Once or twice she took a wrong turn. At one point she thought she heard footsteps behind her and hoped it was her lover, but when she turned she saw no one. Most of the old houses lining the streets were uninhabited and falling into ruin. Others were hidden behind thickets of dense shrubbery, their gates firmly locked against unwelcome guests.
Gradually her steps faltered. The moon silvered traces of her tears. Their meetings at the hidden pavilion had been desperately secret. Nothing had mattered when weighed against their passion. She had willingly put her life into her lover’s hands, and now she was alone and in despair.
The streets lay empty, but in the trees silent shapes moved in search of prey. Somewhere a small animal shrieked and something thrashed about. She clasped her trailing skirts to her and began to run again, sudden fear of night-hunting tigers and bloody-fanged demons dogging her steps. Strange shapes loomed out of the darkness of abandoned gardens; eerie sounds came from the branches of towering trees. When a night bird started up, its wing brushing her cheek, she cried out to the goddess Kannon.
Then she saw the gilded roof ornament of the pagoda and sighed with relief. She had reached the broken wall of the old abandoned temple and knew where she was. The holy buildings lay silent and peaceful in the moonlight. The goddess, protector of the weak and troubled, resided there and had heard her cry.
♦
Just past the temple, in an open field where squatters had built their tattered shacks, the second watcher caught up with the young woman.
The human predator had expected his prey to return with her lover, whose long sword he had prepared against by positioning his men close by, but this was far better.
Grinning, he jumped into her path. She stopped and gasped. Just then the clouds parted and the moonlight fell on his face. Recoiling in horror, she screamed.
This time the goddess did not hear.
* * * *
ONE
INCIDENT IN FUJISAWA
On the Tokaido:
Gods-Absent Month (November), the same year
T
he Tokaido, great imperial highway to the eastern provinces, was both heavily traveled and unsafe. The government had established checkpoints or barriers, staffed with military guard contingents, to examine travelers’ documents and patrol the surrounding area, but they were few and far between, and highway robbery was a way of life for desperate men.
The two travelers from the capital had come far on their post horses. A tall young man in a faded hunting robe and plain twill trousers rode in front. The fact that he carried a sword marked him as one of the “good people.” His servant, a slight old man in a plain dark robe, followed on a packhorse.
The young nobleman was Akitada, impecunious descendant of the famous but ill-fated Sugawara clan, twenty-five years old and recently a mere junior clerk in the imperial Ministry of Justice, a position he had won only because he had placed first in the university examination. Now he was on an official commission to investigate missing tax shipments from Kazusa province, an assignment that filled him with extraordinary excitement not only because was it his first journey from the capital, but also because he regarded it as an honor beyond his wildest dreams.
Seimei, who had served Akitada’s family all his life, privately thought his young master worthy of any honor but kept this to himself. He was skilled at bookkeeping, had a great knowledge of herbal medicines, and prided himself on his familiarity with the works of Confucius, whom he often quoted to Akitada in his role of fatherly adviser.
His confidence in young Akitada’s prospects was about to be severely tested.
Akitada was smiling dreamily, his eyes on a distant blue mountain range while he contemplated the honors awaiting him after the successful completion of his assignment, when a large rock struck his horse on its hindquarters. The animal screamed, tossed its rider into the dirt, and galloped off. Akitada hit the ground so hard, he nearly blacked out.
Instantly, two muscular bearded men, armed with long, stout cudgels, burst from the shrubbery by the side of the road and seized the bridle of Seimei’s horse, ordering him down. The old man obeyed, shaking with shock and helpless fury, while his young master sat up, holding his head and gauging the distance to his sword, which was still attached to the saddle. One of the bandits raised his cudgel and made for Akitada. Seimei shrieked a warning and kicked the other bandit in the groin. The man doubled over, howling with pain.
Dazed, Akitada crouched and prepared to defend himself bare-handed against his attacker. He barely dodged the first swing of the cudgel and realized that an ignoble death here by the side of the road might end his chance to prove his talents as an imperial investigator.
At the moment when the other bandit recovered and raised his cudgel against Seimei, another ragged man arrived on the scene. Taking in the situation at once, he swept up a fallen branch and struck the bandit’s forearm with such force that he broke it. He caught the man’s weapon as it tumbled from his hand and turned toward Akitada’s robber.
This man abandoned Akitada to help his friend, but the newcomer now had a comparable weapon and met the other man’s whirling cudgel with such skill that Akitada watched in amazement. He had never before seen men engage in a bout of stick fighting, and while the rough cudgels were not quite as handy, long, or light as bamboo poles, both men were skilled fighters. But the new man was better. He parried even the fastest slashes, seemed to jump quicker than a grasshopper, and feinted so successfully that he inflicted several painful jabs before he saw his opening and struck his opponent’s forehead with a backhanded slice, knocking him senseless. At this point the other attacker fled, and the ragged young man tied up his opponent with a piece of rope the bandit had worn around his waist.
“That was fine work you did,” cried Akitada, walking up quickly. “We owe you our lives ...” He stopped in dismay when their rescuer straightened up. He smiled quite cheerfully, but a vicious slash had barely missed his eye and opened his cheek. The blood ran freely. “Seimei,” Akitada called. “Quick, your medicine box.”
The young man shook his head, still grinning with a perfect set of teeth, and dashed the blood away with the back of his hand. “Don’t trouble yourselves. It’s nothing. I’ll get your horse for you, sir.” He ran off and returned a minute later, leading Akitada’s mount. “If you don’t mind the advice, sir,” he said, “you should wear your sword. It might at least make the next robber think twice before jumping you.”
Akitada flushed. For a vagrant, this young man was amazingly impudent. But he was right, and Akitada swallowed his anger. “Yes. Thank you again. I was careless. Please let Seimei tend to your face.” The man’s face already bore assorted bruises, but it must be handsome under ordinary circumstances. Akitada wondered if their rescuer made a habit of fighting.
But the stranger shook his head stubbornly and backed away from Seimei and his box of ointments and powders.