But Matsue stepped back, the sword in his left hand and a lazy smile on his face. Akitada realized that he was trapped against the stone wall. He waited for Matsue’s attack. Akitada had hoped for death. Now he was about to have his wish.

“Don’t try to run,” Matsue drawled, strolling into striking distance. “You’d lose your head in an instant. I find I’m getting almost as good with my left hand as with my right.” He lashed out and neatly decapitated a chicken that had strayed within his reach. The headless fowl walked about drunkenly before falling on its side, twitching a couple of times, and lying still. “You see? Now what’s all this business about the sword? Why are you following me? The Tomonaris are dead and gone.”

“Except for you.”

Matsue’s eyes flickered. Akitada watched him, wondering vaguely if there was a chance he could get the sword back by keeping him talking.

Matsue looked at Haseo’s sword and smiled unpleasantly. “Nowadays I’m my mother’s son, not my father’s. It appears the Tomonari name has fallen into disrepute. Still, this sword is mine by rights. It should’ve been mine from the start. I’m the older, even if the spoiled brat got the teachers, the money, and the attention.”

Akitada began to inch along the wall. “Your mother was a peasant. At best you were a bastard.”

Matsue’s eyes flashed. He cried, “My mother came of good stock and was serving his first wife when my father took her as concubine. I was born three months before my pampered half-brother.”

Akitada shifted his position a little more. “So? Dalliance with maids is common. The resulting children have no claims unless their father legitimizes them. Tomonari did not recognize you.”

“You lie.” Matsue swept up the point of the sword until it touched Akitada’s throat. “He acknowledged me. Ask anyone around here.” He made a sweeping gesture with the sword. “He gave my mother this farm. Why else would he do that?” The sword point returned to Akitada’s throat.

So Tora had been right about the document. Akitada did not doubt that Matsue was Tomonari’s son, but a man who was so determined to protect the succession that he had forced a rebellious Haseo to accept his family duties would hardly legitimize a bastard child. Still, such casual relationships could leave deep emotional scars. Akitada would have felt some sympathy, had he not been convinced by now that Matsue was the killer. Dodging the sword point by stepping aside, he said, “If it is as you say, why did Tomonari not keep you and your mother in his household instead of sending both of you away when you started making claims on him?”

Matsue glared. “Maybe my mother didn’t want to stay. Maybe she wanted her own place. This place. But we were welcome in the great house anytime. My mother nursed my half-brother along with me and we grew up together. It was our home as much as theirs.”

“Ah. The nurse Yasura was your mother.” Ki’s secretary had mentioned that she lived close enough to walk to work every day. And if Matsue was the murderer, she had the strongest reason of all to lie. “She lied to protect you,” Akitada said. “Because it was you who killed them.”

Matsue’s face hardened. “You made a mistake hounding me,” he said softly. “What you guess won’t matter, because you won’t live to tell it. Yes, I killed them. And then I hid and I watched as my brother found their bodies. Sometimes the gods do right a wrong.”

Akitada said angrily, “You let him go to trial for something he had not done.”

Matsue laughed and raised the sword a little to caress Akitada’s jaw. “My honored brother wasn’t a bit grateful that I rid him of our father and made him Lord Tomonari. He wept like a child; he clutched his mother’s corpse; and he pulled his sword—this sword in my hand—from our father’s chest. My mother was wailing her head off until he shook her and asked her who’d done the deed. For a moment I was afraid she’d tell, but she didn’t, and that’s when I knew I was safe. All I had to do was disappear and let things take their course.”

Akitada was sickened. “Why did you kill them?”

Matsue’s face darkened. “They pushed me too far. I’d come home to ask my father for a little money to pay some debts, but he laughed at me. I reminded him that I was his son and that he’d given a hundred times as much to my half-brother. He got angry and called me names. Our shouting brought his wife and my mother. When they turned on my mother, blaming her, it was too much. I saw my precious brother’s fine new sword lying there, and I killed them both.” Matsue raised the sword into the sun and squinted along the blade. “I could never afford a fine weapon like this. Not a nick in it, and it sliced through her neck bones without a sound.” He lowered the blade and chuckled. “Can you imagine, her head stayed on. You should have seen her face. But she put her hand to her throat and it looked like she pushed it off herself. It was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.” He gave a high-pitched laugh.

He was a madman, Akitada thought, one of those demonic creatures who take pleasure in killing. He discovered, with mild surprise, that he did not want to die, especially not here, not like this. He would not wait to be cut down, perhaps after a desperate cat-and-mouse game of dodging Matsue’s blade. He would attack and get the sword back. He would almost certainly take a sword wound, perhaps be killed, but if he was quick, he would be inside Matsue’s reach before the other man could execute a fatal strike.

He gathered himself, set his eyes on the hand which grasped the sword hilt, and charged.

But Matsue did not react the way he had hoped. Instead of striking out, he sidestepped and tripped Akitada, who ended up prone. Putting a foot on Akitada’s back, Matsue placed the sword’s point just where the jawbone joins the neck and laughed.

“That was stupid,” he drawled. “Of course I can’t let you live.”

With his face pressed into fresh chicken droppings, Akitada prepared to die. Death was never pretty, but better in chicken dung and by the sword than the way poor Yori had died. Better in a fight like a man, not like a blind woman running from a maniac’s knife. He thought of Tamako and braced himself.

But Matsue did not strike. Somewhere in the distance Akitada heard the sound of a galloping horse. He twisted aside, felt Matsue’s foot slipping, and grabbed for his legs. Matsue came down on top of him and knocked the breath out of his lungs. Akitada had only one thought, to get the sword back. A violent struggle ensued, but this time it was Akitada who rose with the sword in his hand.

The rider came to a halt in a cloud of dust and squawking, fluttering chickens. The slender figure in gray straddled the horse, controlling the animal with expert ease. Hiroko was certainly no obedient female.

“Is he the murderer?” she demanded.

Wiping the dung off his face, Akitada thought she looked as magnificent as those ancient warrior goddesses who rode and fought like men. “Yes,” he said wearily.

Matsue got up and stared at the fierce woman on the horse.

She looked back at him and her face contorted into a mask of fury. “Then what are you waiting for?” she cried. “You’ve got the sword back. Use it.”

Matsue exploded into action and flung himself at Akitada with a howl. Again they struggled for the sword, again the chickens scattered and cackled. Hiroko shouted. The horse snorted and danced just feet away. Matsue was desperate, but this time Akitada hung on to the sword and managed to free his arm. He started to back off, when Matsue delivered a vicious kick to his stomach that sent him staggering backward to the ground.

Hiroko screamed shrilly, and Akitada scrambled to his feet.

The horse burst past him, tossing him aside, its hooves barely missing him. He heard a shout, the sound of a thudding impact, and a howl of pain. Matsue was down. He lay moaning and twitching, as Hiroko spun the horse around in a spray of gravel and rode over him a second time. This time, Matsue lay still.