The Way of the Traitor

by Laura Joh Rowland

  Seeing Kiyoshi’s throat contract, Sano continued, “I’m sure Junko must be desperate to know how you could sacrifice your honor and betray her love this way.” Sano hated exploiting the boy’s weakness, but his own life and honor, as well as Hirata’s, might depend on what he learned from Kiyoshi. “If you tell me what happened last night, I’ll deliver a message to Junko so she’ll know you’re innocent, and that you still love her.”

  The blank surface of Kiyoshi’s gaze rippled like water during an earth tremor, but he kept his silence. Had he lost the ability to speak?

  “I’ll tell you what I think happened,” Sano said, hiding his hope and worry. “You needn’t talk; just nod if you agree, and shake your head if you don’t. All right?”

  No reaction. Sano persisted: “You somehow discovered the smuggling when you went to Deshima to practice conversing with the Dutch. Or did you see it from the watchtower? Maybe you followed the mysterious lights, the way I did—ghost stories wouldn’t frighten a brave samurai like you, would they?

  “You tracked the smugglers to the cove. Last night, did you try to catch them and become a hero? Or was there another reason you were in the cove? Kiyoshi. Answer me!”

  Sano expelled his breath in a gust of frustration. The young samurai hadn’t responded to any of his statements or questions. Yet Sano felt sure he had at least the framework of the truth. With increasing desperation, he tried to build it into a structure that would support his defense before the tribunal.

  “Whom did you expect to find in the cove, Kiyoshi? The Deshima guards? Iishino—or your father?” Of the possible culprits, Chief Ohira was not only the one with the easiest chance to smuggle, but the closest to Kiyoshi. This factor supported Sano’s belief in Ohira’s guilt. “Did you incriminate yourself and me to protect him? Do you know who killed Jan Spaen?”

  This was useless. No matter how logical an explanation Sano offered the tribunal, it wouldn’t save him or Hirata without confirmation from Kiyoshi … who apparently intended to take his knowledge to the grave.

  Then Kiyoshi’s lips moved in a hoarse whisper so quiet that Sano had to move closer to hear him over the rain. “The death march begins. At first, everything is just the way it really happened. It’s dawn, and the soldiers are leading the condemned man, Yoshidō Ganzaemon, into the hills. He’s been convicted of treason for insulting the shogun. I’m in the procession with the other witnesses. Executions frighten me … but I don’t have anything to worry about. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  His eyes took on a haunted look, as if beholding the grim vision he described; his whisper quavered. “But when we reach the execution ground, suddenly I’m not in the audience anymore … I’m the prisoner.” Sweat dripped off his forehead; the stink of terror wafted from him. “I can feel the ropes cutting into my wrists …” Slowly he moved his hands behind his back and held them there as if bound. “I feel the heavy shackles around my legs. I see everyone watching me. My father is there. So are Governor Nagai and my comrades from the harbor patrol.… They despise me, because I’m a traitor.”

  For the first time, Sano doubted Kiyoshi’s innocence. Surely this fantasy meant that he suffered from extreme guilt. But for what misdeed?

  “The soldiers make me kneel before the executioners,” Kiyoshi whispered. A steady tremor shook him, gradually building in intensity. “I beg for mercy, because I’m innocent. I’ve served the shogun loyally all my life. I’m the hardest-working officer in the harbor patrol.” His voice cracked on a high, plaintive note. “I always volunteer for extra duty. I practice the martial arts so I can someday bring my lord glory on the battlefield.… I spend my nights in the watchtower, looking out for foreign warships.… I study Dutch so I can understand the barbarians whose military power threatens our land.” His voice rose to a wail. “I’ve never acted against the shogun or his regime. Whoever says so is lying!”

  From the corridor, the warden called, “Is everything all right in there?”

  “Yes,” Sano replied hastily, fearing that the interruption would silence Kiyoshi.

  But Kiyoshi, mesmerized by his hallucination, seemed unaware of external distractions. “Governor Nagai states the charges against me,” he said, whispering again. “ ‘Ohira Kiyoshi has placed his personal gain before the interests of the shogun and nation, thereby committing treason against both. He has blood on his hands. Therefore, he must die.’ ”

  Personal gain? Blood on his hands? Maybe the youth really was a smuggler, acting on orders from his father, Nagai, or Iishino—or on his own initiative, to get money to marry Junko. Had he conspired with Jan Spaen, then killed the barbarian during an argument? Had he later killed Peony because she knew what he’d done? Then, when caught last night, had he framed Sano in an attempt to excuse his own behavior and receive a lighter sentence?

  Had the two surviving barbarians been involved in the crimes?

  Sano couldn’t dismiss Assistant Director deGraeff’s possible involvement. And, with a sudden qualm, he thought of how Dr. Huygens’s language skill would enable him to communicate with Japanese members of a smuggling ring. He’d probably acquired his Japanese speech through conversations with students, including Kiyoshi—his accomplice? Sano didn’t want to believe the worst about either Huygens or the boy in whom he saw his younger self, but if it was true, he must know.

  Moving closer, Sano grasped the boy’s slim, muscular shoulders. Their tremors resonated through his fingers. “Kiyoshi. Was it you who took Dutch goods to the cove last night? Whose blood did you spill? Did you make a deal with a barbarian? Which one? Why did you lie about me? Answer!”

  “Please, let me go!” Kiyoshi’s eyes rolled in terror. “Don’t bring that sword any closer. You must listen. I was just trying to stop—I didn’t want anyone to find out about—no. Please. NO!”

  The boy wrenched free of Sano and leapt to his feet. Sano lost his balance, falling hard on his tailbone. But he barely noticed the pain, because Kiyoshi’s self-control had shattered. He rampaged around the cell, howling like a madman, pounding the walls. His frantic movements upset the meal tray and wastebucket, spilling food and filth all over the floor. Sano lunged after Kiyoshi, fearing he would hurt himself if not restrained immediately. But Sano was no match for the youth’s wild energy. Kiyoshi dodged him again and again. Sano’s feet slipped on the messy floor. From outside the cell, he heard cries, thuds, and the warden calling, “What’s going on in there? Quiet down, you’re disturbing the other prisoners!”

  “I only did it out of duty,” Kiyoshi shouted. “And loyalty. And—and love. You must let me go. I have to stop it, I have to stop it.…”

  He made a frantic leap toward the window. Sano grabbed him, but he broke free, ran to the door, and battered it with his fists and head. “Let me out! Please, let me out!”

  Throwing his arms around Kiyoshi, Sano forced him away from the door just as the bolt outside slammed back. “Calm down, Kiyoshi.” With all his strength, he wrestled the young samurai facedown onto the floor. He sat on Kiyoshi’s arching back and pinned the flailing arms. “Be still.” Sano spoke between gasps of exertion as Kiyoshi’s howls and struggles subsided. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

  But was it? Kiyoshi’s words could be interpreted as an admission of smuggling and murder, punishable by death even if he’d acted in a misguided attempt to please, protect, or control someone else. A madman’s ambiguous testimony wouldn’t clear Sano or Hirata. And if Kiyoshi was innocent, Sano couldn’t pin the crimes on the boy, even to save his own life and honor.

  Sano released his hold on the limp, trembling body beneath him. He laid a soothing hand on Kiyoshi’s head. “Kiyoshi, you must tell the truth. It’s the only way you can help yourself, or the people you care about.”

  Silence. But when Sano gently turned Kiyoshi over, he saw that the boy’s expression, though still frightened, had lost its crazed panic.

  The door banged open, and the din outside increased as other prisoners clamored in their cells. Th
e warden and two guards rushed into the room. “You’ll have to leave now,” the warden said. “He’s started a riot, and he’ll make things even worse if you don’t leave him alone.”

  “Just a moment longer,” Sano pleaded. To learn the truth, he must break Kiyoshi’s loyalty to whomever he was protecting, whether it be Chief Ohira, Interpreter Iishino, Junko, or Governor Nagai. “He’s calm now; maybe he’ll talk.”

  But the warden shook his head. “Come back later.”

  The guards firmly escorted Sano out of Kiyoshi’s cell, and the warden bolted the door. “Wait,” Sano protested.

  Suddenly a huge boom rocked the prison. Sano’s heart lurched; his ears rang. Fragments of plaster rained down from the ceiling as a shocked silence fell over the jail. Then the prisoners began shouting again, louder, pounding on the doors and begging, “Let us out!”

  “What in heaven was that?” the warden said. “Thunder? An earthquake?”

  Dawning comprehension horrified Sano. “The Dutch ship,” he said, and bolted for the exit.

  Sano’s guess proved unfortunately correct. From outside the jail, he saw the Dutch ship moving down the harbor channel with ominous majesty. Black smoke drifted out of cannon protruding from the lower decks. Flames blazed aboard a nearby patrol barge whose stern tilted below the water. The Dutch captain had entered the harbor before the two days were up, firing on troops who had tried to stop the ship. Sano’s worst fear had become reality: His failure to resolve the barbarian’s murder had brought war to Japan.

  He leapt astride his horse and galloped downhill toward the harbor. Past him streamed noisy crowds seeking shelter, while braver, curious souls ran for the waterfront. Gawkers peered from balconies and roofs. Foreign merchants, concerned for their anchored craft, poured out of the settlements in raucous hordes accompanied by frantic Japanese guards. Shouts and cries filled the streets.

  “The barbarians will kill us all!”

  “Run for the hills!”

  Doshin tried vainly to maintain order. Troops, armed with bows, arquebuses, swords, and spears, rode and marched toward the harbor. Then a second boom shuddered the sky and echoed across the hills. A fountain of smoke and water burst from the sea near the wrecked barge. Another wave of panic rose.

  “Move,” shouted Sano, maneuvering his horse through massed bodies and trying not to trample anyone. He must somehow undo the harm he’d caused. The Dutch captain might be rash enough to risk dying in battle against Japan’s more numerous forces, and with his superior firepower, he could ruin the city.

  The waterfront promenade was already awash in troops when Sano reached it. Sentries manned small boats around Deshima, preventing contact between the Dutch crew and their imprisoned compatriots. Beyond the beach, survivors of the wrecked barge swam for shore while waves swallowed their craft. From the harbor patrol station, more barges, packed with troops, sped toward the Dutch ship, which loomed larger and closer. Scarlet war banners fluttered on the clifftops above the harbor. Sano hastily secured his horse outside the station and rushed down the pier.

  “Wait!” he cried, waving at the last departing barge.

  No one heeded his plea. Then, farther down the coast, he saw sailors preparing to launch Nagasaki’s three warships. They raised masts, mounted oars and cannon, unfurled sails and banners bearing the Tokugawa crest. Sano reached the largest warship just as gunners and archers assumed positions on deck and the high command started up the gangplank.

  Governor Nagai, wearing a magnificent suit of armor with red-lacquered breastpiece, chain-mail sleeves, a many-plated tunic laced with red silk cord, and a helmet crowned with golden antlers, led a group of aides. Interpreter Iishino, looking scared and uncomfortable in his armor, dawdled behind. When Sano arrived at the gangplank, Nagai was on deck, arguing with the ship’s captain.

  “Under no conditions shall we fire on the Dutch ship yet,” Nagai said.

  “But Honorable Governor,” said the captain, “the barbarians have already attacked Japan. To accept such an insult would be an admission of cowardice. I can cripple the Dutch ship. The gunners on the cliffs can finish her off.” His face blazed with zealous patriotism. “This is our chance to demonstrate Japan’s military strength!”

  The aides loudly seconded him, but Governor Nagai shook his circular gold war fan. “Our defense preparations are incomplete. At present, we can’t guarantee a quick victory over the Dutch or minimal damage to Nagasaki. And think of the consequences of a battle.

  “Even if we make sure the barbarians don’t leave Japan alive, there are thousands of other foreign witnesses to today’s events. We can’t silence them all without inviting retribution from their governments, which would eventually realize that an entire international fleet of ships had failed to return home. The traders will carry tales to ports frequented by the East India Company. The Dutch will send more ships. Our nation cannot survive a full assault by the company fleet without massive destruction. Even if we escape total defeat, the battles will kill legions and disrupt foreign trade, costing us a fortune. I’ll not bring full-scale war on Japan just to satisfy a fool’s desire for glory!”

  With an air of finality, Nagai turned to his chief aide. “Does everyone have orders to stand by unless they receive the signal from me?”

  “Yes, Honorable Governor.”

  “Then let’s be on our way. I must negotiate a truce with the Dutch before matters escalate to the point where war is unavoidable.”

  Nagai started toward the bow; his retinue followed. The captain shouted the order to set sail. Sano dashed up the gangplank, calling, “Governor Nagai! Wait!”

  Troops seized Sano, locking him in a vise of chain-mailed arms. Nagai turned; a frown darkened his face. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, striding toward Sano. To the troops he said, “Throw him overboard, and let’s go.”

  “Wait,” Sano called as the soldiers started to hoist him over the railing. “Governor Nagai, you must let me go with you and speak to the Dutch.”

  “Bakarashii—ridiculous!” Nagai’s thick lips twisted in annoyance, though his curt headshake arrested the soldiers’ overboard thrust. “Haven’t you caused enough trouble already? You failed to disarm the Dutch ship when you had the chance. You could have accepted the whore’s confession, closed Spaen’s murder case, and allowed the barbarians to land peacefully. Now your folly and ineptitude have endangered the entire nation.”

  The angry sweep of his war fan encompassed the harbor, where the fishing boats now clustered at the docks, the other foreign vessels had moved as far inland as possible, and the Dutch ship reigned triumphant. Yet Sano saw a familiar shrewd glint in Nagai’s eyes: He realized that if Sano conducted the negotiations with the Dutch, Governor Nagai could not be blamed in the event of failure.

  “The Dutch captain knows me,” Sano said, hastening to help Nagai reverse his decision without losing face before his men. “When he hears about the efforts I’ve made toward catching his countryman’s killer, he may consent to a truce.”

  After a moment, Nagai nodded. “Release him,” he ordered the soldiers. To the captain, he said, “Proceed.”

  To the accompaniment of the rowers’ chants and the splash of oars, the warship left the dock. Sano joined Governor Nagai in the bow, where they watched the Dutch ship, now ringed by patrol barges that looked puny in comparison. The moist, salt-laden drizzle chilled Sano, tightening muscles already stiff with anxiety; his shoulder ached. Not until he faced Captain Oss could he know what approach would best achieve peace. But he now had a chance to establish Nagai’s role in the murders and smuggling, and convince the governor to drop the charges against him.

  With a sidelong glance at Sano, Governor Nagai said, “My clan has a long tradition of military leadership. Even in peacetime, we consider the strategy of warfare an important field of knowledge, because war and politics are much alike—don’t you agree?”

  Sano nodded, unsure of where this was leading.

  “Yes. Well. During my
youth I studied the writings of my ancestor, General Noriyama, who lived more than three hundred years ago, under the Ashikaga shoguns. He had a saying: ‘Attack the branches; weaken the tree.’ He applied this theory in his campaign against a rival general. Instead of killing his rival, he took the man’s family hostage, rendering him powerless to act against Noriyama. A bold move whose genius lay not only in concept, but also in execution. You see, General Noriyama didn’t take the hostages himself; he had his lieutenants do it. This way he avoided any adverse personal consequences should the ploy fail, or displeasing his lord with an overt quest for power.”

  “I see,” said Sano. He’d just been warned that if he attacked the governor, his mother, aunts, uncles, and cousins would suffer at the hands of Nagai’s minions. Also, the governor, like General Noriyama, had covered himself in the event that the frame-up should fail and the bakufu ever challenge his handling of Sano’s case. If the tribunal should find Sano innocent, Nagai could blame his subordinates, and thereby escape punishment.

  “I find it difficult to understand why you take such an active interest in the problems of the nation,” Governor Nagai said, “since your own days upon this earth are numbered.”

  Of all his enemies, the one Sano hated most was Nagai, symbol of everything wrong in the bakufu’s upper echelon. He got a firm grip on his temper, knowing he could exploit Nagai’s weaknesses to his own advantage, but only if he kept his main goal in sight. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that if I were you, Honorable Governor.” As the warship breasted the gray, choppy waves, Sano matched Nagai’s bland tone. “I’ve spoken with Kiyoshi, Interpreter Iishino, and Chief Ohira today. The more closely one examines your case against me, the weaker it seems. After all, none of the witnesses are totally unbiased, credible, or beyond impeachment. The tribunal can’t fail to notice.”