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

by Laura Joh Rowland

  All the evil in Yoritomo had been laid to rest, but so had all the good.

  Yoritomo and Yanagisawa formed a tableau as poignant as it was terrible. Yoritomo’s blood colored the ice around them a bright red, strangely beautiful. Grief reduced Yanagisawa from a ruthless politician to a tragic figure, a father mourning his dead son. Ashamed to witness his enemy’s naked emotion, Sano turned his attention to Kajikawa.

  Kajikawa lowered his bloody sword. He looked as if he couldn’t believe what he’d done. He didn’t seem to notice that he’d let go of the shogun, who lay at his feet. Sano himself, and Reiko and Masahiro, were too stunned to move.

  The shogun crawled away from Kajikawa, toward the crowd. Now Kajikawa realized his hostage was escaping. “Come back here!” he shouted.

  Racing after the shogun, he bent and caught the hem of the shogun’s robe. The shogun strained like a dog on a leash. The silk fabric slipped from Kajikawa’s hand. The shogun scuttled frantically. Sano rushed to help him. Kajikawa hacked at the shogun with his sword. Yells blasted from the crowd. Kajikawa lost his balance, slipped on the melting ice, and missed.

  “That’s enough!” Sano said as troops hurried to his aid. “Drop that sword!”

  “Stay away! Leave me alone!” Kajikawa whipped the sword at Sano.

  Sano dodged. He reached for his sword, but his hand closed on empty air. He and Kajikawa wheeled around the shogun, who screamed while Kajikawa slashed at Sano. Sano ducked and feinted. He tried to lead Kajikawa away from the shogun, but troops surrounded them. As Sano made a grab for Kajikawa’s wrist, the shogun caught hold of Sano’s trousers. Sano stumbled and went down.

  Kajikawa shrieked and chopped wildly at Sano. His blade whistled close to the shogun. Sano rolled to avoid the slashes, lunged in an attempt to shield the shogun from them with his own body. Some of the troops attacked Kajikawa while others grabbed for the shogun. Kajikawa whirled and struck at them. Scrambling to his feet, Sano saw Yanagisawa raise his head. Yanagisawa gazed over his dead son, straight at Sano. His eyes streamed. The rage and hatred in them was so intense that Sano felt as if he’d been charred by flames. Yanagisawa eased Yoritomo’s body onto the ground and rose. He ran to one of the soldiers who were holding back the mob. He shouted a command. The soldier gave his sword to Yanagisawa.

  The troops lashed their swords at Kajikawa. He parried, evading injury by sheer dumb luck, treading on the shogun. Sano was about to rejoin the fight, when he heard Reiko cry, “Look out!”

  Sano saw Yanagisawa charging toward him, yelling words garbled by sobs. Yanagisawa’s face was ugly with rage. He gripped the borrowed sword in both hands over his head. Sano was facing the showdown with Yanagisawa that had been fourteen years in the making, and he was unarmed.

  Even as Sano looked around for a weapon he could use, Yanagisawa barreled past him, shouting, “My son is dead. I’m going to kill yours!” He ran at Masahiro.

  Through his horror, Sano saw alarm on his wife’s and son’s faces. A moment flashed by, during which the plight of the forty-seven rōnin became drastically personal for Sano. Duty required that he go to the shogun, defend his master. Fatherhood demanded that he protect his son. Could he choose the person who mattered most to him over the lord to whom he owed his highest loyalty?

  Sano recognized his dilemma, but he didn’t have time to think about what to do. Hirata broke free of the crowd, ran at Kajikawa, and roared. Mystical power radiated from him like a halo of shimmering heat. Kajikawa saw him, froze, then backed away from the shogun. The shogun crawled toward the soldiers and threw himself into their arms.

  The moment passed. The shogun was safe. Sano raced to rescue his son.

  * * *

  SHRIEKING CURSES, YANAGISAWA sliced at Masahiro. Masahiro parried with his dagger, but although he was a good fighter for his age, he was no match for a crazed, murderous adult. The force of Yanagisawa’s blows drove him backward. His short blade put him at a further disadvantage.

  Reiko screamed and threw herself between Masahiro and Yanagisawa. She didn’t care about her own safety. Her son’s was all that mattered. Masahiro pushed her away, to protect her. Reiko fell. Her left elbow hit the ice so hard that pain shot up the bone to her neck and skull. Her vision shuddered.

  Yanagisawa delivered a blow that sent Masahiro’s dagger flying and knocked Masahiro to the ground. His teeth were clenched, his lips pulled back in an unholy grin. He was covered with Yoritomo’s blood. Masahiro rolled from side to side as Yanagisawa hacked at him repeatedly.

  “Stop him!” Reiko called to Sano.

  Sano came running with all his might. He assaulted Yanagisawa from behind. He seized the wrist of Yanagisawa’s sword hand while he grabbed Yanagisawa’s left arm and bent it backward. Yanagisawa cursed as he struggled. Sano twisted his wrist. Yanagisawa shrieked in pain, but he held on to the weapon. Sano fought to subdue Yanagisawa. Kajikawa fended off troops. More troops held back the crowd that surged chaotically.

  Reiko hurried to Masahiro. “Are you all right?”

  Masahiro was already on his feet. “Yes, Mother. What about you?”

  Reiko’s arm ached as if something was broken, but she had to help Sano. He was struggling with Yanagisawa, who jerked, contorted, and tried to kick Sano’s legs.

  “I’m all right.” Reiko saw her dagger, the one that Yanagisawa had knocked out of Masahiro’s hand, lying near the palace. She rushed to it, snatched it up, and pointed it at Yanagisawa’s middle. “Drop the sword, or I’ll stab you!”

  Yanagisawa froze, his eyes widening. His stomach contracted as the tip of the dagger touched it. His fingers uncurled. The sword clattered onto the ground.

  Reiko stared at him, fascinated. This was the closest she’d ever been to Yanagisawa. Although she knew him from everything that Sano had told her about him, they’d never met, never exchanged a word. She was shocked because he was just a man. He breathed. His eyes were red from weeping over his son. The skin on his face had blemishes and lines. She could smell his sweat. This demon, her husband’s worst enemy, who had menaced her family for years and had just tried to kill her son, was as mortal as herself.

  “I’m going to kill you,” she said in a voice so jagged with fury that she barely recognized it as her own. “I’m going to make you pay for everything you’ve done to us.”

  Sano’s face, behind Yanagisawa’s, filled with dismay. “Don’t,” he said. “You’ve disarmed him. That’s enough.”

  “No, it’s not!” Every muscle in Reiko tensed, ready to drive the dagger home.

  “Kill him!” Masahiro jumped up and down with excitement.

  Yanagisawa smiled, oddly satisfied. “Go ahead, Lady Reiko. You’ll never have another chance like this.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Sano pleaded.

  “He’s a danger to us as long as he lives,” Reiko said, confused because Sano wanted to prevent her from doing what needed to be done. “I have to get rid of him once and for all.”

  “Good for you, Lady Reiko.” Yanagisawa breathed hard, his smile fixed. “Your husband hasn’t the courage. You have.”

  “He wants you to do it,” Sano warned. “Because you’ll be put to death as punishment. So will I. So will Masahiro.”

  “That’s right, Lady Reiko,” Yanagisawa said, laughing although terror clutched his voice.

  “You won’t be around to enjoy seeing us punished.” Reiko was furious at his mockery. “You’ll be dead.”

  Fresh tears streamed down Yanagisawa’s face. His smile brimmed with pain. “I don’t care. Now that Yoritomo is dead, nothing matters. I’ll gladly die so we can be together.”

  Was he playing on her sympathy, trying to get her to spare his life? Or did he truly want her to put him out of his misery? In spite of herself, Reiko pitied Yanagisawa. He had lost his child. His grief was genuine. It transformed him from a villain into a man who deserved compassion. Reiko hesitated.

  Yanagisawa’s eyes entreated her. The noise from the crowd rose louder. A horde of troop
s faced down Kajikawa. The shogun, safe with his guards, pointed at Kajikawa and yelled orders. Kajikawa wailed as he realized that he had nothing left with which to bargain for his escape. As the troops charged at him, he turned and ran for the palace, toward Reiko.

  Here came the man responsible for the attack on her father.

  With an effort that wrenched her whole spirit, Reiko tore herself away from Yanagisawa. She stood in front of the stairs that led to the door. She watched Kajikawa running toward her, out of breath, his heavy head bobbing, legs pumping, sleeves flapping, his eyes wild with panic. He’d looked bigger when she’d seen him holding the shogun hostage inside a room full of people tied up on the floor. Now, as he desperately fled his pursuers, Reiko noted his smallness, his insignificance. He was nothing but a puny coward!

  As he neared Reiko, he waved his sword at her. “Get out of my way!”

  But smallness didn’t negate the crime he’d committed. That his evils paled in comparison to Yanagisawa’s didn’t excuse Kajikawa. Reiko felt centuries of samurai heritage rise up like a flaming tidal wave in her blood.

  Kajikawa was almost upon her. The troops stampeding after him blurred into the background. The roars from the crowd faded. The world contained only herself and Kajikawa. She didn’t need to think before she acted. A lifetime of martial arts training had prepared her for this moment. Instinct took command of her body.

  Reiko flicked out her dagger.

  39

  SANO TOOK CHARGE after the debacle. Everyone else was too shocked. Although he himself was still reeling from the day’s events, he ordered the army to disperse the crowd and court physicians to attend to the shogun. He sent servants to clean up the shogun’s chamber and arranged for the dead to be removed. Everyone obeyed Sano for want of any other authority. Officials returned to their duties, troops to their posts. A sad parade moved out the gate—porters carrying three litters bearing the corpses of Kajikawa, Ihara, and Yoritomo. Yanagisawa accompanied his son. Tears streaming down his face, he stumbled like a blind man. Sano walked home with Reiko, Masahiro, Hirata, and Detectives Marume and Fukida, through the strangely deserted, quiet castle.

  A pale sun and patches of blue showed through the clouds in the sky. Sheets of ice slid from roofs. Water dripped from trees and eaves and cascaded down the walled passages along which Sano and his companions trudged. The crystalline world was thawing into puddles, slush, and mud.

  “That was some show,” Marume said.

  “People will be talking about it for a hundred years,” Fukida said.

  Sano heard a hollow note beneath their humor. They were as shaken as he was. Reiko asked the question that was on everyone’s mind: “What’s going to happen to me?”

  Her face was drawn, frightened. Masahiro held her hand. All present understood the gravity of the situation: She’d drawn a weapon inside Edo Castle, killed a man, and threatened the chamberlain. That would surely have repercussions.

  As would Yoritomo’s death.

  Marume and Fukida looked at the wet pavement instead of answering Reiko’s question. Hirata brooded in some private, dark study of his own. Sano said, “I doubt you’ll be punished. Nobody will take against you on Kajikawa’s behalf. And I’ll protect you.”

  Reiko forced a smile, pretending she was reassured. “At least the mystery of the vendetta is solved. The supreme court can decide the fate of the forty-seven rōnin.”

  40

  1703 March

  MORE THAN TWO months after the forty-seven rōnin killed Kira, their trial finally took place, in the reception room at the Hosokawa estate. Sano knelt at one side of the dais upon which the supreme court judges sat in a row. Magistrate Ueda occupied the place at center stage.

  The bruises on his face had faded, although the wound on his head had left an ugly scar. His voice was strong as he said, “We are gathered to render a verdict in the case of the vendetta perpetuated against Kira Yoshinaka by the former retainers of Lord Asano.”

  The forty-seven rōnin knelt in four rows below the dais, on a sheet of cloth covered with white sand: a makeshift shirasu—white sand of truth, a feature of courtrooms, where the defendants sat. It was the largest shirasu in Japan, for the largest trial in history. Oishi knelt in the front row, his son Chikara beside him. All the men were dressed in formal black silk robes. Their faces wore identical, stoic expressions. Again Sano had the sense that they were one being. He could almost hear their pulses beating in unison. They looked straight ahead at the court, ignoring the spectators who overflowed out the door. These included officials from every government department. They wanted to be among the first to hear the verdict. They were as hushed and still as the forty-seven rōnin.

  “This is an unprecedented situation,” Magistrate Ueda went on. “Not only was the vendetta particularly violent and not sanctioned by the law, but it had many facets, which raised many questions. Because we the judges of this court have had such difficulty in determining what really happened, we have been unable to agree on a just decision. Until now.”

  Sano felt suspense build, a rumbling sensation, as if an underground volcano were about to erupt. He had to force himself to breathe. Every investigation he’d undertaken had brought troubling consequences, but never had the fate of so many people hinged on his actions. This time he’d wielded more influence over fate than in previous cases, because he’d shaped the law to fit his own notion of justice.

  It was too late to wonder whether he’d done the right thing.

  “At last we know the truth,” Magistrate Ueda declared.

  The forty-seven rōnin didn’t react, but the spectators’ heads turned toward Sano. He’d told the court the story of the vendetta. The judges had kept it confidential from everyone else except the shogun, although many other people knew some or all the details—those present during Kajikawa’s confession; Hosokawa clan members; the Council of Elders. Accurate and false versions of the story had spread through Edo. And many people knew that Sano was responsible for dragging the truth into the light.

  “An unprecedented situation calls for an unprecedented response,” Magistrate Ueda said. “Therefore, we have decided not to render the usual sort of verdict.”

  Sano was also responsible for this decision. He’d proposed it to the judges, and after debating it strenuously for two months, they’d agreed that it was the best course of action.

  Murmurs of surprise swept through the audience. The forty-seven rōnin remained unperturbed: Sano had told them about the decision three days ago, as soon as it had been made.

  “We will allow you, the defendants, to decide your own fate,” Magistrate Ueda said. The audience clamored so loudly that he had to raise his voice. “I have ordered each of you to look into your spirit, to let your honor and your conscience be your guide in determining whether you should be punished by death or pardoned and set free.”

  Inspector General Nakae and Lord Nabeshima tightened their mouths. Superintendent Ogiwara and Minister Motoori, his broken leg propped on cushions, nodded. Magistrate Ueda had had quite a time convincing all the judges that Sano’s plan was the best way to calm the controversy and prevent the forty-seven rōnin’s supporters from going to war with their detractors. He and his allies had finally prevailed over the Yanagisawa faction, which was in chaos.

  After his son’s funeral, Yanagisawa had secluded himself inside his compound; no one had seen or heard from him since.

  “Have you decided?” Magistrate Ueda asked the forty-seven rōnin. They’d been given the three days to discuss the matter among themselves.

  “Yes, Honorable Magistrate, we have,” Oishi said in a loud, clear voice.

  The noise subsided into an expectant hush. “Tell us, then,” Magistrate Ueda ordered.

  Oishi spoke in an even tone devoid of melodrama. “We take pride in the fact that by killing Kira, we have discharged our duty to our master. We are certain that it was righteous.”

  Sano wholeheartedly agreed. He’d been unable to prove that Ki
ra had connived to destroy Lord Asano and steal his gold, but people had come forward with tales of how Kira had hurt and humiliated them and enjoyed their suffering. Oishi and Kajikawa were among legions.

  “But after having examined our consciences, we realized that our reasons were never as straightforward as we purported,” Oishi said. “I myself had a personal grudge against Kira. It played a big part in my decision to carry out the vendetta. And I’m not the only one who confused personal issues with duty. Some of us blamed Kira for their hardships and their disgrace. Others were angry at the world and eager to strike out at any target. Many thought they had nothing to live for, and they wanted to go out in a blaze of glory.”

  Oishi paused, swallowed, and struggled to contain his emotions. Sano felt a lump in his own throat. The other forty-six rōnin listened, their somber gazes trained on Oishi. He seemed to draw from them the strength to continue.

  “Our motives were never as pure as Bushido requires. We did not truly follow the Way of the Warrior; we followed our own selfish hearts. Even though we performed the highest act of loyalty, we are criminals at the bottom of it, a disgrace to the title of samurai. Our vendetta led to a situation in which the shogun’s life was endangered. Therefore—” He drew a deep breath and spoke in a rush: “We have decided to commit seppuku.”

  Muted exclamations rippled through the audience. Magistrate Ueda looked saddened but gratified. “So be it,” he said. “Your decision is the court’s verdict.”

  The other judges shook their heads in amazement: They’d expected the forty-seven rōnin to seize their freedom. Sano hadn’t known what to expect. He felt a mixture of awe and distress. No matter their human failings, Oishi and the other men were sacrificing their lives for the sake of honor. It occurred to Sano that their decision had taken into account other considerations besides those Oishi had mentioned. The unavoidable fact was that they had disobeyed the shogun. The shogun would have had to put them to death—even if it had meant overruling the supreme court—or lose face and authority. Now he didn’t have to make the hard decision that he’d created the supreme court in order to avoid. The forty-seven rōnin had made it for him. They’d done their duty to him after all.