Red Chrysanthemum

by Laura Joh Rowland

  “Sure you do,” General Isogai said. “What I don’t think you realize is that it’s time for you to move against Lord Matsudaira.”

  Sano shouldn’t have been surprised, but for a moment he couldn’t reply.

  “He who strikes first and catches his opponent off guard has the advantage.” Uemori spoke with the wisdom of his decades as the regime’s chief military adviser.

  “Now is your best chance,” Ohgami said.

  Finding his voice, Sano said, “You want me to overthrow Lord Matsudaira?”

  “That’s right,” General Isogai said. “We and your other allies are behind you all the way.”

  “We understand that things have changed so suddenly and you’ve been so busy that you haven’t had the opportunity to make any plans,” Uemori said. “We’ll give you time to think about our proposal.”

  “But don’t take too much time,” General Isogai said. “Hesitation will get you killed.”

  The temple hadn’t changed since Hirata had left. Mist still veiled the Yoshino Mountains; eagles still soared above the pagoda; the bell still echoed across the pine forests. But as Hirata climbed up the steps cut into the cliff, his awareness of the place encompassed the tiniest birds, insects, and lichens in the woods, the planets, stars, and the infinite cosmos beyond. His spirit balanced within their totality. The energy coursing through him relieved the weariness of the fifteen-day ride from Edo. He entered the temple gate and paused, his heightened senses testing the air for Ozuno’s presence.

  The pulsation of his teacher’s shield led Hirata to the main precinct where the worship hall dominated a courtyard. Ozuno limped toward him, leaning on his staff, across the paving stones. Hirata met him in the middle.

  “I didn’t think you’d be back,” Ozuno said, irritable as ever. “What happened? The Tokugawa regime threw you out on your behind? You have nowhere else to go?”

  “No,” Hirata said, “a miracle happened.”

  “What nonsense are you talking?”

  “I finally got what you were trying to teach me,” Hirata said. “I used it to defeat my enemies. I saved my master’s life.”

  As he elaborated, a most gratifying expression of amazement dawned on his teacher’s face. Ozuno gaped, scratched his head, and squatted on the ground as if cut down to size by the news.

  “The cosmic winds blow me to hell!” he said.

  This moment was supremely worth all the toil and frustration Hirata had endured, all the abuse he’d taken from Ozuno. “The last time we met, you told me that if a miracle happened, you would resume my training.”

  “Indeed? I suppose you expect me to keep my bargain,” Ozuno said, recovering his orneriness.

  Hirata spread his arms. “When do we start?”

  “No time like the present.” As Ozuno stood up, he looked closely at Hirata, waiting for him to make some excuse.

  “Fine,” Hirata said.

  Sano had given him an indefinite leave of absence, his reward for his heroics. The shogun and Lord Matsudaira had agreed to it. For once Hirata had all the time in the world to devote to his training. His only problem was leaving Midori and the children. But his previous dabbling in the mystic martial arts had started something that he had to finish, no matter the sacrifice. That day at the eta settlement had set him on a path of no return.

  “All right,” Ozuno said, resigned. “We’ll begin with ten days of meditation and breathing exercises.”

  “Not that again,” Hirata protested. “Haven’t I proved that I’m beyond it?”

  Ozuno frowned in severe rebuke. “You’ve proved that you haven’t changed as much as you think. You’re still the same, pigheaded fool. You don’t understand that a warrior must never give up practicing the basics.”

  “But I’m ready for something more advanced now,” Hirata said.

  “Really?”

  Ozuno lashed out at Hirata with his staff. Hirata never saw the blow coming. It landed smack across his stomach. As he cried out in surprise and doubled over in pain, Ozuno kicked his rear end. He found himself facedown on the pavement.

  “If you’re so advanced, you should have sensed that I was going to hit you and counterattacked me,” Ozuno said.

  Hirata rolled over and groaned. Ozuno said, “Winning that battle was just beginner’s luck. Get up, you fool. You’ve got a long way to go.”

  “Surely you’re not going to do what General Isogai and the elders want,” Reiko said, alarmed. “You’re not going to challenge Lord Matsudaira?”

  “It’s something I must consider,” Sano said.

  He and Reiko sat in the pavilion of their garden in the coolness of the evening. They kept their voices low in case there were spies lurking in the shadows. Lanterns glowed in the windows of the house. Fragrant incense burned to repel mosquitoes. Across the garden, Masahiro carried a lantern, pulled up worms for a fishing expedition. Reiko stared at Sano in disbelief.

  “You mean you might actually do what you were falsely accused of doing—betray Lord Matsudaira?” She was so shocked that her mouth gaped and closed several times.

  Sano’s expression was dark, conflicted. “I know how it sounds.”

  “You would try to seize power after you were almost put to death for treason?”

  “It’s less a matter of ambition than survival.”

  “Have General Isogai and the elders manipulated you into believing that?” Reiko said, incredulous.

  He rose and stood at the railing that enclosed the pavilion, his back to her. “No. I was surprised that they were keen on the idea, but I’ve been thinking about challenging Lord Matsudaira since before they suggested it.”

  “You have?” Reiko had thought that nothing else could surprise her anymore.

  “It’s been on my mind every time I remembered how sick I am of having to defend myself against Lord Matsudaira,” Sano assented, “every time I wondered how to prevent more crises like the one we’ve just been through. Every time I imagine how much better my life would be if Lord Matsudaira were gone, overthrowing him seems like the logical solution.”

  The anger in his voice troubled Reiko even though she understood it and she, too, was angry at Lord Matsudaira, because he’d almost condemned her to death for a crime she hadn’t committed. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to agree with Sano.

  “It would be dangerous,” she said. “You could lose.”

  “I could lose by doing nothing,” Sano said. “Lord Matsudaira likes me well enough now, but he could turn on me again at any time. He’s not exactly comfortable with how powerful I’ve become. And I still have enemies. They wouldn’t mind joining with Lord Matsudaira to crush me while they can.”

  Reiko couldn’t argue with that, but she had other, stronger objections. “To be so disloyal to your superior would violate the samurai code of honor.”

  Sano turned slightly, and the light from the house gilded the wry smile on his face. “Bushido is a double standard. On one hand, it keeps the lower-ranking samurai in their places. On the other hand, every warlord who’s risen to power has done it at the expense of a superior, and there’s no disgrace attached to that.”

  His cynicism troubled Reiko. In the space of a few days, he’d changed from her husband who marched along a distinct line that divided right and wrong to a stranger who perceived infinite shadings between them. Yet she found herself nodding. The murder case had changed her, too. She was as sick of being suspected, accused, and threatened by Lord Matsudaira as Sano was. Maybe it was time to stand up for themselves, to secure the future of their children. And Sano deserved an opportunity to govern the nation more fairly than his colleagues had. But the idea of his staging a coup terrified her even though his allies and army were strong and his chances of winning worth a gamble. The idea of war and bloodshed daunted any mother, even a samurai woman.

  She rose, stood beside Sano, and laid her hand on his. “Promise me you won’t act rashly.”

  He covered her hand with his other. “I promise that whatev
er I do will be carefully thought out in advance.”

  Together they looked at Masahiro’s lantern zigzagging across the dark garden. “I just pulled up a big worm!” Masahiro called, excited. “I’ll catch lots of fish tomorrow.”

  Reiko smiled, distracted from her thoughts for a moment. “This investigation didn’t turn out the way we wanted. It seems only the beginning of something even more serious.”

  Sano nodded, then mused, “That’s not the only reason I’m dissatisfied with the outcome. I have a feeling there’s something not right, something unresolved.”

  “Do you? So do I,” Reiko said, glad because he shared her suspicions.

  “I never did learn who planted my notes in that warehouse,” Sano said. “I’ve got people still investigating, but no clues have turned up.”

  “Have you found out who was in on Lord Mori’s plot to overthrow Lord Matsudaira?”

  “No, and not for lack of trying. That’s the other thing that bothers me. It’s as if the conspiracy that almost got me killed never existed.

  “I can’t believe that it was irrelevant to Lord Mori’s murder,” Reiko said, “or that it could just fade away like smoke after the fire is gone.”

  “Nor can I,” Sano said. “There’s something we’re missing about this case.”

  “What can it be?” Reiko asked.

  “I wish I knew.” Sano gazed up at the starlit sky. “Astrologers say that the movements of a celestial body that’s far, far away in space can determine our destiny. We can’t see it. But it’s there.”

  epilogue

  The stars wheeled above the temple outside Totsuka village, a day’s journey from Edo. There the exiled former chamberlain Yanagisawa admitted two travelers into his small, austere cottage hidden by pine trees. His shaved head and saffron robe glowed in the lantern light. The men bowed to him and removed the hats that shadowed their faces.

  “Greetings, Father,” Yoritomo said.

  “Welcome, my son.” Yanagisawa turned to his other guest. “Welcome, Enju-san. Or, I should say, Lord Mori.”

  “Yes,” Enju said, “I’m daimyo now that my stepfather is dead.”

  “Your new position becomes you,” Yanagisawa said, noticing that Enju was no longer the diffident young man who’d hidden a lifetime of pain behind lowered eyelashes and a controlled expression. Now Enju’s face was relaxed and serene, his gaze open and direct. Confidence had given him new vitality. He stood taller, as if he’d shed a heavy burden.

  “I owe you a great debt,” Enju said. “Without everything you’ve done, I wouldn’t be where I am today. A million thanks.”

  “I can’t take all the credit,” Yanagisawa said modestly. “Some of it goes to Yoritomo, for bringing us together.”

  He smiled at his son, who flushed with delight at the praise. Yoritomo had proved to be an intelligent accomplice who hadn’t wasted the past three years at court; he’d spent them watching and listening. He’d identified men for Yanagisawa to enlist in his campaign to seize power. Some were old allies, fugitive troops from his army, daimyo clans oppressed by Lord Matsudaira, and disgruntled officials. Some were young samurai who were eager for combat or had relatives conquered by Lord Matsudaira and been treated badly by him. Others were just bored, unhappy, or looking for a cause. Yoritomo had recruited them, brought them secretly to the temple, and they’d agreed to help stage Yanagisawa’s comeback. They now numbered in the thousands, including their troops.

  Enju was one of them.

  They sat, and as Yanagisawa poured sake, he remarked, “I must say that things have worked out well for us all.”

  “They certainly have,” Yoritomo said, accepting a cup. “With Lord Mori gone, Lord Matsudaira has lost a crucial ally.”

  “And I’ve gained one.” Yanagisawa handed a cup to Enju, who’d pledged the huge Mori army to him. “A toast to our alliance. May it triumph over our enemies.”

  They drank. “It’s already eliminated my worst one,” Enju said in a voice replete with satisfaction.

  When Enju had shown up at the temple the first time, it hadn’t taken Yanagisawa long to coax from him the reasons for his grudge against the world in general and his stepfather in particular. Enju had craved a sympathetic ear. Yanagisawa had listened to Enju describe how Lord Mori had forced him to submit to sexual relations, then to serve as a procurer of boys and accomplice to their murders. Yanagisawa had tried to manipulate Enju into assassinating Lord Mori, but Enju had lacked the nerve. What finally happened had worked even better, Yanagisawa had to admit.

  Enju poured another round of sake. “Let’s drink to my late stepfather. May he enjoy the place in hell reserved for perverts and murderers.” He raised his cup, and everyone drank. “But let’s not forget my dear mother. May she spend eternity with her evil husband.”

  Yanagisawa had also learned that Enju’s hatred of Lord Mori extended to his mother, who’d sacrificed him to keep her husband happy. After the toast, he said, “Your mother did us a big favor. She picked right up on your hints that Lord Mori would be better off dead. She mentioned the idea to that maid of hers, and the rest is history.”

  Enju giggled, more drunk on elation than liquor. “You should have heard them arguing about whose idea it was to kill him. She forgot that it was mine. She took the blame and protected me. She never guessed how much I hated her. I put on a good act, if I do say so myself. She never suspected that I tricked her into doing my dirty work.”

  “Here’s to the late Lady Mori,” Yanagisawa said, and they downed another round.

  “While we’re at it, down with Lord Matsudaira!” Enju exclaimed.

  He also hated Lord Matsudaira, who’d condoned Lord Mori’s offenses against him and hundreds of other children in exchange for military support. Yanagisawa knew that Enju had spent years hiding his grudges, pretending to be a loyal subject. But this was the one place he need not pretend. Here he’d found someone who would take his side, in exchange for his soul.

  “I propose a toast to my brilliant father.” Yoritomo gave Yanagisawa a look of admiration. “That was such a good idea to have your man inside Lord Mori’s retinue send Hirata the anonymous tip that Lord Mori was a traitor and plant those guns in the warehouse.”

  “And to have him steal those notes from Chamberlain Sano’s trash and plant them with the guns,” Enju said.

  Yoritomo looked disturbed by this part, even though he drank with his companions. “Chamberlain Sano has been a good friend to me. Was it really necessary to attack him?”

  “Yes,” Yanagisawa said. “Nothing personal against him, but he has my job. I want him out of it.”

  Although Yoritomo nodded, he didn’t seem convinced.

  “Everything had to happen the way it did, or nothing would have turned out right,” Yanagisawa said in an effort to smooth over the conflict between him and the son upon whom his future depended. “Sano was evidently part of the grand scheme. Had I left him alone, we might not be sitting here congratulating ourselves now.”

  “Fate operates in strange ways,” Enju agreed. “How else to explain how Lady Reiko got caught up in our plot?”

  Yanagisawa laughed. “That was an unexpected bonus. When my spy brought me the news that Lord Mori had been murdered, I knew right away who’d killed him, but when I heard that Lady Reiko was the primary suspect, you could have knocked me down with a feather.”

  “I felt sorry for her,” Yoritomo murmured.

  Not Yanagisawa. She’d too often inconvenienced him by helping her husband, and a strike against Reiko was a strike against Sano. “That should teach her to meddle where she doesn’t belong. But my favorite lucky happenstance is that Police Commissioner Hoshina is gone. With his faction out of the way, my path back to the top is a lot clearer.”

  Yanagisawa had tried to brand Hoshina a traitor by incorporating guns his henchmen had stolen from the police arsenal into a fake plot that would also ensnare other enemies of his. But that wasn’t what had finally done the trick.

  �
��Here’s to Sano for killing Hoshina,” Enju said, raising his cup to another toast they all drank.

  “It’s just too bad that Sano is still chamberlain and more powerful than ever,” Yanagisawa said. “But he won’t be for long.”

  Dark excitement charged the air as the three men contemplated the power struggle to come.

  “You won’t hurt Chamberlain Sano when you oust him, will you?” Yoritomo said anxiously.

  “I promise I won’t.”

  But Yanagisawa believed promises were meant to be broken when necessary. And he knew that someone was bound to be destroyed during his bid to seize control of the Tokugawa regime. Better Sano than himself.