The Dragon Scroll (40 page)

They became aware of a sound like the buzzing of a giant beehive. Akitada lifted his curtain. They were passing down the center of a large courtyard filled with people. On either side of the palanquin, yellow-robed monks were swinging incense burners and chanting softly. Behind them pressed the local people, chattering and trying to snatch a glimpse of the pomp and circumstance of the arriving dignitaries.

Their bearers, conscious of all the eyes on themselves and their burden, trotted briskly until they reached the steps of the great Buddha hall, where they deposited the palanquin with a flourish that rattled their charges’ teeth.

Egress from the palanquin was fraught with difficulties; first Motosuke, then Akitada emerged, their voluminous robes, trains, and stiffened silk trousers gathered to their bodies, their heads inclined to squeeze out without knocking their hats askew.

The next problem was ascending the broad stairs to the veranda without falling over trousers that extended almost a yard beyond their feet. Fortunately, the waddling gait adopted by high court nobles in full ceremonial garb was considered elegant. Akitada was sweating by the time he reached the high veranda. His inferior rank in the capital had not exactly accustomed him to such occasions. Motosuke, he noticed, managed with ease despite his greater years and weight.

The reception committee was headed by a middle-aged priest with a pale face and sunken eyes. Motosuke addressed him as Kukai. So this was the deacon who had been sent to give spiritual comfort to the jailed Lady Tachibana. Feeling an almost physical aversion, Akitada turned away to look out over the courtyard below.

Visitors, monks, and soldiers milled about everywhere. A number of raised platforms had been erected in front of the new hall, and the carriages of wealthy and influential families were lined up along the far galleries. Screens hid upper-class women and their maidservants from the curious eyes of strangers. And everywhere were uniforms and armor. Yukinari’s soldiers stood discreetly in the galleries, clustered about the gates, and hovered near the Buddha hall.

Reassured, Akitada joined Motosuke for a guided tour of the new hall.

It was vast and beautifully constructed, but Akitada listened with only half an ear to Kukai’s descriptions. They paused for the required obeisances before a large gilded bronze figure of the Buddha. A group of elderly monks chanted softly, reminding Akitada of the prisoners in the subterranean pit. Then a long line of beautiful boys, none older than ten or eleven, passed through. They wore the most splendid silk gowns of all colors and carried golden chimes. Each time the clear tones rang out, there were smiles or giggles from the younger ones. Their innocence struck Akitada as incongruous and surreal as they disappeared into the silvery haze of incense surrounding the great Buddha. He stared after them in bewilderment.

“Our youngest novices.” Kukai’s voice startled Akitada from his reverie. “Their families placed them in our charge.”

Akitada remembered the old monk’s accusations against Joto and felt sickened. The monastic life forbade relations with women, and monks were known to turn to each other for affection, but children? And what of his friend Tasuku, who had loved women all his young life? How had he managed to turn his back on them forever?

When they reemerged from the hall, Kukai led them to one of the viewing platforms, explaining that the other platforms, spaced some fifty feet apart from one another, were reserved for the reader, the abbot and temple administrators, and the dancers.

Their viewing stand was covered with thick grass mats bound in brocade, and their cushions were of silk. A brocade awning shielded them from the glare of the winter sun. Akitada had the seat of honor, with Motosuke slightly to his left. The cushion to Motosuke’s left had been intended for the missing Ikeda. Yukinari seated himself to Akitada’s right. The other members of the official party, several judges and the senior secretaries of the provincial administration, with Seimei in the lead, filed up and took their places behind them.

Akitada nodded a greeting to Yukinari, who looked splendid. His present responsibility had done much to bring color to his face and assurance to his bearing.

Below them an orchestra of drums, flutes, and zithers struck up, and costumed dancers appeared on the platform in the center to perform the measured movements of sacred dances. Akitada kept glancing at the empty stand reserved for the abbot.

At long last the dancers ceased and the music ended. An anticipatory silence fell. Then a silvery tinkling of small bells drew every eye to the doors of the new hall, where the children were gathered. The panels opened slowly, and Joto appeared. The crowd burst into welcoming applause.

He stood for several long minutes as they shouted and waved before advancing to the top of the steps. Here he paused again, waiting for silence, then raised folded hands to his lips and forehead in greeting and benediction and descended. His robe was made from silk dyed in two contrasting shades of purple that shimmered and shifted hue with every movement. Gold embroidery and pearls encrusted his stole.

Two long lines of monks emerged from the hall. Each monk carried a staff with colored silk streamers. Joto, joined by Kukai and other monastic officials, took the lead as all the other monks, novices, and acolytes, in their best robes and with colorful stoles about their shoulders, fell in behind. Chanting “Amida! Amida!” the whole gorgeous stream flowed around the great courtyard and out through the main gate to perform the ritual perambulation of the temple.

Motosuke leaned toward Akitada and said, “Have you ever seen such showmanship? I think we have just watched three tax shipments of gold and silk walking out that gate.”

“There will be something left,” Akitada said, adding grimly, “A man of Joto’s flair has greater plans than a mere temple dedication.” He turned to Yukinari and said in a low voice, “This is surely the time to release the prisoners. I haven’t seen Tora around.”

Yukinari murmured, “He’s taking some of my best men to the storehouses. If they can find the access to the underground prison, they should have plenty of time before the monks return. Tora will signal when they have been successful.”

The planning so far had been flawless. From beyond the temple walls drifted the sounds of chanting and ringing bells. Akitada guessed that the perambulation might take half an hour, considering the size of the compound and the terrain. Still, he was nervous.

To keep the crowd from becoming restive, the musicians and dancers began their performances again. Some of the child novices brought fruit juices to the official party. The boy who served Akitada could not have been more than six or seven. He was beautiful as such young children often are, and when he managed to fill the cup without spilling a drop, he chuckled in delight and gave Akitada a gap-toothed grin.

Eventually the head of the procession reappeared. The long snake of monks wound to the other viewing platform. Joto and the temple dignitaries ascended it, but Kukai climbed to the speaker’s stand and, as soon as the abbot and his officials had taken their seats, began the sutra reading. The rest of the monks dispersed to various positions, where they joined with periodic choral responses.

The congratulatory addresses by the representatives of the emperor were next. Both Akitada and Motosuke were to express their happy thoughts on the occasion. Their official gifts, in the form of rolls of silk, robes, sutra boxes, and prayer beads, stood neatly wrapped and decorated at the foot of their viewing stand. As imperial emissary, Akitada was to congratulate Joto first. His actual intentions were altogether different.

But everything depended on Tora’s prior release of Joto’s prisoners. Where was he? Akitada’s stomach lurched unpleasantly as the worm of fear twisted its coils. Unable to contain his worry, Akitada turned and nodded to Seimei. As prearranged, Seimei rose quietly to make his way to the kitchen courtyard and the latrines.

♦

Seimei walked purposefully, like a man on his way to the conveniences. There were few people in the kitchen enclosure, and he saw no monks at all. Trying to remember the temple layout, he turned to the gate in the northern wall.

The next courtyard was deserted. Seimei tentatively identified the large low building before him as the storehouse with the hidden halberds. This must be the enclosure where Tora and the soldiers were supposed to release the buried monks, but there was no one about. As Seimei approached the large storehouse, he heard a noise inside. Tora, he thought with a sigh of relief and pulled open the door. A shadow moved inside.

“Who’s there?” Seimei whispered nervously, no longer sure who lurked inside.

No answer.

It occurred to Seimei that his errand might be dangerous. Some vicious monk, perhaps a whole gang, could be behind those barrels and bales and jump out to kill him. For a moment he considered slamming the door shut and locking in whatever was lurking there, but he remembered his instructions. He was to find out what had gone wrong and warn his master.

Gingerly he stepped inside. He scanned the long line of barrels and baskets and saw that the bundles of
naginata
had been unwrapped and some of them had rolled out onto the floor.

Creeping forward on trembling legs, he reached the barrels and peered over them. Crouched behind the farthest barrel was a man wearing a blue robe like his own. Tora also wore such a robe, but this could not be Tora. Tora would not be hiding from him . . . unless he was up to one of his childish tricks.

Seimei crept a little closer. Then, gathering all his courage, he pounced forward, grasped the other man’s collar, and demanded, “What are you doing? Didn’t you hear me—” He broke off in astonishment. “I beg your pardon,” he gasped, releasing the man.

Prefect Ikeda stood up. He was pale, but he measured Seimei’s thin, bent figure and white hair calmly. “Oh, it’s you,” he said, inching along the barrels toward the door. “I was just leaving. It seems Joto’s been storing contraband here. Your man Tora and some soldiers were here a moment ago. I was just making sure they had not overlooked anything.”

Seimei regarded him through narrowed eyes and stepped in his way. “I don’t believe you,” he said. “You are hiding here because you are wanted for the murder of Lord Tachibana.”

Ikeda stopped and smiled. “Oh, that. That’s all been cleared up.”

“It has not,” cried Seimei. “You need not take me for a fool. In fact, I happen to know that you have been declared a fugitive from justice.” The moment he uttered the words, Seimei realized with a sinking heart that he was now obligated to raise the alarm so that Ikeda could be apprehended. But an alarm was the last thing his master would wish at this moment. Drawing himself up importantly, he glared at Ikeda and said, “You are under arrest.”

Strangely, Ikeda said nothing. He just stood there, smiling and seeming to wait for further developments.

Seimei was at a loss. “I’d better find something to tie you up with,” he muttered, looking around. He saw a coil of rope near one of the barrels, but when he bent to pick it up, Ikeda made a rush for the door.

Fortunately, he had miscalculated his distance. Seimei flung himself forward and met Ikeda’s charge in a bone-crunching collision. They both fell back, gasping.

“Oh, no, you don’t!” wheezed Seimei, feeling his left shoulder for damage. “You aren’t getting away so easily.”

“Get out of my way, old man,” Ikeda snarled, rubbing his arm.

Seimei was desperate. If Ikeda escaped, he would warn Joto. What had happened to Tora and the soldiers? Seimei decided to play for time. “I thought you wanted a chance to explain,” he reminded Ikeda.

“You’re a fool,” said Ikeda. “I had to kill Tachibana. He was about to ruin us.” Looking Seimei over, he smiled unpleasantly. “Old age is no guarantee of wisdom. It seems I’ll have to kill you, too.” Taking the cover off the barrel beside him, he stuck his arm in and felt around. A shower of beans spilled over the rim and scattered across the floor.

Clearly nothing good was hidden in those beans. Seimei swallowed and moved toward the door, eyeing Ikeda warily. Ikeda grunted with satisfaction and drew forth a sword, its new blade gleaming wickedly in the dim light. Then he started toward Seimei.

Seimei glanced about desperately and found one of the
naginata
at his feet. Snatching it up, he staggered under its weight. He had no idea how to use this long pole with the sharp blade at its end but thought that it was meant for stabbing or slashing an enemy from a safe distance. Since Ikeda’s sword was much shorter, the
naginata
would give him an advantage. Unfortunately, it was too heavy for him. As he watched Ikeda approach, the long pole tipped and wobbled in his grasp.