Imprisoned within his estate, Lord Matsudaira paced the floor of his chamber. He’d been drinking since the shogun had put him under house arrest, and the room was fumey with liquor and stale perspiration. The shutters were closed to protect his sore, bleary eyes from the daylight. Three bodyguards stood by the door. They watched him nervously, as if he were a bear who’d just awakened from hibernation, clumsy but ravenous.
He lifted a jar from a table. His hand shook as he poured sake, rattling the jar against the cup. He wore nothing but a dressing robe. His hair hung in shaggy locks around his shaved crown. His face was puffy, his speech slurred. “This can’t be happening to me. What am I going to do?”
At first he’d raged against the injustice that had been done to him. He’d called the shogun a mean, stupid fool. He’d cursed Sano for landing him in this predicament and set assassins on Sano and his family. He’d vowed to triumph in the end. But as the hours had passed and ranting accomplished nothing, Lord Matsudaira’s anger had given way to helplessness.
Lord Matsudaira gulped his sake and said, “That I could fall into such a wretched state, a prisoner in my own home, with the threat of death hanging over me!” His voice quavered and broke. “When all my life I believed I was destined for greatness!”
His men eyed him with awe and dismay: He wasn’t the man they knew, but his shrunken, enfeebled shadow. They clearly hated to witness his deterioration.
“All my life I tried to live up to my destiny,” Lord Matsudaira said. “I excelled at everything I did.” A weak pride inflated his spirit. He heard in his own voice an echo of his despised cousin the shogun. “Even when I was young, other men lined up behind me and followed me wherever I led them. I ruled my province with wisdom and benevolence. Everyone admired me as well as obeyed me. I knew myself to be a good samurai, a decent man. But somewhere I went wrong.
“I began to think I should rule Japan. And why not? I had far more wits and courage than my cousin.” He tasted his scorn, bitter and vile. “My cousin would wipe his rear end on Japan and throw it away! I only wanted to save it from his foolishness!”
He’d never confided these treasonous thoughts to anyone, but the drink and his need to justify himself had loosened his tongue. “But I was forced to bow down to my cousin while he rubbed my face in the fact that he was shogun and I could never be. The time came when I could no longer bear it. I recruited allies who were also eager to be out from under his weak thumb. I began my campaign to seize power.”
Lord Matsudaira swelled with the memory of those glorious days. “I eliminated my first obstacle. I sent that scoundrel Yanagisawa into exile.” Then his shoulders sagged. “How was I to know that his partisans would keep fighting me?” His voice rose in a whine. “How could I have known that Sano Ichiro would challenge me for control over Japan? Now everything I’ve worked so hard for has crumbled into dust. My allies have deserted me in favor of my cousin.” He shook with impotent anger, swayed with drunkenness. “What will become of me?”
The bodyguards exchanged glances, each loath to answer. One said cautiously, “Bear up, master. The trouble will pass. Things will be all right.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Even as a sob wracked Lord Matsudaira, he tried to recover his confidence. “I’ll get through this, I swear.”
He heard footsteps in the corridor and looked up as his chief retainer entered the room, looking dire.
“What is it?” Lord Matsudaira demanded.
“I’m sorry to say that your assassins attempted to kill Chamberlain Sano’s wife and children last night and failed. One of the assassins is dead.”
“Well, the others will just have to keep trying,” Lord Matsudaira said impatiently.
“I’m afraid that’s not all that’s happened,” the chief retainer said. “Chamberlain Sano has taken Yoritomo to the execution ground.”
“Then he really intends to go through with his farce of putting the boy to death for treason. Good riddance. So what?” Lord Matsudaira retorted.
“Maybe he doesn’t. Have you thought of what else Sano might be up to?”
Lord Matsudaira hadn’t, but now he did. Suddenly, in one of those moments of pure, astounding clarity that sometimes strike drunken men, he understood what was going on, what Sano meant to accomplish. The breath gushed out of him as he also understood the ramifications for himself. The hardest blow had fallen at the wrong time. He sank to his knees and groaned.
“I could take down one or the other,” he said, “but not both at once.” His bodyguards stared; they didn’t know that he’d just figured out who was really behind his troubles, that he’d made a critical error in concentrating his animosity on Sano. But he saw that they sensed the defeat that hissed under his skin.
“There’ll be no coming back, it’s over for me,” he lamented. “All is truly lost.”
The men regarded him with fear for their own fate as well as his. His chief retainer said, “What shall you do?”
Lord Matsudaira gazed inward at scenes of his life that flickered through his mind. He remembered its challenges and satisfactions and woes. The scenes halted at the black impasse that was now. He laughed, a bleak, mournful chuckle.
“There’s only one thing I can do. If I’m going down, I’ll go on my own terms.”
Sano felt the fast rhythm of hooves before he heard the sound. It grew louder. The horsemen galloped onto the field, more than a hundred strong. Some wore armor, some tattered cotton clothes; some were armed with spears or with bows and arrows; all wore swords. The audience cheered the ragtag army’s arrival. The lead rider shouted at Sano, “Free your prisoner!”
His tall figure was regal despite his mismatched armor. The visor of his battered metal helmet covered his face, but Sano recognized him instantly. He expelled his breath in satisfaction.
The newcomers ranged themselves against Sano and his troops, on the opposite side of Yoritomo. Sano said, “Greetings, Yanagisawa-san. We meet again.”
Gasps rose from the daimyo and officials, none of whom had expected Yanagisawa to reappear now, or ever. The shogun squinted and said, “Yanagisawa-san? Is that really you?”
Yanagisawa removed his helmet. Everyone who knew him, including Sano, stared in astonishment: His head was shaved bald. But his face was as handsome as ever, his expression as malevolent and cunning.
“How did you get here?” the shogun cried, so excited that he jumped off the roof of his palanquin. Sano saw that he was overjoyed to see his old friend; he must have been hoping all along that Yanagisawa would come back to him someday.
“By ship, by foot, and by horseback,” Yanagisawa answered the shogun, but watched Sano. “It’s a long story. Perhaps we could discuss it later.” He looked down at Yoritomo, and his expression turned anxious. “Son? Are you all right?”
Yoritomo didn’t speak. Yanagisawa demanded, “What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s been drugged so he won’t suffer any pain,” Sano said. “You should thank me for my mercy.”
Yanagisawa’s glare said he would rather kill Sano.
“Why didn’t you return to me earlier?” the shogun said plaintively. “Why come as such a, ahh, surprise now?”
“I’ve come to rescue my son.”
“That’s no surprise,” Sano said, “but I was beginning to wonder if you would show up in time.”
Disgust tinged Yanagisawa’s smile. “So this is a trap. I suspected as much. Yoritomo’s trial was a farce, and so is this execution. Don’t think you tricked me.”
Sano was glad that his measure of the bond between father and son had proved correct. Danger to Yoritomo was the only bait that could have lured Yanagisawa out of hiding. “Don’t think I wouldn’t have killed Yoritomo if you hadn’t come. Don’t think I still won’t.”
“Why should you?” Yanagisawa said. “It’s me that you want. Leave my son alone.”
“He’s a traitor,” Sano said, “and he deserves to die even though he’s just your accomplice in your conspiracy to
regain power.”
Shock appeared on the faces of the men around Sano as they realized the true nature of Yoritomo’s crimes and the fact that Yanagisawa had been busy mounting his comeback.
“You won’t kill him.” Yanagisawa’s controlled manner didn’t hide his anxiety. He said to the executioner’s assistants, “Dig him up.”
“Proceed with the nokogiri-biki,” Sano countermanded.
The executioner stepped forward. While the assistants held Yoritomo’s head and the executioner brandished the saw, the townspeople whispered excitedly. Sano saw spines stiffen and throat muscles clench among his samurai companions, and naked horror on Yanagisawa’s face.
“Don’t!”
Yanagisawa spurred his horse forward, between Yoritomo and the executioner. His men moved after him. Sano, Marume, and Fukida advanced with their troops. Sano said, “Back off. You’re outnumbered. If you try to take Yoritomo, you’ll both be killed in the battle.”
Yanagisawa stared at Sano with fury and hatred. “You don’t need my son. You’ve exposed me. Isn’t that enough?”
“Not nearly,” Sano said.
“Then what in hell do you want?”
“I want you to answer a few questions.”
Suspicion narrowed Yanagisawa’s eyes. “About what?”
“That’s for me to decide,” Sano said. “Agree now, or I proceed with the execution.”
The Tokugawa officials and the daimyo whispered in speculation. The townsfolk moved closer to hear what was going on. Yanagisawa hesitated, sensing a trap within the trap.
“Dear me, Sano-san, you’re not really going to kill him?” the shogun piped up fretfully. “When I agreed to go along with whatever you did, I didn’t, ahh, realize you would go so far.”
“All right,” Yanagisawa said in a voice that promised Sano retribution. “What do you want to know?”
“Were you responsible for the bombing of Lord Matsudaira’s estate?” Sano asked.
Yanagisawa gleamed with sardonic satisfaction. “Oh, you finally figured that out? Congratulations.”
“So you have agents who followed your orders to throw the firebomb?” Sano said, hammering in the point in case anyone had missed it.
“Well, yes,” Yanagisawa said. “I couldn’t exactly stroll up to the castle gate, give my name, and say, ‘I’m here to bomb Lord Matsudaira’s estate. Let me in.’”
On the periphery of the execution ground, two mounted samurai edged toward the road. Sano called, “If you’re planning to run to Lord Matsudaira and break the news, don’t leave yet. He’ll want to hear the rest.”
The horsemen halted. Sano said to Yanagisawa, “Were you also responsible for ambushing my wife?”
“Guilty as charged.” Yanagisawa glanced at Yoritomo. His flippant manner didn’t hide his growing panic.
“What about the previous attacks, on Lord Matsudaira’s troops and mine?” Sano asked. “Were they your doing, too?”
“You should thank me,” Yanagisawa retorted. “I did for you and Lord Matsudaira what you both wanted to do to each other but were too cowardly to risk.”
“So you sent your underground rebels in disguise to attack us and goad us into a war. Neither of us is to blame.”
“It’s about time you gave credit where credit is due.”
Sano addressed the two waiting horsemen: “You can go now.” As they galloped away, Sano hoped they would reach Lord Matsudaira before his assassins struck again.
“Are we finished with these questions?” Yanagisawa said.
Whether Lord Matsudaira would believe Yanagisawa’s confession, let go of his hostility toward Sano, and call off his dogs was beyond Sano’s control. Sano concentrated on wringing the maximum value out of Yanagisawa. “Far from it. Let’s talk about an actor by the name of Arashi Kodenji. Do you know him?”
Yanagisawa’s expression turned wary: He knew the conversation was headed into dangerous territory. He looked at Yoritomo, buried up to the neck in the dirt, his head covered, as vulnerable as a swaddled baby. “Yes.”
“For everyone’s information, Arashi is the man we knew as Egen, tutor to the shogun’s murdered cousin,” Sano announced. “But he was only acting the role.”
Confusion rumbled among both audiences. Sano’s colleagues hadn’t heard the news, and the townsfolk weren’t familiar with the story behind this drama. Sano said, “Did you hire Arashi to impersonate the tutor and slander my mother?”
“Yes, and you fell for it.” Yanagisawa couldn’t resist enjoying his own cleverness and Sano’s gullibility. “I’d have given a lot to be there.”
“You didn’t need to be there. You had eyes and ears inside the castle,” Sano said, pointing at Yoritomo. “Did you kill Arashi after you paid him off?”
The audience stirred with consternation and excitement as Sano’s colleagues realized that Yanagisawa had interfered with matters besides the conflict between Sano and Lord Matsudaira. Even the townsfolk realized that Sano was forcing Yanagisawa to put himself in jeopardy.
“Arashi was supposed to leave town as soon as he’d testified against your mother.” A tremor in his voice betrayed how frantic Yanagisawa was to save Yoritomo. “Instead, he hung around, and he couldn’t keep his big mouth shut. Sooner or later he’d have told someone I’d hired him. He’d have spread the word that I was back from exile. He had to go.”
“I take it that means yes, you ordered his death,” Sano said.
Yanagisawa hastily added, “He was a peasant, a nobody. What does it matter?”
A samurai had the legal right to kill a peasant. “It matters that you interfered with a murder investigation ordered by His Excellency, and this particular peasant was a key witness.” Sano turned to the shogun. “Yanagisawa told Lord Arima to arrange the murder. Lord Arima recruited two of my soldiers and sent them to do Yanagisawa’s dirty work. They killed Arashi, but on his orders, not mine. His confession is the proof of my innocence.”
“Yes, I see,” the shogun said, trying to sound as if he did. “Chamberlain Sano, excuse me for suspecting you. Consider the accusation against you, ahh, dropped.”
“How nice for you,” Yanagisawa said spitefully to Sano. “Enough already! Free my son!”
“One more question,” Sano said. “Was it your troops, and not Lord Matsudaira’s, who attacked His Excellency’s yesterday?”
Yanagisawa’s face went livid with anger and fright because Sano had named the final price for his son’s freedom: He must admit to the attack, which constituted treason. He said, “I most certainly did not.”
“Tell the truth, or your son dies,” Sano said. “You ordered Lord Arima to tell His Excellency that his cousin wanted to overthrow him. You sent your troops after his, wearing Lord Matsudaira’s crest. You wanted His Excellency to go to war with Lord Matsudaira and crush him. It was all part of your plan.”
“You’re dreaming,” Yanagisawa said contemptuously.
Sano shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He nodded to the executioner, who applied the saw to Yoritomo’s neck. “Here we go.”
“No!” squealed the shogun.
“Stop!” Yanagisawa charged at the executioner.
The executioner dodged. Yanagisawa’s troops galloped around the pit, scattering the assistants. Sano, the detectives, and their troops rushed Yanagisawa, swords drawn. The fray swirled around Yoritomo’s head like a storm circling its eye. Sano and his forces drove Yanagisawa away from Yoritomo. With an outraged cry, Yanagisawa rode at the townsfolk. He jumped off his horse and caught a little girl. He drew his sword, held it against her throat, and shouted, “Let Yoritomo go, or she’s dead!”
Sano stared in horror. The girl was perhaps six years old, with round cheeks, hair tied in two ponytails, chubby in her padded blue kimono. Helpless in Yanagisawa’s grasp, she cried, “Mama, Mama!”
Her parents begged Yanagisawa to let her go. The crowd around them agitated because the drama had suddenly turned too real. Sano couldn’t sacrifice an innocent child, and Yanagis
awa knew it, just as Sano had known Yanagisawa would come to rescue his son. They were aware of each other’s weaknesses after their many years as sometimes rivals, sometimes comrades.
Yanagisawa bared his teeth in a fierce smile. “Her life in exchange for Yoritomo’s.”
“All right.” Sano dismounted beside Yoritomo’s head, beckoned to Yanagisawa, and said, “Put her down, and I’ll call off the execution.”
Gripping his terrified little hostage, Yanagisawa walked toward Sano. Their troops and the spectators moved back in a wide circle around them. “That’s not all I want,” Yanagisawa said. “I want a safe passage out of here for Yoritomo and me. I want your promise that you won’t touch us.”
“I promise,” Sano said.
Grumbles from the samurai in the audience said they deplored Sano’s caving in. Sano nodded to the executioner’s assistants. They took up their shovels.
Yanagisawa’s lip curled with contempt. “If you were any other man, I wouldn’t trust your promise, Sano-san. But your honor has always been your downfall and my blessing.”
He flung the girl away from him. As her parents rushed up and carried her to safety, he hastened toward Yoritomo.
“Not this time,” Sano said.
He gripped his sword in both hands, swung it up, and brought it down in a vicious arc. The blade struck Yoritomo’s neck, slicing through flesh and bone. Yoritomo’s head fell on the ground with a thud that drowned in the cries of astonishment that rose from the crowd.
“No!” Yanagisawa screamed.
His face was so twisted by rage and grief that he barely looked human. He fell on his knees beside Yoritomo’s head. Sano saw everyone including his own troops, except for his detectives, gazing at him in shock: They hadn’t thought him capable of what he’d done. Vengeful satisfaction filled Sano. Let Yanagisawa suffer the worst agony that a father who loved his son could. Let him pay the price for all the trouble he’d ever caused Sano, the political strife he’d fomented, the violence his actions had provoked.
The Fire Kimono (2008) Page 28