“My father paid a call while you were out,” Reiko said. “He wishes to see you tomorrow morning at the hour of the dragon, in the Court of Justice.”
Realizing that she’d come only to deliver this message, Sano experienced the heavy letdown of disappointment. “Did he say why?”
“Only that there’s a trial that he believes will interest you. I asked if it had anything to do with your investigation, but he refused to say.” A bitter smile twisted Reiko’s mouth. “Like you, he thinks it’s none of my business.”
With difficulty, Sano resisted the bait. “Thank you for bringing me the message.”
How he ached to touch her! He could imagine the silken sheen of her hair on his fingers, the soft pliancy of her body against his. The tantalizing scent of jasmine wafted across the distance between them. Oddly, her strength of will only increased the attraction she held for him. To win the love of this proud wife would be a greater conquest than domination of a weaker woman. The battle would require less brute muscle than intelligent strategy—the skill on which he prided himself in his detective work. His warrior spirit rose to the challenge.
Reiko bowed, signaling her intention to leave. Seeking a way to keep her with him, Sano said the first thing that came into his head. “About last night—I’m sorry if I hurt you when I pushed you out of Lieutenant Kushida’s way.”
“You didn’t hurt me.” Reiko’s voice remained cool, her expression implacable. “And you needed my help more than I needed your protection. Why don’t you just admit it?”
This was getting them nowhere, except further apart. In desperation, Sano blurted, “I admired that stroke you used against Kushida.”
Now Reiko’s eyes rounded in surprise at the compliment. “Thank you, but it was nothing, really.” A becoming flush of pleasure bloomed in her cheeks. “It’s just something I learned from a martial arts treatise by Kumashiro.”
“You’ve read Kumashiro’s works?” Now it was Sano’s turn to be surprised. The great swordsman, who had lived two hundred years ago, was a hero of his own. Now his love of the history of martial arts prevailed over his belief that a wife shouldn’t practice them. He found himself and Reiko discussing kenjutsu. Because she’d read as widely as he, this was one of the most satisfying conversations he’d ever had on the subject. Reiko’s intelligence impressed him, and he enjoyed watching her glow with enthusiasm. She moved closer; her posture relaxed; her smile mirrored his pleasure in their mutual interest. Sano believed that she’d come here because she’d wanted to see him: after all, she could have sent a maid to deliver her father’s message. She, too, felt the attraction that sparked between them.
Then, in the middle of a passionate argument about the merits of a particular style of swordsmanship, Sano realized he was making the same mistake that Magistrate Ueda rued: encouraging Reiko’s interest in unfeminine pursuits.
His expression must have shown his dismay, because Reiko stopped talking in the middle of a sentence. Sadness quenched the sparkle in her eyes; she’d read his thoughts. “It’s late,” she said regretfully. “I shan’t interrupt your work any longer.” As their camaraderie died, the room seemed to grow suddenly colder. “Good night, Honorable Husband.” Reiko bowed and rose.
“Wait,” Sano said. When she paused at the door, a question in her eyes, he wanted to say: Investigating Lady Harume’s life has opened my eyes. I understand what it’s like to be female in a world ruled by men. I realize the cruelty of a society that limits a woman’s existence. I know how you feel!
Yet how could he claim to understand Reiko’s position, while still maintaining his own? He didn’t want her involved in a murder investigation that had grown even more perilous with Lady Keisho-in’s emergence as a suspect. He still doubted her ability to accomplish anything worth the risk of her life. Knowing this, Reiko would surely repudiate his sympathy as a mere ploy to win her affection against her will. Sano cast about for a neutral topic of conversation, but anything he might say could lead to the central issue of her independence—his authority—and another quarrel.
“Good night,” Sano said at last.
With a swish of silk garments and a whiff of jasmine, Reiko slipped out the door, closing it softly behind her. More despondent than ever, Sano sat alone at his desk. Her presence still lingered: a clear, rippling stream slowly carving its path through the bedrock of his soul. Yet unless they could somehow get beyond this terrible impasse, they were doomed to live like strangers, together yet apart. Love seemed a hopeless dream.
Against his better judgment, Sano poured himself another cup of sake. Then, sipping the lukewarm liquor, he turned his thoughts to another unhappy lover, Lieutenant Kushida. The palace guard represented Sano’s best chance to conclude the murder investigation quickly, and with his life intact. However, as he scanned the detectives’ report on Kushida, his spirits waned further. No incriminating evidence had been found in his background or his quarters. That left Sano right where he’d started: with Kushida’s statement, and the attempted burglary.
Sano reached over to the built-in shelves of his study niche and removed Lady Harume’s diary. Riffling through the pages, he again wondered why Lieutenant Kushida had wanted to steal them. Then Sano noticed something he’d missed before. He held the open diary near the lamp for closer scrutiny.
Tiny ink marks filled the inner margins of the pages, where the silk cord joined them. Sano untied the cord and separated the sheets. The marks were the fine outer brushstrokes of characters that Lady Harume had written along the edge of the middle pages, then hidden beneath the binding. Arranged sequentially, they read:
Lying together in the shadows between two existences,
Skin touching bare skin,
Your breath joins mine; your sighs fill my depths
And our blood sings to the rhythm of a single heartbeat.
As you explore the secret places of my body
I open myself to your touch—
Ah, if only I could take all of you inside me
So that we might never part.
But alas! Your rank and fame endanger us.
We can never walk together in daylight.
Yet love is eternal; you are mine forever, as I am yours,
In spirit, though not in marriage.
Sano reread the lines with repressed jubilation. Harume’s expression of eternal love didn’t reflect Lady Keisho-in’s complaints of betrayal. She must have been involved with someone else, whom she’d loved so much that she couldn’t resist committing her emotions to paper despite the fear of discovery.
But who was this lover of public reputation and unspecified name? Any man would be condemned to death for bedding the shogun’s favorite concubine; even a woman could earn the same fate by usurping Lady Harume’s affection. How had this particular individual’s position worsened the danger? Had the affair occasioned the earlier attempts on her life?
Sano cautioned himself against hoping too much for a lead that pointed away from Lady Keisho-in. Perhaps Harume had been writing about the shogun’s mother during a happier phase of their relationship. Though Sano knew that love often surmounts the barriers of age, he wanted to believe that Harume had accepted old, homely Keisho-in’s advances only to gain privileges. He wanted to believe that the hidden verse implicated someone else.
Lieutenant Kushida had denied sexual contact with Harume, but what if he’d lied? Maybe he’d tried to steal the diary because he feared Harume had named him as her lover. The impassioned tone of the verse and the sexual acts suggested didn’t fit Harume’s arrangement with Lord Miyagi, but their liaison could have later evolved beyond his spying at her through windows, despite his denials. It wasn’t uncommon for a worldly older man to win a young girl’s affection. Either the daimyo or Lieutenant Kushida might have killed Harume to prevent the affair from being exposed, or the shogun from finding out that the suspect had impregnated her.
Or perhaps there was another, yet unknown lover in Harume’s past.
; Sano must investigate the possibility. But for now he invested his hopes in Lieutenant Kushida and Lord Miyagi as the prime suspects.
25
The bathchamber of the Miyagi mansion was similar to those in any of Edo’s great daimyo estates. A sunken wooden tub full of hot water steamed in the center of the spacious room. Shelves held rinse buckets, drying cloths, rice-bran soap, and jars of scented oil. A slatted floor allowed spilled water to flow into drains below. Charcoal braziers heated the air. But this particular bathchamber also had two unusual features.
A bamboo screen enclosed one corner, and in the wall, a tiny sliding door was inset at eye level. Lady Miyagi knelt on a cushion in the enclosure. Hearing footsteps, she tensed, alert to her husband’s arrival. The spyhole door slid open, and she sensed his anticipation as he looked into the bathchamber, awaiting the entertainment she’d arranged for him. She clapped, the signal for the ritual to begin.
The door opened. In walked Lord Miyagi’s concubines, Snowflake and Wren. Both wore dressing gowns, their long hair pinned up. Chattering together, they did not appear aware of their lord watching through the spyhole. Nor did they seem to notice Lady Miyagi, although the screen only hid her from the daimyo and she was clearly visible to them. At the Zojo Temple orphanage four years ago, she’d inspected all the girls, seeking the right combination of cleverness and docility, before taking these two home with her. She’d trained Snowflake and Wren in the art of pleasing her husband. Now they were superb actresses. As if oblivious to the presence of master and mistress, they slipped off their robes.
From behind the spyhole, Lord Miyagi sighed. Lady Miyagi smiled, vicariously enjoying his pleasure at the sight of his concubines’ naked bodies. Snowflake had large breasts with prominent nipples. Wren, small of bosom, had wide, curving hips. They complemented each other perfectly, and Lady Miyagi could feel the heat of her husband’s excitement, like flames licking the wall. Snowflake picked up a bucket and doused herself with water. Squatting, she scrubbed her arms with soap. To Wren, she said coyly, “Will you wash my back?”
Giggling, Wren complied, then lathered Snowflake’s bosom. Snowflake cooed with apparent delight. She closed her eyes and sighed as Wren fondled her breasts, pinching and sucking the nipples.
Lady Miyagi heard her husband moan. She knew he was taking his manhood out of his loincloth, stroking it. Wren cast an oblique glance at Lady Miyagi, who gestured for her to continue touching Snowflake. Lord Miyagi enjoyed this drawn-out erotic play. Lady Miyagi didn’t know—or care—whether the concubines did, or if they only feigned pleasure out of duty to the master who fed and sheltered them, or fear of their mistress’s anger lest they disobey. But she herself felt no physical response. An early experience had destroyed her capacity for sexual pleasure.
As a child of a secondary branch of the Miyagi clan, she’d grown up on this estate. Back then the house had always been full of people. The former daimyo—her husband’s father—had loved hosting lavish parties. At one of these, eleven-year-old Miyagi Akiko had met an uncle newly arrived from Tosa Province. Ten years her senior, Uncle Kaoru had charmed her with his good looks and friendliness. She’d begun tagging after him, bringing him little gifts of flowers and sweets. In a childish way, she fell in love.
Then one night, her bedchamber door slid open. Kaoru whispered, “Come with me, Akiko. I have a surprise for you.”
Eagerly she accompanied him out into the warm summer night. With Kaoru’s strong hand holding hers, Akiko felt a mounting excitement that she didn’t understand. He led her into the stables. Horses stirred at their approach. Akiko’s heart thumped as Kaoru drew her into a vacant stall, where moonlight streamed through the open window and fresh straw covered the floor.
Kaoru’s eyes gleamed with a strange intensity. “Do you love me, Akiko-chan?“
“…Yes.” Uneasily she backed away.
Blocking the door, Kaoru smiled and stroked her hair. “Don’t be afraid.” He ran his hands down her slight body. “So young. So nice.” A guttural moan escaped him.
“I—I want to go back in the house,” Akiko said, shrinking from his touch.
He untied her sash and tore off her kimono. He flung himself upon her, panting like a dog.
“What are you doing, oji-san? Stop, please!”
Pinned beneath him on the straw, Akiko smelled his sweat mingling with the pungent odor of horse manure. His breath stank of liquor. She struggled, and he slapped her face. “Don’t fight me,” he rasped. “You’ve been asking for this, and now you’re going to get it!”
The hardness at his loins bludgeoned Akiko as he forced her legs apart. She screamed in terror. The straw scraped her skin; his weight crushed her. She’d heard tales of peasant girls, and even female relatives, violated by men of her clan, but had never imagined that it could happen to her. Again she screamed: “Help!”
Kaoru hit her again, harder. “Quiet, or I’ll kill you.” Then he entered her.
Akiko felt a searing pain between her legs, as though he’d driven a sword through her. With Kaoru’s repeated thrusts, the sword plunged deeper. Agony blinded Akiko; she wept silently. Horses stomped and whinnied. The torture went on and on. Then Kaoru cried out. He withdrew, and the pain eased. Through her tears, Akiko watched him rise from her.
“Oh, no,” he said, looking down at his hands, his clothing, the straw. A dark substance covered everything. Dimly, Akiko realized that it was blood—hers. Kaoru said, “If you tell anyone about this, I’ll kill you.” Panic tinged his voice. “Do you understand? I’ll kill you!”
Later Akiko had vague memories of lying half-conscious in the straw until morning came and someone found her; of doctors forcing bitter medicine down her throat. After a while she recovered, but not completely. Between her legs and in her lower abdomen, where she had once felt pleasant stirrings during romantic fantasies, scar tissue obliterated sensation.
Uncle Kaoru remained at the estate. Akiko never reported what he’d done to her. If anyone guessed, no one ever punished him. Akiko spent her days hiding alone in her bedchamber with the shutters closed. Then Kaoru suddenly departed for Tosa Province. Relief lightened the weight of terror that imprisoned Akiko. She ventured into the garden for the first time in two months. As she stood blinking in the sunshine, someone came up beside her.
“Hello, Cousin.”
Instinctively she flinched at the male voice. Then she recognized her sixteen-year-old cousin Shigeru, first son of the daimyo. Though they’d both lived on the estate all their lives, she barely knew him: The future lord of Tosa Province was too busy to bother with girls. Now Akiko saw that this slender youth of slouching posture and soft, moist eyes and mouth possessed none of the masculine brutality that she feared, but his rank intimidated her.
“I saw what happened in the stable,” Shigeru said. “I told my father, and he sent Uncle Kaoru away.” The future daimyo gave her a sly, ingratiating smile. “I just thought you’d like to know.”
Gratitude overwhelmed Akiko. Unbidden, he’d helped her when no one else cared. From that moment, she dedicated her life to Shigeru. She needed someone to worship; he needed slavish devotion. They became inseparable companions, and he the beneficiary of her love. Under his protection, she was safe from other men. He confided his private thoughts to her: his dislike of responsibility; his dreams of a quiet life devoted to pleasure. And he never tried to touch her. Soon she learned his favorite pastime: spying on women.
Ever anxious to please, Akiko helped Shigeru sneak into the women’s quarters so he could watch the women undress and bathe. He would stimulate himself while she acted as lookout. On some level, she understood that he must have noticed her attachment to Kaoru, followed them to the stable that night, and enjoyed watching the attack instead of stopping it. She also understood that he’d seen the advantages of transferring her devotion to himself. Yet she never admitted that Shigeru was using her. She loved him; she needed him. Therefore she must do whatever was necessary to preserve their friendship.
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Eight years passed. As Akiko matured, the terrifying prospect of marriage loomed. She couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Shigeru, of living with a strange man who would touch her body. The attack had inflicted permanent physical damage: Her monthly bleeding brought on excruciating cramps; perhaps she could never bear children. However, this possible defect wouldn’t save her. Not a whisper about her injury had passed beyond the immediate family; her parents didn’t want to ruin her chances of an advantageous match.
Then Shigeru’s father died, and he became daimyo. The clan had delayed his marriage in the hope of a union with some powerful samurai clan, but the Miyagi’s minor status attracted no worthy prospects; hence, the clan decided to consolidate its assets by wedding Shigeru to a relative. Akiko’s branch of the family was next in the line of succession, and she its eldest daughter. Shigeru married her.
Akiko was overjoyed. Now she could live forever under the protection of a husband who wouldn’t force any physical attentions on her. “Marriage doesn’t have to change things between us,” Shigeru said. “Let’s just go on like always.”
They altered the household to suit their mutual taste. Shigeru sent most of the relatives and retainers to his estate in Tosa Province. Akiko dismissed most of the servants. When not pursuing Shigeru’s sexual gratification, they preferred poetry and music to entertaining company. During the months he spent in Tosa every year, Akiko pined for him. As wife of a daimyo, she lost some of her fear of men and gained an air of authority, but only when Shigeru was with her did she feel truly safe, or happy.
Now Lady Miyagi heard her husband’s breaths quicken; she pictured his hands stroking himself faster and harder. When Snowflake glanced at her, she signaled for the love play to proceed. Snowflake lay on the floor, legs spread wide. Wren got down on hands and knees, crawling backward over her. She buried her face in Snowflake’s crotch, licking and sucking with exaggerated noise. Snowflake moaned and writhed. Grasping Wren’s buttocks, she pulled her partner’s womanhood down upon her own mouth. Lord Miyagi grunted and gasped. Lady Miyagi knew that his ecstasy was near. Gladness filled her heart.
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