Ronin's Mistress Read online

  “But Oishi said that was … How did he put it?” Okaru frowned in an effort to recall. “The ‘official version.’ He said it wasn’t what really happened. He said…” Okaru recited, “‘Nothing about this vendetta is what it seems.’”

  Interest and excitement stirred in Reiko. “Are you sure that’s what he said?”

  “Yes, yes.” Nodding, Okaru gazed earnestly at Reiko. “If things are different from what everybody says, then maybe it is unfair that Oishi should have to die. Don’t you think?”

  “I think there may be extenuating circumstances in this case,” Reiko said.

  Chiyo looked surprised, Masahiro happier. The servant Goza leaned toward Reiko, suspicious. Okaru’s forehead wrinkled in confusion.

  “Extenuating circumstances are reasons that the law could be overturned,” Reiko explained. “If there are any, Oishi and his friends might be excused for killing Kira.”

  “And he’ll be saved!” Okaru clasped her hands under her chin. Her smile shone through her tears like sunlight reflected in water. “Oh, how wonderful!”

  Reiko was alarmed at how quickly Okaru had seized on the slim chance. “Don’t count on it,” she warned. “First we have to determine whether there really are any reasons why Oishi shouldn’t be sentenced to death. Now, what did he say happened?”

  A blank expression replaced Okaru’s smile. “He didn’t say.”

  “Did he explain about the vendetta not being what it seems?”

  Okaru shook her head. “I asked him what he meant. He wouldn’t tell me.” She looked anxious. “Does it matter?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Reiko said. “To save Oishi, we would need to prove that his actions were justified.” She was appalled by the violence of his crime; even though she applauded his devotion to the Way of the Warrior, she wasn’t sure he deserved to go free. “The government isn’t going to excuse him without more information. A vague hint isn’t good enough.”

  “Oh. Then I guess Oishi is doomed. And so am I.” Okaru looked forlorn and younger than ever, like a child who’d just discovered that wishes didn’t always come true. Her lips quivered. Tears spilled down her cheeks. She was even prettier when she cried.

  “Mother, do something!” Masahiro blurted out.

  His vehemence surprised Reiko. But she agreed that they couldn’t just leave this poor girl alone to fend for herself. “Listen,” she said to Okaru. “I’ll go to my husband and tell him what you said. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “You will?” Now Okaru wept tears of delight. “Oh, thank you!”

  Reiko glanced at Chiyo, who was watching Okaru with a troubled expression. Masahiro beamed. As she rose to depart, Reiko said, “Please don’t hope for too much. Oishi’s situation is very serious. I can’t guarantee that things will turn out the way you want.”

  7

  SANO AND HIRATA decided to imprison the forty-seven rōnin in the most secure location available near Sengaku Temple, the three samurai estates along the southern highway. While Sano rode back to Edo Castle to report to the shogun, Hirata divided the rōnin into two groups of sixteen men and one of fifteen. He sent troops to escort two groups to their makeshift jails while he and a few soldiers accompanied the other. His sixteen rōnin included Oishi the leader and his son Chikara. Hirata and the soldiers rode their horses while the rōnin trudged down the highway like obedient cattle.

  The estates were private cities carved out of the forest. The barracks that enclosed them had high white plaster walls decorated with black geometric tile patterns. Bushes with spiky, leafless branches grew outside the barracks. Countless other buildings rose from within, their roofs like mountain ranges of snow-covered tile. Along the highway, porters carried litters heaped with charcoal, rice, and other goods in the vast quantities needed to supply the estates. Tokugawa law prohibited all wheeled vehicles except for oxcarts owned by the government; this prevented troop movements and rebellions, at least in theory. The porters stared at Hirata’s group of bloodstained rōnin. Soldiers from the estates came out to watch the peculiar parade.

  Hirata led his group to the estate that belonged to the Hosokawa daimyo clan. The Hosokawa was an ancient family that controlled the fief of Higo Province. Higo was a top rice-producing domain and the Hosokawa clan one of Japan’s largest, wealthiest landholders. Their estate was the grandest in the area, with a gate made of wide, iron-studded planks. When Hirata and his companions approached it, two sentries stepped out of an ornate guardhouse.

  Hirata introduced himself. “I’ve got sixteen prisoners. I want you to keep them under house arrest here.”

  The sentries looked nonplussed. One said, “That’s never been done before. We’ll have to get permission.”

  “Go ahead.” Hirata glanced at the sixteen rōnin. They gazed straight ahead, their faces impassive. None showed any sign of wanting to bolt. “We’ll wait.”

  A sentry went inside the estate. After a long while he came out with the daimyo himself. Lord Hosokawa was in his sixties, with gray hair tied in a neat topknot on his shaved crown. He wore robes patterned in neutral colors, instead of the gaudy, fashionable garb that other rich daimyo sported. He had an intelligent, worried face and a reputation for managing his domain with excruciating attention to detail. After he and Hirata exchanged formal greetings, he said, “You want me to do what?”

  Hirata repeated his request. He explained who the rōnin were and what they’d done.

  Lord Hosokawa’s worried expression deepened. “Why do they have to be here? Why not at one of the other estates?”

  “The other estates are getting prisoners, too,” Hirata said. “There are forty-seven in all.”

  “I see. But why can’t you take them to town and find someplace for them there?”

  “Do you want them wandering around in the open that long?” Hirata said.

  “… No.” Lord Hosokawa gazed at the sixteen rōnin as if afraid they would suddenly go berserk. “But who’s responsible for feeding them and keeping them under control?”

  “You are.” Hirata knew Lord Hosokawa could afford the expense and had plenty of guards with nothing better to do.

  “Well, I don’t like it,” Lord Hosokawa said. “There’s sure to be a scandal. I would rather not be dragged into it.”

  “Don’t worry; your honor won’t be tarnished by association with them,” Hirata said. Under Tokugawa law, guilt by association was a punishable crime. “I’ll make it clear to the shogun that you did him a favor by taking in these prisoners.”

  Lord Hosokawa pursed his mouth. “And if I refuse?”

  “I’ll make it clear to the shogun that you were derelict in your duty to him,” Hirata said.

  That was a capital offense. “Oh. Well, in that case…” Lord Hosokawa reluctantly moved away from the gate. “If anything bad happens, I will hold your master responsible.”

  Hirata hoped nothing would go wrong. Lord Hosokawa hadn’t yet taken sides in the conflict between Sano and Yanagisawa. He liked the peace that came with neutrality, but if he took offense at Sano, he might change his mind. And Hirata knew that similar scenes were going on at the other estates, where the two other daimyo surely wouldn’t want to provide a makeshift jail any more than Lord Hosokawa did. Sano couldn’t afford to strain their goodwill, either. But if Sano didn’t secure the forty-seven rōnin at once and they caused problems, that would worsen his position far more.

  Lord Hosokawa called his troops to take charge of the prisoners. Hirata glanced at the faces of the men who led the prisoners away. Some regarded the rōnin with disgust, others with awe at these men who had followed Bushido to the ultimate degree. Hirata saw a storm brewing, the forty-seven rōnin at the center, and spectators already taking sides.

  “Behave yourselves,” he told the rōnin.

  “We will,” Oishi said, quiet and stern.

  Hirata and his troops had mounted their horses to ride back to town, when Hirata felt a strange, tingling sensation. Then came a force that pulsated through the
cold air, that boomed in counter-rhythm to his heartbeat. His whole body tensed with recognition and fright. It was the energy aura he’d last encountered two years ago.

  His stalker had finally returned.

  Hirata resisted two opposing urges—to draw his sword for combat or drop flat on the ground and cover his head. Instead, he called to the troops, “Go ahead.” He had to face his stalker alone and not endanger the men. “I’ll catch up.”

  They went. Hirata sat astride his horse and swept his gaze over the scene. He saw the glare of sun on snow and the white plaster wall of the estate across the street. Passersby glanced at him curiously, but none with malevolent intent. The aura seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. It began to fade. Hirata saw a movement to his left—a redness like a splash of blood. He whirled.

  It was a strip of red paper stuck on a spiky bush near the Hosokawa gate. Hirata could have sworn that it hadn’t been there a moment ago. It fluttered in the wind. Hirata leaped off his horse and snatched the paper. It was clean and neatly cut, not a torn scrap of garbage. Figures written in elegant black calligraphy graced one side. Hirata read,

  Sunlight illuminates the darkness inside a black cave.

  What you seek has already found you.

  Seek no further.

  Hirata puzzled over the cryptic message. Was it for him, from his stalker? If so, what did it mean?

  Someone came up behind him and tapped his shoulder. Hirata started violently. He turned. The man he saw was a soldier dressed in an iron helmet and a tunic made of iron plates covered with leather and laced together, standard military gear. A scarf muffled the soldier’s face up to the nose. His eyes crinkled with amusement.

  Hirata drew his breath to speak. In that instant the soldier vanished, then reappeared halfway down the street. He held Hirata’s gaze for another instant, then turned and walked away. Hirata hurried after him. A squadron of mounted samurai emerged from a gate and blocked Hirata’s path. By the time Hirata got around them, the soldier was nowhere in sight.

  8

  WHEN SANO, MARUME, and Fukida arrived at Edo Castle, soldiers loitered outside, avidly reading news broadsheets. The broadsheets were illustrated with a crude drawing of the forty-seven rōnin on the march, carrying Kira’s head on a spear. At the palace, Sano found the very same broadsheet in the shogun’s private chambers.

  The shogun held a copy above his face while he lay on his back in bed. His robe was open, his naked torso exposed. A physician rubbed spice-scented oil on the shogun’s stomach. Chamberlain Yanagisawa, Yoritomo, and two men from the Council of Elders—Sano’s friend Ohgami and enemy Ihara—knelt around the shogun, twisting into awkward postures, trying to read the broadsheet. Yoritomo read aloud, “A hundred savage rōnin broke into the estate of the shogun’s master of ceremonies. They cut off his head and massacred everybody else.”

  Yanagisawa and the elders listened with concern. The shogun exclaimed, “This is even worse than I feared! Can it be true?”

  Yanagisawa noticed Sano standing at the threshold. His eyes narrowed. “Here’s the man who should be able to tell us.”

  “There were forty-seven rōnin, not a hundred,” Sano said. “They spared the women, children, and servants.”

  “How nice of them.” Sarcasm didn’t improve the looks of Elder Ihara’s monkey face.

  Yoritomo started reading a gory description of the murder. The shogun said, “Stop right there, or I’ll be sick!” and flung away the broadsheet.

  The physician lit a candle and waved the flame inside several bamboo cups, which he placed upside down on the shogun’s stomach. This was an ancient Chinese medical treatment that promoted the flow of life energy through the body. The vacuum inside the cups drew blood to the areas underneath. The suction penetrated the tissues and released poisons. The position of the cups told Sano that the shogun was suffering from constipation again. The shogun was always suffering from something, always threatening to die. So far so good, but he had gotten frail. Maybe he would die soon, without a son or designated heir. And then would follow the battle over the succession.

  “What are you doing back so soon?” Yanagisawa asked Sano. “Shouldn’t you be out chasing the forty-seven rōnin?”

  “I’ve already captured them,” Sano said.

  “Oh.” Yanagisawa looked unpleasantly surprised.

  Sano described what had happened after he’d tracked the rōnin to Sengaku Temple. Everyone was nonplussed.

  “That’s certainly peculiar,” said Elder Ohgami, Sano’s quiet, white-haired friend.

  “So the forty-seven rōnin surrendered. All you had to do was scoop them up,” Yanagisawa concluded.

  “Nevertheless, the crime is solved,” Sano said, controlling his temper. Trust Yanagisawa to minimize his accomplishments. “The forty-seven rōnin are under house arrest.”

  “Is it all over, then?” the shogun said with cautious hope. The cups attached to him looked like the nubs on a caterpillar.

  Swiftly, before Sano could say that it was and parlay his success into a pardon for past offenses, Yanagisawa shot down that hope. “No. It’s certainly not over.”

  “Why not?” Anxiety crinkled the shogun’s face. The physician slid the bamboo cups around on his pale, droopy stomach, massaging the organs beneath.

  “There’s still the matter of what to do with the forty-seven rōnin,” Yanagisawa said.

  “That’s easy. They should be convicted of murder and condemned to death,” Ihara declared. “They sought revenge against Kira after His Excellency ruled that Kira wasn’t at fault in the incident between him and Lord Asano and he shouldn’t be punished. They not only killed a helpless old man in cold blood; they defied His Excellency. It’s standard procedure that anyone who does that automatically pays with his life.”

  “This isn’t a standard case,” Ohgami pointed out. “The forty-seven rōnin followed the Way of the Warrior. They avenged their lord’s death. Bushido trumps the law in this case.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Yoritomo hastened to protest. “Their ultimate duty is to the shogun. And they went against his orders.”

  Sano sensed emotions rising fast among his colleagues. The case had touched a place deep inside them, where their samurai spirit lived. The forty-seven rōnin’s vendetta had raised questions about their own worth as samurai, as it had done for Sano.

  Exasperation showed on Ohgami’s face. “Lord Asano was their hereditary master. They were compelled by honor to avenge him, no matter what.”

  “Not everyone thinks so,” Ihara said. “Some people are already calling the forty-seven rōnin heroes, but others think they’re criminals.”

  Sano suspected that those who called the rōnin criminals felt guilty about the short shrift that they themselves gave to Bushido. They wanted to punish anyone who made them look neglectful of their own duties. The people who lauded the forty-seven as heroes took a vicarious pride in the deed which they would probably never have the courage to perform themselves. Sano felt torn because he could see both sides of the argument.

  On one hand, Bushido was the foundation of his life. His father had raised him to believe that nothing was more important than a samurai’s duty to his master. His samurai blood told him that the forty-seven rōnin had done right to murder Kira.

  On the other hand, he had a duty to his own lord, the shogun. The forty-seven rōnin had defied the shogun’s orders, and Sano must uphold the law. And they’d killed many innocent people who hadn’t deserved to die for whatever Kira had done to Lord Asano—if in fact Kira had done anything to Lord Asano. To complicate matters, Sano had a personal code of honor that often conflicted with Bushido, that compelled him to seek the truth before he took action, that valued justice above blind obedience. There were too many questions in this case, and he needed answers before he made up his mind about the forty-seven rōnin.

  The shogun sighed. “Ahh, this is a complicated issue.”

  “Yes, it is complicated.” Yanagisawa refrained from d
eclaring his position. “If you set the forty-seven rōnin free, you’ll look weak because you let them get away with disregarding your orders. If you put them to death, you’ll send a message that loyalty doesn’t matter, and thousands of other samurai may decide that they have better things to do than serving you.”

  Those were good points, but Sano figured that Yanagisawa wanted to see which way the wind blew hardest before he took a stand. Although Yanagisawa didn’t like rogues who disrupted order, and he would probably like to see the forty-seven rōnin dead before sundown, an example to anyone else who was thinking of misbehaving, he had to consider the effect that the case would have on his quest for power.

  “There will be trouble, mark my words,” Yanagisawa said, “and Your Excellency has Sano-san to thank for it.”

  “You!” the shogun exclaimed, recoiling as if Sano had hit him.

  Incredulity struck Sano. “This isn’t my fault, Your Excellency,” he said, then turned to Yanagisawa. “What are you talking about?”

  “You arrested the forty-seven rōnin,” Yanagisawa said. “You dumped them in His Excellency’s lap.”

  “I was following orders to capture Kira’s killers,” Sano defended himself.

  “I ordered you to, ahh, get to the bottom of things,” the shogun retorted. “I didn’t say, ‘Cause more problems for me.’ But that’s ahh, exactly what you’ve done.”

  “There you go.” Yanagisawa shrugged at Sano. Yoritomo smiled triumphantly.

  Trust Yanagisawa to twist things around so that I look bad, Sano thought. Everyone else looked impressed with Yanagisawa’s deft play.