“Do you know where your daughter is?”

She nodded. “With one of Yasugi’s managers, not far from here.”

“Then we shall get her. Is there anywhere you both can stay for a few weeks?”

“Perhaps we could stay with the shrine maidens at the Hachiman Shrine.”

Akitada thought of the smiling priest Ki and shook his head. “It wouldn’t be safe.”

“There’s a temple that has quarters for a few nuns. One of them is an elderly cousin of mine.”

“Yes. You should be safe there until you can return to your own home.” He glanced toward the roofs of the mansion behind him.

She nodded and gave him a tremulous smile. “Yes. Now that we have someone to remember us. Thank you, Akitada.”

His heart twisted. He did not want to pursue that dangerous path but could not help himself. “Tell me about you and Haseo.”

She flushed and looked down at her hands. “I was very young when the matchmaker came. She asked if I was healthy and felt my hips and belly through my gown. I knew I was chosen to give children to this strange man. I hated Haseo then, but I fell in love with him later. Haseo was always gentle. And he was very handsome.” She sighed. “We were all in love with him, but he loved fighting more. He left us for long months to live in the capital. At first I thought he was visiting the courtesans, but he went to study sword fighting and to keep company with soldiers. I soon learned that I was nothing to him.”

Akitada heard the bitterness, but he had learned that wives expected a great deal more than their husbands could give them. He asked, “What about his parents?”

“His father was very stern. Haseo avoided him. I think that angered his father. They both had tempers. Haseo’s mother was kind and timid. She tried to make peace. Haseo loved his mother.”

“Do you remember the day of the murders?”

She looked at him doubtfully. “That day, we—the wives—were not in the main house. We didn’t see or hear the quarrel, but I knew Haseo was planning to do something . . . he looked angry when he left.”

“You saw him just before the murder?”

“He left me in the morning.” She blushed.

“The crime happened at midday. Haseo was arrested at the scene. What was he doing until then?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did he take his sword? This sword?” He showed it to her.

She looked and recoiled slightly. She answered so softly that he almost did not hear, “Yes, he had his sword.”

Akitada began to suspect that Hiroko had believed her husband guilty. “How did you find out about the murders?”

She looked away and let the words pour out. “They brought us the news. First a servant, weeping. Then the steward to tell us that Haseo had killed his father and his mother. We didn’t believe it, but Yasura had been with Haseo’s mother and she saw it all. Yasura used to be Haseo’s nurse. They said she was like a madwoman, crying, ‘He did it. I saw it. He killed them both.’ Later the constables led Haseo away. I ran after him. I saw blood on his clothes, and the look on his face was terrible. They took me away then, and I never saw him again.” She sighed and wiped away tears. “So long ago and still so terrible.”

He waited a moment, then asked, “You did not attend the trial?”

“No. There was a hearing at the Yasugi mansion. Yasugi is the senior district official. A judge asked all of us questions and made us put our names to our testimony.” She paused. “Yasugi was very kind to me that day.”

So Yasugi had been involved in Haseo’s trial and had been solicitous of his beautiful young wife. That the biggest land-owner should hold the top administrative position in his district was common practice, but it raised more suspicions in Akitada’s mind that Yasugi had hatched a plot to incriminate Haseo. He had had a double motive: Haseo’s beautiful third wife and the Tomonari Estate. But it did not explain how the murder happened, and Hiroko was no help there.

She was calmer now that she had poured out her story, and he said, “Your husband . . . Haseo was innocent. A man called Sangoro may help us prove it. Do you know him?”

She frowned. “Sangoro? He grew up with Haseo and tried to be like him. Haseo’s father was amused and let him strut about when the boys were young, but later he could see that it put ideas in his head and that Sangoro was becoming disrespectful, so he put a stop to it. But Sangoro left for the capital and only came to visit his mother sometimes. There’s a distant cousin living at the farm. I think Sangoro works for Yasugi now.”

“Does he indeed?” Akitada wondered just what sort of work he did. He was no farmer. He glanced past her at the bundle inside her room. “Could you leave now? We could stop at Sangoro’s farm on our way to get your daughter.”

“Now?” Apparently she had not thought what her next step would have to be and how quickly it must be taken, but she was still the same Hiroko who had disguised herself to attend Tora’s trial. She went inside to pick up her bundle and rejoined him. “I’m ready,” she said.

He helped her onto his horse, tied her bundle to his own saddlebag, and mounted behind her. There was no sign of Yasugi’s people, and they left the Tomonari manor unchallenged.

A narrow footpath led from the manor over the crest of a low wooded hill into the next valley. Intensely aware of Hiroko, Akitada made himself think of Matsue instead. He hoped he would finally learn what role he had played in Haseo’s tragedy.

Sangoro’s farm consisted of a wooden house and two sheds, the whole surrounded by a low stone wall. Its fields were poorly cultivated, some having gone to weeds, and others showing only thin crops. Near the house, a few vegetables struggled in a small plot. But there were many chickens and, surprisingly, a horse tied up beside one of the sheds.

When Akitada saw the horse, he stopped in the shelter of the trees. “You’d better wait here. Can you ride?”

She nodded and let him help her down. “What are you afraid of ?”

“I have a notion that Sangoro has come home.” He led her to a grassy spot where she could sit and wait. “If there is trouble, take my horse and flee. Get your daughter and head for refuge.”

Her eyes went to Haseo’s sword at his side. “Please be careful.”

When Akitada reached the farmhouse, he saw that the area inside the stone wall was littered with a number of dead chickens. He had no time to investigate, because the live ones began to cluck noisily, and the door swung open. The man on the threshold shaded his eyes against the sun, but Akitada knew him instantly. They had met. On three separate occasions.

In the broad sunlight the resemblance was not pronounced. Matsue’s features were coarser and fleshier, the eyes colder and more calculating. Akitada saw that his right hand was no longer bandaged; the stumps of the missing fingers had scabbed over by now, but he held the hand awkwardly as if it still pained him.

Akitada approached until only the length of two swords separated them. Matsue’s expression was unwelcoming. “Yes?” he asked, frowning.

“Are you Sangoro?”

“I am.” The frown deepened. “You look familiar. Have we met?”

“Not precisely, though I know who you are. In the capital you pass under the name Matsue. I’m Sugawara.”

Matsue’s eyebrows rose. “What do you want with me?”

Akitada put his hand on the sword. “During a recent raid of a robber’s den in the capital, the police found this sword in a room you used to occupy. It belongs to the Tomonari family. How did you get it?”

Matsue took a step forward and extended his left hand. “That’s mine. Hand it over!”

Akitada stood his ground. “By what right do you claim it?”

“More right than you have.” Recognition finally dawned and Matsue flushed with anger. “It’s you again.”

Akitada kept his eye on Matsue’s good left hand, but it was the other, the wounded right hand, which suddenly lashed out. The blow landed on Akitada’s temple and would have knocked him out, if it had not been injured. Still, Akitada lost his balance, stumbled, and fell to one knee. His sight darkened long enough for the sword to be snatched from its scabbard. He heard the soft hiss of the blade and scrambled to his feet and out of striking range, realizing that he had fallen for a child’s trick that was about to cost him his life.