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his belly and into the back of the saddle.   The horse capered as its rider slumped over with a cry, his nerveless hand dropping the bow.   Behind him, foot soldiers rushed through the gate, followed by shouting horsemen.   The wounded warrior on his horse galloped away.   He died pinned to his saddle.   His corpse was still sagging sideways on the running horse when battle was joined.   The Hogen rebellion was over.
     
    And Sadahira was a hero.
     
    But the man who had died that agonizing first death was Toshima no Jiro, a close
     
    family friend who had once saved Sadahira’s life.   His second effort to save Sadahira cost him his own life.  
     
    When Sadahira realized whom he had killed, he returned home and told his father
     
    that he would never fight again.   He would become a monk.   
     
    Because he was the only son in a military family, his father stormed, argued, begged, and finally compromised.   Sadahira would enter the university and become an official.   His reasonable hope was that in time his son would change his mind or that another war would break out and he would be forced to take up arms.
     
    And so Sadahira had attended the university and studied medicine.
     
    *
     
    Now, ten years later, he was a junior doctor of medicine.   He was highly
     
    trained and eager but sadly lacking in paying patients, when a call summoned him to the sickbed of the Retired Emperor’s favorite cook and gave him hope that this would soon change.
     
    Being unfamiliar with the palace layout, he took a wrong turn among the warren of buildings, courtyards, and galleries.   He opened a small door in one of the walls, expecting a shortcut to the next courtyard.   Instead, he stepped into an enclosed garden adjoining the wing of a larger building.
     
    It was only a small area, nicely planted with a stand of golden bamboo, a few clipped shrubs, and some ferns.   The plants clustered around three large rocks surrounded by patches of moss and large round pebbles.   The rest of the ground was covered with the same fine pale gravel that formed the surface of the palace courtyards.   It looked like a very private, almost forgotten, corner of the palace, enclosed by high walls on three sides and the veranda of the building on the fourth.
     
    On this veranda knelt a young girl, singing softly as she bent over some furry creature.   She made a charming picture.
     
    But the animal suddenly gave a loud yowl, leaped from the girl’s hands, and
     
    flew off the veranda and into the garden.
     
    “Oh, you bad cat,” cried the girl, putting a bloody hand to her mouth.   “Come
     
    back here, stupid.   I’m just trying to help.”   She got up to look for the cat and caught sight of Sadahira.   “Oh.”
     
    Sadahira wanted to withdraw quickly, afraid that he had intruded into a restricted
     
    area , but she was very young and she smiled at him.   That smile twisted his heart.   Just so his little sister used to smile at him, long ago when he still lived at home.
     
    “Forgive me,” he said with a bow — she wore rather rich robes for a mere child — “I’m afraid I am lost.”
     
    She laughed.   Her laughter sounded like bells to Sadahira.   “I’m Toshiko,” she said, “and being a stranger here myself, I cannot direct you.   Since you are here, could you help me catch a cat?   He has a very bad ear and refuses treatment.”
     
    “Really?”   Enchanted, he walked to the veranda and looked up at her.   “It so happens I’m a physician.”
     
    She clapped her hands.   “Wonderful.”   And without further ado, she jumped off the veranda in her billowing gowns and full trousers and pounced on a shrub.   “Quick,” she cried, “I have him, but he’s strong.”
     
    Sadahira set down his bamboo case and went to her aid.   Together they pulled the fighting, hissing, scratching animal forth.   He carried it back to the veranda.   “Heavens,” he said, looking at the cat