The Samurai's Wife

by Laura Joh Rowland

  The procession of fifty mounted samurai, resplendent in full armor, halted outside the walled compound of police headquarters. Chamberlain Yanagisawa swung down off his horse. “Wait here,” he told his troops.

  Detective Marume said, “Why are we stopping?”

  Detective Fukida said, “Shouldn’t we proceed directly to Lord Ibe’s house?”

  Hanging his helmet on his saddle, Yanagisawa barely controlled his anger. His own retainers would never dare question anything he did, but Sano’s exhibited the same annoying outspokenness as their master. That Yanagisawa needed their help only worsened his bad mood. First he’d had to agree to cooperate with Sano. Now he must confront the worst humiliation of all.

  “I have business here,” he told Marume and Fukida.

  He strode through the gate, into the main building. There, two doshin and their civilian assistants loitered around a high platform where a clerk presided over a desk piled with ledgers. Yanagisawa stalked past the platform, through a doorway, and into a labyrinth of offices and corridors.

  “Hoshina!” he shouted.

  Marume and Fukida hurried after him. “Hoshina’s not here,” Marume said. “Let’s just go, please.”

  “If he’s not here, then why are you so eager to stop me?” Yanagisawa kept going. “You thought I wouldn’t find your master’s hostage, but I did.”

  Yesterday, Yanagisawa had set his Miyako spies to the task of locating the yoriki. It hadn’t been easy, because Hoshina had loyal friends on the police force who’d tried to protect him. Not until late last night had Yanagisawa learned where Sano had hidden Hoshina. Now fury at Hoshina’s betrayal rose within him like hot, poisonous steam.

  The betrayal was made all the more painful by Yanagisawa’s memories of the night of the shoshidai’s banquet, when he and Hoshina had spent hours in the house by the river, alternating bouts of urgent sex with talk about politics, their experiences, current events, and mutual interests in art and theater. They’d shared an intimacy that Yanagisawa had never enjoyed with anyone else. For once he had felt exuberantly alive, yet at peace.

  Just before Hoshina left, they had toasted each other. “To a successful venture,” Hoshina had said.

  They drank, then Yanagisawa said, “To Miyako’s best police commander, a fine comrade, and a valuable addition to my staff.”

  Pleasure and consternation mingled on Hoshina’s face. Frowning down at the cup in his hands, he said, “But I’m only your comrade and a member of your staff for as long as you’re in Miyako.”

  “Ah. Well.”

  “I understand the difficulty that traveling so far from Edo causes you,” Hoshina said. “I know I can’t expect you to come to Miyako again, and I can’t abandon my duties here to visit you. So…” He shrugged with unconvincing nonchalance. “After you leave, I probably won’t see you again.”

  “That’s true.” Stalling for time to sort out his thoughts, Yanagisawa imagined his return to Edo Castle, where his only close companions were the ghosts of his father, Lord Takei, and Shichisabur. The prospect filled him with desolation.

  Hoshina drew a deep breath, then said, “If I were to go to Edo with you…” He paused, cautiously gauging Yanagisawa’s response.

  It was a tempting idea. If Hoshina came with him, Yanagisawa wouldn’t be alone, and who better than Hoshina to help build his personal empire within the bakufu? Hoshina was strong, intelligent, and more capable than anyone else in Yanagisawa’s retinue….

  And there lay the danger of promoting the yoriki. Hoshina had already taken over the shoshidai’s office, proving his desire to usurp authority. Loyalty wasn’t his strongest virtue: He had no qualms about deserting the shoshidai for a better patron. What if he got tired of the affair with Yanagisawa and sought new amorous adventures? Worse, Hoshina might win the shogun’s favor, form alliances within the bakufu, and eventually seize power.

  “A matter like this cannot be decided in haste,” Yanagisawa hedged.

  Yet he’d almost made up his mind to take Hoshina to Edo as his new chief retainer and risk everything for a chance at happiness. Now he couldn’t believe he’d been so foolish.

  He found the prison cell in the rear corner of the building. Two soldiers stood guard outside the iron-banded door. “Open it,” Yanagisawa ordered.

  The guards hesitated. Yanagisawa spoke in a quiet, steely voice: “If you don’t let me in, you will be executed.”

  Hastily, the guards unbolted and opened the door. Yanagisawa stood on the threshold of the cell. Inside, barred windows illuminated a tatami floor with a bed on one side and a chamber pot on the other. Yoriki Hoshina stood in the center. His clothes were rumpled; his hair hung loose. Dismay filled his eyes as he stared at Yanagisawa.

  “Traitor,” Yanagisawa said softly.

  Hoshina extended his hands in a gesture of entreaty. “Please let me explain.”

  Yanagisawa strode over to the yoriki and struck him on the mouth. Hoshina gave a startled cry, touched his lip, and frowned at the blood on his fingers.

  “What is there to explain?” Yanagisawa said contemptuously. “You told Sano everything you knew. You told him where I was. You betrayed me!”

  He kicked Hoshina in the stomach. Hoshina went reeling across the cell, hit the wall, and slid to the floor. “Sano offered you the promotion you wanted in exchange for delivering me into his hands,” Yanagisawa said. “You accepted his bribe and shifted your allegiance to him.”

  Hoshina clambered to his feet. “No!” he protested. “I would never deliberately harm you after—” He broke off.

  “Shut up!” That the yoriki dared to mention the night they had spent together infuriated Yanagisawa even more.

  “Sano didn’t bribe me,” Hoshina said, raising his hands to ward off more blows. “He would have destroyed me if I refused to cooperate. I’m not a traitor, just a coward.” He knelt, his expression strained with desperation and woe. “Please allow me to apologize. Please forgive me.”

  With a harsh, scornful laugh Yanagisawa said, “A million apologies won’t buy my forgiveness or excuse you for trying to murder me.”

  “Murder you? What are you talking about?” Hoshina gazed at him in confusion.

  Yanagisawa bitterly regretted trusting the yoriki, because he’d figured out why Hoshina must have been planning to betray him all along. He spoke in a fierce whisper so no one else in the building would hear: “Sano wasn’t the only person you withheld information from and tricked with a false report about Left Minister Konoe’s murder. Your position gives you access to the imperial compound. You were there the night Konoe died, weren’t you? He went to the Pond Garden because you ordered him to meet you there. And you killed him with the power of kiai. Then you protected yourself by manipulating me to suit your schemes.”

  This humiliated Yanagisawa even more than having to work with Sano. “Right Minister Ichijo, Emperor Tomohito, Lady Jokyden, and Prince Momozono knew Sano was going to be at the palace last night, but you were the only person besides Aisu and my guards who knew I would be there too. You followed us. You killed Aisu, but Sano came before you could get to me. Then you came back to investigate the murder you’d committed.”

  “I didn’t kill Konoe or Aisu.” Indignation flared in the yoriki’s voice. “Why would I?”

  “Keep your voice down!”

  “And why attack you?” Hoshina whispered furiously.

  “To safeguard yourself from treason charges,” Yanagisawa said. “You’re too ambitious to be content with running the shoshidai’s office or being my personal retainer. You’re part of the conspiracy that Sano discovered. Konoe found out about it, and you had to kill him before he turned you in to the metsuke.”

  “What conspiracy?” An incredulous look came over Hoshina’s face. “Turned me in for what?”

  “Don’t play stupid with me. You’ve been gathering troops and weapons at Lord Ibe’s house, and you couldn’t take the chance that I might discover the plot to overthrow the Tokugawa. My death w
ould cause a great upheaval in the bakufu. It would be a while before anyone reopened the investigation into Konoe’s murder, and in the meantime, you could launch your coup. So you came after me. You killed Aisu because you couldn’t tell which of us was which in the dark.” Yanagisawa slammed Hoshina against the wall. “Murderer! Traitor!”

  Now Hoshina’s eyes blazed with anger. “Those are fine insults, coming from you. I’ve never murdered anyone, but everybody knows you have. I’m not plotting to overthrow the government, but you’ve already stolen the shogun’s authority. If you want to see a real murderer and traitor, look in the mirror!”

  The yoriki shoved Yanagisawa away from him. Rage erupted within the chamberlain. “How dare you lay hands on me?”

  “You were perfectly content to have my hands on you the other night,” Hoshina retorted.

  “Don’t mock me!” Yanagisawa kicked at Hoshina’s knees and crotch, flung blows at his head and chest, all the while yelling curses.

  At first Hoshina only ducked the strikes. “How can you treat me like this, after what I’ve done for you?” he cried. “I put myself in jeopardy by sabotaging Sano. Would I have risked conspiring against the shogun’s ssakan if not to help you?”

  “Stop trying to justify what you did!” Yanagisawa grabbed Hoshina, then punched his chin so hard that his head jerked back. “You wanted the power and wealth that I could give you. You wanted Sano gone so he couldn’t interfere with your plans.”

  The yoriki shot out a forearm and bludgeoned Yanagisawa’s face. Pain exploded in Yanagisawa’s head. Then they were caught up in the whirlwind of earnest combat. Yanagisawa’s armor protected his body, but he took more blows to his face. He pummeled Hoshina. They crashed to the floor together. As they grappled for each other’s throats, desire inflamed Yanagisawa. He wanted Hoshina as badly as he wanted to kill the man with his bare hands.

  Then the cell was full of men. They dragged Hoshina off Yanagisawa, begging, “Stop, Hoshina-san!”

  Yanagisawa sat up and saw two yoriki holding Hoshina. Fury contorted Hoshina’s face as he struggled against them. Marume helped Yanagisawa stand. His left eye had begun to swell and his entire body was sore, but as far as he could tell, nothing was broken. As he stalked out of the cell, his spirit ached with an agony that had nothing to do with physical pain.

  “Yanagisawa-san.”

  Hoshina’s voice, filled with pleading, stabbed Yanagisawa like a jagged metal blade. Against his will, he turned.

  Now Hoshina stood meekly while the police held him. “I swear upon my honor that I never wanted to hurt you, and I’m truly sorry I did.” Sincerity shone in his eyes, which gazed out at Yanagisawa from a bloody, bruised face.

  “More lies and apologies won’t save you from paying for your crimes. I sentence you to death.” Even as he condemned Hoshina, Yanagisawa suffered an onslaught of desire and grief. He acknowledged a devastating truth.

  He was in love with Hoshina. Love was the cause of the yearning he’d felt for the yoriki, the source and substance of the comradeship that had grown between them. He should have known. And he should have known better.

  “If you’ll give me another chance, I’ll make it up to you,” Hoshina said. “I’ll help you solve the murder case, devote my life to your service—anything you want. I’ll prove that I’m innocent of any crimes. Just please…” Emotion cracked his voice. “Have mercy.”

  Yanagisawa turned his back on Hoshina. Even if the yoriki wasn’t guilty of murder or treason, he deserved to die. He must die so that Yanagisawa could thwart Sano’s blackmail. And Yanagisawa would never again make the mistake of falling in love.

  “You’ll be executed tomorrow morning,” he said.

  The battering ram struck the gate of Lord Ibe’s house with a thunderous crash, splintering wood and breaking hinges. Soldiers rushed through the portals. More troops climbed the fences around the house and swarmed the property. Brandishing swords and spears, they shouted, “In the name of the shogun, come out and surrender!”

  Chamberlain Yanagisawa charged into the front yard after his men. He welcomed action that would take his mind off the pain of Hoshina’s betrayal. He wanted to forget that he still loved Hoshina and mourned the yoriki’s impending death, even though he’d ordered it himself. He must avert the possible threat to the regime, and the capture of the outlaws represented a new chance to solve the murders.

  The troops were inside the house now. As Yanagisawa entered, they stormed the corridor and rooms. Above him pounded the footsteps of the men who’d invaded the second story. Shouts echoed in the dim, musty space. Yanagisawa gripped his sword. His desire to be a great detective persisted; he discovered in himself a need to prove he was capable of more than just sabotaging Sano. The thrill of the raid stirred the place deep inside him where his samurai spirit lay dormant. With a strange, heady anticipation, Yanagisawa hungered for battle.

  Then Detective Marume came running from the back of the house. “Nobody in here, Honorable Chamberlain,” he said.

  Detective Fukida clattered down the stairs. “Second floor’s empty, too. They’ve all cleared out.”

  Yanagisawa’s spirits plunged. “What about the weapons?”

  Fukida shook his head. Marume said, “We didn’t find any.”

  The soldiers gathered in the corridor, sheathing their swords. Yanagisawa cursed, using temper to hide the despair that filled him as his suspicions about Hoshina grew. Had the yoriki somehow managed to send orders for the outlaws to move the arsenal after Sano imprisoned him? Yanagisawa didn’t wish to acknowledge the worst sins of his lover, or admit defeat. He wanted to torture Hoshina into revealing the outlaws’ whereabouts; he wanted to vent his fury while slaking his desire.

  “Search the place again,” he said. “Look for anything that might tell us where the outlaws are or what they’re planning.”

  While the men obeyed, Yanagisawa inspected the storerooms. They were empty, although the air still reeked of gunpowder. A single round bullet lay under the window. Yanagisawa picked up the bullet and cupped it despondently in his palm. His mood grew bleaker when the troops came to report an unsuccessful search.

  “Ask the neighbors if they know where the occupants went,” Yanagisawa said. “If not, I want the city and surrounding areas searched for the arsenal. The outlaws may have gone to join their confederates. Find them before we have a war on our hands.”

  He lingered in the empty arsenal. Tracing the outlaws would probably require a long, tedious search that would keep him in Miyako for ages. Yanagisawa hated the thought of reporting the bad news to his bakufu subordinates, who would spread the tale of his unsuccessful raid, setting him up to take the blame if a revolt did materialize. He dreaded spending the night alone at Nij Castle, knowing that Hoshina would soon be dead. Crouching on the floor, he laid his head on his knees and succumbed to misery.

  22

  An incongruous sight greeted Sano and Right Minister Ichijo at the emperor’s residence. Two armies of banner bearers, archers, gunners, spearmen, and mounted swordsmen faced off across the courtyard. The troops wore armor in the style of four centuries before, featuring huge arm flaps, long tunics, and intricate lacing. Sunlight glinted off polished helmets; a war drum boomed across a battle scene straight out of history.

  Then, as Sano drew nearer, the illusion dissolved. The weapons were wooden; the horses were painted papiermâché heads mounted on sticks. None of the soldiers was more than sixteen years old. Most wore only bits of tattered armor, as though the imperial treasure-house hadn’t supplied enough equipment for everyone. These were young courtiers at play, not samurai at war. Waiting for a signal to begin fighting, they giggled and pushed one another.

  Suddenly a loud whoop rang out. At the rear of one army, Emperor Tomohito, clad in a complete, splendid suit of armor, raised a war fan bearing the gold imperial chrysanthemum crest. Straddling his toy horse, he ran up the side of the battlefield. So much for the rule forbidding the emperor’s feet to touch the ground,
Sano thought.

  “His Majesty enjoys war games,” Ichijo said, then bowed and departed.

  The archers let blunt-tipped arrows fly. Gunners aimed toy arquebuses, shouting, “Bang! Bang!” Wooden swords and spears made a racket as foot soldiers and horsemen clashed. Some boys on the emperor’s side wore the insignia of northern and western samurai clans; others sported the white cowls of warrior priests. The other side wore armor with the red lacing associated with the Minamoto regime that had once ruled Japan. Recognizing the battle, Sano wondered why Emperor Tomohito had chosen to reenact it.

  Then he heard hoots coming from the sidelines. Near a collection of spare weapons stood Prince Momozono. He wore a plain cotton kimono and a helmet much too big for him. His arms and head jerked.

  Approaching, Sano greeted the prince.

  Momozono’s hoots turned to squeals of alarm. As he lurched around to face Sano, his leg buckled, and he fell. Fear glazed his rolling eyes as he struggled to rise.

  “I’m sorry I startled you,” Sano said, again feeling instinctive disgust. He warned himself that the prince was still a suspect, and one he hadn’t had a chance to investigate thoroughly. He couldn’t assume that Momozono was harmless. Hiding his distaste, Sano reached out to the fallen prince. “Let me help you up.”

  “N-no, thank you, that’s all right.” Hoot, puff, gasp. Twitching all over, Momozono somehow managed to stand.

  Pity moved Sano. He spoke gently, as if to a child: “Well, this is certainly an exciting battle. Are you the captain of the arsenal?”

  “I’m not much good at anything, but H-his Majesty is kind enough to give me a p-part in his games.”

  More noises accompanied Momozono’s answer, but Sano couldn’t mistake the emphasis on the last word. Momozono was no childlike cripple, but a mature man who understood the difference between make-believe and the terrible reality of his own existence.

  “You’re fond of the emperor, then?” Sano asked, watching Tomohito gallop across the battlefield.