“My other two pregnancies were so easy.” Reiko clasped her round belly. She’d gained much more weight than previously, her legs were swollen, and occasional contractions made her nervous. “I don’t know why this one is so difficult.”
“You’re a lot older this time,” Midori said.
Piqued by this catty rejoinder, Reiko glanced sharply at Midori. “I’m only thirty-four.” Then she saw Midori frowning fiercely as she jabbed the needle through the sash she was embroidering. Preoccupied with her own problems, she didn’t realize what she’d said.
Shrieks came from the bridge. Midori’s six-year-old son, Tatsuo, held the kitten by its shoulders. “Give it to me!” Reiko’s five-year-old daughter, Akiko, pulled on its hind legs, crying, “Mine!” The kitten mewed frantically.
Midori jumped up, hurled down her sewing, and yelled, “Tatsuo! Akiko! Stop fighting over that cat, or I’m going to kill you!”
Startled, the children released the kitten. Midori’s gaze searched the garden. “Taeko! Where are you?”
Her nine-year-old daughter ambled out from a bamboo grove. A slender girl with serious eyes in a round face and long, glossy black hair tied back with an orange ribbon, Taeko held a paintbrush. Her pale green, flowered kimono was stained with ink.
“Are you painting again?” Disapproval roughened Midori’s voice. “Painting isn’t for girls!” Taeko hung her head. “You’re supposed to be watching your brother and Akiko.” Midori pointed at the younger children. “Get over there!”
The baby woke up and started to cry. Taeko hurried onto the bridge, gathered the younger children, and took them into the house. The kitten scampered after them. Midori’s temper dissolved into tears. “I shouldn’t get so mad at the children.” She sank to her knees, picked up the baby girl, and rocked her. “What’s wrong with me?”
Reiko pushed herself upright and hugged her friend. “You’re just upset about Hirata.”
Hirata was Midori’s husband and Sano’s chief retainer. The two families were as close as blood kin, but lately their relations had been troubled, on account of Hirata.
Midori sobbed. “He’s been gone for four months! I don’t know where. I haven’t heard a word from him!”
“There must be a good reason,” Reiko said, trying to console her.
“It’s his damned mystic martial arts!”
Nine years ago Hirata had begun studying the mystic martial arts with an itinerant priest. Since then he’d spent much time away from his family, taking lessons, practicing, and doing whatever else mystic martial artists did. Hirata’s frequent, unexplained disappearances had strained his relationship with Sano as well as his marriage.
“He’ll come back,” Reiko assured Midori. “He always does.”
“But maybe he’s been in another fight. Maybe he’s dead!”
Hirata had a reputation as one of the best martial artists in Japan. Other expert fighters were always challenging him to duels. Although no one had beaten him yet, Midori feared the day when someone would.
“He can take care of himself. Don’t worry.” They often had this conversation. Reiko said these same things over and over.
“How can I not worry? He’s left us in such a mess.” Midori’s woe yielded to a new surge of anger. “He’s never here when Sano-san needs him. Sano-san gives him a leave of absence to fix whatever problem is keeping him away from his duties, but instead of straightening himself out, my wonderful husband disappears again!”
Reiko was saddened by Midori’s contempt toward the man she’d once loved.
“And when the shogun wants him, he isn’t here.” Hirata was the shogun’s sōsakan-sama, a post he’d inherited from Sano when Sano became chamberlain. “So the shogun took away his post, his stipend, and his estate!” Midori wailed, “I don’t have my husband, my children don’t have their father, and we’re poor and homeless!”
“You can stay with us for as long as you need to,” Reiko said in a soothing voice.
Midori wept with gratitude. “You’re so kind. We don’t deserve it. Not when my husband has behaved so dishonorably toward yours. Sano will cast him off.”
“No, he won’t.” But Reiko knew how displeased Sano was with Hirata. If Hirata didn’t shape up, Sano would have to cast him off, never mind that they were old friends and Sano owed his life to Hirata. It was not only Sano’s right as a master, but his duty to uphold Bushido, the Way of the Warrior. Hirata would become a rōnin—a masterless samurai; he and his family would have to fend for themselves with no place in society. Reiko didn’t want to tell Midori that this was a definite possibility.
“It’s those three friends of his!” Midori said angrily. “This is all their fault!”
Sano had told Reiko the little he knew: Hirata had met three martial artists, fellow disciples of his teacher Ozuno; they’d involved him in some secret business; Hirata wouldn’t say what kind. Sano feared Hirata was in serious trouble.
“My husband wants to help,” Reiko said. “But he can’t unless Hirata tells him what’s going on. And Hirata won’t.”
“He won’t tell me, either!”
Reiko saw Hirata’s behavior threatening her relationship with Midori as well as Hirata’s samurai-master bond with Sano. The two couples had been close friends for more than ten years. Reiko would hate to see that end. Friendship was something rare that she cherished in this world of shifting political alliances.
The background noise changed. Drums, flutes, and samisens joined in the din of hammers and saws. This was the first music in the castle since the earthquake. Curious, Reiko positioned herself on her knees, then carefully stood. She saw Sano and Masahiro walking through the garden toward her, two dark figures in their black ceremonial robes.
“What’s that music?” Reiko called. As they moved closer, she noticed Masahiro’s bowed head and Sano’s jaw set in anger. “What’s wrong?”
“The music is from the procession accompanying Yoshisato to the heir’s residence.” Sano crossed the bridge and joined her in the pavilion. “The shogun just named Yoshisato as his successor.”
“Oh, no.” Reiko knew how hard Sano had worked to prove that Yoshisato wasn’t the shogun’s son. His failure distressed her as much as him. This was a far bigger problem than Hirata. Yanagisawa, her family’s worst enemy, had won his bid for power.
Masahiro ran into the house. Reiko started to follow him, but Sano said, “He’s upset. Let him go.”
“There’s more bad news, isn’t there?” Dread skewered through Reiko.
Midori collected herself enough to realize that Reiko and Sano needed privacy. She picked up the baby and her sewing and went into the mansion. Reiko saw large red splotches on the white lapels of Sano’s under-kimono.
“Is that blood?” She felt a stab of fear and a sudden contraction. “Are you hurt?”
“It’s not mine.”
The contraction subsided. “Then whose…?”
“Elder Ohgami,” Sano said, his voice tight. “He committed seppuku outside the palace. After he stabbed himself, I had to cut off his head to put him out of his misery.” That was the usual procedure during ritual suicide.
“Merciful gods!” Reiko was as much bewildered as horrified. “Why did he do it?”
“He was demoted. So was General Isogai. He had a heart attack. The doctors don’t know whether he’ll live.” Sano knelt beside Reiko and described the purge. “Yanagisawa is in control of the government. He’s replaced his enemies with his cronies.”
Reiko quickly grasped the dismaying implications. “That includes you and Masahiro?”
Sano nodded curtly.
Reiko burned with rage. She hated Yanagisawa as much as Sano did. Yanagisawa had once tried to kill Masahiro. And he now had unbridled authority. Reiko had a terrifying vision of her family cast out, disgraced, sentenced to death, executed.
“Masahiro has been demoted to page,” Sano said. “I’m no longer chamberlain. Yanagisawa is. I’m the new Chief Rebuilding Magistrate.”
Reiko was as astounded by the reprieve as she was glad of it. “Why didn’t Yanagisawa kill you or throw you out of the government?”
“I wonder.” Sano seemed equally confused.
“Do we have to move out of our home again?” That had happened the last time Yanagisawa had reclaimed the post of chamberlain from Sano.
“Yanagisawa didn’t say he was taking back this estate. I suppose he doesn’t want to live here while it’s under construction. He has quarters in the palace guesthouse, near the shogun.”
“Maybe your allies are protecting you,” Reiko said.
“I don’t have any left in the government who are in a position to protect me.”
“What about the daimyo? You have friends among them.”
“They have to go along with Yanagisawa. If they make things difficult for him, he could increase the tributes they have to pay the government or seize their fiefs.”
“Then why is he keeping you around?”
Sano shook his head, mystified. “Only he knows.”
Now that her initial shock was subsiding, now that Sano had survived the purge, Reiko said hopefully, “Maybe he’s satisfied to demote you. Maybe he’ll leave us alone from now on.”
“Well, I’m not satisfied with meekly accepting a demotion.” Angry resistance sharpened Sano’s tone. “It’s a blow to my honor and Masahiro’s. I’m not letting Yoshisato become the next shogun, either. I have to fight back.”
As much as Reiko suffered the blow herself, she longed for peace. “If the shogun wants Yoshisato for his heir, maybe it’s your duty to accept it.”
“Never! It’s an assault on the regime I’m sworn to protect. Besides, Yanagisawa will never stop attacking us.”
One of the sentries rushed into the garden, waving a lacquer scroll container. “Honorable Master! There’s an army squadron at the gate. They brought you this.”
Sano hurried to meet the sentry. He took the container, removed the scroll, and read it. The anger on his face intensified. “Yanagisawa is cutting my stipend in half. He’s also commandeering most of my retainers. The troops are here to take them to their new posts in the provinces.” Sano ran toward the gate.
Reiko followed, hampered by her pregnancy. They reached the front courtyard. Hundreds of troops swarmed in, outnumbering Sano’s guards. They invaded the barracks and grounds; they called out the names of the men they were taking. The men yelled protests. The officer in charge said to Sano, “We have orders to kill anyone who won’t go peacefully.”
Furious but helpless, Sano told his men to cooperate. The troops marched them out the gate. Sano was left with some twenty retainers, not even enough to run the estate. Reiko was so upset that she felt faint. Sano helped her into the mansion. He sat her in the reception room and said, “See? What did I tell you? Yanagisawa is setting me up to take me down.”
“You’re right,” Reiko said. “You can’t just let things lie. There must be a way to thwart Yanagisawa and get your position and Masahiro’s back. Can you talk to the shogun?”
“I’ll try,” Sano said without hope. “Yanagisawa controls access to the shogun. He also controls the Tokugawa army, now that General Isogai has been demoted.”
Reiko posed her next suggestion carefully. “Suppose Yanagisawa were to die. It wouldn’t require an army. And with him gone, Yoshisato won’t last long.”
Sano frowned at her hint that he should assassinate Yanagisawa. “I couldn’t do it.”
“Why not? Yanagisawa has tried to assassinate you, more times than I can count.”
“Because Yanagisawa is my superior and a representative of the shogun. My loyalty to the shogun extends to Yanagisawa. Killing him would be dishonorable.”
“Yanagisawa has never had any such qualms about you.” Reiko understood that Sano was sworn to uphold Bushido, the strict code that dictated a samurai’s behavior. She loved him for his honor. But her own code was different, despite the samurai blood that ran in her veins. She was a mother. Her children’s welfare came before duty to Yanagisawa, who was their enemy, or to the shogun, whose capriciousness often put her family in danger. “But your loyalty to the shogun doesn’t extend to Yoshisato.”
Conflict troubled Sano’s expression. “I don’t think Yoshisato is the shogun’s son. I believe he’s Yanagisawa’s. But because there’s a chance that I’m wrong, I won’t risk killing a child of my lord.”
“Your honor will be the death of us!” Reiko exclaimed.
“Better an honorable death than a disgraceful life,” Sano retorted. “I’ll have to find another way to defeat Yanagisawa and prevent Yoshisato from becoming shogun.”
No matter how much they loved each other, there were some things they would never agree on, Reiko had to acknowledge. And now, while they were stripped of resources and facing the challenge of a lifetime, they needed unity.
Masahiro ran into the room, his woe replaced by excitement. “Father! There’s someone here to see you. It’s the shogun’s wife.”
3
“WHAT ON EARTH is Lady Nobuko doing here?” Reiko asked.
Sano was just as puzzled and surprised. “I’ve no idea.” He’d seen the shogun’s wife exactly once, at the end of an investigation into the kidnapping and rape of several women. “Let’s find out.” Sano helped Reiko to her feet. They followed Masahiro to the reception room.
In the place of honor nearest the alcove that held a calligraphy scroll and a porcelain vase of white azaleas were two women dressed in gray. The elder lay on her back, her sock-clad feet pointed at the ceiling and arms rigid at her sides, on the tatami floor. The younger woman knelt by her, pressing a cloth pad to her forehead. The pad was a poultice—a bundle of herbs that gave off a musty, medicinal odor. When Sano, Reiko, and Masahiro approached, the kneeling woman helped the prone one sit up. Sano and his family knelt and bowed to their guests.
“Greetings, Lady Nobuko,” Sano said. “Your visit does us an honor.”
“My apologies for behaving in this unseemly fashion.” Pain tightened the older woman’s crisp, elegant speech. Lying on the floor had disheveled her knot of silver-streaked hair. “My headache is especially bad today.”
Although one of the most privileged women in Japan, she was as emaciated as beggars on the streets. Knobby shoulder joints protruded through her silk kimono. Tendons in her neck resembled flaccid ropes. Crimson rouge on her cheeks and lips gave her a flush of vitality, but the muscles around her right eye contracted in a spasm that distorted her narrow, sharp-boned face into a disconcerting mask of agony.
“I’m sorry you’re not feeling well.” Sano introduced Reiko and Masahiro.
Lady Nobuko’s good eye studied them with shrewd interest. The other oozed involuntary tears. She seemed to approve; she nodded. “May I introduce Korika, my lady-in-waiting.”
“I’m honored to make your acquaintance,” Korika said in a sweet, breathless voice. In her late forties, she had a comfortably padded figure. Her hair, still mostly black, arranged in a round puff, emphasized the broadness of her face. Her forehead was so low that the eyebrows painted on it almost touched her hairline. Her wide smile, and eyes as black and shiny as berries, had an intense, eager-to-please expression.
“May I offer you refreshments?” Reiko asked.
“No, please.” Lady Nobuko grimaced, as if nauseated by the mere thought of food and drink. “You must be wondering why I am here, so I will come right to the point. I must speak to you about Tsuruhime.”
Her voice broke on a sob. Tears poured from both her eyes. Korika patted her hand consolingly. Although the shogun didn’t mourn his daughter, his wife did.
“I’m so sorry,” Reiko said with quiet compassion. “I understand that you and Tsuruhime were very close?”
Nodding, Lady Nobuko composed herself. “I was with her when she died. I’m only her stepmother, but I loved her as if she were my own child.”
“Wasn’t her own mother killed by the earthquake?” Sano recalled that Tsuruhime�
�s mother had been one of the shogun’s concubines.
“Yes, when part of the Large Interior collapsed,” Lady Nobuko said. The Large Interior was the section of the palace that housed the shogun’s female concubines, relatives, and their attendants and maids. “But even before then, Tsuruhime relied on me for guidance.”
“Her own mother was a silly, flighty woman who had no business raising the shogun’s daughter,” Korika said.
“Don’t speak ill of the dead,” Lady Nobuko said, without rancor. Loud hammering came from the part of the house under construction. A wince further distorted her face.
Sano started to rise. “I’ll tell the men to stop working.”
“No.” Lady Nobuko lifted a crabbed hand to forestall him. “The noise will prevent eavesdropping. I do not want anyone outside this room to hear what I have to say.” She pitched her voice so that it was barely audible over the noise. “Tsuruhime was murdered.”
Surprise jarred Sano and showed on Reiko’s and Masahiro’s faces. “I thought she died of smallpox,” Sano said.
“Indeed she did,” Lady Nobuko said, “but it was not a natural death.”
“How do you know?” Sano asked.
Lady Nobuko turned to her lady-in-waiting. “Tell them what happened.”
Nervous yet pleased to be the center of attention, Korika said, “It was a few days before Tsuruhime fell ill. My lady and I were visiting her. We decided to walk in the garden. Tsuruhime asked me to fetch her cloak from her room. As I was looking through the cabinet, I saw an old cotton bedsheet wadded up on a shelf among her kimonos. It was soiled with dried blood and yellowish stains.” Repugnance wrinkled her nose. “I wondered what such a filthy sheet was doing there. I meant to tell the maid to throw it away, but I forgot. I didn’t remember it until this morning. I looked for it, and it was gone.”
“Korika told me about the sheet,” Lady Nobuko said. “I think it belonged to someone else who’d had smallpox, and it was soiled with blood and pus from that person’s sores. I believe it was put there to infect Tsuruhime.”
“I’ve heard that soiled bedclothes can spread the disease to people who handle them,” Sano said, intrigued yet doubtful. “But how can you be sure that this sheet was in fact contaminated with smallpox?”
The Shogun's Daughter: A Novel of Feudal Japan (Sano Ichiro Novels) Page 3