She thought of Hirata, and her heart ached. If only she’d been satisfied with the crumbs of attention he’d tossed her! Now she would probably never see him again.
Footsteps approached her cell. Hope and terror collided within Midori. She yearned for human contact, yet she feared the punishment that High Priest Anraku had promised. Light shone through the square hole in the door, brightening as the footsteps neared. Sitting up, Midori fought an urge to leap toward the welcome illumination. She wrapped her arms around her knees, helplessly waiting for whatever would happen.
In the opening appeared the side of a round paper lantern, like the curve of the moon. It shone into Midori’s cell, momentarily blinding her. Then her vision returned, and she saw beside the lantern a portion of a face, containing a single eye focused on her with dark, gleaming concentration. It belonged to Anraku.
A whimper issued from Midori; her heart thudded in terror. She wanted to look away, but Anraku’s gaze held hers captive. Pleas for mercy rose to her lips, but she couldn’t speak.
Then a woman said, “Why must we keep her?” Midori recognized the sharp, irritated voice of Abbess Junketsu-in.
“She is special,” Anraku said quietly.
Midori realized that they were talking about her.
“What makes her different from anyone else?” Junketsu-in said. “And haven’t you enough women already?” Midori heard jealousy in her tone. “I think you should have gotten rid of her as soon as we found out she was a spy.”
The high priest didn’t answer. Alarm flared in Midori.
“She’s no problem as long as she’s down here,” said a man’s rough voice. It was Priest Kumashiro. “But if she somehow escapes, she could cause trouble. Keeping her alive is too risky. Please allow me to eliminate her at once.”
Midori’s alarm turned to horror. But Anraku spoke again. “Remember what my vision has foretold. Three signs shall herald our day of destiny. We have already witnessed human sacrifice and persecution against our kind, but we still await the third sign. And I have had a new vision.”
Anraku exuded mystical energy like a fire radiating heat through the door. Midori cringed from it.
“The Buddha said that the capture of Niu Midori presages the third sign,” Anraku continued, “and we shall not achieve glory unless she remains alive to perform a critical role.”
“What role? Why her?” demanded Junketsu-in.
“How long must we tolerate an enemy in our midst?” Kumashiro said, clearly displeased.
Anraku’s tactile stare probed Midori. “Question me no more. You shall know soon enough.”
His face and the lantern vanished from the peephole. Darkness immersed the cell as footsteps receded down the corridor. Anraku’s spell over Midori relaxed like kite strings when the wind ceases, and she hurled herself against the door.
“Please don’t leave me! Come back!” she cried.
The darkness and solitude seemed even worse now. Her terror was more acute because although she now knew she would live awhile, she didn’t know how much longer, or for what terrible purpose.
“Help, help!” Midori screamed. Bursting into wild sobs, she pounded on the door. “Let me out!”
There was no response except the echo of her own desperate voice resounding through the tunnels.
33
If you among the faithful should encounter trouble with the
law,
Face punishment, about to forfeit your life,
The Bodhisattva of Infinite Power will break the
executioner’s sword in pieces.
—FROM THE BLACK LOTUS SUTRA
“The trial of Haru shall commence,” announced Magistrate Ueda.
He was seated upon the dais in the Court of Justice, a cavernous hall with barred windows set in paneled walls, illuminated by lanterns. Sano sat at his right; secretaries flanked them. All wore black ceremonial robes.
The magistrate continued, “Haru is accused of four crimes: arson, and the murders of Police Commander Oyama, a peasant woman named Chie, and a small boy of unknown identity.”
The secretaries wrote, recording his words. Sano hid anxiety behind a cool façade. He’d spent the day preparing for the trial. Now, as twilight dimmed the windows, he hoped to secure a conviction and elicit facts that would convince the shogun to authorize a rescue expedition to the Black Lotus Temple, but the outcome of the trial was by no means certain.
A large audience sat in rows on the floor, in a haze of smoke from tobacco pipes. Sano eyed Hirata, who knelt among other Tokugawa officials, apart from a delegation of civilian town leaders. Hirata’s features were strained with worry about Midori.
Magistrate Ueda addressed the guards stationed at the door at the far end of the court: “Bring in the defendant.”
The guards opened the heavy, carved door. Through it walked two soldiers, with Haru between them. Her hands were bound by ropes, and her ankles shackled in iron cuffs joined by a thick chain. She wore a gray muslin kimono and straw sandals, and her hair was braided. The bruises around her eyes had darkened to violet; her puffy nose and raw, split lips rendered her face almost unrecognizable to Sano. As the guards led her toward the dais, she moved stiffly, as if in pain.
Uneasy murmurs swept the audience. Magistrate Ueda’s calm didn’t waver, yet Sano doubted that this father of a beloved daughter could remain unmoved by the injured girl. She might induce sympathy in the man designated to judge her.
The guards positioned Haru on her knees on a straw mat on the shirasu, an area of floor directly before the dais, covered by white sand, the symbol of truth. Haru bowed low. Looking down at her bent back, Sano could pity her himself.
“Look up,” Magistrate Ueda ordered her.
Haru lifted a woeful face.
“Do you understand that the purpose of this trial is to determine whether you are guilty of the arson and murders for which you were arrested?” Magistrate Ueda said.
“Yes, master.” Haru’s voice was a barely audible whisper that the audience strained forward to hear.
“First we shall hear the facts of the crimes and evidence against you, presented by His Excellency the Shogun’s ssakan-sama,” said Magistrate Ueda. “Then you may speak in your own defense. Afterward, I shall render my decision.” He nodded to Sano. “Proceed.”
“Thank you, Honorable Magistrate.” Sano described the fire at the Black Lotus Temple, how the victims found in the cottage had died, then how the fire brigade had discovered lamp oil, a torch, and Haru at the scene. “Haru claimed to have lost her memory of the time preceding the fire. She insisted that she didn’t set the fire or kill anyone. But my investigation has proved that she is a liar, arsonist, and murderess.”
Haru sat with eyes humbly downcast, like a martyr resigned to persecution. Sano was glad that Reiko wasn’t here. He hadn’t seen her since morning, when she’d told him Midori was missing; he hadn’t told her about the trial because he didn’t want her around to interfere. Next he related Haru’s probable involvement in her husband’s death, and what Abbess Junketsu-in and Dr. Miwa had said about her misbehavior at the temple. He mentioned that the two girls from the orphanage had seen Haru go to the cottage.
“Therefore, Haru had both the bad character and the opportunity necessary to commit the crimes,” Sano said.
Still, he feared that his argument would be weakened by his failure to produce the witnesses to speak for themselves. Magistrate Ueda understood that the shogun had prohibited him from contact with Black Lotus members, but if he had the least uncertainty about whether the witnesses had told the truth or Sano had accurately reported their statements, he might give Haru the benefit of the doubt.
“Now I shall show that Haru also had reason to kill,” Sano said. “After further interrogation, she admitted that Commander Oyama once forced her to have sexual relations with him. There is a witness who can prove that she hated him for mistreating her. Will Oyama Jinsai please come forward?”
The young samurai
rose from the audience, knelt before the dais, and bowed. Under Sano’s questioning, Jinsai described how Commander Oyama had used the girls at the Black Lotus Temple and introduced him to Haru, who had glared and spat at the commander.
“I say that on the night of his murder, Commander Oyama again violated Haru, and she killed him in revenge,” Sano concluded. “Afterward, she set fire to the cottage to disguise the circumstances of his death.”
Just then, the door opened, and Reiko slipped into the room. Sano beheld her in dismay. As she knelt behind the audience, her level gaze met his. Sano experienced a stab of alarm.
“Honorable Magistrate, I recommend that Haru be condemned,” Sano said, hiding his concern about what Reiko might do.
“Your counsel will be given serious consideration,” Magistrate Ueda said.
Yet-Sano knew that Haru’s lack of apparent connection with the other victims was the major flaw in his case, which Magistrate Ueda wouldn’t miss. Because the murders were obviously connected, if she hadn’t committed them all, then perhaps she hadn’t committed any of them. As much as the magistrate wanted to serve justice, he required evidence to support a guilty verdict.
The men in the audience whispered among themselves. Reiko leaned forward, her expression avid. Haru sat meekly, the picture of wounded innocence. Sano fought rising anxiety as he observed the desperation on Hirata’s face. Time was speeding by; Midori was still inside the temple, and he might neither secure Haru’s conviction nor extract the truth from the girl.
“I shall now hear the defendant’s story,” Magistrate Ueda said.
An expectant hush descended upon the audience. Reiko clasped her hands tightly under her sleeves. Anger at Sano twisted inside her. How could he waste time persecuting Haru when he should be trying to rescue Midori? And he hadn’t even done Reiko the courtesy of telling her he’d scheduled the trial! She’d learned about it by chance, when she’d come to ask her father to use his influence to get Sano permission to enter the Black Lotus Temple, and a clerk had told her the trial was under way. But of course Sano didn’t want her to interfere with his destruction of Haru. He was cutting her out of the final stage of the investigation and ending her involvement in his work forever.
Yet Reiko wouldn’t give up her vocation without. a fight. Nor could she let Haru suffer for the crimes of the Black Lotus while there was any chance that the girl was innocent. Might Reiko still ensure that her last investigation ended in justice? The flaws in Sano’s argument gave the girl a chance for reprieve, and Reiko wondered why he’d rushed the trial. Still, his haste favored her and Haru. Reiko hoped that Haru would make a good showing.
Magistrate Ueda turned to Haru. “What have you to say for yourself?”
“I didn’t do it.” Head bowed, the girl spoke in a low but distinct voice.
“Say specifically what you did not do,” Magistrate Ueda instructed her.
“Kill Commander Oyama.”
“What about the woman and boy?”
“I didn’t kill them, either,” Haru said, and Reiko could see her trembling with fear.
“Did you set fire to the cottage?” Magistrate Ueda asked.
“No, master.”
The magistrate seemed unaffected by Haru’s pained earnestness. “There has been much evidence presented against you,” he said gravely, “and in order to prove your innocence, you must refute it. Let us begin with the death of your husband. Did you burn his house?”
“No, master.” Haru sniffled, weeping now. Reiko saw Sano betray his disdain with a slight compression of his lips, but her father’s expression remained inscrutable.
“Did you go to the cottage the night before the fire?” the magistrate asked.
“No, master.”
“Then how did you come to be found there?”
“I don’t know.”
“What had you been doing previously?”
“I can’t remember.”
Reiko listened, upset that Haru was repeating the same story that hadn’t convinced Sano. It probably wouldn’t convince the magistrate, either. Reiko believed more strongly than ever that Haru did know something about the crimes and wished the girl would tell the truth, rather than forfeit her last chance to clear herself and take her secrets to the grave.
Magistrate Ueda thoughtfully regarded Haru. “If you expect me to believe in your innocence, then you must offer some explanation for why you were at the cottage and how three people died in your vicinity.”
Cowering, the girl shook her head. Reiko watched in anxious dismay. Surely Haru realized what a poor impression she was making. Was she concealing facts that would incriminate her?
“Have you anything more to say?” Magistrate Ueda said.
“I don’t know why I was there,” Haru mumbled. “I didn’t set the fire. I didn’t kill anyone.”
The magistrate frowned, clearly weighing her denials against the case Sano had presented. Reiko felt her heart pounding as she hoped her father would see that there wasn’t enough evidence to convict Haru. Yet she feared that Haru deserved conviction.
At last Magistrate Ueda said, “I shall now render my verdict.”
And his verdict would be final, Reiko knew, whether justice was served or contravened. Suddenly Reiko couldn’t watch passively any longer. “Excuse me,” she blurted.
Everyone stared in astonishment at the spectacle of a woman talking out of turn. Reiko, who had never spoken in a public assembly, experienced a daunting embarrassment.
“What is it?” Magistrate Ueda’s cold manner said that she’d better have a good reason for interrupting the trial.
Seeing Sano eye her with consternation, Reiko understood that what she intended to do would probably destroy any hope for a reconciliation between them. Sano would divorce her and keep their son, as he had the legal right to do. Her courage almost failed, until she thought of what would happen if she didn’t act. Haru would be convicted; the Black Lotus would go on to commit more attacks and murders; Sano would be blamed for failing in his duty to protect the public. The shogun would order Sano, Reiko, Masahiro, and their relatives and close associates executed as punishment. Only Reiko could save them all, by doing her best now.
Reiko forced herself to say, “I wish to speak on behalf of the accused.” She saw gladness dawn on Haru’s bruised face, as though the girl anticipated salvation.
“Honorable Magistrate, unsolicited witnesses should not be allowed to interfere with justice,” Sano hastened to say.
He believed that the magistrate had intended to decide in his favor, Reiko thought. Magistrate Ueda addressed her with polite formality: “What can you add to that which has already been said?”
“I—I can present evidence that indicates the crimes were committed by someone other than the accused,” Reiko faltered, intimidated by the audience’s stares.
Sano hadn’t presented this evidence because the law didn’t require him to do so. Reiko’s chest constricted with hope that her father would agree to weigh her testimony in his decision, and dread that he wouldn’t.
“Spurious accusations against other persons are neither evidence nor relevant to the trial of Haru,” Sano argued.
A fleeting, pained expression clouded Magistrate Ueda’s features: He was loath to take sides in a public dispute between Reiko and Sano. Then he said, “Since a life is at stake, I shall grant Lady Reiko the privilege of speaking.”
Rejoicing that his mercy had prevailed over Sano’s objections, Reiko rose and walked toward the dais. As she passed Hirata, she glimpsed his undisguised horror. She knelt beside the shirasu, and Haru welcomed her with a grateful smile. Sano fixed on her a look that seemed to say, Please don’t do this. Trust me, and soon you’ll understand.
Reiko ignored him. In a voice that quavered with nervousness, she described her impressions of Haru as troubled but harmless. She drew courage from her certainty that she was doing the right thing, no matter what Sano thought, and clung to her persistent feeling that events would some
how exonerate Haru. She told about Abbess Junketsu-in, Dr. Miwa, and Kumashiro’s suspiciously determined efforts to blame Haru for the crimes and prevent Reiko from making inquiries into the Black Lotus sect. Reiko mentioned her encounter with Pious Truth and his story of torture, slavery, and murder at the temple.
Mutters of surprise rumbled in the audience. Magistrate Ueda listened in stoic silence, while Sano watched Haru. The girl’s face acquired a strange expression that momentarily unbalanced Reiko. It almost seemed as if Haru didn’t want the Black Lotus maligned. Didn’t she understand that incriminating the sect was to her advantage?
Recovering, Reiko described the murder of Minister Fugatami and his wife, the beating Haru had received in Edo Jail, and the attack on herself and Sano.
“Honorable Magistrate, these incidents represents the Black Lotus’s efforts to destroy its enemies,” she concluded breathlessly. “The sect killed Minister Fugatami to prevent him from censuring it, and tried to assassinate the ssakan-sama and myself because we were probing its affairs. Its thugs hurt Haru because she refused to confess.” Now Reiko’s voice rang out in a passionate conviction she didn’t feel: “The Black Lotus, not Haru, committed the arson and murders, and has framed her to protect itself.”
A short silence followed. Then Magistrate Ueda said in a neutral tone, “Your points are noted. Now I offer the ssakan-sama the opportunity to address them.”
Reiko felt her heart sink at the thought that Sano might undo whatever good she’d accomplished.
“Lady Reiko has portrayed you as the innocent victim, slandered and framed by Black Lotus members,” Sano said quietly to Haru. “But it’s not just they who have seen you for what you are.”
Haru gazed up at him, wary and uncomprehending.
“The people who know you best can also attest to your evils,” Sano said, then turned to Magistrate Ueda. “There are two witnesses I didn’t present earlier because their personal situation is sensitive. I request permission for them to testify now.”
Black Lotus Page 32