The Samurai's Wife

by Laura Joh Rowland

  “Yes.” Momozono made barking sounds, like a dog.

  “I understand that His Majesty treated you kindly and gave you a place at court when no one else wanted you around.”

  “He did m-more than that.” Momozono gripped his arms, forcing them to hold still. “If not for him, I would be dead.” Unpleasant memory clouded his straining face.

  “Tell me what happened,” Sano said.

  Prince Momozono hesitated: He obviously knew the danger a murder suspect courted by confiding in the shogun’s ssakan. Yet Sano sensed in him an impulse that opposed caution. How often did anyone bother talking to him? How much he must yearn for communication! Finally, Momozono spoke.

  “W-when I was young, I lived in the imperial children’s palace with the other p-princes and princesses. Then, in the s-spring when I was eight, my affliction started. I w-was scolded and beaten, but I couldn’t control myself. The d-doctors couldn’t discover what was wrong with me. They forced m-medicines down my throat and gave me purges and enemas.” Through the grunts that punctuated the words echoed the anguish of a child who didn’t understand what was happening to him. “Priests s-said I was possessed by a demon. They lit fires around me and ch-chanted spells to drive it out.

  “B-but nothing worked. I got worse. Finally I was l-locked in a storehouse. Every day a s-servant opened the door and put food inside. I was allowed to come out only wh-when the storehouse was c-cleaned. The s-servant would throw b-buckets of water inside and sweep out the filth. Then he stripped me and threw water on m-me. There was only one w-window in the storehouse. All I could s-see was the sky through the b-branches of a cherry tree. For a whole y-year I lived there.”

  Sano imagined the young Momozono hooting and convulsing in his prison, watching the cherry blossoms bloom then drift to the ground, the leaves unfurl then drop, until snow covered the boughs. Empathy had no place in a murder investigation, but the prince’s story affected Sano deeply.

  “Then one night, s-some men came. They wrapped me up in qu-quilts so I couldn’t m-move, and tied a gag over my mouth. They c-carried me away in a palanquin. They didn’t t-tell me where they were taking me, but I h-heard them talking about how I was going to live in exile. I was glad because I thought Exile was the n-name of a place where children like m-me could be happy. I didn’t know any better.”

  His voice broke on a sob; his eyes teared. Grimacing and puffing, he said, “We traveled for a l-long time. At last we stopped at a m-mountain village. It was d-dark and snowing and very c-cold. The men set me down outside the v-village and untied my gag. Then they picked up the palanquin and left.” Momozono sniffled; he tried to wipe his nose, but his hand flew upward, and he used the other to pull it down. “I was terrified. I didn’t know what to do, so I sat and w-waited.

  “F-finally it began getting light. The v-villagers came. They d-didn’t want me any more than the Imperial Court did.” The prince gulped and blinked. “I sat alone for t-two days, freezing and h-hungry and scared.” Ragged sobs choked him. “P-please excuse me.”

  Filled with pity, Sano imagined what had happened when the villagers found Momozono. Probably they’d taunted him and stoned him before leaving him to die.

  “Then I b-began to feel sleepy and warm,” Momozono said. “I stopped caring what h-happened to me. I was on the verge of d-death. But then the m-men returned. They took me back to the palace. I was washed and fed and given a r-room in the emperor’s residence. His M-majesty came in. He s-said he’d dreamed about a demon who threatened to cause a terrible p-plague unless h-he rescued me and made me his c-companion. L-later I heard people saying he’d invented the whole story and b-brought me back to spite everyone. But I was too g-grateful to care why he’d saved me.”

  His face twisted with tics and emotion, Momozono gazed at Emperor Tomohito, who was beating his sword on the helmet of another soldier. Boyish cries arose as the battle raged on. “Because of His M-majesty, I’m allowed to live here.” He added softly, “I’ve done my b-best to repay His Majesty.”

  By giving him a false alibi? Sano wondered. Whatever the emperor’s motive for saving Momozono, he’d won the devotion of his cousin. Sano caught himself falling into the assumption that Momozono’s affliction rendered him incapable of any worse crime than lying to protect the emperor. Momozono had revealed himself as a man of intelligence. To have survived his ordeals, he must be stronger than he looked.

  “Your loyalty must be of valuable help to His Majesty,” Sano said. Momozono humbly shook his head, but his eyes brightened with pleasure. “Now perhaps you can help me. How well did you know Left Minister Konoe?”

  The prince hopped up and down, hooting and growling, striking out with his fists.

  Startled, Sano dodged the blows. “You didn’t care for the left minister, then?”

  Rolling his eyes, Momozono reeled backward. “Forgive me, I can’t h-help myself.”

  “I think it’s more than that,” Sano said. “What did Konoe do to you?”

  “I suppose you’ll find out from someone else if I don’t tell you. L-left M-minister Konoe was the one who had me locked up in the storehouse. H-he gave the order to exile me.” Momozono looked Sano straight in the eye, and Sano fought the impulse to avert his gaze from the prince’s twitching face. “Yes, I-I hated him,” Momozono said defiantly. “When His Majesty and I found him dead, I rejoiced. But I didn’t do it. If I’d wanted to kill him, why would I have waited t-ten years?”

  Hatred could fester over time, Sano knew. Momozono and the emperor shared an alibi. Which of them was it really meant to protect? Tomohito had rescued his cousin once already.

  With a self-deprecating laugh, Momozono said, “How can you think I could k-kill anybody?”

  Just then, Emperor Tomohito waved to him from across the battlefield, calling, “Bring me another sword!”

  Momozono picked up a sword from the pile of toy weapons. He dropped it twice as he lurched toward the emperor. Watching, Sano tried and failed to imagine him as the killer. If Momozono fumbled the simplest tasks, how could he master the art of kiai? Where would he have learned it? Perhaps he exaggerated his symptoms, but Sano still believed that the conspiracy and the murder of Left Minister Konoe were related. How could a despised outcast mount an insurrection?

  The emperor spied Sano. Ignoring the sword Momozono offered him, he dropped his toy horse and swaggered over. “What do you want?” he demanded.

  Kneeling, Sano bowed, honoring the churlish youth as the descendant of the gods. Had they granted his bloodline the power to manipulate cosmic forces? Had his imperial ancestors bequeathed to him the secret of kiai?

  “I’ve come to ask you some questions,” Sano said.

  “Stand up,” Tomohito ordered.

  Obeying, Sano returned the emperor’s scrutiny. The armor added bulk to Tomohito’s large build, and menace to his petulant, childish face. He said, “You’ve got nerve coming here, after what you did. You arrested my consort! You knocked me down!”

  Sano noted these offenses as motives for Tomohito to want him dead.

  “May lighting strike down all you Tokugawa bullies!” the emperor shouted.

  While Momozono emitted anxious yelps, Sano experienced a stab of alarm, accompanied by the urge to laugh. The emperor had the power to invoke the wrath of the heavens, yet Tomohito’s curse sounded like a child’s extravagant threat. If he also commanded the power of kiai, his unbridled temper would make him all the more dangerous.

  Sano hastened to appease the emperor: “I regret what I did. Lady Asagao has been freed.”

  But Tomohito, with the short attention span of youth, had lost interest in the subject. “You’re a real fighter, aren’t you?” he said, studying Sano with grudging admiration. Pointing at Sano’s long sword, he ordered, “Let me see that.”

  Sano couldn’t refuse an order from the emperor. He unsheathed his sword and handed it over.

  “This is really nice.” Tomohito ran a grubby finger along the blade. Suddenly he leapt b
ackward and slashed at Sano, yelling, “Hah!”

  Sano ducked just in time to escape a cut to the head. “Careful! That’s not a toy.”

  “N-no, Your Majesty,” Momozono wailed.

  He grabbed the emperor’s arm, but Tomohito pulled away. His eyes shone with the thrill of wielding a real blade. He circled, feinted, and sliced at the air. Sano noted Tomohito’s skill. The emperor outshone many samurai of his age. His footwork was quick, each strike gracefully executed.

  “You’re pretty good, Your Majesty,” Sano said. “How long have you studied kenjutsu?”

  “All my life!”

  “Who taught you?”

  The emperor aimed a swipe at Sano’s legs; when Sano jumped to avoid it, he laughed. “The best swordsmen in Miyako.”

  “What other martial arts did they teach you?”

  “You ask too many questions!”

  The emperor’s impressive swordsmanship meant he could discipline his energies when it suited him, and discipline was crucial to the power of kiai.

  “The battle your soldiers are fighting,” Sano said. “It’s the Jokyu War, isn’t it?”

  That was the war by which Emperor Go-Toba had tried to overthrow the military dictatorship. He’d summoned the Minamoto to a festival in Miyako where his army had attacked them.

  “So what if it is?” Tomohito whirled and slashed around Sano.

  “Then you’re not being true to history,” Sano said, flinching as the blade came dangerously close. “Your imperial faction is beating the Minamoto.” On the battlefield, boys in red-laced armor played dead. “But in real life, the Minamoto defeated your ancestor. Instead of seizing power, he died in exile.”

  “If I’d been in his place, I would have won!”

  “Is it a game, or are you rehearsing for a real revolt?”

  The sword flew out of Tomohito’s grasp. He exclaimed in annoyance. Sano retrieved his sword and sheathed it. “Please answer my question, Your Majesty.”

  Prince Momozono had an attack of spasms. The emperor scowled. “I just got clumsy for a moment. Of course the battle is a game, to pass the time. There’s not much to do here; I get bored.”

  Observing Tomohito’s refusal to meet his gaze, Sano said, “Has anyone encouraged you to think about restoring power to the Imperial Court and ruling Japan yourself?”

  “Nobody tells me what to think. And I’m tired of talking. I’ve got better things to do.”

  The emperor and Momozono started toward the battlefield. Sano blocked their way. “Do you know of a house in the cloth dyers’ district owned by Lord Ibe of Echizen Province?”

  “I don’t know any people or places anywhere but here,” Tomohito said sullenly. “I can’t go outside.”

  But an accomplice could, and there was one other promising candidate for that role besides Right Minister Ichijo.

  “Where were you during the second murder?” Sano asked.

  Jutting his chin belligerently, Tomohito said, “I was praying in the worship hall when I heard the scream. My cousin was there, too.”

  Sano looked at Prince Momozono, whose face went into a terrible frenzy of tics. The emperor must have sensed Sano’s disbelief, because he looked uneasy and muttered, “We have to go now. Come on, Momo-chan.”

  “W-wait,” said the prince. “I just remembered s-something about the n-night the left minister d-died. After the s-scream, when we were h-hurrying through the P-pond Garden, I saw a light in the c-cottage. It went out b-before we got there.”

  If this was true, then there’d been someone else at the scene of the murder. Sano looked at the emperor.

  “Yes, there was a light,” he said eagerly. “I remember now. I saw it too.”

  Sano discounted the story as a lie designed to pin the crime on a mysterious unknown culprit. Watching the emperor resume his battle and Prince Momozono his station beside the arsenal, Sano tallied the results of the interview. He had Momozono’s motive for the first murder, Tomohito’s for the second, and a new joint alibi as flimsy as their previous one. Even if the prince didn’t have the power of kiai, the emperor might, and Sano was sure that the conspiracy involved Tomohito’s participation. But he understood the consequences of incriminating the emperor. He envisioned Tomohito denouncing the Tokugawa regime, and the ensuing civil war. Hopefully, he could prove the guilt of a lesser person.

  Perhaps Lady Jokyden was the murderer and traitor. Sano had planned to visit her next, but a disturbing alternative suddenly occurred to him. He left the palace, knowing that he was risking trouble as well as seeking information.

  23

  The Jokyu War was over. The troops had dispersed, and the emperor had retired to his bathchamber. There a big, round wooden tub held cool water. Sunlight shone through latticed paper windows; white curtains decorated with the imperial crest hung over open transoms. Emperor Tomohito lay naked and motionless on a platform while attendants washed his body and hair. His eyes were closed. Ritual decreed that an emperor could be groomed only while asleep, so that touching him wouldn’t compromise his sacred dignity.

  In a corner of the chamber sat Prince Momozono, quivering and jerking as he watched the ablutions. The attendants ignored his presence. Tomohito seemed oblivious to everything. However, Momozono could tell that he wasn’t really asleep; he flinched and frowned when the attendants scrubbed too vigorously, but he knew that if he protested, his servants would immediately withdraw their attentions. Momozono waited, stifling grunts with a hand over his mouth. For months he’d tried to work up the courage to speak frankly to his cousin. He could keep quiet no longer, even though he risked offending Tomohito, because his silence could doom them both.

  At last the attendants finished washing the emperor, bowed to his inert figure, and departed. Tomohito opened his eyes and sat up. “I thought they’d never finish,” he complained. He got off the platform and climbed into the tub, immersing himself with a sigh of contentment. “Someday I won’t have to put up with people washing me like a baby.”

  Someday…It was a refrain that Momozono had heard often. He recalled an eight-year-old Tomohito trying to sneak out the palace gate, getting caught by the watchmen, and yelling, “Someday I’ll be able to go outside if I feel like it!” Tomohito had also rebelled against studying and performing ceremonies: “Someday no one will be able to make me do this!”

  Prince Momozono heard in the words a new, serious conviction. Tomohito was no longer a young crown prince indulging in childish fantasies. He was a grown emperor, bent on making fantasy a reality. Momozono must bring him to his senses.

  “Y-your Majesty…there’s s-something I must say,” he ventured timidly.

  Tomohito sank in the water up to his chin; his long hair floated around him like a black fan. “Go ahead.”

  More than anyone else in the court, Momozono depended upon the emperor’s favor for his survival. Stalling, he said, “Wh-what do you think of the ssakan-sama?”

  “He’s supposed to be a great swordsman, but I bet I could beat him.”

  Momozono’s heart sank as he perceived the extent of his cousin’s delusion. For all his skill, Tomohito was no match for a real samurai fighter. If Tomohito failed to recognize this, how could Momozono make him see the dangers he faced? Prince Momozono knew all too well who had fostered Tomohito’s false sense of grandeur. Anger sent spasms through his limbs; he fought to still them.

  “Doesn’t it w-worry you that the ssakan-sama is alive and still asking questions?” Momozono asked anxiously.

  Tomohito laughed. “He doesn’t scare me.”

  Unable to restrain himself, Momozono burst out, “Y-your Majesty, perhaps you should be afraid!”

  The emperor sat up in the tub, scowling. “Are you presuming to tell me what to do?”

  “No, no!” Momozono scuttled over to the tub, knelt, and bowed, trembling in his haste to appease his cousin. “I-I’m only trying to p-protect you, Your Majesty.”

  He had done so before. When Tomohito had reached the age of
thirteen, his unhappiness with his sheltered existence had grown unbearable. More than ever he had yearned to experience life outside the palace, and so had befriended three roguish courtiers a few years his senior. Momozono had watched the emperor listen to their talk of drinking in teahouses, romancing girls, and skirmishing with Miyako’s ruffians, his eyes aglow with vicarious excitement. Soon he craved more active participation in the trio’s fun. He began planning adventures for them. At first these were mere pranks, such as stealing fruit from the market and putting an ox calf in a firewatch tower. When the courtiers came back to the palace, Tomohito reveled in their descriptions of the stir they’d created.

  Then one day the emperor decided that his friends must break into the shoshidai’s house and bring back some token as proof of their success. Prince Momozono happened to be walking through the kuge quarter when the three courtiers returned from their escapade. Hidden by the darkness, he’d heard them arguing and realized that the fun had gone dreadfully wrong.

  “We should never have done it!”

  “Everything would have been fine if we’d left right after getting inside and taking the shoshidai’s personal seal. But no, you got greedy. You had to break open that chest and steal the gold coins.”

  “How was I supposed to know that the daughter would hear the noise and find us there?”

  “Well, you shouldn’t have forced yourself on her!”

  “I was so drunk I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  “What do we tell His Majesty?”

  “Nothing. We’ll say that it went perfectly. I’ll hide the gold.” The latter speaker was Lord Koremitsu, the trio’s leader, the one who’d stolen the gold and raped the shoshidai’s daughter. Prince Momozono was terribly jealous of Lord Koremitsu, and hated him for his bad influence on Tomohito. “No one will ever know what we did.”

  The next day, however, police came to the palace. They reported the theft and rape to the chief court nobles, explaining that the shoshidai’s guards had chased the criminals to the imperial compound. They meant to identify and punish the culprits. Upon hearing the news, Prince Momozono was filled with dread. What if the bakufu traced the crimes to Tomohito? They wouldn’t arrest him, but with this evidence of his bad character, they might force him to abdicate.