* * *
INSIDE THE PALACE reception chamber, Lord Ienobu sat on the dais. Sano, his hand stitched and bandaged, knelt at Ienobu’s right. On the floor below them, the Council of Elders sat in a row apart from the Tokugawa branch clan leaders, who included Lord Yoshimune. Sano had briefed them on the extraordinary events in the shogun’s bedchamber. They looked as shocked as Sano still was.
Sano still couldn’t believe Yanagisawa was dead. He felt strangely unbalanced, as if a part of him was gone and he hadn’t yet adjusted to the missing weight. Although he’d seen Yanagisawa’s body carried out of the palace, and he knew Yoshisato had gone to the Mori estate to break the news to Yanagisawa’s family, the reality of Yanagisawa’s death wouldn’t sink in until he’d checked the whole city and made sure his enemy wasn’t lurking someplace.
But he couldn’t leave the castle yet. Masahiro had taken Reiko and Akiko, the paralyzed Hirata, and the wounded Marume to the Mori estate, while Sano stayed behind to deal with the aftermath of the war. A messenger had brought Sano the news that Lady Yanagisawa had killed herself and Kikuko. Heaven only knew when Sano would see his family again or what else would happen. Sano gazed down at the assembly gathered to figure out what the government should do.
“Call the meeting to order,” Sano said.
“I call the meeting to order,” Lord Ienobu said.
The senior elder, a bald, pugnacious man named Ogita, scrutinized Lord Ienobu. “Is his mental condition permanent?”
“It’s impossible to tell,” Sano said.
“He’s otherwise normal?”
“Apparently. His physician has examined him.” Sano added, “He can eat and attend to his personal needs and read and write, but he doesn’t seem to remember anything at all.”
“And he won’t do or say anything unless you tell him to.”
“That seems to be the case.”
Lord Matsudaira, spokesman for the daimyo, glared down his long nose at Sano. “For all practical purposes you’re in control of the shogun, the regime, and the whole country.”
Sano was still shocked by this reversal of his fate.
“This is an untenable situation,” Senior Elder Ogita protested. “We can’t have a shogun who’s unable to think for himself!”
A chagrined silence ensued as everyone recalled the dead shogun, his body hastily cremated because of the measles.
“Lord Ienobu has an extreme case of mental impairment,” Lord Matsudaira said. “He shouldn’t be shogun.” Other daimyo nodded. Yoshimune was silent, perhaps chastened by the knowledge that he might have been convicted and put to death for the old shogun’s murder if Lady Nobuko hadn’t confessed.
Although he’d not asked for the opportunity to rule Japan through the new shogun, Sano was reluctant to let it slip away. Yanagisawa would die of envy. Sano had to remind himself that Yanagisawa was dead. “I could tell Lord Ienobu to step down, and he would do it, but then who would be shogun?”
“I understand Yoshisato has given up his claim to the dictatorship,” Lord Matsudaira said.
“That’s correct,” Sano said. Yoshisato had told him so.
“Lord Ienobu’s son is next in line for the succession,” Senior Elder Ogita said. “He’s only two years old, but a regent could be appointed to rule on his behalf until he comes of age.”
“Lord Ienobu wouldn’t have wanted to be shunted aside,” Sano said. A big responsibility accompanied his stroke of good fortune: It was now his duty to look out for the interests of Lord Ienobu, who was helpless to look after them himself. And it was a chance for Sano to try his hand at ruling Japan as well as to control his own destiny.
Maybe he’d absorbed some ambition from Yanagisawa at the moment he’d taken his life. The thought was disconcerting.
“What he would have wanted in the past is irrelevant. He obviously hasn’t any objection now.” Senior Elder Ogita eyed the placid, silent Lord Ienobu.
“How would we explain to the world why he was stepping down?” Sano asked.
“We could say he was seriously injured during the battle. Which would be true.”
“If his son becomes shogun, the government will be in virtually the same situation as it is now—with a dictator who’s unfit to rule. It’ll just be someone other than me in charge.”
Lord Matsudaira smirked. “Precisely.” The other daimyo, except for Yoshimune, nodded.
“Who would be the regent?” Sano asked.
Each daimyo except Yoshimune volunteered for the job. The elders chimed in to support their favorites. During the loud, heated argument about who was most qualified or deserving, Sano said to Lord Ienobu, “Tell them to stop.”
“Stop!” ordered Lord Ienobu.
The argument fizzled. Sano said, “You’re already fighting about who’ll control the dictatorship. What makes you think it will be one of you?” The men looked startled. “A regime with a child at its head and his clansmen squabbling over control of it—that’s a ripe apple for picking. Remember, many of the other daimyo revolted today. They could start a full-scale civil war, and if they win, that’ll be the end of the Tokugawa regime.”
Sano was disturbed to hear another voice in his head, speaking the same words—Yanagisawa’s. How long would it be until he stopped hearing that voice? How long until he could speak or act and not wonder if it was what Yanagisawa would have said or done?
“Sano-san has a point,” Senior Elder Ogita said reluctantly.
“He’s just trying to hang on to the power that his influence over Lord Ienobu gives him,” Lord Matsudaira said. “If we let him, he’ll pick the apple!”
The very idea amazed Sano. So did the fact that although he’d once done his best to keep Lord Ienobu from rising to the top of the regime, now he was trying to keep him there. “The regime will be more stable with an adult as shogun, and the other daimyo respect Lord Ienobu even if they don’t like him.”
Outraged and incredulous, Lord Matsudaira said, “He’s your puppet!”
“Not a word of what’s happened to Lord Ienobu will appear in the official record,” Sano improvised. “Only a few people know. We’ll swear them to secrecy.”
“He never went out much,” Senior Elder Ogita admitted. “If he stays out of sight, no one will suspect the reason.” The other elders nodded.
“You can’t hide him all the time,” Lord Matsudaira said. “He’ll have to hold audiences.”
“I’ll make sure he behaves properly,” Sano said. “And Manabe will look after him when I’m not with him.” Sano and Manabe had made a deal: Manabe would take care of Ienobu, keep quiet about his condition, and not make trouble for Sano; Sano wouldn’t punish Manabe for kidnapping Yoshisato and deceiving the old shogun. It went without saying that Ienobu had gotten his comeuppance for those offenses.
“But he’ll be even less in charge than the previous shogun was, which is to say not at all! You’ll be as good as ruling Japan!”
“I did it while I was chamberlain to the previous shogun,” Sano pointed out. “I’ll be Lord Ienobu’s chamberlain and do it again.”
“I won’t bow to your authority!”
Yoshimune spoke up. “Give Sano-san a chance. So he’s a puppeteer—if you don’t like how his show is going, then you can cancel it and make Lord Ienobu’s son shogun.”
There were murmurs of agreement. Yoshimune still had a commanding air about him. Lord Matsudaira, overruled and disgruntled, said to Sano, “All right, here’s your first test: How do you propose to handle the men from Yanagisawa’s faction?”
Sano turned to Lord Ienobu. “Pardon them all.”
“I pardon them all,” Lord Ienobu said.
An uproar broke out. Senior Elder Ogita said, “Pardon the enemy? Are you serious? It’s never happened in all of history.”
“A lot has happened today that’s never happened in all of history. Pardon them, put the whole blame on Yanagisawa, and the regime will hold together. Charge them big fines. But if you try to confiscate domains and
hand out death sentences, you’ll start that civil war you don’t want.” Sano thought of Yoshisato’s plan for a coalition to improve the government. He added, “I don’t intend to run Lord Ienobu’s government by myself. I welcome your advice. Somebody else might not be so willing to cooperate for the good of Japan.”
“I suppose you’ll be purging your enemies and putting your relatives and friends in high positions,” Lord Matsudaira said.
“My son, Masahiro, will have my old post as chief investigator. I may make some other changes. Anyone who doesn’t perform to my satisfaction had better improve or watch out.”
“What are you going to do with Lady Nobuko?” Senior Elder Ogita asked. “Don’t forget she murdered the shogun.”
“It wouldn’t do to let the world know,” Sano said. “A regime that let its dictator be stabbed by his crazy wife? We’ll go down in history as the biggest laughingstock of all time. His official cause of death will be measles. I’ll have Lady Nobuko put in a convent and kept quiet.”
Everybody seemed willing to let that matter lie. Everybody also seemed willing to give Sano his chance to run the government—rope to hang himself. “Next he’ll be pardoning all the criminals in Edo Jail,” Lord Matsudaira grumbled.
Not true, but Sano would issue a pardon for Dr. Ito.
Lord Ienobu raised his hand. Sano said, “You may speak.”
“I’m hungry. Can I have something to eat?”
As Sano led Lord Ienobu from the chamber and everyone bowed to them, Sano imagined Yanagisawa fuming at him from the netherworld.
* * *
AT THE MORI estate, Hirata lay on his back in bed, his eyes half closed, while his wife and children held a vigil around him. He felt no sensation in his body. It was like a carcass connected to his head, swollen with blood and poisons leaking from its damaged organs. He drifted in and out of consciousness, through different dimensions in time and space, as his brain gradually died.
He saw Midori crying and the solemn faces of Taeko, Tatsuo, and Chiyoko. He and Sano rode their horses through Edo, laughing together at some joke. He sat cross-legged outside a mountain temple, meditating. He and General Otani dueled on the battlefield at Sekigahara. They were the only ones still standing; the field was strewn with corpses. They lunged and swung their swords at each other. Cuts in their armor oozed blood from their wounds. General Otani roared, “Damn you for ruining everything! I’ll make you pay!”
There was no one to break the spell that had put the ghost inside Hirata. They were both shackled to Hirata’s mortally injured body.
Hirata floated in darkness, near the mouth of a cave where strange lights and shadows flickered. The cave was the portal to the netherworld. The sound of Midori crying returned him to his bed. She crawled onto it and wrapped her arms around him. Hirata couldn’t feel her except where her face, wet with tears, touched his.
“We can’t part like this.” Her murmur in his ear was raw with sorrow. “The last words I said to you—” Time inverted. They were in the alley in Nihonbashi. She screamed, “I hate you! I wish you were dead! I never want to see you again!”
Now, as they lay together, Midori wailed, “I wish I could take it back. I didn’t mean it. I was so hurt, I wanted to hurt you. I never—”
They stood facing each other at the portal to the netherworld. They were as young as when they’d first met nineteen years ago. Hirata was healthy and strong, Midori fresh and pretty. Her tears gleamed on smooth, rosy cheeks. “I never stopped loving you,” she said.
Joy elated Hirata. His wife loved him despite all the wrongs he’d done her. He took her in his arms. She clung to him and whispered, “Please say you forgive me.”
On the corpse-strewn battlefield, Hirata and General Otani were so wounded and exhausted, they could barely lift their swords, but they kept fighting. In the room where Midori hugged the paralyzed wreck that he was now, Hirata moved his cracked, gray lips and whispered, “… I forgive. Do you?”
“Yes!” Midori wept with relief and gratitude. The shadows and light from the netherworld played across her young, smooth face. “I love you,” Hirata said, as young and ardent as on the day they’d married. He stepped free of her embrace. “I have to go.” A sense of peace comforted him: Their separation was only temporary. “Tell the children…”
“Good-bye for now,” he whispered to Taeko, Tatsuo, and Chiyoko.
He saw their tearful smiles and heard them echo his farewell. As he backed away from Midori, she ran after him, arms outstretched, calling his name. The distance between them widened and her figure shrank. “I’ll be waiting for all of you,” Hirata called.
He collapsed on the Sekigahara battleground. General Otani fell beside him. Darkness obliterated the field, the dead soldiers. The portal to the netherworld beckoned. Hirata crawled through it, dragging General Otani with him. General Otani beat at him with armored fists and shouted, “Damn you to hell for all eternity!”
They were across the threshold. As they melded with the light and shadows, Hirata’s last sensation was the ghost disengaging from him, like a chain around his spirit loosening and crumbling away.
* * *
MORNING DAWNED COLD and clear, with a wind that chased white clouds across the pale blue sky as the sun rose. Servants outside the castle lugged away dead horses, raked up arrows and bullets, and mopped blood off the streets. Sano rode accompanied by a big retinue of troops from the same army he’d fought against two days ago. The man who controlled the shogun was a target for assassination.
When he reached Kan’ei Temple, Sano left his horse and retinue outside the cemetery. He entered the gold-trimmed, red double gate flanked by pillars. On a stone pedestal surrounded by evergreen trees and snow stood the shogun’s funerary urn—a big stone drum with symbolic carvings. A few wooden prayer stakes were planted in the ground around the base amid a few rice cakes, cups of sake, and lit candles. The fact that the shogun had the measles had been kept quiet, and so had the stabbing. The citizens wouldn’t learn of his death until they returned to Edo, and in the aftermath of the war, his officials and troops were too busy to visit his grave.
Sano pressed his prayer stake into the hard soil. He bowed his head as he came to the humbling realization that although it was easy to criticize someone else’s shortcomings as a dictator, it would be harder to avoid making mistakes now that he was in effect the dictator himself. The shogun had taught him a valuable lesson—how not to rule a nation. How to rule it well was up to Sano.
He heard a step behind him, turned, and saw Lord Yoshimune. “I hope you don’t mind my joining you.”
“Not at all.” Sano was finished, for now.
“I want to thank you,” Lord Yoshimune said as they stood side by side at the grave. “So does my cousin Tomoe. If you hadn’t discovered that it was Lady Nobuko who stabbed the shogun, we might have been put to death by now.”
“All in a day’s work.”
“I’d like to repay you for saving my life and Tomoe’s. Whatever I can do for you, just ask.”
Sano recognized that Yoshimune, like any astute politician, wanted to be on the good side of the power behind Lord Ienobu. “Support the new shogun.” Lord Yoshimune had already helped him bring the council under his control. “Tell the other daimyo to do the same.”
“That’s little enough. I suppose you’d rather not call in the whole favor until I’m in a position to do more for you.” Contemplating the grave, Yoshimune said, “I’ll be shogun someday.”
“When Lord Ienobu dies, his son will inherit the dictatorship. His son’s only two. He could reign for a long time and outlive you.”
Yoshimune shrugged, unperturbed. “Anything can happen. The events of the past few days have proved that. Besides, I feel lucky.” His grin showed a hint of his old brashness. “When I’m shogun, if you’re still around, I’ll give you a nice position in my regime.” He bowed and departed.
Sano bid the dead shogun a silent, grateful farewell, then went to join his reti
nue. He had another meeting that promised to be less friendly than this one.
* * *
TAEKO STOOD, HER face puffy and tear-stained, on the veranda of the guest quarters of the Mori estate. She’d come outside for a respite from trying to comfort her brother and sister while her mother and the servants prepared her father’s body for the funeral. In the garden where she and Masahiro had quarreled, patterns of sunlight and cloud shadow moved across the muddy snow. She looked at the opposite wing of the house and thought of Kikuko dead and all the blood. She’d wished Masahiro’s wife would die, and she felt as guilty as if she herself had cut Kikuko’s throat.
Masahiro came out of the house and stood beside her. Taeko felt even guiltier. She still loved him and wanted him so much that his very presence made her tremble. After everything that had happened, she was still hurt by his betrayal and terrified of what would become of her. What a selfish person she was!
“Can I talk to you?” Masahiro sounded uncertain and nervous.
She couldn’t look at him, didn’t deserve to have him with her. Afraid of what he would say, she nodded.
“I’m sorry about your father.”
Fresh tears of grief, shame, and guilt burned down Taeko’s chilled face. She was worrying about her troubles when her father had sacrificed his life! She knew what courtesy required her to say to Masahiro. She swallowed hard. “I’m sorry about your wife.”
But it was only half true. She was sorry that Kikuko had died in such a horrible way, murdered by her mother, but she wasn’t sorry Kikuko was dead.
“So am I,” Masahiro said with a sigh. Taeko stole a glance at him, to see whether he was heartbroken. But he only looked exhausted. “This probably isn’t a good time … so soon after … but…” He drummed his fingers on the veranda railing and said gruffly, “I want to explain why I … the other night … well, you know.”
Taeko gripped her arms under her sleeves, pressing them against the baby, as the memory of him and Kikuko sickened her stomach.
The Iris Fan Page 34
