Sano Ichiro 12 The Snow Empress (2007)

by Laura Joh Rowland

  “Lilac seems to have had a habit of bartering information for favors,” Sano said. “But maybe you already know that, from personal experience.”

  I’m warning you,“ Gizaemon said.

  “Did she tell you that she saw you set the spring-bow trap for Tekare?” Hirata joined in. “Did she threaten to tell Chamberlain Sano unless you gave her money?”

  Gizaemon didn’t answer, and Lord Matsumae was too busy ranting to hear the suggestion that his uncle could be the murderer. The natives continued to resist him until their torsos were crisscrossed with bloody lines punctuated by deeper wounds where the barbs had dug in. Both were breathing hard now, both in obvious pain. Hirata looked away in shame. He couldn’t bear to see the chieftain whipped to death while he stood by.

  Suddenly the chieftain blurted an exclamation. “Wait,” Gizaemon told Okimoto, who’d raised the whip again. “He says he’s ready to give in.”

  Alarm beset Hirata. He didn’t think the chieftain was a murderer; Awetok must have simply reached the limits of his endurance. But Hirata’s confidence wavered in spite of himself. Maybe the chieftain was guilty. Maybe Awetok had been deceiving Hirata, luring him with promises of knowledge, to win an ally.

  “At last you’ve come to your senses,” Lord Matsumae said with relief. “Let us hear the truth.”

  The chieftain spoke. Gizaemon’s expression turned foul. “The bastard says he’ll talk only under one condition. That we call off the war.”

  Awetok was sacrificing himself to protect his people. Hirata admired the man’s nobleness even as he continued to wonder if Awetok was the killer. Hirata knew two things for sure: The chieftain had held out this long to increase the value of his confession and use it as leverage to save the Ainu, and he would be executed whether he deserved it or not.

  “You’re in no position to bargain,” Lord Matsumae said. “Talk now, and we’ll make a deal later.”

  As Gizaemon relayed these words to him, Awetok nodded in resignation. He uttered a statement that sounded final.

  “He admits that he killed Tekare,” Gizaemon said with a smug look at Sano.

  Sano’s mouth curled with disgust. “This is as false a confession as I’ve ever seen.”

  Lord Matsumae ignored Sano, exulting, “At last I know who the culprit is. At last I will have justice for my Tekare.” He beckoned Okimoto. “Take him to the execution ground.”

  Urahenka began yelling. The chieftain rapped out a command at him, but he yelled louder.

  “What’s he saying?” Sano asked.

  “That the chieftain didn’t kill Tekare,” Gizaemon said, annoyed by the interruption. “He says the chieftain only confessed to protect him. He’s the killer, and he wants to prove it to us, with his own confession.”

  Lady Matsumae sputtered in fury. “The nerve of you! Have you no manners? You act like a cheap peasant girl.”

  “Save your insults,” Reiko said. “They don’t hurt me. Nothing can, after what’s happened.”

  “What are you blabbering about now?” Lady Matsumae wiped her face with a wet hand and spat water into the tub in which she sat.

  “My son is dead.” Grief swelled within Reiko; her voice trembled. “He has been since before I got here.”

  Lady Matsumae’s gaze was stupid with confusion. “How do you know?”

  “I went to the keep. I saw the cage where they put Masahiro.” The terrible memory almost undid Reiko. “I saw his blood.”

  “How did you get inside the keep?” Lady Matsumae said, as if that was the most important thing about what Reiko had said.

  “That doesn’t matter.” Reiko didn’t want to reveal that Wente had helped her; Lady Matsumae would punish Wente. “What matters is that your husband murdered my son. And I think it’s your fault as much as his.”

  My fault? How could it be? I never even saw your son. I didn’t know he was here until you told me. If he’s dead, I had nothing to do with it.“

  Reiko didn’t believe her. “You started this whole disaster. You murdered Tekare. It drove your husband mad. You’re directly responsible for all his crimes.”

  “I didn’t murder her,” Lady Matsumae said, impatient and offended. “I’ve already told you. I wouldn’t lift a finger to kill one of those barbarian whores.” Her tone was one she might use to say that stepping on ants was beneath her. “They’re not worth the trouble.”

  “This one was, because you believe she murdered your daughter.”

  Dismay sagged Lady Matsumae’s features. She clutched at her heart as if Reiko had struck her there. “Where did you learn that?”

  “From Lilac. She told me how your daughter got sick and how Tekare performed a healing ritual. But your daughter died. And you think Tekare poisoned her.”

  “Lilac was a terrible gossip,” Lady Matsumae said with disgust, but she didn’t deny Reiko’s claim. “I always said that her tongue would be the death of her.”

  “Maybe it was. Yesterday she promised me information about Tekare’s murder. She’d already let me know that you wanted Tekare dead and why. What else did she have to tell?”

  “…I don’t know.”

  “I think you do. I think Lilac saw you or your ladies setting up the spring-bow by the path. You found out that she knew. How? Did she try to blackmail you? Did she take money or gifts from you in exchange for her silence?”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  Lady Matsumae was vehement, but Reiko continued, “When my husband started investigating the murder, that must have worried you. Here was someone who could give Lilac more than you could—a new life in Edo. You became afraid she would tell on you.”

  “There was nothing to tell about me!”

  “You knew that if your husband found out you killed Tekare, he would put you to death,” Reiko went on, relentless. “You needed to protect yourself. So you did away with Lilac.”

  Lady Matsumae drew herself up and declared, “I have nothing to hide from my husband. I had nothing to fear from a gossipy, conniving servant girl.”

  “This morning you followed her to the hot spring. You hit her on the head.”

  “I never left the castle until the funeral. I hadn’t seen Lilac since last night. I never touched her!”

  “You killed her,” Reiko said. “Then you came to the funeral as if nothing had happened.”

  “Stop bothering me.” Lady Matsumae’s temper matched Reiko’s. “Leave at once!” She pointed a dripping, shaky finger at the door.

  Reiko folded her arms. “Not until you admit what you did.”

  “Then I’m going. I don’t have to listen to your foolish accusations.” Lady Matsumae rose, reaching for the towel and robe that lay near the tub.

  Reiko snatched them and flung open the exterior door. Bright, freezing air poured into the bath chamber. As Lady Matsumae protested, Reiko hurled the towel and robe into the snow-covered garden outside. She faced Lady Matsumae.

  Cowering in the tub, Lady Matsumae ordered, “Shut that door. I’ll catch a cold.”

  “Don’t expect me to care.” Part of Reiko knew she was acting like a child having a tantrum, but it felt good in a nasty, shameful way. “You killed Tekare. You killed Lilac. You’re responsible for my son’s death. Admit it!”

  Lady Matsumae shrank from Reiko. “You’re mad!”

  “Maybe I am. And people who are mad are dangerous. Your husband is proof of that. You’d better confess, or Lilac won’t be the only one to die in a hot bath today.”

  “Help!” Lady Matsumae cried.

  “I can kill you before anyone comes. Now talk!”

  It didn’t occur to Lady Matsumae to fight back against Reiko: She was physically passive, as were most women of her class. But her eyes gleamed with unexpected cunning. “What makes you so sure Lilac told the truth when she said she had more information?”

  “Don’t play games with me,” Reiko said. “I’m running out of patience.”

  “She was dishonest,” Lady Matsumae continued, although scared
breathless. “She was just trying to get what she wanted out of you. She didn’t really know anything.”

  Reiko put aside her own knowledge that Lilac had been stringing tar along about Masahiro. Once a liar didn’t have to mean always a liar. “I rate her truthfulness higher than yours. You’re trying to save yourself. She’s been murdered. That’s evidence that she knew too much—about you.”

  Lady Matsumae suddenly repeated her earlier question: “How did you get inside the keep? Was it Lilac who took you?” Reiko’s face must have given away the answer, because Lady Matsumae said, “So it wasn’t.” A mean, sly smile curved her mouth. “But I think I know who did. It was that Ezo concubine, the one you stopped me from beating.”

  “No,” Reiko began.

  “I suppose the little whore was grateful to you and wanted to return the favor. And you were ready to trust her because she seemed so pathetic, so simple.” Lady Matsumae laughed disdainfully. “I warned you before that you don’t understand the ways of Ezogashima. You outsiders think that what you see of the barbarians is all there is to them. But appearances are deceiving. Especially when you’re so blind.”

  A cold, apprehensive sensation crept through Reiko. She was distracted even though she knew that was Lady Matsumae’s intention. “What are you saying?”

  “You’ve put your trust in the wrong place.” Lady Matsumae was unafraid, her voice stronger now and laced with contempt. “Wente is Tekare’s sister.”

  “I’m aware of that. She told me.” But Reiko recalled her interrupted conversation with Wente yesterday. What would she have learned if they’d had the time to finish it?

  “You don’t seem aware that she and Tekare were on bad terms, Lady Matsumae retorted. ”In fact, they were enemies. The other Ezo women had to keep them separated so they wouldn’t fight. I suppose she didn’t tell you that?“

  Reiko was aghast at this information about her friend and upset because she’d had to hear it from Lady Matsumae. She woodenly shook her head.

  Lady Matsumae laughed again. “Well, I’m telling you now. Maybe this time you’ll listen to me. I saw a quarrel between the two of them, just a few days before Tekare died. They were slapping and clawing each other and shouting.”

  “What were they quarreling about?” Reiko hated to ask.

  “I don’t know; I don’t understand Ezo language. But Wente had the last word. And I know a threat when I hear it.” Lady Matsumae’s smile shone with cruel triumph. “You should be accusing Wente instead of me.”

  24

  “Who killed Tekare?” Lord Matsumae demanded. “Tell me which.”

  As Urahenka and the chieftain argued, it was obvious to Sano that someone was innocent and making a sacrifice, but he didn’t know whom. He realized that he had one card left to play in this game of life or death, and timing was crucial.

  Hirata said reluctantly, “I think Urahenka tried to kill me, that day we went deer-hunting. If one of them is guilty, it’s him.”

  That was a card Hirata had kept to himself, Sano thought, probably because he’d been unsure of Urahenka’s intentions and guilt. He’d just played it in favor of the chieftain. But the chieftain seemed dismayed, whereas Urahenka gave Hirata a look of gratitude and uttered a phrase that clearly meant, “It was I.”

  “Good enough,” Gizaemon said. “No need to hear any more. Let’s just execute him and be done.”

  Before Sano could willingly let that happen, he needed some idea of who was guilty or innocent. “Why not let the man have his say? Maybe that would tell him which Urahenka really was. ”Honor his last request.“

  Lord Matsumae tottered, clasped his head between his hands, and groaned. He stumbled around the storehouse, narrowly missing the fire. Tekare’s persona rose up in him. Her features surfaced through his. They blazed with anger at Urahenka. “You killed me, Husband?” The voice was a bizarre combination of Tekare’s and Lord Matsumae’s, speaking native language in a high feminine register and Japanese in a low male one, both filled with incredulity.

  It wasn’t physically possible. Sano stared. But it was real. Although his men looked as shocked as Sano was, the Ezogashima folk seemed unsurprised: They’d seen it before. But Urahenka recoiled, his face gone pale. This was apparently the first time the spirit that possessed Lord Matsumae had spoken to him personally. “Tekare?”

  “Yes, it is I. How could you do it?”

  Urahenka sat speechless, transfixed.

  “Answer me!”

  When he spoke, Tekare’s voice exclaimed in disbelief. Lord Matsumae’s demanded, “Why did you need to get rid of her?”

  Urahenka replied, and shock appeared on their two faces in one. Tekare blurted a question in native language, while Lord Matsumae said, “Her sister! You killed her so that you could marry Wente?”

  Surprise hit Sano. Here was a motive he’d never uncovered. Although aware by this time that the natives were interconnected, he had never imagined a romantic affair between this man and Reiko’s friend. Neither, apparently, had Reiko.

  Urahenka spoke again, this time with defiance. Tekare shouted at him so loudly that she drowned out Lord Matsumae’s weaker voice. Gizaemon said, “She’s asking him how he could be in love with her sister, who’s a dull, plain little mouse. She’s nothing compared to Tekare. Tekare was the shamaness, the most beautiful woman in all the tribes. How could he want Wente instead?”

  Sano wondered if this was another case of his misjudging the natives, thinking them too simple to engage in the tangled relationships that the Japanese had. Adultery must be common to all cultures, must provoke the same emotions in all the parties betrayed.

  Tekare cursed at Urahenka. “She says he deceived her,” Gizaemon said. “He broke their marriage vows. He’s a miserable, worthless cheat.” Lord Matsumae grabbed the whip from Captain Okimoto and began flailing Urahenka. The barbs tore at the native man, who flinched as he stuttered replies.

  “She doesn’t like his excuse that she treated him disrespectfully and left him for Japanese men,” Gizaemon interpreted.

  “Don’t put the blame on Tekare!” Lord Matsumae yelled. “I don’t care that you needed her sister to warm your bed at night!”

  He pointed at Urahenka as Tekare ranted; he shook his head violently and clapped his hand to his chest. You were my husband. And I never give up anything that’s mine! Sano didn’t need a translation to understand. Urahenka shouted back at his wife, angry now himself. That’s why I had to kill you! His motive was clearly the same as for a Japanese husband in his position.

  “How dare you call her a whore?” Lord Matsumae cried while beating Urahenka, who continued trying to justify himself. Tekare’s voice shrilled.

  “She’s angry because her husband says Wente is so good, so virtuous, everything Tekare isn’t,” Gizaemon said. “Urahenka says that when the chieftain decided to come to Fukuyama City and bring her home, Urahenka didn’t want her back. He came planning to kill her.” He flashed a triumphant look at Sano. “Seems it was him.”

  Sano had begun to think so. Maybe if he’d dug deeper into the natives’ personal relationships he would have found out sooner about Urahenka. Maybe all those men wouldn’t have died; maybe Lord Matsumae wouldn’t have declared war. But it was selfish to feel guilt and regret on his own account. He should be glad that matters were being set right.

  Lord Matsumae grabbed Urahenka by his beard. “Tell me how you did it.” From Tekare came a low, poisonous croon. “Before I kill you, tell me.”

  Urahenka looked terrified enough that he would rather die on the spot than risk making his wife any angrier. He spoke. Lord Matsumae translated the words for himself as if trying to believe them—or to tear his own wounds open wider. “You sneaked away from camp every night. You waited near the castle for her to come out. You followed her along the path to the hot spring.” He sobbed. “You got the idea to set a trap for her.”

  Lord Matsumae dropped the whip and pummeled Urahenka with his fists. He and Tekare howled, “Murderer!�
� as their personalities, voices, and languages blended. “You stole my life.” “You killed my beloved.” Together they cried, “Now you’ll die!”

  Giddy with hysteria, Lord Matsumae drew his sword. “Take him to the execution ground. I’ll do the honors myself.”

  “Well, that’s that,” Gizaemon said, satisfied and relieved.

  Stepping forward, he grabbed Urahenka by the ropes around his wrists and yanked him to his feet. Urahenka didn’t resist; he had the grim look of a man whose fate is sealed.

  “He hasn’t said anything that proves he’s guilty,” Sano protested even though Urahenka had incriminated himself.

  “It’s over, Honorable Chamberlain,” Gizaemon said. “Might as well admit you’re wrong.”

  The chieftain, who’d been watching the interrogation with stoic forbearance, now asked a question. Lord Matsumae answered, in native tongue. Gizaemon laughed and said, “My nephew refused to call off the war. He doesn’t care that the barbarians think he led them to believe he would. He wants them all to share their tribesman’s punishment.”

  Awetok shook his head, defeated but as unsurprised as Sano was that Lord Matsumae had refused to make peace. The room filled with Tekare’s laughter. She mocked the chieftain while Lord Matsumae’s voice echoed hers: “You’re so pitiful, so weak. When I was young, you didn’t protect me from the Japanese who violated me. You were too cowardly to fight for our right to rule our own land.”

  Captain Okimoto pulled the chieftain to his feet, prepared to lead him to his death. Now was Sano’s last chance to play his last card, to take one final stab at finding the truth.

  “Tekare!” he shouted. “Listen to me!”

  She and Lord Matsumae raged at her husband: “You didn’t want me to better myself. If I had to die, so should you.”

  “Urahenka’s not the only man you abused who wanted you dead,” Sano told her.

  Lord Matsumae raised his sword. “I’m not going to wait for an execution ceremony. I’ll kill you now!”

  Sano lunged and grabbed him. The troops grabbed Sano, pulling him back. He hung onto Lord Matsumae, who turned on him and fought him. Sano saw only one brilliant, fiery light in Lord Matsumae’s eyes—Tekare’s consciousness. When she snarled, Lord Matsumae’s face belonged completely to her. His body had the soft, pliant feel of a young woman’s. Sano was astounded to think that he was touching a ghost. When Tekare wrenched free of him, his hands felt scorched by her power. He broke loose from the troops and stood between Tekare and Urahenka.