The Ronin's Mistress: A Novel (Sano Ichiro Novels)

by Laura Joh Rowland

  The sun shone on the snow, which glittered with jeweled lights. Shadows reflected the cold, vivid blue of the sky. Sano saw a few houses in the distance, smoke rising from their chimneys. Crows perched in the leafless trees like sentries; their caws echoed weirdly. An unnatural stillness gripped the landscape. No one moved. Even the horses stood as if their hooves had frozen to the ground. Sano’s men listened, their noses red from the cold, their eyes alert. Hirata’s gaze swept the scene for danger.

  “Just because they didn’t hide, that doesn’t mean they want to be caught,” Sano said. He couldn’t help hoping for a challenge that would make the pursuit worthwhile.

  He and his men drew their swords. Hirata led the cautious advance through the gate. Beyond it lay an open space, the outer temple precinct. Footprints marked the snow to an inner gate flanked by ornamental pine trees with twisted boughs. The gate was a building with a double-tiered roof; its central doorway led to the inner precinct. From the doorway emerged a priest who wore a hooded cloak over his saffron robe and shaved head. He rushed down the steps to meet Sano and the troops, clearly relieved that the law had arrived.

  Clasping his hands, he bowed; then he beckoned. “They’re in here.”

  “What are they doing?” Sano asked as the priest led him and his group to the inner precinct.

  “Nothing.” The priest sounded perplexed. “They just marched into the temple without a word.” He bypassed the worship hall, where a few other priests stood about in confusion. He pointed at a well—a round hole encircled by a carved stone rim. The snow around it was wet and red. “They washed the head there.”

  They had performed a ritual purification of Kira’s head, Sano deduced. His heart began to drum with excitement. The priest led the way through a gate in a stone wall. In a small cemetery, the forty-seven samurai stood crowded amid stone pillars that marked the graves where the ashes of the deceased were buried. Their swords were sheathed, bows and empty slings dangling from their shoulders, spears resting on the ground. Their faded, threadbare clothes were splattered with blood. Grime and whisker stubble shadowed their faces. They gazed at Sano and his party without making a sound, their expressions set in identical hard, stoic lines. They ranged in age from a youth of about sixteen years to old, white-haired men. Some were wounded, with rags wrapped around arms and legs. One fellow had a gory cut across his eye, which was swollen shut and leaking bloody fluid. They all faced Lord Asano’s tomb, a pillar elevated on a stone base and enclosed by a fence made of stone posts. In front of the tomb was a stone lantern with a curved lid and a persimmon-shaped ornament on top. Against the lantern’s tall base stood the forty-seven rōnin’s trophy.

  Bled dry and washed clean, the neck smoothly severed, Kira’s head looked like a wax prop from a Kabuki play. Sano caught himself thinking how lifelike the details were—the yellowed teeth, the age spots, the gray hairs, the scar on the crown, and the white, wrinkled skin. The mouth hung open; the eyelids drooped. Sano hardly recognized Kira, the prim, stiff-lipped man he’d known.

  Sano’s party stared in dumbfounded shock.

  Hirata broke the silence and addressed the forty-seven rōnin. “This is the shogun’s sōsakan-sama.” He indicated Sano. “Which of you is the leader?”

  “I am,” said the man standing nearest to Lord Asano’s tomb. “My name is Oishi Kuranosuke.” His voice had the raspy sound of diseased lungs. “I was Lord Asano’s chief councilor.”

  He was in his forties, lean but broad-shouldered. Although his pallor was gray with fatigue, his fierce eyes glittered as if from an inner fire. He reminded Sano of statues of guardian deities in temples. The candlelight on their eyes imbued their carved wooden figures with life.

  Oishi gestured at his comrades. “These were Lord Asano’s other men.” The other forty-six rōnin stood as motionless as the grave markers, except for the youngest, who strode to Oishi’s side. “This is my son, Chikara.”

  The two men shared the same long nose, slanted brows, flared nostrils, and thick, firm mouth. But Chikara’s face was still soft with youth, his build sturdy. The ferocity in his eyes seemed a deliberate imitation of his father. It flickered on and off, as though he couldn’t keep up the act.

  “Which of you killed Kira?” Sano asked.

  “I did.” Oishi spoke quietly. “But we were all in on it together.”

  He and his comrades radiated savage pride. Although they’d freely publicized their crime, Sano was nonetheless surprised by their candor. “Are you aware that the shogun forbade action against Kira and your vendetta was therefore illegal?”

  “We are,” Oishi said.

  “Then why did you do it?” Sano asked.

  “We had to avenge Lord Asano’s death. It was our duty.”

  That was the stock answer Sano had expected, but he heard something in Oishi’s voice, a faint dissonance of tone. He sensed that the man’s words were true, but perhaps not entirely. “What else?”

  “Nothing,” Oishi said, adamant.

  Sano perceived a wrongness in the air, like a smell. The silence among the rōnin was unnerving. They looked eerily alike, even though their ages, shapes, and facial features varied. They seemed part of one monstrous creature, with Oishi clearly the brains.

  “Why are you standing here?” Sano said. “Why didn’t you commit seppuku?” Ritual suicide was mandatory for illegal vendettas, which the law considered murder. “Or run away?”

  “We’re awaiting orders,” Oishi said.

  Sano frowned in puzzlement. “Orders from whom?” He felt as if he were caught in a nightmare whose events didn’t follow ordinary logic. “To do what?”

  “We’re awaiting orders,” Oishi repeated. The other rōnin nodded.

  “What’s going on?” Sano demanded.

  “We avenged our master’s death. Our mission is accomplished.” Oishi’s words sounded stiff and formal, recited. Although none of his men spoke, Sano could almost hear cheers shouted from their minds.

  “Well, you’re all under arrest,” Sano said. “You’re coming with us.”

  He braced himself for the rōnin’s reaction. He craved a battle even though there had been enough violence for one day. Marume, Fukida, and his other troops stirred, ready for a fight. Hirata alone remained calm. Sano still wanted a chance to be a hero, to regain his lost standing, and although nothing he’d seen of the forty-seven rōnin indicated that they would resist arrest, their behavior was so peculiar that he couldn’t predict what would happen.

  Oishi gave Sano a long, enigmatic look. A moment passed. Salty, metallic blood scented the air. Then Oishi nodded to his comrades. Without protest, the forty-seven rōnin let Sano’s troops escort them from the temple.

  Relief and disappointment trickled through Sano.

  “That was a little weird,” Fukida said as he and Sano and Marume and Hirata followed their prisoners out.

  Marume laughed. “That’s the understatement of the year.”

  “Where are we going to put them?” Hirata asked.

  “That’s a good question,” Sano said. Edo Jail was reserved for commoners. Samurai criminals were usually kept under house arrest, but these didn’t have a proper home. They’d lost it after the house of Asano had been dissolved.

  “At least the case is closed,” Hirata said.

  “Maybe not.” Sano had a hunch that it wasn’t. And he suspected that his hunch was more than just wishful thinking.

  6

  DRESSED IN PADDED robes and bundled in quilts, Reiko and Chiyo rode through the city in a palanquin carried by four bearers. Mounted guards from Sano’s army accompanied them. Masahiro rode with the guards. Reiko looked out the window at him and smiled.

  “He’s so proud to have his first horse,” she said.

  “He’s already so good at riding,” Chiyo said.

  Reiko wasn’t sure he could control the horse, a brown stallion that seemed far too big. He might be thrown and get hurt. She felt a tender pain in her heart because soon he would be grown
up; she couldn’t keep him safe at home forever.

  After a short, cold journey, her procession arrived at the south end of the Nihonbashi Bridge. Quays and warehouses spread along riverbanks lined with boats. Because the bridge was the starting point for the five major roads leading out of town, the area was crammed with inns and shops. Today Reiko saw few travelers in the snow-covered streets. Along the block to which Okaru’s letter had directed Reiko, cheap inns stood side by side, enclosed by bamboo fences. The proprietors looked out their gates in hope of customers. One gate had a tattered paper lantern, which sported a crudely painted dragonfly crest, suspended from its roof. There Reiko’s procession stopped. Her chief bodyguard, the homely, serious Lieutenant Tanuma, announced her to the innkeeper.

  “This is Lady Reiko, the wife of the shogun’s sōsakan-sama. She’s here to see one of your guests, a woman named Okaru.”

  The innkeeper had a mouth that was puckered as if he’d just drunk vinegar. “All right, but please be quiet. My other guests arrived late last night, and they’re still asleep.”

  Reiko and Chiyo, Masahiro and Lieutenant Tanuma, followed the innkeeper through a passage to a small garden buried under snow and surrounded by guest rooms in small, shabby wooden buildings. The innkeeper pointed to a room on the right. “She’s in there.”

  Reiko and her companions waded through the snow and mounted the steps to the veranda. She knocked on the door. After a moment it was opened by a tall, broad, mannish-looking woman dressed in a brown-and-black-striped kimono and black trousers. A faint mustache darkened her upper lip. She gazed down at Reiko.

  “Who are you?” Her voice was high, feminine, and unfriendly.

  Disconcerted, Reiko said, “My name is Reiko. I—”

  A little scream came from inside the room. A girlish voice said, “It’s Lady Reiko! Let her in, let her in!”

  The mannish woman stood aside. Reiko, Chiyo, and Masahiro slipped past her; Lieutenant Tanuma waited on the veranda. The room was barely larger than a closet. Baggage lay stacked against the wall; bedding overflowed from the cabinet. The girl who’d spoken knelt on the floor beside a charcoal brazier, holding a comb. Her long black hair hung damply around her shoulders. She wore a pale pink robe, the sash loose. She’d evidently just bathed. The sweet fragrance of a clean young woman scented the air.

  “Honorable Lady Reiko! I prayed and prayed that you would come. I can hardly believe you’re here!” The girl gasped. “Oh, I’m sorry, where are my manners?” She dropped her comb and bowed. “A thousand thanks for coming. I’m Okaru.”

  She was younger than Reiko had expected—perhaps sixteen. Small and slim and lithe, she was also beautiful. She had a heart-shaped face with round cheeks, and large, limpid, innocent eyes. Her skin glowed like pearls. Her teeth were white and perfect, her lips soft and pink as peony petals. Her smile was radiant.

  “This is my cousin-in-law Chiyo, and my son Masahiro,” Reiko said.

  Okaru said breathlessly, “I’m so honored to make your acquaintance!”

  Chiyo replied calmly and politely. Reiko couldn’t help liking Okaru, the girl was so sweet; but she knew that first impressions could be erroneous. Masahiro stared at Okaru, his eyes wide and mouth open.

  “Please allow me to introduce Goza.” Okaru’s delicate hand gestured toward her companion. “My servant.”

  Goza squatted on the floor, like a man.

  “Please sit down,” Okaru said.

  Reiko and her companions knelt, crowded together in the small space.

  “May I offer you some refreshments?” Okaru lifted the lid of a teapot and said, “Oh, no, the tea is all gone. And I’m afraid we’ve finished the rice cakes.”

  “You don’t need to give us anything.” Reiko remembered that Okaru was short on money. “We’ve come to help you.”

  Okaru’s beautiful face crumpled. “And I’m so thankful. Because I’m in such terrible trouble! Or rather, Oishi is. I’m so afraid.” Tears shone in her limpid eyes.

  Chiyo handed Okaru a handkerchief. Reiko could see that Chiyo sympathized with the girl but reserved judgment about her. Okaru wiped her tears, swallowed, and breathed deeply.

  “Let’s start at the beginning,” Reiko said. “Where did you come from?”

  “Miyako,” Okaru said.

  Miyako was the imperial capital, a fifteen-day journey from Edo in good weather, perhaps twice as long in winter. “That’s quite far,” Reiko said. “And you came by yourself?”

  “I had Goza.” Okaru smiled at her servant. “She protected me.”

  “Who is your family?” Reiko couldn’t believe they would let a girl so young travel so far with only one female attendant. The highway was dangerous.

  “I haven’t any family.” Sadness filled Okaru’s voice.

  “What happened to your parents?” Reiko asked.

  “They died four years ago, when I was twelve. I’ve been on my own since then.”

  Pity filled Reiko. She happened to glance at Masahiro and saw him leaning toward Okaru as if fascinated. “How have you managed to live?”

  “I work at a teahouse.” Okaru spoke in a small but brave voice. Her cheeks flushed.

  Reiko understood that Okaru was one of the many teahouse girls who did more than serve drinks. She was a prostitute, the lowly kind that worked outside the licensed pleasure quarters where prostitution was legal. Reiko marveled that Okaru had retained her beauty and innocence for this long. But Chiyo recoiled from Okaru, as many samurai ladies would. Masahiro frowned in confusion. Although Reiko knew he’d seen teahouse girls soliciting customers, he was too young to understand exactly what they did.

  After a brief, awkward silence, Reiko said, “When did you come to Edo?”

  “Yesterday.” Okaru smiled, thankful that Reiko didn’t shun her because of her occupation. “I asked the innkeeper if there was anybody who helps travelers with problems, that I could go to. I was thinking of a convent.” Convents and monasteries took in people who were down on their luck. “He mentioned you. He found me a scribe to write my letter.”

  The innkeeper had been kinder than he looked, Reiko thought. But a man would have to be made of stone to resist Okaru. “What brought you here?”

  “Oishi came. I followed him.”

  “Who is Oishi?”

  “Oishi Kuranosuke. My fiancé.” Okaru blushed again.

  Reiko supposed that teahouse girls liked to refer to their customers as fiancés. Maybe they thought it made them sound respectable; maybe it was wishful thinking. His two names identified Oishi as a samurai, above Okaru’s station. Okaru was likely just his mistress. “What has Oishi done?”

  “He’s killed him.” Okaru trembled on the verge of tears again. “I heard the news-sellers shouting it in the streets. They said he cut off his head.”

  “Cut off whose head?” Reiko said, alarmed yet excited to hear that the problem involved murder.

  “I followed him because I love him so much and I wanted to save him.” Okaru’s voice rose to a wail. “But I’m just a stupid girl. That’s why I sent the letter to you.” Her hands fluttered like fragile white birds. “Can’t you please do something?”

  Reiko caught Okaru’s hands and held them still. “I won’t know what to do until I know the facts. Now tell me: Whom did Oishi kill?”

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m just so upset.” Okaru gulped and sniffled. “It was Kira Yoshinaka.”

  Reiko recognized the name. “Kira, the shogun’s master of ceremonies?”

  “I guess. Some important man at Edo Castle.”

  Reiko was amazed to learn that Kira had been murdered and she had stumbled onto the sequel of a scandalous incident she remembered well. “Is Oishi one of Lord Asano’s former retainers?”

  “Yes, yes! He came to kill Kira because Kira killed Lord Asano.”

  She didn’t have the facts exactly straight. Reiko said, “But the shogun said Kira wasn’t at fault and no action should be taken against him.” Now she understood why Oishi was
in trouble and Okaru was so worried. “A vendetta would have been illegal.”

  “That’s what Oishi told me,” Okaru said. “I begged him not to go. But he didn’t care if he was breaking the law.”

  Many samurai wouldn’t. Avenging a master’s death was their highest duty, and sacrificing themselves their ultimate act of loyalty. “So Oishi murdered Kira.”

  “Not just Oishi. He took along forty-six of Lord Asano’s other men.”

  Reiko was stunned. The trouble was even more serious than she’d initially thought. The government might have excused one samurai who’d killed in the name of honor, but forty-seven rōnin ganging up on one old man? Reiko couldn’t imagine them getting away with it.

  “So that’s why Oishi and I need your help,” Okaru said.

  The problem was far beyond Reiko’s power to solve. “I’m sorry to say that I can’t save Oishi.” Reiko watched Okaru’s face fall. She hated to disappoint the girl, but it would be crueler to give her false hope. “Oishi and his friends defied the shogun and committed murder. They’ll likely be sentenced to death.”

  Chiyo nodded. Masahiro turned to Reiko in dismay. Reiko was sorry she’d brought him, that he was upset.

  “But the innkeeper said your husband is an important man in the government,” Okaru said. “Couldn’t he protect Oishi, if you ask him to?”

  “My husband has to follow the shogun’s orders just like everyone else,” Reiko said. “There’s nothing he can do for Oishi. I’m sorry. My best advice to you is this: Forget about Oishi. Go home. If you need money for traveling, I can give you some.”

  Okaru conceded without a fight. Indeed, she didn’t seem to have a fighting bone in her body. Her shoulders sagged. “I understand,” she said, her beautiful face a picture of woe. “I’m sorry for imposing on you. I won’t take your money. Thank you for coming.”

  Her manner showed no resentment, which made Reiko even sorrier that she couldn’t help the girl. Then Okaru said, “What I don’t understand is how that man Kira could do something wrong, and Oishi will die for trying to set things right. It seems so unfair.”