The Shogun's Daughter: A Novel of Feudal Japan (Sano Ichiro Mysteries)

by Laura Joh Rowland

  Yanagisawa stood, glaring at the men in the crowd. “Who let this happen?”

  No reply came. Yanagisawa smelled fear, as pungent as the smoke in the air. His sobs stopped as his instincts whispered that when a controversial person died violently, assassination was a likely cause. Yanagisawa wiped his eyes with his sleeve. His gaze skipped over face after face, then stopped at three people standing together by a bush.

  Sano, with his bodyguard Marume and his son, Masahiro.

  Yanagisawa beheld Sano as if through a scrim of leaping flames. He stalked toward the trio. Sano and Marume stepped forward, their expressions wary.

  “What are you doing here?” Yanagisawa said, his voice thick with hatred.

  “We came to help put out the fire,” Sano said, “but it was too late. I’m sorry.”

  “How dare you pretend you’re sorry Yoshisato is dead?” Yanagisawa didn’t give Sano time to answer. “What’s that in your hands?”

  Looking down at the objects he held, Sano seemed surprised, as if he’d forgotten them. The crowd waited. The silence was so complete, Yanagisawa heard faint, distant shouts and the clacking of sticks from a brawl in the city.

  “The fire was arson. I found these under a bush.” Sano held up a metal smoking basket, some rags, and a ceramic jar. “The jar and rags smell of kerosene. The arsonist must have left them behind.”

  Yanagisawa was horrified by the thought of Yoshisato innocently sleeping while someone set his house on fire. He was so furious that he could hardly speak. “You can’t fool me! You brought them yourself. You were trying to take them away before anyone else could find them. You’re the arsonist!”

  “I’m not. That’s ridiculous!” Sano looked stricken, confused.

  “You didn’t want Yoshisato to be the next shogun. You tried to prove he wasn’t the shogun’s son, and you failed, so you killed him!”

  “I didn’t set the fire. I’m not trying to fool you,” Sano said, angry now. “For once in your life, realize that everything bad that happens to you isn’t my fault! I didn’t get here until after it was already burning.”

  “That’s right,” Marume said angrily. “I was with him.”

  “Shut up!” Yanagisawa was certain Sano was guilty. Sano had resorted to murder to thwart Yanagisawa’s quest for power, and Yoshisato was the casualty.

  “The well was plugged,” Sano said. “The firemen suspected arson. I started an investigation. This is the evidence I found.”

  “No more lies!” Yanagisawa snatched the basket, rags, and jar from Sano’s hands. He called to his troops, “Arrest him!” He said to Sano, “You got away with Yoritomo’s death. I won’t let you get away with Yoshisato’s!”

  * * *

  SANO WAS ASTOUNDED by the sudden reversal of his position and Yanagisawa’s. A moment ago Yanagisawa had been his primary suspect in Tsuruhime’s murder. Now Sano was the suspect in Yoshisato’s. He’d been searching for proof that Yanagisawa was guilty. Now he’d been caught holding the evidence left by the arsonist. Sano realized how guilty he looked. He also realized that the crime he was accused of was much more serious than the one he believed Yanagisawa had committed.

  Infecting the shogun’s daughter with smallpox was picayune compared to burning the shogun’s heir to death.

  Sano’s past troubles were nothing compared to those he now faced.

  As the troops advanced on Sano, he said to Yanagisawa, “You’re making a mistake. If you blame me for the fire, the real arsonist will go free!”

  “I’ve got the real arsonist,” Yanagisawa said with vengeful satisfaction.

  He really believed it, Sano was disturbed to see. As the troops seized Sano, an uproar rose from the crowd: Everyone was thrilled to see the feud between Sano and Yanagisawa finally culminate. Sano struggled, angrily resisting arrest.

  “Let my father go!” Masahiro cried, throwing himself on the troops.

  Marume rushed to defend Sano. So did Sano’s other men. None of them had brought their swords, which would have gotten in the way of putting out the fire. They wrestled the troops. Masahiro punched and kicked. Sano, caught in the middle, saw Yanagisawa’s troops brandishing swords.

  “Go ahead, Sano-san!” Yanagisawa called, hysterical with grief and rage. “Fight. Give me an excuse to kill you and your son right now!”

  “Stop!” Sano yelled. He ceased struggling. “I surrender!”

  “No!” Masahiro protested.

  Groans came from the crowd. Surrendering was the most disgraceful thing a samurai could do. Surrendering deeply shamed Sano. But he must surrender rather than fight a battle unarmed and see his son killed.

  “Do as I say,” he ordered Masahiro, Marume, and his troops.

  They reluctantly fell back.

  “Go home,” Sano called to Masahiro as Yanagisawa’s troops dragged him away. “Tell your mother what happened. Tell her not to worry.” He said what he hoped was true and knew wasn’t: “Everything’s going to be all right.”

  26

  YANAGISAWA’S TROOPS LOCKED Sano in a guard tower. He waited alone in the bare, stone-walled room. Rain began to clatter on the roof tiles. A chill in the air turned Sano’s sweat cold under the leather fire cape he still wore. He stood at the window and watched morning break over Edo.

  Was this his last morning?

  What would happen to his family?

  He tried to think of how to get himself out of his predicament, but behind his stoic façade, his mind was a cyclone of desperation. All he could do was wait.

  Finally, Yanagisawa’s troops escorted him uphill through the covered corridors. They marched him through lashing rain to the palace. In the reception chamber, the shogun knelt on the dais with Yanagisawa seated at his right. The four old men from the Council of Elders knelt in two grim, silent rows opposite one another on the upper level of the floor below the dais. Soldiers stood against the walls. The troops pushed Sano to his knees on the lower level of the floor. Drenched and shivering, he faced his superiors.

  “There had, ahh, better be a good reason for calling a meeting at this early hour,” the shogun said.

  “There is.” Yanagisawa’s voice was ragged from weeping, his bloodshot gaze as hard as if his tears had solidified into red-hot iron. “Sano will tell you what happened last night.”

  Sano looked at the elders. They gazed at the floor; they already knew. Yanagisawa had designated Sano as the unfortunate messenger of the bad news that nobody else wanted to break to the shogun. Sano couldn’t resent the unfairness of it. Guilt weighed heavily upon him. He’d been Yoshisato’s detractor; he’d failed to rescue Yoshisato. The least Sano could do for Yoshisato was to report the fact of his death.

  “There was a fire at the heir’s residence,” Sano said.

  The shogun’s eyes widened with fright. “Yoshisato…?”

  “I’m sorry, Your Excellency,” Sano said. “Yoshisato … didn’t survive.”

  The shogun recoiled from Sano in horror. An ugly, satisfied smile appeared on Yanagisawa’s face.

  “No. It can’t be.” Trembling and frantic, the shogun looked around the room. When nobody contradicted Sano, he wailed, “The poor, dear boy!” and burst into tears. “Ahh, how terribly he must have suffered!”

  Even while distressed by the misery his words had caused and in fear for his life, Sano marveled at how Yoshisato’s death had affected the shogun.

  “He was such a wonderful young man! That he should be cut down in the prime of his life! What a tragedy!” The shogun prostrated himself on the dais as he wept.

  Sano had expected the shogun to be strictly concerned about himself, as he’d been after his daughter’s death. This time he lamented Yoshisato, not the disruption of his own world. Yoshisato had been, as Sano had begun to think, a truly special person.

  “My son! I loved him so much!” The shogun sobbed so hard he gasped for breath. “I only had him for, ahh, such a short time. And now he’s gone!”

  Sano had never known the shogun to love
anybody. His sincere grief made Sano feel even guiltier. Yanagisawa watched it with perverse pleasure. The shogun raised himself on his elbows. Anger surfaced through his grief. His wet gaze raked Sano’s leather garments.

  “Why didn’t you put out the fire? Why didn’t you save Yoshisato?”

  “I tried.” Sano felt the hot roar of the flames blasting out the door. “It was too late.”

  “He set the fire,” Yanagisawa said, his voice loud with indignation.

  “Can this be true?” The shogun gaped at Sano. “You murdered my son?”

  “No,” Sano said vehemently. “Chamberlain Yanagisawa is wrong.”

  “He’s lying. Here’s the evidence he left.” Yanagisawa reached behind him and brought forth the smoking basket, the jar, and the rags.

  “It’s not mine,” Sano said.

  The shogun handled the ash-coated metal basket with finicky fingers, wrinkling his nose as he smelled the rags. “What are these?”

  “The jar that Sano used to carry the kerosene to the heir’s residence,” Yanagisawa said. “He brought hot coals in the smoking basket. He lit the rags to start the fire.” Conviction rang in Yanagisawa’s voice. During the past few hours he’d become entrenched in his belief that Sano had murdered Yoshisato.

  “I never saw them until after the fire was out,” Sano insisted, glancing at the elders. They eyed him dubiously. Either Yanagisawa had persuaded them that Sano was guilty or they were afraid not to go along with him. “I was investigating the fire. I found them under a bush.”

  “You were sneaking them away, so that nobody else would find them. But I caught you.” Yanagisawa said to the shogun, “Sano didn’t want Yoshisato to inherit the dictatorship. He tried to discredit Yoshisato, but he failed. So he burned him to death.”

  “No!” Sano shouted in desperation. “It’s not how it looks!”

  “It looks to me as if you killed my son!” The shogun’s voice was shrill with hysteria. Clutching the metal basket, he clambered to his feet, fell off the dais, then staggered over to Sano. “Why? Why did you do it?”

  The shogun had wrongly accused Sano of many evils but never something as serious as this. Sano spoke with urgent passion. “I did not set that fire. Your Excellency has known me for fourteen years. You know in your heart that I would never do such a heinous thing!”

  “Don’t believe him!” Yanagisawa shouted. “Sano was envious of Yoshisato. He wants to rule Japan himself. Yoshisato was in the way. Sano got rid of him by killing him in cold blood!”

  “Murderer! Traitor!” The shogun swung the basket at Sano. Its sharp metal corner gouged Sano’s temple. “A curse on you!” He struck Sano again and again.

  Blows hit Sano’s cheekbones, nose, and mouth. Sano remembered striking Hirata, who’d stood there unresisting. Now Sano endured the abuse and pain while the shogun beat his back and chest. It was Sano’s duty to take the punishment, no matter how undeserved, without striking back. Through the blood that ran into his eyes Sano saw Yanagisawa watching him with avid glee. The Way of the Warrior demanded courage while under attack. Sano would not shame himself by pleading for mercy.

  Finally the shogun backed away from Sano. He dropped the basket, crawled onto the dais, and sat, gasping and spent. Sano’s head throbbed. The skin on his face felt numb, stretched across the pain underneath, as if his whole face were one big blister. The elders’ alarmed faces were like mirrors that told him how bad he looked. Yanagisawa gloated over Sano’s injuries but seemed disappointed that the shogun had quit so soon.

  The shogun flicked his hand at Sano. “Get this piece of, ahh, garbage out of my sight.”

  Something broke inside Sano. It was the dam that held in his most private thoughts and feelings. Now they came pouring out in a poisonous black flood. He’d often been angry at the shogun’s foolishness, selfishness, unfairness, and weakness, but that anger paled beside the fury that Sano felt now. He’d often disliked the shogun for insulting, threatening, and mistreating him. But now his wounded body rebelled against all the punishments that his mind had forced him to accept for the sake of Bushido. All his compassion toward the shogun vanished as he was finally pushed beyond the point where he could endure the constant testing of his honor or justify the shogun’s violence toward him. A savage hatred fought to explode out of Sano, like a wild animal from a cage.

  “I’ll take Sano to the execution ground.” Yanagisawa sounded exultant that after so many years he’d finally bested his enemy, yet regretful that there was nothing more he could do to Sano except deny him an honorable death by ritual suicide. He rose, beckoning to the troops. “I’ll have him decapitated and his head mounted by the Nihonbashi Bridge.”

  Sano knew this was his last chance to defend himself, but he couldn’t. He was too consumed by his hatred of the shogun, which was magnitudes greater than what he felt toward Yanagisawa. Yanagisawa had mightily abused Sano but only gotten away with it because the shogun let him. If Sano spoke, he wouldn’t say something brilliant that would exonerate him. His mutinous body would seize control of the tongue that his mind had always managed to hold. He would say exactly what he thought of the shogun.

  You limp little man, waving your limp little hand to condemn your innocent, loyal retainer and send other people to do your dirty work!

  The troops started toward Sano. Their usually impassive faces twitched with excitement. They knew this was a historic event and were thrilled to take part in it. The shogun watched, his mouth open and eyes vacant. Sano knew what that look meant: The shogun suspected that something was amiss, but he didn’t want to deal with it and so decided not to understand. Sano gazed at him with bitter loathing.

  You’re not really that stupid! You choose to be stupid! It’s easier than exerting yourself instead of letting Yanagisawa usurp your power!

  “Wait,” said one of the elders. It was Kato Kinhide. He had a flat, leathery, masklike face, the eyes and mouth like slits cut in it. The troops paused. “Let’s not be too hasty.”

  “How could we be too hasty to punish the criminal who killed the shogun’s heir?” Yanagisawa sounded outraged that his crony would try to postpone his victory over Sano.

  “We need to be sure Sano-san is guilty,” Kato said.

  “Merciful gods, I caught him with the evidence.”

  Another elder spoke up. “Did anyone actually see him set the fire?”

  “I know he did it,” Yanagisawa said angrily. “How dare you go against me?”

  Sano knew he should jump at the chance of turning the elders into his allies, but his attention focused on the mute, seemingly oblivious shogun. Wake up, you lazy excuse for a dictator!

  “We’re not going against you,” a third elder hurried to say. “We just think you should exercise a little caution.”

  “‘Caution’?” Yanagisawa spoke as if it were a foreign, dirty word. “Why?”

  “Later,” Kato said with a warning glance at the shogun.

  Sano knew that the elders didn’t want to talk political strategy in the shogun’s presence. The shogun chose that moment to burst into a fresh spate of weeping. His sobs drowned out the conversational undertones he didn’t want to hear. Sano didn’t care that the elders were afraid that Yoshisato’s death could shift the balance of power in his favor and that was surely why they hesitated to take action against him. He was too embroiled in his contempt for the shogun. His loyalty toward the shogun crumbled. Up from its ruins surged a compulsion bred in his samurai blood, the passion for vengeance.

  “I want to execute Sano now!” Yanagisawa thumped his fists on the dais.

  Not even the immediate prospect of his own death could distract Sano from his desire to redress the wrongs the shogun had done him. His right hand clenched under his leather cape. His fingers itched for the sword he’d left at home.

  “We’re overruling you,” Kato said. He and the other elders looked scared but determined.

  Sano also knew that the elders were threatening to break their allegiance to Yanagi
sawa unless he cooperated with them. He ignored another opportunity to win them over to his side as he gauged the distance between himself and the dais. Could he get to the shogun before the guards stopped him?

  Yanagisawa shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He flung up his hands. “What would you have me do?”

  “Follow standard procedure,” Kato said, and the other elders nodded. “Put Sano on trial, just like any other accused criminal.”

  It wouldn’t take much effort to strangle the shogun. Sano’s fingers flexed. He could almost feel the withered flesh of the shogun’s neck, its fragile bones snapping.

  Yanagisawa stared at the elders, his eyes fierce. “Damn you.” He looked torn between his need to retain his friends and his need to shed Sano’s blood right now. He said to the troops, “Put him under house arrest.”

  Samurai charged with crimes were imprisoned at home instead of at Edo Jail, a privilege of their class. Sano couldn’t appreciate the reprieve, the chance to save his life. As the troops led him from the room, he realized how blasphemous his thinking was. If he murdered his lord, he would no longer deserve to be called a samurai. Honor could never be reclaimed after such a violation of Bushido. Yet the raging creature that was his body still lusted for vengeance.

  He looked backward at the shogun, who wept with loud, oblivious abandon. Two soldiers held Sano’s arms in such a tight grip that their fingers dug painfully into his flesh. Sano was glad of the restraint. It was the only thing keeping him from killing the shogun.

  27

  AT SANO’S MANSION, Reiko stood on the veranda with Masahiro and Detective Marume. They’d been waiting there for hours since Masahiro and Marume had brought her the news that Yoshisato had died in the fire and Sano had been arrested. Now the temple bells tolled noon. Reiko watched the rain drip from the eaves and puddles spread in the courtyard. She clasped her arms around her belly, protecting the child within, and shivered.