Sano Ichiro 5 The Samurai's Wife (2000)

by Laura Joh Rowland

  "Yes, Honorable Chamberlain," said Hoshina.

  "Until tomorrow, then," Yanagisawa said, rising.

  Hoshina also rose, but instead of taking his cue to leave, he said, "Unless there's something more I can do for you tonight?"

  His tone was husky with sexual invitation, his full mouth not quite smiling. That he should attempt seduction again, after last night's rejection! His nerve both offended and excited Yanagisawa. Of equal height, they stood face to face; Yanagisawa met Hoshina's stare without looking down. Their mutual desire was like a third presence in the room, charging the air. Yet Yanagisawa also sensed that this was different from the sexual dalliances of the past, and not only because Hoshina differed from his former partners.

  He wanted more from Hoshina than sex, though he couldn't have said exactly what. A need greater than lust deepened the void he'd carried inside him since the death of Shichisaburo. And the need frightened him, because need represented weakness; it gave other men power over him. Now Yanagisawa's fear turned to anger at Hoshina.

  "Do you think of me as a rung in your ladder to power?" he demanded. "Would you use me the way you did Shoshidai Matsudaira?" From Hoshina's dossier, Yanagisawa knew that Hoshina had achieved his position by seducing the shoshidai and taking advantage of the malleable older man. Yanagisawa also knew that Hoshina's career, forged on looks, wits, and sex, had begun some twenty-five years ago. "Or do you confuse me with Arima Nagisa, Miyako inspector of buildings?"

  Hoshina flinched, as if Yanagisawa had struck him. "So you know all about me," he said with a forced laugh. "Well, mine is a common story, isn't it?"

  But something had broken in his gaze. In it, Yanagisawa saw the misery of the eight-year-old Hoshina, apprenticed to Inspector Arima, who'd used him sexually and then passed him around to other men. At age sixteen, Hoshina had become the paramour of the Miyako chief police commissioner and worked his way up to the rank of yoriki before attracting the shoshidai's attention. But as Yanagisawa saw through Hoshina, his own eyes must have revealed something inside himself, because Hoshina's expression turned to one of wonder.

  "Yes, it is a common story." Hoshina answered his own question in a voice hushed with dawning comprehension.

  Yanagisawa had never revealed his own past to anyone; he'd suppressed the history of his apprenticeship to the daimyo his clan had once served, threatening death to anyone who gossiped about him. Therefore, his boyhood of forced sex and cruel discipline at the mercy of Lord Takei weren't common knowledge. He could tell that Hoshina hadn't known, until now. In samurai culture, where stoicism was the rule, men didn't talk of personal matters. Now Yanagisawa felt naked before Hoshina.

  "Don't look at me like that!" he ordered. "Keep your distance. Show some respect!"

  "A thousand pardons." Hoshina stepped backward, but his gaze held Yanagisawa's.

  As on the previous night, something passed between them-a strange, piercing current that gave Yanagisawa pleasure and pain in equal measures.

  He heard Hoshina's quick intake of breath at the sensation, and instinctively knew what else he and Hoshina had in common.

  While many men had similar experiences in this world that exalted manly love and exploited the weak, Yanagisawa had never imagined that anyone ever suffered as he had. Now he understood that Hoshina also knew the pain, shame, and rage. The same emotions had shaped both their lives.

  Hoshina said, "When I found out you were coming to Miyako, I did plan to do what you accused me of doing." He sounded younger, abashed. "But now..." Dropping his gaze, he shrugged. "If you want me to go, I will." He started toward the door.

  "Wait." The command slipped involuntarily out of Yanagisawa. Hoshina paused, and Yanagisawa sensed how much he was torn between wanting to flee and wanting to stay. Hoshina stood to gain vast rewards for pleasing the most powerful man in Japan; but if he failed to please, he could lose his life. He'd excelled at the game of sex and exploitation in the past, but the rules had changed; he was uncertain how to act.

  The same uncertainty and contrary impulses tormented Yanagisawa, because of what he himself stood to lose. He and Hoshina shared more besides carnal attraction and childhood traumas. They were both users of men, dedicated to self-interest. He'd lied, cheated, schemed, ruined lives, and killed to get to the top of the bakufu. Was Hoshina capable of the same?

  But these realities crumbled under the pressure of the undefined yearning. Yanagisawa held out his hand to Hoshina. "Come here," he said.

  Yanagisawa saw his own hope, fear, and desires mirrored in Hoshina's eyes. Their hands clasped. In the shock of the warm press of skin against skin, a rush of arousal swept through Yanagisawa. None of his impersonal couplings with other partners had prepared him for whatever this was, but instinct guided him. He lifted his free hand and gently touched Hoshina's cheek. Hoshina cautiously laid his hand on Yanagisawa's shoulder. They stood frozen in position, their gazes riveted upon each other's faces, for a short eternity.

  Then they were caught up in a brutal embrace, hands caressing smooth skin over hard muscle, bodies thrusting and straining. Their gasps drowned the clang of distant Obon gongs. Yanagisawa smelled the smoke from bonfires; he felt an overwhelming physical rapture. As he and Hoshina sank to the floor together, he had the perilous sense of launching into an adventure that would change both their lives forever.

  11

  The next morning brought dense clouds that relieved Miyako's sweltering heat but increased the moisture in the air. Pagoda spires grew hazy where they met the low sky; mist rendered far hills invisible. While the ancient capital awoke to life, a damp wind blew ash and torn paper flowers from last night's Obon festivities past the gate of Kodai Temple, where Sano had come to see Left Minister Konoe's former wife.

  Founded in ancient times, Kodai Temple had gained prominence after Toyotomi Hideyoshi's death almost a century ago. His successor, Tokugawa Ieyasu, had granted it to Hideyoshi's widow, who had become a nun, taking the religious name Kodai-in and retiring to the temple convent. Later, bent on eliminating potential challengers, Ieyasu had besieged the Toyotomi stronghold at Osaka Castle. Kodai-in, who had gone there to join her son, had been annihilated along with the last remnants of the Toyotomi clan. Now the Widow's Temple memorialized her.

  Sano walked along the Reclining Dragon Corridor, an undulating covered bridge with roof tiles shaped like scales. Around him spread ponds, gardens, ceremonial halls, and residences. To the east, Higashi Cemetery ascended a hillside in tiers of gravestones. Sano entered the sanctuary. Carved gold lacquerwork on the walls and altar reflected the flames of thousands of oil lamps. Incense smoked before a golden statue of Kannon, the Buddhist goddess of mercy; shrines held wooden images of Hideyoshi and Kodai-in. Heat shimmered like currents under water. An elderly nun, small and stooped with a shaven head, bowed to Sano as he approached her.

  "I am the abbess of Kodai Temple Convent," she said. "May I assist you?"

  After introducing himself, Sano said, "I'm here to see a nun named Kozeri."

  The abbess's wrinkled face hardened into unfriendly lines. "If you've come on behalf of Kozeri's former husband, you've wasted your time. She has nothing to communicate to the left minister, and she sees no one from outside the temple. To visit repeatedly and send letters or envoys is futile. Perhaps if you relay that message to the left minister, he will accept the situation and leave Kozeri alone."

  "I'm not the left minister's envoy," Sano explained quickly. "I'm investigating his murder."

  "Murder?" Shock rounded the abbess's blurry eyes. "I'm sorry; I did not know." She shook her head. "Here, we shun news from the outside world.... Forgive me for mistaking your purpose."

  "I need to speak with Kozeri as part of my inquiry," Sano said. "It won't take long."

  The abbess hesitated, then said, "I will fetch Kozeri."

  "Please don't tell her who I am or why I'm here," Sano said. "I'll do that myself."

  "Very well."

  After the abbess left, Sano dropped
a coin in the offertory box, lit a candle, and placed it on the altar. He silently prayed for the success of his mission, and for the safety of Reiko, who was at the Imperial Palace now.

  "Lady Asagao has been called away, but she told me to have you try on your new costume for the play," said the lady-in-waiting who greeted Reiko outside the imperial consorts' residence.

  A gust of wind ruffled the trees and wisteria vines in the courtyard where they stood. Thunder shuddered the overcast sky, and raindrops hissed onto the gravel-covered ground. The lady-in-waiting said, "It's going to storm. Let's hurry inside."

  She ushered Reiko into the low building. Here, Reiko knew, no men except the emperor were allowed. As she and her escort walked through the corridors, maids lowered the wooden rain doors along the exterior wall. Mullioned paper partitions defined a series of chambers. Through their open doors Reiko saw young women sipping tea and grooming themselves. They smiled at her and bowed. The emperor apparently had many consorts besides Lady Asagao, with many attendants to serve them. Chatter and laughter filled the air.

  Lady Asagao had a suite at the center of the residence. Entering this, Reiko saw rain doors and sliding paper panels standing open to a garden landscaped with willows and lawn. Painted landscapes decorated folding screens that divided the suite into three sections, each crammed with furniture and personal articles. In the dressing area, an alcove held built-in cabinets whose drawers and shelves spilled colorful clothing. Lamps burned on a low table littered with combs, brushes, jars, and a mirror. Shoes lay scattered on the floor. The lady-in-waiting pointed to a wooden stand that displayed a lavish emerald silk kimono embroidered with pink lilies.

  "This is your costume," she said to Reiko. "May I help you change?"

  "Oh, no, thank you, that's not necessary," Reiko said. "Don't trouble yourself."

  "It's no trouble," the lady-in-waiting said with a smile. "I'm honored to serve you."

  "Oh, but I'm sure you're very busy. And really, I can manage alone."

  The young woman hesitated.

  "It's all right," Reiko said. "I won't disturb Her Highness's things, and I'll call you if I need help."

  After the woman left, Reiko waited a moment to make sure she was gone, then hastily closed the doors to the corridor and the exterior wall panels. Her heart raced in panic because she didn't know how much time she had to search the chamber before Lady Asagao returned. Nor did she know exactly what she hoped to find, except proof that Asagao was someone other than who she seemed.

  Reason told her to look for letters or other personal papers. Reiko sped around the folding screen into the central area of the suite, which appeared to be a parlor. A samisen, musical scores, and playing cards lay on the tatami. Furnishings consisted of low tables, lanterns, floor cushions, an iron chest, and a writing desk. The desk was a flat, square red lacquer box. On the slanted lid lay four small, clothbound books. Reiko opened one. She scanned the pages and recognized lines from the play she'd performed in yesterday. She tossed the scripts aside and lifted the desk's lid. Inside, empty jars, frayed writing brushes, and an inkstone covered with dried, flaking pigment lay amid piles of crumpled papers. Reiko snatched up the papers and riffled through them. Some were theater programs. Others were copies of classic poems-probably childhood calligraphy lessons. If Asagao had written anything later or more revealing, Reiko didn't find it.

  Rain clattered on the tile roof; the wind rustled through the garden. Reiko flung up the lid of the iron chest. Inside were dolls and other toys apparently saved from Asagao's youth. Hearing female voices nearby, Reiko froze, holding her breath. Then came a series of thumps as maids lowered the rain doors outside the suite. Darkness shadowed the parlor. The maids moved on. Reiko exhaled in relief. Closing the chest, she hurried around the folding screen into a sleeping area.

  There a futon and light summer blanket lay beside discarded night robes. Reiko yanked open drawers and doors in the wall cabinet and found bedding, charcoal braziers, lamps, and candles. Chests contained winter quilts. The only unusual discovery was a stash of wine jars in a cupboard.

  Reiko rushed back to the dressing area. She rummaged through the clothes in the cabinets. The scent of lily perfume issued from silk robes and sashes. Touching these personal things made Reiko guiltily aware that detective work often violated courtesy. As she examined drawers of fans and hair ornaments, she wondered whether she'd breached Asagao's privacy for no good reason, because she found nothing she wouldn't expect of a rich, pleasure-loving, and harmless young woman. But then she pulled open the door of a compartment level with her face....

  A sour metallic smell billowed out, familiar and disturbing. Reiko's breath caught. As her heart began pounding, she peered into the compartment. Its contents lay far back in the shadowy recesses. Slowly she reached inside. Her fingers touched fabric that had an odd texture-smooth and soft, with stiff patches. She drew out a bundle of heavy mauve silk and thinner white cloth, both blotched with reddish-brown stains.

  Dried blood.

  Shocked, Reiko separated the bundle into two garments-a noblewoman's court robe and an under-robe. The blood had darkened the front hems of the garments. Into Reiko's mind came a picture of Asagao, wearing the robes, standing in the midnight Pond Garden. At her feet lay Konoe's corpse, oozing blood. Reiko envisioned the blood spreading across the ground, seeping into Asagao's long robes. Asagao panted, recovering the breath expended in the spirit cry, a look of evil triumph on her pretty face....

  Reiko shook her head in confusion. Wind lashed torrents of rain against the building; water dripped and splattered outside; a crack of thunder provoked excited cries from the palace women. The air in the room was hot and still, the atmosphere suffocating.

  "Merciful gods," Reiko whispered.

  Here was a clue that implicated Lady Asagao in the crime. Yet the discovery was less gratifying than disturbing, because Reiko couldn't believe Asagao was the killer. Holding the robes at arm's length, she gazed at the bloodstains and sought another explanation for them.

  Maybe they weren't Left Minister Konoe's blood. Maybe Lady Asagao had accidentally soiled her clothes during her monthly bleeding. However, this looked like too much blood for that, and why only on the hems? Maybe Asagao or someone else had gotten injured and bled on the floor, then Asagao had stepped in the blood. But why hide the garments instead of cleaning them? Then again, if she was guilty of murder, why hadn't she destroyed the evidence?

  The quiet sound of a door sliding open jolted Reiko out of her contemplation. With a gasp of surprise, she clutched the robes against her chest, turned, and saw Asagao entering the room. Guilty shame leapt in Reiko.

  "Oh, hello, Your Highness," she said brightly. "I was, uh, just about to try on my costume for the play."

  Asagao made no reply. All her vivacity had vanished; she seemed a forlorn ghost of her usual self, and her bright makeup a mask painted onto her expressionless face. She looked at Reiko, and confusion wrinkled her brow, as if she couldn't quite remember who Reiko was.

  "Your Highness?" Reiko said, puzzled.

  Asagao's gaze shifted to the robes that Reiko held, then moved downward to the bloodstained hems. A strange mixture of disbelief, terror, and resignation filled her eyes. With a tiny whimper, she sank to the floor, buying her face in her hands.

  The summer storm enmeshed Kodai Temple in veils of windblown rain. As Sano listened to the thunder and watched a draft elongate the flame of the candle he'd lit on the altar in the sanctuary, he felt someone beside him. He turned and saw a nun, who'd entered the room so quietly he hadn't heard her.

  The nun smiled. She was of average height and perhaps in her mid-thirties, and wore a loose gray robe. "I am Kozeri," she said. Her soft voice echoed in the shadowy hall. "You wish to speak with me?"

  "Yes," Sano said, then took a closer look at the nun. Her high brow and cheekbones and the skull beneath her bare scalp were exquisitely molded. Her ivory complexion gleamed in the lamplight. Her eyes were long crescents ben
eath heavy, slumberous lids, her smiling lips full and sensuous. Admiration leapt in Sano; his heartbeat and breath quickened. This sudden, physical response to Kozeri caused him considerable surprise. He'd thought that age and marriage had put him beyond the point where a stranger's beauty could captivate him.

  Hiding his discomfort, Sano introduced himself and said, "Unfortunately I have some bad news for you. Your former husband, Left Minister Konoe, is dead."

  Kozeri stiffened; her smile faded, and she turned away to face the altar. "How did it happen?" she asked.

  "He was murdered." As Sano gave details and explained why he'd come, he thought Kozeri's shock seemed genuine and her question logical. But was she disturbed by Konoe's death, or by the arrival of the shogun's detective? Sano said, "I must talk to you about some things that may have a bearing on the crime."