The Ronin’s Mistress si-15

by Laura Joh Rowland

  Love made a man vulnerable. He’d often used that fact against his enemies.

  “Is everything all right?” Yanagisawa said offhandedly, trying not to show his concern for his son and the future.

  “Yes, Father.”

  “How is the shogun?”

  Yoritomo’s smile slipped at the mention of his lord and master. “He’s resting. The doctor gave him a potion to help him sleep.”

  Yanagisawa felt guilty because, unlike himself, Yoritomo got no pleasure from sex with men. And the shogun had been far younger and less repulsive when he and Yanagisawa had been lovers than he was now. Yoritomo never complained, but Yanagisawa knew he had to force himself to perform with the shogun, and Yoritomo wasn’t oblivious to the sneers and gossip behind his back. Yoritomo proudly held his head up, but his role of male concubine was wearing on him after nine years. And Yanagisawa hated that he’d put his beloved son in such a position.

  Yanagisawa said, “If there were any other way, I would never ask this of you.” He didn’t remember if he’d ever said it before. He felt a need to say it now.

  Yoritomo nodded. They were so close, they could read each other’s meanings. “I know, Father. I don’t mind. It’s my part in your plan to secure our future. I’ll do whatever you think is best.”

  Yanagisawa had explained that unless they could gain control over the Tokugawa regime, their enemies would destroy them. It was true. If Yoritomo hadn’t become the shogun’s concubine, they both would have been dead long ago. Yanagisawa loved his son all the more because of the trust Yoritomo placed in him, because Yoritomo wasn’t bitter, because Yoritomo loved him despite the humiliation Yoritomo had to endure. Yanagisawa wanted to tell Yoritomo how he felt, but he couldn’t. Fathers and sons didn’t speak of such things. Fathers used their sons as they thought right. Sons owed their fathers complete obedience.

  Yanagisawa settled for saying, “You’ve done well.”

  Yoritomo beamed with delight at the praise, then noticed the chart on the desk. “Is something wrong?” he asked, ever sensitive to Yanagisawa’s moods.

  Yanagisawa rolled up the scroll. “No.” He didn’t want Yoritomo to worry or lose faith in him. “I was just counting up our allies. We have plenty.”

  “We should have even more, after today. That was brilliant, what you did to Sano. You threw him right into the middle of the forty-seven ronin business, after he thought he was safe. You also thought of just the right punishment for him in the event that he fails. His wife and children are his weakness. He’s sure to lose them, because nobody knows what the right verdict is. However it comes out, it will seem wrong.” Yoritomo’s eyes shone with admiration.

  The praise brought Yanagisawa a warm flush of pleasure. A lot of people praised him, but they were just currying favor. Yoritomo was the only one who was sincere. “With luck, the forty-seven ronin should be the end of Sano. All we need to do is let matters run their course.”

  Apprehension clouded Yoritomo’s face. “Sano is the one who’s been lucky in the past. You’ve been trying to get rid of him for fourteen years, and he’s still here.” His brow darkened with the memory of the evils that Sano had done to him. “And he usually ends up beating us.”

  Yanagisawa was painfully aware of that, but he said, “Never fear. If things go too well for Sano, I can change that.”

  10

  The next morning Sano and his troops retraced their path along the southern highway. The weather was even colder than yesterday. The men’s faces were muffled up to their eyeballs in scarves; the horses wore quilted caparisons. Clouds lurked around the edges of a blue sky that seemed paled by a scrim of ice between heaven and earth. The sun was a blinding white crystal that gave off no warmth. The thin top layer of the snow that had melted yesterday had refrozen into a crust that the horses’ hooves broke with loud, jagged sounds. Sano raised his voice above the noise while he told Hirata and Detectives Marume and Fukida about the ronin’s mistress.

  “Do you think Oishi meant that Kira’s murder wasn’t a simple revenge?” Fukida asked.

  “Could he and his comrades have had some other motive?” Marume asked.

  “Those questions have been on my mind since Reiko told me Okaru’s story,” Sano said. “I hope we’ll find some answers this morning. The supreme court will convene this afternoon, and I’d like to bring the judges some evidence to review.”

  He noticed that Hirata wasn’t listening to the conversation. Hirata seemed distracted, perhaps because last night Sano had told him about the shogun’s threat. Hirata must be worried about what it meant for him. Hirata’s eyes darted; he stole glances over his shoulder. Sano knew about the mysterious man who’d been stalking Hirata, and observed that Hirata seemed even more vigilantly on the lookout than usual.

  They reached the Hosokawa estate. Dismounting, Sano glanced around the barracks. As he approached the gate, he saw Hirata pause by the bushes outside the wall. Then Hirata joined Sano at the guardhouse.

  Two sentries stepped out. Sano said, “We want to see the prisoners.”

  The sentries summoned a servant, who led Sano, Hirata, and the detectives into the barracks. These had the same form as those in every samurai estate-buildings divided into sparsely furnished rooms where the retainers lived. Sano and his men passed through an entryway crammed with cloaks, shoes, and weapons, just like in the barracks at home. He smelled the same smell of male sweat and tobacco smoke. Talk and laughter issued from a room where a crowd of samurai knelt on the tatami floor, eating their morning meal from tray tables. They looked up as Sano and his comrades crossed the threshold. An abrupt silence fell. The samurai set down teacups, chopsticks, and bowls of noodles. Cheerful expressions sobered. Everyone bowed in stiff, formal unison.

  “My apologies for interrupting your meal.” Sano was puzzled to see many more men than the sixteen prisoners Hirata had brought yesterday. And they bore no resemblance to the scruffy, bloodstained ronin he’d arrested.

  They were all clean, dressed in fresh clothes, their faces and the crowns of their heads neatly shaven, their hair oiled and tied in topknots. Then a group of them moved away from their tables to kneel by the walls. Their faces showed guilt, chagrin, and defiance. Sano spotted the crests on their garments: They were Hosokawa clan retainers, fraternizing with the prisoners. It was obvious which side the Hosokawa had taken in the controversy.

  Turning his attention to the ronin, Sano caught them staring at him. They dropped their gazes. He counted only fifteen men, most of them in their thirties or forties. Some wore bandages over wounds. He didn’t recognize Oishi among them. They seemed confused: With their leader absent, they didn’t know what to do. Sano again had the sense that they were parts of a single creature. Their heads swiveled toward the youngest ronin, who leaped to his feet.

  “What do you want?” His voice was shaky with fear. Sano recognized him as Oishi’s teenaged son, Chikara.

  “Just to talk,” Sano said.

  The seated ronin visibly relaxed. They thought he’d come to deliver them to their death, Sano supposed. They seemed less staunchly resigned to their fate than they had while standing over Kira’s head in the graveyard. Sano said, “Where is Oishi?”

  “With Lord Hosokawa,” Chikara said.

  “I’ll talk to Oishi,” Sano told his detectives. “You and Hirata-san will interview these prisoners.”

  A scraping noise and the sound of quick, departing footsteps startled Sano. He looked at the empty space where Chikara had been standing. A partition that had been closed a moment ago was now open. Sano nodded to Hirata, who went after Chikara while the detectives settled themselves among the ronin. Sano went in search of Lord Hosokawa and Oishi.

  He found them in the mansion, in Lord Hosokawa’s private office, a grander version of Sano’s own. Heat shimmered up through decorative grilles in the tatami floor, from braziers underneath. Furniture was spangled with gold crests. Oishi and Lord Hosokawa knelt at the desk, conversing over ledgers. When Sano entered
the room, they raised their heads.

  Oishi, like the other ronin, had washed, shaved, groomed his hair, and dressed in new clothes. His color had improved; he didn’t look as tired or ill. His fierce eyes burned brighter. He gazed at Sano, expectant yet cautious.

  Sano exchanged bows and greetings with Lord Hosokawa, whom he knew slightly.

  “Oishi-san has been giving me ideas for managing my finances.” Lord Hosokawa’s worried face took on a defensive cast. “They worked very well in Harima Province. I’m eager to try them in my domain.”

  “I see.” Sano saw that Oishi had become friends with Lord Hosokawa overnight. He wasn’t surprised, even though Hirata had mentioned that Lord Hosokawa had balked at taking in the prisoners yesterday. Lord Hosokawa probably admired Oishi as an example of samurai loyalty and hoped that if he himself ever needed avenging, his retainers would rise to the occasion as Oishi had for Lord Asano.

  “You’re not taking him away, are you?” Lord Hosokawa sounded upset by the idea.

  “Not yet.” Sano explained about the supreme court and his investigation. “I have some questions for Oishi. Is there a place where he and I can talk in private?”

  “Here.” Lord Hosokawa rose on tottery knees and left.

  Sano knelt across the desk from Oishi. The ronin folded his arms. He reminded Sano of a falcon tethered to its perch but not tame. He calmly waited for Sano to speak first.

  This interview was different from others Sano had conducted during past investigations. Then, his goal had been to figure out whether someone had committed murder. Now he was on unfamiliar ground, not knowing what he needed to find out and uncertain of what questions to ask. He let himself be guided by experience, which had taught him to learn every detail of a case that might clear up ambiguities and indicate a suspect’s guilt or innocence. Thinking back on the events that had led to the murder, he identified one ambiguity that he would like cleared up, even though he knew who the killers were.

  “Why was Lord Asano so angry at Kira?” he asked.

  Oishi’s slanted eyebrows twitched upward before he could hide his surprise: He hadn’t expected this question. But he immediately recovered. “Kira made Lord Asano’s life miserable.” His raspy voice was harsh but controlled. He swelled with portent, a man about to confide a long-kept secret. “I’ll tell you exactly how.”

  1701 April

  The first, fateful meeting between Lord Asano and Kira Yoshinaka took place on a cold spring afternoon at Edo Castle. The old master of ceremonies sat on the dais in his office and peered down his nose at Lord Asano, Oishi, and their attendants, kneeling below him.

  “So you’re to be the host for the imperial envoys from Miyako?” Dressed in satin court robes, Kira was the picture of haughty elegance.

  “Uh, yes.” Lord Asano was thirty-four years old but as socially awkward as a youth, and nervous whenever he had to leave his home province and appear in the capital.

  “I am to instruct you on how to entertain the envoys,” Kira said, eyeing Lord Asano with disgust and condescension. “I’ll do my best so that you do not embarrass yourself or the shogun’s court.”

  Oishi took a dislike to Kira. Lord Asano had attained the rank of daimyo at age eight, when his father died, and Oishi had taken a major role in raising him. Lord Asano was like a younger brother to Oishi, who hated seeing him disrespected.

  Lord Asano cringed. “Many thanks, Kira-san.”

  His fear seemed to disgust Kira all the more. Oishi had often told Lord Asano that he should fight back instead of meekly submitting, but he couldn’t. He ruled his domain ably enough under Oishi’s guidance, but he wasn’t cut out to swim with the sharks in Edo.

  Kira preened because he’d cowed a daimyo rich enough to buy or sell the likes of him. He waited, an expectant look on his disdainful face. Lord Asano nodded to the attendants. They stepped forward, bearing gifts for Kira.

  “Honorable Kira-san, please-please allow me to present you with a token of-of my appreciation,” Lord Asano said, blushing.

  As Kira beheld the finely crafted jade vases and lacquer writing box, his face registered disappointment, then indignation. “Are you forgetting something?”

  “… No,” Lord Asano said, puzzled.

  Oishi realized that Kira wasn’t satisfied with the gifts, even though they were suitable for the occasion.

  “Please allow me to mention that your success depends on me,” Kira said to Lord Asano. “I will ask you again: Are you forgetting something?”

  Now Lord Asano understood that Kira was asking for a bribe. Objection lessened his fear. He was an honest man who deplored bribery. “I haven’t forgotten anything.”

  Kira sat back in surprised confusion. Oishi saw him wonder if Lord Asano was too stupid to take a hint, then realize that Lord Asano had deliberately defied him. “Very well,” he said in a voice coated with frost. “Suit yourself.”

  That night, when Oishi and Lord Asano dined alone together at Lord Asano’s estate in Edo, Oishi said, “You must bribe Kira.”

  “No,” Lord Asano said, even though his hands shook so hard with anxiety that he fumbled his chopsticks. “I won’t surrender like a coward.”

  “It’s my duty to advise you to bribe him and swallow your pride. If you don’t, Kira is bound to retaliate.”

  “Let him.”

  The next day, rehearsals for the ceremony began. As Lord Asano practiced marching up to the dais in the reception chamber where the imperial envoys would sit, Kira exclaimed, “You idiot! You’re supposed to take eighteen steps, not nineteen!”

  Lord Asano faltered. “You told me nineteen steps.”

  “No, I didn’t.” Kira grinned like a bully in a group of smaller children. He had the power of his position; he could destroy lives. Rumor said he’d done it often.

  “Yes, you did,” Oishi said from his place by the door. “I heard you, too.”

  He and Kira locked gazes. Oishi’s scowl told Kira that if he continued to play games with Lord Asano, he would have to reckon with Oishi. Kira responded with a sniff. His lessons continued to be so confusing, and so peppered with insults, that Lord Asano couldn’t learn the lines of his speech to the envoys.

  “If he slips up during the ceremony, it will reflect badly on you,” Oishi told Kira.

  “My reputation is unassailable,” Kira scoffed. “He will bear the blame for his mistakes.”

  It was true, as far as Oishi could see. If Lord Asano refused to take Kira’s bullying along with the instructions, he must meet the envoys without any idea what to do or say. The audience at the ceremony would witness and scorn his failure. Lord Asano toiled and suffered under Kira’s tutelage, while steadfastly refusing to give Kira a bribe.

  “Don’t let him get to you,” Oishi urged as Lord Asano practiced the ritual after the lessons, until late at night.

  But the advice was easier given than followed, especially when Kira tormented Lord Asano in public. At a banquet in the palace, Oishi and Lord Asano heard Kira say, “There’s the country boor. They apparently don’t learn any manners in Harima Province.”

  The other guests laughed. Lord Asano went pale with rage.

  Eventually, he snapped.

  * * *

  “I can’t describe Lord Asano’s attack on Kira,” Oishi said. “I wasn’t there.”

  While listening to Oishi’s story, Sano had found himself too caught up in it to judge it. Oishi had a talent for bringing characters to vivid life. Sano had experienced outrage at Kira’s behavior and sympathy toward Lord Asano. Which was what Oishi had intended, Sano realized now, as they sat together in Lord Hosokawa’s office.

  “Your story offers a logical explanation for why Lord Asano attacked Kira and puts you in a good light,” Sano said. “But is it the true one?”

  “It’s true,” Oishi said, unruffled by Sano’s skepticism.

  Sano began to understand how Oishi had become the leader of the forty-seven ronin. Oishi was a powerful personality. Sano must take care to avo
id falling under his thrall. “After the attack, why didn’t Lord Asano say what his quarrel with Kira was?”

  “Put yourself in Lord Asano’s position. You were picked on by an old man; you were too weak to make him treat you with respect. Would you want everyone to know? Wouldn’t you rather take it to your grave?”

  “That’s a good point.”

  “Besides, Lord Asano knew that explaining why he attacked Kira wouldn’t have saved him. He drew a weapon inside Edo Castle. He was going to die. Telling shameful tales on himself wouldn’t have made any difference.”

  “It might have made one very important difference,” Sano said. “Kira might have been punished for starting a feud with Lord Asano.”

  “Kira was punished.” Triumph resounded in Oishi’s harsh voice. “Lord Asano knew he could depend on me to see that the bastard got his comeuppance.”

  “But you took almost two years to do it.” This was another issue that Sano wanted to resolve, in case it had any bearing on the truth about the murder and relevance to the supreme court’s verdict. “Why did you wait so long?”

  “I’m getting to that.” Memory coalesced in his eyes, like a flock of ravens gathering around carrion, as Oishi began the next episode in his story.

  11

  1701 April

  Lanterns glowed in a courtyard, around a square of straw mats covered with a white rug. Lord Asano knelt on the rug, dressed in a white silk robe. A table before him held a short sword on a stand and a scroll bearing the poem he’d written. His youthful face was rigid with terror, misery, and his effort to withhold an unseemly display of emotions. Oishi stood behind Lord Asano, concealing his own anguish behind a grim expression, his sword drawn. Along the courtyard, government officials stood silent under the unearthly radiance of blossoming cherry trees. Petals fell like pink snow, symbols of life’s transience.