The Samurai's Wife

by Laura Joh Rowland

  “No!” Tomohito lunged at Momozono again. When Sano caught him and tried to lead him away, he tore free, cursing.

  Hysterical frenzy besieged Momozono. His shrieks echoed across the hills. His face contorted, while his arms and legs flailed in a bizarre dance. Then he threw back his head and clenched his jaws. The frenzy waned, leaving Momozono eerily silent and still. His manic energy, now harnessed, emanated from him in a pale aura that absorbed the sounds of battle and distant gongs.

  An ominous, familiar tension tingled the air around Sano. Its soundless vibration pulsed through him. Sudden lassitude weakened him. He reached for the long sword at his waist, but his arm moved sluggishly, as if he were dragging it through water. His spirit recoiled from the ghostly, sinister touch of Momozono’s will. Realization startled him. Contrary to popular wisdom, the power of kiai wasn’t always the product of rigorous martial arts training. In Momozono’s case, it was a symptom of his mysterious affliction. An accident of fate had made him an outcast and granted him the ultimate deadly weapon. He must have practiced his skill on those birds found dead in the palace gardens.

  “What are you doing, Momo-chan?” the emperor asked. A queasy expression came over his face. “It’s scaring me. What’s that noise? Where’s that light coming from? I order you to stop!”

  “My apologies, Your Majesty.” Prince Momozono had shed his stammer along with his tics; his voice was clear, steady, and full of regret. “There’s no other way. He knows I killed two men. He knows you were a willing participant in the rebellion. He has to die.”

  Sano’s fingers, grown thick and clumsy, fumbled his sword from its scabbard. The weapon seemed a hundred times heavier than usual, and Sano’s hand too weak to bear the weight. The sword fell. The debilitating force radiating from Momozono dropped Sano to his knees; his fear turned to terror; his wish to serve justice gave way to the need to save his life.

  “There’s no reason to kill me,” he choked out. “Left Minister Konoe was a traitor. By killing him, you demonstrated loyalty to the Tokugawa regime. The shogun will spare you the death sentence, maybe even pardon you altogether.”

  Momozono shook his head sadly. “Anyone with a power like mine would never be allowed to live. But I don’t really care if I die. It’s His Majesty I must protect. I can’t let you capture him and execute him as a traitor.”

  “The emperor isn’t responsible for the plot,” Sano hastened to say. Keeping Momozono talking would prevent him from gathering the breath he would need for a spirit cry. “The bakufu will make allowances for his age and Left Minister Konoe’s influence over him. They won’t want a scandal, or a breach with the Imperial Court. If His Majesty repents, he won’t be punished.”

  “Yes, I repent,” cried Emperor Tomohito. “I’ll never be bad again. Just stop, Momo-chan!” Backing away from his cousin, he stumbled, fell, then crawled between pillars toward the door of the temple hall. “Help! Somebody, please!”

  As hot waves of panic coursed through him, and his heart pounded with accelerating thuds, Sano recalled a classic ritual practiced by ancient samurai in wartime: kugi goshin-ho, annihilating the forces of evil by evoking the nine magic ideographs. He closed his hands, then released the index fingers, pressing the tips together near his breast.

  “Rin! Rin! Rin!” he chanted.

  To his relief, he felt a slight relaxing of the tension. The heat in his blood began to subside; his heartbeat slowed.

  “I’m not stupid enough to think His Majesty will be forgiven,” Momozono said bitterly. “If I claim that Left Minister Konoe was to blame for the revolt, who will believe me? That’s why I killed him. Can you picture me telling the bakufu that he was planning a coup?” The aura around Momozono brightened; the energy pulsed with quickening intensity. “I’d have been mocked and dismissed.”

  “But I believe you. I’ll convince my superiors.” Assailed by Momozono’s invisible force, Sano fell back on his heels. With a huge effort, he brought his fingertips together, gasping, “Sha! Sha! Sha!” Even though the physical relief was minimal, renewed courage flared in him.

  “I can see that you’re sincere,” Momozono said, “but if you think your support of my word will save His Majesty, you’re more of an idiot than I am.”

  In desperation, Sano argued, “Have you thought about what will happen if you kill me? Without me to persuade the bakufu that His Majesty is innocent, he’ll be condemned for treason. My detectives will come when they hear your scream. They’ll find my corpse, and they’ll catch you. You can’t buy your freedom, or the emperor’s, with my death.”

  Momozono’s expression disdained this scenario. “His Majesty will tell the bakufu that the outlaws abducted us from the palace and brought us here. You attacked His Majesty because you thought he was a traitor. I defended him the only way I could. It won’t matter that everyone knows I’m a murderer.”

  With wordless eloquence, Momozono gestured toward the dark, open space beyond the railing. Below the tall beams that supported the veranda, the cliff dropped off precipitously. No one could survive such a fall. “I’ll be dead before the police can arrest me.”

  As his heart pumped currents of panic through him, Sano chanted, “Jin! Jin!” When he tried to form the ideograph, his fingers wouldn’t intertwine and fold. “Please,” he whispered, “have mercy!” His spine gave way, and he crumpled. Momozono’s will constricted his lungs; his heart seemed ready to explode. His ears reverberated; he could barely hear Tomohito shouting, “No, Momo-chan, no!”

  “Get out of the way, Your Majesty,” ordered the prince.

  Faint scuttling noises impinged on Sano’s last vestiges of consciousness as the emperor crawled away. “Help!” Sano called.

  His voice was a dying whisper trapped in his throat. Marume, Fukida, and the Tokugawa troops were far away at the battlefield. Momozono loomed over Sano and began breathing loudly, first in hisses, then wheezes, then huge gulps. Sano felt the last of his strength fade away. The power of kiai paralyzed him. He couldn’t manage the slightest flinch of muscle or fragment of speech.

  Momozono’s voracious breaths stopped. He stood immobile, staring at Sano. Currents of energy swirled within the blackness of his eyes. The force radiating from him grew until the night thrummed and the whole cosmos seemed on the brink of shattering. Then Momozono’s mouth opened, stretching so wide that all his teeth showed around the gaping dark hole of his throat. Helpless, Sano watched Momozono inhale a huge breath. As Sano’s thoughts dissolved in a turmoil of pain and terror, he fought desperately to remain lucid. The Way of the Warrior decreed that a samurai must face death with dignified courage, and Sano couldn’t die without a final prayer.

  Reiko! I love you! My spirit will watch over you until we are reunited in the netherworld!

  The inhalation swelled Momozono’s thin chest as he prepared to release the full force of his power. With stoic tranquility, Sano resigned himself to the inevitable.

  But instead of a deafening scream, Momozono emitted a grunt. The tension in the air snapped like a burst bubble; the vibration ceased. Alarm replaced the wild ferocity in Momozono’s eyes. He staggered forward a step. Then his expression went blank, and he crashed facedown on the veranda. On his back, a red stain spread from a slit in his kimono. Over his lifeless body stood Sano’s savior: Chamberlain Yanagisawa.

  Yanagisawa bent at the waist, breathing as hard as if he’d run all the way from the battlefield. The blade of the sword in his hand dripped Prince Momozono’s blood. Sano was overwhelmed with gratitude and relief. Yanagisawa’s complexion was deathly pale between the livid bruises; his body shook with tremors induced by what must have been a fierce struggle to approach and slay the man with the power of kiai. But his face wore a brilliant, sardonic smile.

  “You once called me a back stabber,” he said to Sano. “Aren’t you glad I lived up to my reputation?”

  36

  The day before Sano left Miyako, he and Chamberlain Yanagisawa bid official farewell to the Imperial Cour
t. Obon had ended, and a fresh wind had swept away the bonfire smoke. Clouds diffused the sun’s glare and cast shifting shadows upon the courtyard outside the Purple Dragon Hall. Nobles lined the yard, kneeling still while drums beat a slow, ritual cadence. On this morning two days after the Tokugawa army had quelled the revolt, the Imperial Palace basked in serenity. To Sano, walking behind Yanagisawa as guards, palace functionaries, and Shoshidai Matsudaira escorted them across the courtyard, the scene had the quality of an ancient painting: eternal, untouched by the hand of fortune. Yet Sano knew better.

  The procession mounted the steps to the hall, whose raised doors revealed the imperial throne room. Inside, Emperor Tomohito sat in his canopied pavilion. Sano and Yanagisawa knelt on the veranda opposite him, with their escorts flanking them. They bowed in solemn reverence.

  Shoshidai Matsudaira said, “The honorable chamberlain and ssakan-sama have come to take their leave of the Imperial Court.” His voice trembled; he looked ill. Yanagisawa had reprimanded him for allowing a conspiracy to foment right under his nose. Soon he would be demoted and another Tokugawa relative put in charge of Miyako.

  From his place below the emperor’s throne, Right Minister Ichijo addressed Yanagisawa and Sano: “We thank you for coming and solving the difficult problems of our capital.”

  Beneath his courteous manner Sano detected a combination of relief at seeing them go, and suppressed elation. Rumor said that Ichijo’s promotion to the rank of prime minister would soon be announced. He’d achieved his lifelong goal.

  “We thank you for your cooperation,” said Yanagisawa, “and regret that we must depart so soon.”

  Sano offered his own thanks and regrets, but he guessed that their polite speeches fooled no one.

  “I grant you my blessing for a safe journey back to Edo,” said Emperor Tomohito.

  All the arrogance had deserted him; his chastened expression lent him a new maturity. Sano predicted a long, peaceful reign for the young sovereign, who had finally learned his place in the world.

  While priests chanted an invocation, Sano perceived a vacancy in the palace; there was a quietude formerly broken by hoots, yelps, and frenetic motion. The air seemed charged with the absence of Prince Momozono. Yesterday Sano had issued orders for the prince’s cremation and burial. Perhaps his spirit would find peace at last.

  The ceremony drew to a close, and Sano pondered the most dramatic effect wrought by the murder case: the change in Chamberlain Yanagisawa. Yanagisawa had offered no explanation for saving Sano’s life, but Sano hadn’t needed one. The chamberlain had brought Yoriki Hoshina with him when he’d rescued Sano. While Yanagisawa had described the discovery that had sped him to the temple, joy had lit his face as if he’d swallowed the sun. The investigation had made a detective out of him; the battle had turned him into a samurai. Love had redeemed his spirit.

  Now the procession exited the courtyard. As Sano and Yanagisawa walked through the narrow streets of the kuge district for the last time, Right Minister Ichijo joined them.

  “A private word, if I may?” Ichijo said.

  Sano and Yanagisawa dropped behind their entourage and walked with the right minister. Ichijo said, “We all know that your investigation is not quite complete.”

  “True,” said Yanagisawa.

  “I will explain what you saw when you followed me to the Ear Mound,” said Ichijo, “if you will keep the information confidential.”

  Yanagisawa raised an eyebrow at Sano, who smiled. Some things never changed. Ichijo was still a consummate politician. Loath to tarry in Miyako, Yanagisawa and Sano had agreed that they would return to Edo, leaving Detective Fukida behind to tie up loose ends. But perhaps Fukida needn’t worry about this one.

  “Very well,” Yanagisawa said.

  “I have a secret mistress and daughter in the village of Kusatsu,” Ichijo said quietly. “I visit them whenever I can. I also send them money through intermediaries. That’s what I was doing at the Ear Mound. I hired those two rnin to protect my family from bandit raids and convey cash to them.”

  Sano said, “That’s not illegal. Why the need for secrecy?”

  “The woman is a peasant,” Ichijo said. “For a man in my position, an affair outside the noble class is unseemly. It would have damaged my career. I was passing through the Pond Garden on my way to Kusatsu when Left Minister Konoe was murdered. I didn’t want to be caught at the scene, so I continued on my trip.” He added, “Konoe knew my secret. He was blackmailing me.”

  The procession reached the palace gate. “Thank you for the information,” Sano said, glad to have a mystery solved.

  “If you will kindly excuse me, I have business to attend to,” Ichijo said, bowing.

  “As have I.” A bemused expression, tinged with worry, came over Yanagisawa’s face.

  “And I,” Sano said, as foreboding stirred in him.

  At the Palace of the Abdicated Emperor, Reiko sat on a veranda with Lady Jokyden. They gazed at the sunlit park, where courtiers and noblewomen strolled. Wind chimes tinkled; dragonflies hovered over fragrant flowers.

  “Everything looks the same,” Reiko said. “It’s as if nothing had happened to disturb the peace of this world.”

  “I must devote more effort to preserving that peace,” Jokyden said, “and more attention to His Majesty the Emperor.”

  This was the only reference they made to the revolt. Reiko contemplated Jokyden’s hint that she would keep her son under stricter control. Men dominated politics and waged wars, but a woman working behind the scenes could accomplish much. Reiko doubted if the emperor would dare defy his mother and misbehave again, and the Tokugawa regime was indebted to Jokyden.

  “Many thanks for your help,” Reiko said, bowing.

  With dignified grace, Jokyden also bowed. “I am honored to have been of service.”

  “I wonder—” Reiko paused, eager to satisfy curiosity, yet hesitant about broaching a personal question. “May I ask why you decided to help me, when your interests opposed mine?”

  “I saw myself in you,” Jokyden said with a wry smile. “Besides that, another woman aided me many times during my life. She is beyond my assistance, so I repaid her favor by helping you.” As if to herself, Jokyden murmured, “May that deed compensate for those less virtuous.”

  A chill passed over Reiko. By now she’d read the metsuke dossiers that Chamberlain Yanagisawa had sent Sano. She’d learned of Jokyden’s rivalry with another court lady whose fatal fall over a cliff might not have been accidental. Even if Jokyden hadn’t murdered Left Minister Konoe or Aisu, even if she didn’t have the power of kiai, she was still dangerous.

  Lady Jokyden gave Reiko a faint smile. As though aware of Reiko’s thoughts all along, she said, “Women are generally considered helpless, yet under the right circumstances, we are capable of great harm as well as good.”

  Reiko realized with an unpleasant shock that she herself was a dangerous woman. As the wife of the shogun’s ssakan-sama, she had more power than ordinary women, and she’d played a role in incriminating the innocent Lady Asagao. Would she, too, someday have sins to regret?

  There was another reason for this visit besides bidding good-bye to her friend: Sano had asked her to solve a minor puzzle in the case. Knowing that Jokyden would see through any subterfuge she tried, Reiko said bluntly, “I’d like to know what is your connection with the Daikoku Bank.”

  Jokyden looked surprised, then recovered her composure and nodded. “I trusted your discretion once, and you did not fail me, so I shall tell you. As you may know, the imperial family has financial problems. I sold my valuable kimonos and used the money to establish the Daikoku Bank. Through my agents, I issue loans and speculate on commodities. The profits supplement the court’s income.”

  “Astonishing,” Reiko murmured. Surely Jokyden was history’s first noblewoman banker.

  “I made the mistake of telling Left Minister Konoe,” said Jokyden. “He demanded a share of my profits in exchange for not revealing t
hat I had crossed the boundaries of womanly behavior and trespassed on the purview of the merchant class.”

  “I’m sure that if I tell my husband about your business, he’ll agree to ignore it because you’re doing no harm and you led us to the conspiracy,” Reiko said.

  “I would much appreciate his generosity,” said Jokyden.

  Reiko suspected that Jokyden had chosen to reveal her secret because she’d predicted this outcome. The world of women wasn’t so different from the world of men, Reiko observed. Favors were the common currency, and she owed Jokyden a greater debt than she’d repaid. Perhaps she could pass along the favor by helping other women in need, and use her power to do good.

  They rose and made their final bows of farewell.

  “It may be that we shall meet again someday,” Jokyden said.

  In spite of the distance from Miyako to Edo, Reiko had hopes that they might. So many unimaginable things had already happened: the discovery of a man with the power of kiai; Sano’s return from the dead; a war averted. Anything seemed possible.

  “Perhaps we shall,” she said.

  As her palanquin carried her out of the Imperial Palace, her thoughts turned toward another impending event—one more commonplace than her recent experiences, yet just as miraculous, and now a certainty. Soon she must tell Sano.

  At Nij Castle, troops and servants prepared for the trip to Edo, packing clothes and supplies, readying the horses. Chamberlain Yanagisawa paced the veranda of the private chamber. He inhaled on his tobacco pipe, hoping the smoke would calm his nerves. Hearing footsteps behind him, he stopped, turned, and saw Yoriki Hoshina standing at the far end of the veranda.

  “You sent for me.” The hesitancy in Hoshina’s voice made it almost a question.

  “Yes…”

  Slowly they walked toward each other and stood at the railing, looking out at the stark, treeless garden. “So you’re leaving tomorrow,” Hoshina said.