my brother, I swear it.”

“Have the maid brought in!” Akitada commanded.

The maid of the Golden Carp marched past the crowd with a smile of self-assurance. Akitada saw that she was a sturdy, plain woman with a knowing look on her face. Near the dais she passed Tora and stopped with a gasp. Tora kept his eyes carefully fixed on a corner of the hall. The maid looked outraged. Putting her hands on her hips, she cried, “So this is where you’ve been hiding out, you lying dog! If I’d known that you were a stinking spy for the tribunal, I’d have made you wish you were bedding a rabid monkey instead.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, then a ripple of laughter started and crude jokes flew back and forth. Akitada bit his lip and rapped his baton on the boards while Kaoru started for the girl.

Tora was crimson. Satisfied with the scene she had created, the maid spat on his boots and walked to the dais.

There she knelt, bowed deeply, and said, “This humble person is called Kiyo. She works as a maid at the Golden Carp. She apologizes for having lost her temper with a lying dog.”

In view of the provocation, Akitada decided to ignore her outburst. “You were shown the corpse of a mutilated man,” he said. “Did you recognize him?”

“Aiih!” she cried. “It was horrible! It turned my stomach what they did to poor Mr. Kato.”

“Answer the question.”

“I recognized him. May the Buddha comfort his soul! It was Mr. Kato, one of our guests. He died last week. Someone must’ve stolen the body. They cut off his feet and hands. And shaved his head. Who’d do a nasty thing like that to a dead man? I hardly knew him except for that ear of his. I nursed the poor man till he died. The doctor and my mistress saw him, too.”

“Dr. Oyoshi has already identified the body. Where is your mistress?”

Kiyo spread her hands. “Who knows? She says she’s sick but she stays away a lot. I bet she’s meeting some man.” She turned to shoot a venomous glance in Tora’s direction and shook her fist at him. “She’s a fool.”

Akitada snapped, “Stop that! Did this Kato die from his illness?”

“Yes, sir. The night after the doctor came. The mistress sent for someone to take his body away.”

Akitada said, “Let the record show that the maid Kiyo has identified the body left at the tribunal gate as that of one Kato, a guest who died of an illness at the Golden Carp.” Turning to Goto, he asked, “What do you say now?”

The fishmonger was trembling. He prostrated himself, knocking his head on the floor, and cried, “Forgive this ignorant person, your Honor! My brother had disappeared and I... my eyes are weak. Heaven be praised it is not my brother! But the rest was true. Kimura did fight with Ogai, and now Ogai has disappeared.”

Akitada said, “Bring in the other prisoner.”

The constables dragged in a burly man in chains. He was quite ugly, with the straggly beginnings of a beard surrounding a slack mouth which lacked most of its front teeth. One of his arms was bandaged to a piece of wood.

The moment he appeared there was a cry from the crowd. A thin man in a hemp jacket and short pants pushed his way to the dais and fell on his knees.

Akitada rapped for order, and waited impatiently until the constables had made their prisoner kneel next to Goto, whose mouth fell open in surprised horror. The resemblance between the two men was apparent.

Akitada nodded to the thin man and said, “State your name and purpose here.”

“This insignificant person is called Kimura. I’m a plasterer and a neighbor of that lying piece of dung Goto. Goto told everyone I murdered his brother Ogai, but there is Ogai, safe and sound.” Kimura pointed at the ugly fellow with the bandaged arm. “Goto lied because I built a dam across the creek that waters the land he stole from us, so now the land’s no good to him. Please, your Honor, tell him to stop making trouble for me.”

Akitada frowned. “I am glad that you have finally come forward with your complaint. Let it be a lesson to you next time to have the court settle your disputes. I have reviewed the documents of your case since they had some bearing on Goto’s charges. The court gave the land to your neighbor on the evidence of a bill of sale and tax receipts for more than ten years. Why do you claim he took your land?”

“I have no proof, your Honor,” Kimura said sadly, “except that my father did not like Goto and would never have sold him the land.”

“Was it not customary ten years ago to have a sale witnessed by two neighbors of the owner?”

Kimura looked blank, but someone in the crowd shouted, “That’s true. They changed the law later.”

Akitada turned to Goto. “Why does your bill of sale not have the signatures of both witnesses?” he asked.

Goto paled. “A small oversight,” he pleaded.

“You lie,” said Akitada, nodding to one of the constables who stepped behind the fishmonger with his whip.

Goto shrank from him in horror. “No! Not another beating! I’ll tell the truth. Old man Kimura agreed to the deal, but he died before he could put his mark on the papers, so I did it for him. I didn’t know about other witnesses.” He prostrated himself, crying, “Please have mercy. Please forgive an ignorant person.”

Akitada snapped, “Why should this court believe you? You lied when you falsely identified the body. Who put you up to that?”

Goto wiped sweat and tears from his face. “Nobody,” he wailed. “I was trying to save my brother’s life. That’s why I said the dead man was him. So the soldiers would stop looking for him.”

The crowd had fallen silent, caught up in the proceedings, but now someone in the back shouted, “Don’t listen to the dirty bastard, Governor. He’s always been a liar.”

The constables made a show of glaring at the offender, and Akitada turned to the fishmonger’s brother. “State your name and profession.”

“Ogai,” the man muttered sullenly. “I’m a corporal in the provincial guard.”

“Not much longer,” shouted a jokester from the crowd.

Akitada frowned at the audience. He hoped the sweat beading his face was not visible. “I am told,” he said to the prisoner, “that you deserted and were discovered hiding in the outcast village. What part did you play in your brother’s false accusation of Kimura?”

“None.” Ogai avoided looking at Goto. “I know nothing about that. It was all Goto’s idea. Just like the land deal. He made me pick a quarrel with Kimura.”

“You lying bastard!” Goto grabbed for his brother, but a constable struck his hand with the butt of his whip.

Ogai growled, “I’m not getting anything out of this. You are! You’re the one stole the land. So don’t pin your troubles on me. I’ve got enough of my own.”

“You do indeed,” said Akitada. “I am glad you understand the seriousness of your position. You are not only a deserter, but you have proven your bad character by committing a rape in the outlaw village that offered you protection and hospitality. I have no qualms about turning you over to your captain for military trial.”

Ogai wailed.

Akitada ignored him and turned to his brother. “You, Goto, shall receive fifty lashes and do six months of conscript labor for the government. The disputed land shall be returned to Kimura, the tax payments you made serving in lieu of rent that you owe him. In addition, your own property shall be confiscated and sold. The proceeds will go to Kimura in compensation for the false murder charge. Constables, remove the prisoners.”

The crowd broke into noisy cheering. Akitada, aware only of a mind-paralyzing tiredness, raised his eyes and lifted his baton to rap for order before closing the hearing when he saw that Seimei’s startled attention was on the side door nearest him.

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.

* * * *

THE WRESTLING MATCH

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.’”