“Since Sano-san created this situation, he should be the one to settle it,” Yanagisawa said.
“A good idea,” the shogun said. The physician began pulling the cups off his stomach. Each made a loud, sucking sound as it came up, leaving a bright red circle on his skin, like a comical rash. “Well, Sano-san? Shall we rule that the forty-seven rōnin are innocent according to Bushido and pardon them? Or that they’re guilty of, ahh, treason and murder, and order them to commit seppuku?”
“This needs to be settled quickly,” Yanagisawa added.
Sano was aware that peremptory action for the sake of action would be a dire mistake. This was such a sensitive issue that any decision was bound to create discord. It could even ignite a civil war. Yanagisawa wanted to force Sano to decide now. Later he would make sure it turned out to be the wrong choice and that Sano suffered the consequences.
Two could play that game.
Sano said, “Chamberlain Yanagisawa is second-in-command. He’s the man who should advise Your Excellency.”
“Ahh, you’re right.” The shogun turned to Yanagisawa. “What do you suggest?”
Yanagisawa couldn’t hide his annoyance that Sano had deflected the responsibility onto him. The case of the forty-seven rōnin was like a hot coal that would burn whoever held it, and he was quick to toss it to someone else. “I suggest that the Council of Elders should decide.”
The elders didn’t flinch. They’d been in politics for so long that they recognized a fatal game of catch and they were prepared. Ohgami said, “We should create a special supreme court to rule on the fate of the forty-seven rōnin.”
“Yes!” The shogun sat up, closed his robe, and clapped his hands, ecstatic. “That’s the perfect solution! Who shall be the, ahh, judges?”
The physician packed up his equipment and decamped. A wise move, Sano thought. Everyone else probably wished they could leave, too, lest they end up on the court.
“First, let’s decide on how many judges we need,” Yanagisawa said, obviously buying time to think how to turn the new situation to his advantage. “I suggest four.” He must think he could control that small number of men.
“That’s not enough to decide such an important issue. I suggest twenty-five.” Sano knew that was too many, but he’d allowed room to negotiate.
“Six,” Yanagisawa countered.
Impatience heated up the shogun’s temper. “I say fourteen.” His rash, arbitrary decision was final.
“The judges should be high, trusted officials in the regime,” Yanagisawa said. “I nominate Inspector General Nakae.”
“I second the nomination,” Ihara said.
In theory, the inspector general was responsible for auditing government operations and making sure they were conducted properly. But Nakae was a crony of Yanagisawa’s, which meant he kept a lookout for misbehavior done by everyone except Yanagisawa.
“I nominate Magistrate Ueda,” Sano said. Magistrate Ueda was Reiko’s father, and not only Sano’s ally but an honest man who would do his best to ensure that the court acted fairly.
“Second,” Ohgami said.
There followed a heated discussion about who else should be appointed. As Sano and Yanagisawa each vied to stack the supreme court with his own allies, Sano was disturbed to see that the case was becoming more about politics than justice. But he could breathe easier now. With the case in hands other than his, he was safe.
After a while the shogun said, “Why is it so hard to choose fourteen judges? Give me their names now and, ahh, be done!”
Sano quickly recited seven names, including Magistrate Ueda’s. Yanagisawa named his seven choices, headed by Inspector General Nakae.
“Inform the judges that they’ve been appointed to the supreme court,” Ohgami told Sano.
The shogun brushed his hands together. “I’m glad that’s finished.”
“It isn’t quite,” Yanagisawa said. “The supreme court will need to investigate the case and collect evidence.”
Sano realized that Yanagisawa was angling to throw him back into jeopardy. “An investigation isn’t necessary. Because we already know that the defendants killed Kira,” he said, even though the case wasn’t as clear-cut as he would like.
Ohgami backed Sano up. “Why do we need evidence, when the forty-seven rōnin have already confessed?”
“This isn’t like other murder trials,” Yanagisawa explained smoothly. “What we need is evidence that will justify the supreme court’s verdict, so that everyone accepts it and no one starts a war over it.”
“What kind of evidence would that be?” the shogun asked, hopeful yet confused.
“Anything that pertains to the forty-seven rōnin’s actions or motives, or the events leading up to Kira’s death, that hasn’t come to light yet,” Yanagisawa said.
Sano had to agree that Yanagisawa’s point was valid. Neither side in the controversy would be satisfied with a verdict based solely on the results of a judicial debate. If the shogun exercised his right to punish the forty-seven rōnin, he had better have solid grounds unless he wanted extreme political strife on his hands. And if the shogun reversed his original decision that prohibited punishing Kira, he had better have a strong rationale unless he wanted to lose face and expose weakness that would practically beg for an attack on his regime.
“I suggest that Sano-san be appointed to help the judges investigate,” Yanagisawa said.
“Fine,” the shogun said, before Sano could forestall him. “Sano-san, you are appointed.”
Yanagisawa and Yoritomo smiled identical smiles of cruel satisfaction. Sano’s heart dropped. Now he would share the responsibility for any bad consequences that arose from the court’s decision. His own fate and the forty-seven rōnin’s were intertwined.
“One last thing, Your Excellency,” Yanagisawa said. “Sano-san’s investigations have a tendency to cause trouble. Last time he got your wife raped. Let’s give him an extra incentive to do better this time.”
Sano saw Yanagisawa getting ready to heap more trouble on him. “There’s no need—”
“What kind of extra incentive?” the shogun interrupted.
“If the supreme court doesn’t reach a satisfactory verdict, then Sano-san should be permanently assigned to a post at some distant location—let’s say Kyushu,” Yanagisawa said, “while his family remains in Edo as hostages to his good behavior.”
“Very well,” the shogun said.
9
RIDING HOME IN her palanquin, Reiko brimmed with thoughts about the rōnin’s mistress, but her companions seemed disinclined toward conversation. Chiyo sat gazing out the window at the street, where pedestrians clambered over snowbanks to enter shops that sold ceramic jars of pickles, root vegetables, salted fish, and fermented tofu. Masahiro rode his horse alongside the palanquin. He looked straight ahead, his expression somber and pensive.
Reiko waited until their procession turned onto the boulevard that led to Edo Castle, then said, “You’re not happy that I agreed to help Okaru.”
Chiyo reluctantly assented. “The whole business disturbs me.”
Reiko cut to the heart of the problem. “You didn’t like Okaru, did you?”
Chiyo hesitated. “She seems very sweet. But her background…”
A pang of disappointment chimed in Reiko. She’d thought her friend was more open-minded about people from other social classes. “Okaru can’t help that her parents died and left her destitute. She became a teahouse girl because there was no other way to make a living.”
“I’m not saying Okaru is a bad person because she’s a teahouse girl.” Chiyo sounded afraid of losing Reiko’s good opinion. “What I mean is that people in her position do whatever they must in order to survive. Sometimes that includes taking advantage of other people.”
“I see your point,” Reiko had to admit. “But Okaru hasn’t asked me for money or a job or a chance to move up in society, the way other people have.”
“We’ve only just met her,”
Chiyo said. “We don’t know her very well.”
Reiko also had to admit that she tended to make snap judgments. But she said, “Okaru didn’t strike me as being avaricious. All she wants is help for her friend Oishi.”
“That brings us to another problem,” Chiyo said gently. “We haven’t even met Oishi. How can we say whether he deserves help?”
Logic chastened Reiko. “You’re right. But we do know he performed the ultimate act of loyalty toward his master. That’s a point in his favor.”
“We also know that it’s an illegal vendetta. That makes him a criminal.”
“Not necessarily. Remember, Okaru said he indicated that there’s more to the vendetta than meets the eye.”
Chiyo was looking more uncomfortable by the moment. “We have only her word for that. And I understand that women in her position are often deceptive.”
In order to win customers and earn money, girls like Okaru had to convince the men that they liked them even when they didn’t. They could put that sort of skill to other uses. Still, Reiko prided herself on her intuition, even though she knew Chiyo was right to be wary of Okaru. “I didn’t think Okaru was lying.”
The palanquin neared Edo Castle, and Chiyo leaned forward, as though eager to escape this difficult conversation. “Even if she’s not lying, the truth about the vendetta could be something that puts her—and Oishi—in an even worse light.”
“Okaru is a teahouse girl and Oishi is a murderer,” Reiko said with a touch of irritation. “How could anything be worse?”
“Facts might come out that could cost Oishi his slim chance to get out of his trouble alive,” Chiyo said. “They could also implicate Okaru in Kira’s murder, in which case she would be punished along with Oishi.”
“Maybe so,” Reiko said, “but I think the truth is worth finding out.”
Chiyo regarded Reiko with doubt leavened by fondness. “I wonder if you want a mystery to solve.”
Reiko bristled. She didn’t like Chiyo’s implication that she was solely motivated by selfish desire. “I do,” she confessed. “But I wouldn’t even consider getting involved in this if it weren’t for wanting to help other people.”
“Perhaps you should consider the person who’s most important to you. Your husband. What might you be getting him into on Okaru’s account?”
For the first time Reiko felt uncomfortable with Chiyo. Their friendship was exposing her faults—impulsiveness, too much taste for adventure, and imposing too much on Sano. Still, Reiko believed she’d done right to take the business of Okaru one step further.
“My husband wouldn’t want me to turn my back on Okaru or Oishi,” she said. “He’s always been committed to discovering the truth and serving justice.”
“But in this case?” Troubled, Chiyo shook her head. “It’s bigger than just one girl, one man, and one murder. There are bound to be political repercussions, which could make things worse for your husband.” She added, “I must say that I have a bad feeling about Okaru.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Reiko conceded. “Maybe I shouldn’t bring my husband into this. Maybe I should tell Okaru that I’m sorry, I can’t help her after all.”
The procession entered the main gate of Edo Castle and wound along the stone-walled passage. Masahiro rode his horse beside the palanquin, put his face in the window, and said to Reiko, “But you said you would help Okaru!” He’d been listening in on the conversation. “You and Father have always told me how important it is to keep promises. You always say that breaking a promise is dishonorable.”
Reiko was always irritated yet amused when her clever son threw her own lessons back at her. “This situation is special. It may have been wrong for me to make that promise to Okaru. If so, then breaking it is the only right thing to do.”
Chiyo nodded, but Masahiro exclaimed, “No! It would be unfair and mean.”
“You shouldn’t speak to your mother in that tone of voice,” Chiyo said. She and Reiko and their families were so close that they disciplined each other’s children with no hard feelings.
Masahiro bowed his head, distraught. “I’m sorry.”
Reiko studied him curiously. “Why do you care so much about Okaru?”
“I don’t,” Masahiro said quickly. “It’s just that she’s poor and helpless. I feel sorry for her. That’s all.”
His compassion made Reiko proud of him. He wasn’t growing up to be one of the many samurai who thought the lower classes were dirt under their feet. But she sensed that Masahiro had more on his mind besides mere sympathy for Okaru’s plight.
“What else?” she asked.
Masahiro fiddled with the reins on his horse. He wouldn’t look at Reiko. “When I was kidnapped, some people helped me. They were the two soldiers who let me out of the cage I was locked in. They didn’t have to; they could have let me be killed.”
Reiko listened in consternation. Masahiro rarely talked about that terrible time a little more than three years ago.
“They helped me even though they were risking their own lives.” Masahiro paused. “I think about them sometimes. And I—well, that’s why I want to help Okaru.”
Reiko was so moved that tears stung her eyes. She said to Chiyo, “How can I refuse to come to Okaru’s aid now?”
Chiyo relented with good grace. “Masahiro is right. A promise is a promise.”
Still Reiko felt uncomfortable. Chiyo’s misgivings about Okaru had rubbed off on her. And there was a new distance between her and Chiyo, a little coolness.
The procession arrived inside Sano’s estate. Masahiro and the guards gave their horses over to the stable boys. The late-afternoon sunshine had mellowed to a golden glow that tinted the snow atop the mansion and the pine trees. The sky was a brilliant blue, striped by thin white clouds and crisscrossed by dark tree branches, like a winter quilt. Reiko smiled as she and Chiyo stepped out of their palanquin. On a cold, beautiful winter day like this, home seemed especially inviting.
Akiko ran out of the house to meet them. She hugged Reiko’s legs, then Chiyo’s.
“Then it’s settled,” Reiko said. “I’ll tell my husband about Okaru and her story. He can decide whether to get involved.”
* * *
“GET INVOLVED WITH what?” Sano walked toward the mansion.
He smiled at Reiko, who smiled back. Masahiro and Akiko hurried to greet him. “Hello, Father,” Masahiro said, while Akiko cried, “Papa, Papa!”
Sano picked up Akiko. He clapped Masahiro on the shoulder and beamed at his son. He loved both his children passionately, but he felt a special pride in Masahiro. Masahiro was not only his firstborn, his only boy, and his heir, who would carry on their clan’s bloodline; he was a fine, intelligent, talented, and good-natured child. One of Sano’s biggest fears was that something would happen to Masahiro.
Chiyo bowed. “Greetings, Honorable Cousin.” She addressed him formally but with affection.
After everyone went into the house, Reiko answered his question: “The forty-seven rōnin and their vendetta.”
“So you’ve heard about that,” Sano said, setting Akiko on her feet and hanging his swords in the entryway.
“Yes.” Reiko helped him remove his hat and cloak.
He could tell that she had something on her mind, but she waited while he said, “I suppose the news is everywhere now. But there’s something you apparently haven’t heard yet: I’m already involved with the forty-seven rōnin.”
Surprise halted Reiko in the act of hanging up her cloak. “You are? How?”
“The shogun ordered me to investigate Kira’s murder,” Sano said.
Eager for news, Reiko said, “Did you? What happened? Come inside. We’ll talk there.”
Akiko towed Chiyo off to play. Sano, Reiko, and Masahiro went to the private chambers, where they sat around the kosatsu and warmed themselves at the fire underneath. Sano explained how he’d tracked down the forty-seven rōnin and described the strange confrontation at Lord Asano’s grave.
“So they’re already under arrest,” Reiko said.
“So it’s over,” Masahiro said. They both seemed disappointed.
“Not quite.” Sano watched Reiko’s and Masahiro’s faces brighten. “There’s a controversy about whether the forty-seven rōnin are honorable samurai who rightfully avenged their master and should be applauded or criminals who broke the law and should be sentenced to death.” Sano explained about the supreme court. “I’ve just finished notifying the fourteen men who are to serve as judges. One of them is Magistrate Ueda.”
“I’m glad,” Reiko said. “My father is the one man who can absolutely be trusted to be honest and fair. How did he take the news?”
“With more enthusiasm than the other judges,” Sano said. “I ruined their day. But he’s intrigued by the legal issues in the case and he’s excited about convening the court tomorrow.” Although in his sixties, Magistrate Ueda still had a passion for the law.
“Now that there’s a supreme court to decide about the forty-seven rōnin, doesn’t that release you from involvement?” Reiko asked.
“Not exactly.” Sano described how he’d been assigned to investigate the case for the supreme court.
“Chamberlain Yanagisawa again! Can’t he leave us alone?”
Sano answered with a wry smile and an eloquent silence.
“But that’s good!” Masahiro exclaimed. “You can save the forty-seven rōnin!”
Sano frowned. He wasn’t pleased that his son had taken the rōnin’s side so quickly. But then he was partial to them, too, and it was he who’d taught Masahiro the principles of Bushido. “I’m not sure whether they should be saved.”
“But you are going to investigate, aren’t you?” Masahiro said.
“I don’t have much choice,” Sano said. “But I’m glad of the opportunity to see that justice is done.”
He hesitated to mention the threat that came with his opportunity to regain the shogun’s favor. He didn’t want to worry Reiko. He wanted to shield Masahiro from adult problems.
“Maybe I can help.” Reiko told Sano about the letter she’d received and her visit to Okaru.
The Ronin's Mistress: A Novel (Sano Ichiro Novels) Page 7