“A fall couldn’t have done this,” Sano said, examining Lilac’s wound. “This was murder.”
Sano heard a small sound like a strangled whimper, but couldn’t discern who’d made it. It was quickly overlaid by murmurs and exclamations of shock from both the Japanese and the Ainu. The native men and women drew together, segregating themselves from the Japanese. Lord Matsumae hunched over Lilac, wringing his hands.
“First my Tekare is murdered, now this poor girl.” He turned on Sano. “You promised to find out who killed Tekare. So much for your promises! And now there’s been more blood spilled.” His finger pointed at Lilac. “Who did this?”
“The same person must have committed both murders,” Sano said. “Two murders of two young women from the castle, in the same vicinity, within a few months, can’t be a coincidence.”
Captain Okimoto scoffed “How would you know?” and turned to Lord Matsumae. “He’s not familiar with the ways of Ezogashima. But I am, my lord, and I can tell you who killed this girl. It was them!”
He pointed at the natives. They stepped back in unison, clearly aware of what accusation he’d leveled at them. Chieftain Awetok uttered a vehement denial. His comrades seconded it. The Japanese guards cried, “Yes, you did!” “Murderers!”
Sano hastened to dash the cool influence of reason onto igniting tempers. “How do you know they killed Lilac?” He stepped between the two sides and faced Okimoto. “Did you see them do it?”
“Well, no,” the captain blustered, “but it’s obvious.”
“Why?”
“One of their women was murdered. So they killed one of ours.
“A life for a life,” Gizaemon said. “That’s barbarian justice.”
“I seem to recall you tried to convince me that they’re responsible for Tekare’s murder,” Sano said. “If they are, why would they need revenge? You can’t have it both ways.”
“No, but they can. They’re savages. Logic means nothing to them.”
Lord Matsumae sidled into the argument. “Can this be true?” Wonder and fury united in his voice. “They killed my Tekare, and now they’ve attacked a Japanese?”
The Rat was busy translating for the natives. They shouted contradictions that the Japanese guards angrily shouted down. Sano raised his voice over theirs: “We don’t know who’s guilty yet. There’s no evidence to prove that the natives were involved. A Japanese could have killed both.”
But Lord Matsumae ignored Sano and railed at Chieftain Awetok, “You owe your position to me. None of you tribal lords rule without permission from my clan. We’ve given you authority over your people and fair prices for your goods. And this is how you repay us? By slaying our folk?”
“I appreciate your generosity,” Chieftain Awetok replied through the Rat. “I would never repay it with violence. Neither I nor my people had anything to do with either death.”
“Don’t listen to him, my lord,” urged Okimoto. “He’s lying.”
“You ungrateful, treacherous monster!” Spittle flew from Lord Matsumae’s mouth like daggers toward the chieftain.
Awetok endured the insult with dignity. “If you seek the girl’s killer, look among your own kind.” He pointed at the Japanese men and women.
Incensed, Lord Matsumae drew his sword. “How dare you accuse us?” He lunged at the chieftain.
The native men pulled their knives. There was a tussle so brief that Sano didn’t see what happened. Lord Matsumae let out a high-pitched cry. The natives scattered. He knelt on the ground, dropped his sword, and pushed up his left sleeve. A gash on his forearm dripped blood.
“You cut me!” he howled at the natives. “How dare you?”
They looked as surprised as he. Urahenka spoke. The Rat translated, “ ‘You attacked us. We were only defending ourselves.”’;
“I don’t care!” Lord Matsumae shrieked. “I declare war on you and all your kind.” He ordered his troops, “Kill them!”
22
Yowling with bloodlust, Captain Okimoto and the other troops drew their swords and charged the natives. Sano was appalled because the tensions between the natives and the Japanese had been ignited by unproven accusations and Lord Matsumae’s minor injury. He, Hirata, and the detectives grabbed the troops in an attempt to stop the fight. The troops fought them off. The women scattered in fright; the Rat dived into the forest. Okimoto shoved Sano, yelling, “Stay out of this!”
Sano skidded on ice and collided with a soldier. The soldier punched his jaw. Sano went reeling. Marume and Fukida brawled with other troops. Hirata exploded into action, a blur of flying punches and kicks. Troops fell away from him, but others attacked the natives, whom they outnumbered at least ten to one. Chieftain Awetok barked orders at his men. All except Urahenka turned and ran. He and Awetok crouched, knives raised, prepared to fight and give their comrades time to escape.
Stop!“ Sano threw himself between the two sides and spread his arms. ”This is insane!“
Troops barreled past him. They drew bows and fired arrows at the fleeing natives, hacked at them with swords and cut them down as they ran. Three soldiers grabbed Sano. Captain Okimoto shouted, “Hey, Hirata-san!” He held the point of his sword to Sano’s throat while Sano struggled against the men holding him. “Quit that, or I’ll kill your master!”
Hirata spun to a halt amid the bodies of the soldiers he’d downed. Chieftain Awetok and Urahenka fought; swords battered knives. Amid curses in Ainu language and Japanese, the combatants lunged, struck, retreated, and lunged, trampling Lilac’s dead body.
Afraid that Reiko would be caught in the battle and killed, Sano frantically looked for her. He saw a few troops gather her up with the other women and hurry them all away. From the forest came cries of agony as the troops slew the natives. Lord Matsumae jumped up and down, waved his sword, and cackled with gleeful excitement.
In a desperate attempt to restore order, Sano called to him, “We haven’t yet found out who killed Tekare. Don’t you want to know?”
“We do know. It was them!” Lord Matsumae pointed at the chieftain and Urahenka, who were fighting for their lives.
“Maybe it wasn’t,” Sano said. “They passed the trial by ordeal. They could be innocent.”
Lord Matsumae shifted his attention from the battle to Sano; he stopped cackling. Captain Okimoto pricked Sano with his blade. “Shut up!”
Sano’s flesh recoiled from the sting of cold steel. “If you kill them now, you’ll never know for sure. Neither will Tekare. She’ll never be certain she’s had her revenge.”
A vestige of rationality tinged Lord Matsumae’s frown.
“Her murderer may still be out there,” Sano said.
Impulsive as ever, Lord Matsumae shouted, “Stop the battle!” He kept shouting until the troops backed away from Chieftain Awetok and Urahenka, who stood panting, knives clutched in their hands, bleeding from cuts. “Everybody come back here!”
His army rushed out from the forest. At first they were too busy hooting in triumph to notice that everyone else was at a standstill. A soldier roared, “They’re all dead. We got every last one of the barbarians.”
Then they looked around in puzzlement, halted, and quieted. One said, “What’s going on?”
“The war is postponed until we get to the bottom of things.” Lord Matsumae pointed at Awetok and Urahenka, the sole surviving natives, and said, “These are our prisoners of war. Bring them back to the castle.”
The funeral procession turned into a wild, raucous march home from battle. At its head Lord Matsumae walked in a daze, accompanied by cheering soldiers. Gizaemon followed, grimly triumphant. More troops escorted Chieftain Awetok and Urahenka. The two native men wore stony expressions, held their heads high. Behind them walked Sano, Hirata, and their comrades, also escorted by guards, little more than prisoners themselves. Then came a hooting mob of the youngest soldiers, carrying the severed heads of the slain natives. Blood dripped from the grisly trophies.
Trailing the march w
as another, quiet procession of servants. They carried Lilac’s body, wrapped in their coats. The girl whose death had precipitated a war was all but forgotten.
As Sano trudged along, he felt ill with horror about the massacre. Detective Marume said, “I’ve met samurai bullies in my time, but these boys are the worst.”
“They’re like a wolf pack,” Fukida said.
The Rat moaned, “Merciful Buddha, transport me back to Edo!”
Hirata’s face was set in tight lines of anguish and fury as he watched the chieftain prodded and tormented along. Through Sano’s horror rang guilt. If he’d solved the murder sooner, he might have prevented the massacre. Now he must do something to forestall more senseless slaughter.
At Fukuyama Castle, sentries at the gate greeted the troops like returning heroes. They mounted the severed heads on pikes outside the castle wall. The army cheered Lord Matsumae: “Hail to the future conqueror of Ezogashima!”
He smiled but looked perplexed, as if he didn’t quite understand what had happened. Sano rushed over to him. “Lord Matsumae, please call off the war. Even if Chieftain Awetok or Urahenka did kill Tekare, their people had nothing to do with it.”
They’re guilty by association,“ Lord Matsumae said.
“Japanese law says that a criminal’s kin must share his punishment,” Gizaemon added.
“Only his immediate family and close associates,” Sano said. “It would be unfair to kill the other tribes.”
“These bastards are all related as far as we’re concerned,” Gizaemon said.
If reason wouldn’t get through to them, maybe threats would. “The shogun won’t want a war. You’re already in trouble with him for disrupting trade with the natives. A war will stop it altogether. He’ll throw your clan out of Ezogashima and turn you all into masterless samurai.”
Another cheer regaled Lord Matsumae. He raised his arms, beaming. Gizaemon said, “Trade will be better than ever after we wipe out the barbarians. We’ll open up Ezogashima to every Japanese who wants to hunt game or mine for gold. There will be more wealth for the shogun.”
“Ezogashima’s a huge place. Your troops will be spread thin. You’ll need reinforcements from the Tokugawa regime, from other samurai clans. That won’t make Lord Matsudaira happy. He needs everybody to help him fight the rebels who are trying to depose him.”
“We’ll win a fast victory.” Gizaemon sounded confident. “Lord Matsudaira will thank us for bringing him more riches to pay his army and his allies.”
The castle gate opened. Troops swarmed through, carrying Sano in on the tide of their uproar. He fought to stay near Lord Matsumae and Gizaemon. “The practical details are against you. There’s a plague among your men. And winter is no time to launch a military expedition. If there’s this much snow here, how deep is it in the far north?”
“We won’t go there yet,” Lord Matsumae said. “We’ll attack the nearest villages and save the others for spring.” He cried, “Let’s drink to our future victory!”
“At least wait until I finish investigating the murder,” Sano pleaded.
“You are finished.” Sudden anger enflamed Lord Matsumae. “I put my faith in you, and you’ve let me down. I’m taking back charge of the investigation. I’ll find out who killed Tekare by persuading our prisoners to tell the truth.”
“Best idea I’ve heard in a long time,” Gizaemon said. “I’ll help. Let’s go.
Horror struck Sano because he knew what they intended. Hirata said “No!” and rushed forward to save Urahenka and Awetok from the troops herding them like animals.
Captain Okimoto said, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Hirata-san.” Rowdy, grinning soldiers aimed bows at Sano. One loose finger could end his life. Hirata stared in frustration and rage.
“Let Hirata-san and me come with you,” Sano said to Gizaemon. Maybe he could keep things from getting out of hand. Maybe he was a deluded fool.
“All right,” Lord Matsumae said. “I’ll show you how an interrogation is done.”
At the women’s quarters, the troops locked the native concubines in their rooms. Reiko found herself thrown together with the Japanese ladies in theirs. Maids stoked braziers and brewed tea. The ladies-in-waiting fussed over Lady Matsumae. They removed her coat, wrapped her in quilts, and rubbed her cold hands and feet. No one paid any attention to Reiko. She knelt in a corner, spent by the day’s events.
Discovering Lilac dead and learning that she’d been murdered had been bad enough. Reiko was aghast that it had led to a war. How many of the natives had been slaughtered? Reiko feared for Sano. Would he be killed in the fight? Would she lose her husband as well as her son?
Guilt filled Reiko. She’d been so immersed in her own loss that she’d done nothing to help Sano. If they never saw each other again, this separateness would be her last memory of him. Reiko felt such a debilitating exhaustion and despair that she wanted to lie down and sleep through whatever happened.
Lady Matsumae retched into a basin and vomited while the ladies-in-waiting held her head. “The sight of that girl was just awful,” she groaned. “So was the fight. All that blood! I can’t get it out of my mind.”
Lady Smart offered her a cup of herbal tea. “Drink this. It’ll settle your stomach.”
“I can’t.” Lady Matsumae gagged and shivered. “I feel so cold. I feel dirty from being around death all day. It’s rubbed off on me.”
“A hot medicinal bath will help you,” Lady Pansy said.
Reiko experienced a renewal of the anger that had sent her looking for Lilac. Now that the girl was beyond reach and Reiko could forgive her, the anger found a different focus. Such terrible things had happened, and all Lady Matsumae did was make work for other people. Reiko’s earlier resentment toward Lady Matsumae deepened into hatred. She had no sympathy left for this woman who’d lost her daughter. Reiko had lost her son, and her own daughter, Akiko, was too far away to be any comfort. Lady Matsumae didn’t deserve special consideration or the right to behave selfishly. Lilac had at least given Reiko warm clothes. Lady Matsumae had offered nothing whatsoever. And Reiko wondered if Lady Matsumae was at fault for more than that.
Her attendants helped Lady Matsumae out of the room. Reiko followed them down the corridor, stood outside the door of the bath chamber, and listened. Water splashed while the attendants washed Lady Matsumae. When they left her alone to soak in the tub, Reiko sneaked into the chamber.
It was a small room with a raised floor of wooden slats. Mats on the walls had a pattern of leafy green plants woven into them, for visual warmth. In the center was a round, sunken tub. Lady Matsumae sat submerged up to her chin. Her head lolled; her eyes were closed. The water steamed up in clouds that smelled of sweet, pungent herbs. Reiko had a sudden image of Lilac dead in the hot spring. For an instant she felt Lilac’s inert flesh, saw the boiled-fish eyes staring sightlessly at her. The sensations nauseated her and fueled her anger.
“Wake up, Lady Matsumae,” she ordered.
“Uh?” Lady Matsumae’s head jerked up. Her eyes snapped open.
She looked older without her makeup, her complexion sallow, mottled, and loose, her mouth pale and puffy. Hostility focused her bleary eyes. “What do you want?”
“To talk.”
“Well, I don’t want to,” Lady Matsumae said peevishly. “Go away.” She lay back, shut her eyes, and compressed her lips.
“I’m not leaving.” Reiko had ideas about what had happened to Lilac, and she had bones to pick with Lady Matsumae. She dipped her hand in the tub and splashed water in Lady Matsumae’s face.
23
Chieftain Awetok and Urahenka knelt on the dirt floor of an empty storehouse inside the castle. They were stripped to the waist, hands and ankles tied. Their fierce faces gleamed with sweat raised by a crackling wood fire whose flames gilded the thick hair on their bodies and cast their shadows toward Gizaemon, Lord Matsumae, and Captain Okimoto. Okimoto held a leather whip that bristled with metal barbs.
“This is your last chance,” Lord Matsumae said, shrill with manic excitement. “Admit you murdered Tekare.”
Gizaemon relayed the order to the natives in their language. Near the door, eight soldiers guarded Hirata and Sano. Hirata had never felt so helpless. If he tried to save the Ainu, the Matsumae folk wouldn’t punish just Sano but also Reiko and their other comrades. He watched with impotent rage as the chieftain and Urahenka spoke, denying the accusation.
“They say their trial by ordeal proves they’re innocent,” Gizaemon said.
Lord Matsumae laughed. “Let’s see if you can withstand my kind of ordeal!”
Okimoto cracked his whip, striking the chieftain and Urahenka across their chests. They held themselves rigid, jaws clenched. Bloody lash marks appeared on their skin. Sano wore the intense, somber expression that Hirata knew meant he was thinking hard, formulating and discarding strategies.
“What do you say now?” Lord Matsumae asked the natives. Each uttered denials. “Well, if you want to suffer, by all means do.”
Again the whip cracked. Again the natives stoically bore the punishment. Chieftain Awetok’s body was so tough with sinew and leathery skin that he looked as if he could endure the whipping indefinitely. But Urahenka was shivering; the sweat rolled down his face.
Tearful with frustration, Lord Matsumae hurled more accusations and demands for confessions at the natives. But Gizaemon had an air of enjoyment. Sano said to him, “You’re eager for them to confess, aren’t you?”
“You bet.” Gizaemon relished chewing a sassafras toothpick. “It’ll help my nephew, make him well again.”
“I think your reason is more personal than that,” Sano said. “If they confess, that lets you off the hook.”
Gizaemon glowered. “That’s enough from you.”
Sano persisted even though the troops pressed their spears into his coat: “Before Lilac died, she told my wife that she knew something about the murder.” He raised his voice above Lord Matsumae’s angry shouts. “Was it about you?”
Hirata understood what Sano was trying to do—draw suspicion away from the natives and focus it on Gizaemon. And he could tell that Gizaemon knew.
Sano Ichiro 12 The Snow Empress (2007) Page 18