Bundori: A Novel Of Japan

Chapter 19

In the seclusion of his private quarters, Chamberlain Yanagisawa held Aoi’s coded letter to the lamp flame and watched it burn. His shaking hands scattered ash onto the lacquer table. Shock and dread blurred his vision until he could no longer see the room’s carved chests and cabinets, painted murals, embroidered silk floor cushions, or the garden of boulders and raked sand outside his open window. As he absorbed the full import of his spy’s message, which he’d just received, prickly tendrils of fear spread from his heart into his throat and stomach.

He’d thought that his plan to thwart Sōsakan Sano’s investigation was working very well. From Aoi’s last report, he knew she had Sano looking all over Edo for a suspect who didn’t exist. He’d believed that Sano stood little chance of capturing the Bundori Killer.

True, Sano’s revelations at the council meeting had shaken him badly; he alone had recognized the merit of Sano’s theory, which he’d been unable to completely discredit. He’d failed to detach the shogun’s fancy from Sano, and therefore couldn’t simply banish or execute the troublesome sōsakan. Nor had he managed to relieve Sano of the murder case so that he could give it to the police, whom he controlled. But still he’d believed he would eventually prevail.

Until now.

In her message, Aoi reported the failure of her plan to sabotage Sano by sending him to an abandoned house in which her agents had planted fake evidence. Because of the priest’s murder, he must now know she’d misled him, and would cease to trust her guidance. And the witnesses from Zōjō Temple could bring Sano dangerously closer to identifying the killer.

Worse yet, according to Aoi’s informants in the castle archives, Sano’s pursuit of his theory had yielded suspects. Yanagisawa didn’t need to wait for her to collect and send the list of names to know it would include his own. In a haze of terror, he imagined his destruction at the hands of the most serious adversary he’d ever faced. The success of Sano’s investigation would mean his own ruin.

The paper burned away, obliterating Aoi’s words, but not Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s woes. He got to his feet and crossed the room. Opening the door, he shouted for his manservant, who appeared immediately.

“Yes, master?”

Yanagisawa gave his orders. After the servant had hurried off to obey, he began to pace the floor. A bitter, self-deprecating laugh burst from him.

To his subordinates, he always managed to appear the suave, confident chamberlain, always in control of himself, of everyone, and of every situation. But sometimes his terrors and passions held him in a virtual paralysis of indecision and inactivity. He doubted his own judgment, but couldn’t seek counsel from others for fear of losing face and power. He would pace, as he did now, like a man trapped inside the prison of himself.

Impatiently Yanagisawa went to the door and looked down the; corridor. Why was that fool servant taking so long to deliver what he’d requested?

Yanagisawa resumed pacing. Sweat dampened his garments; panic shot flares through his body until he felt weak, dizzy. The hated Sano Ichirō had brought him to this miserable state. He must devise a plan to wreck Sano’s investigation once and for all, to eliminate the threat it posed to him. But first he needed the release that he could achieve in only one way.

Behind him the door opened, then closed as someone entered the room. Yanagisawa turned. Anticipation warmed his blood. Worry and fear dissipated; he smiled.

There stood the shogun’s favorite boy actor, Shichisaburō, who knelt and bowed. “I await your orders, master,” he said.

Instead of his elaborate theatrical costume, he wore a plain brown cotton kimono and a wooden sword like those carried by samurai boys. As Yanagisawa himself had upon his eighth birthday, when Lord Takei had first summoned him to his private chambers. The simple garb only enhanced Shichisaburō’s delicate, striking beauty, as it must have done Yanagisawa’s own. The beauty that had attracted the lecherous daimyo.

His father had been Lord Takei’s chamberlain, a cold, calculating, ambitious man who had sought to further his family’s status by sending the young Yanagisawa to be a page in the daimyo’s service. Yanagisawa, just as ambitious, but pitifully naive, had gone willingly enough, expecting to run the daimyo’s errands and advance himself in the world. How could he have known, as his father must have, about Lord Takei’s tastes? How could he have known that any handsome boy who entered the daimyo’s service could expect to be used as an object of physical gratification?

Against a rising swell of memory and an accompanying sensual excitement, Yanagisawa spoke the words that had once been spoken to him: “Rise, young samurai, and let me see your face.” He heard his own smooth voice assume the remembered gruffness of Lord Takei’s. “Don’t be afraid. I mean you no harm.”

Shichisaburō obeyed. Yanagisawa studied him with approval. The boy’s eyes were round, solemn. His lips trembled, but he held himself tall and proud.

“My only wish is to serve you, master,” he said.

Yanagisawa sighed in satisfaction. The boy wasn’t really afraid. They’d done this before; he knew what to expect. But his acting was no less inspired than on stage. Shichisaburō knew and accepted that his fate depended on complete cooperation with his superiors. At the first sign of rebellion he would find himself expelled from the castle, stripped of his status as a theatrical star, and working in some squalid roadside brothel. With Shichisaburō, Yanagisawa had come to appreciate the value of a professional.

He’d lost his taste for the castle’s pages-inexperienced country boys who sometimes wept or soiled themselves in fright.

“Turn around,” he commanded. As Shichisaburō pivoted, Yanagisawa savored the heady rush of arousal in his groin. He sighed again.

As he’d matured, Yanagisawa had learned that the exploitation of boys was common in other daimyo households besides Lord Takei’s. Yanagisawa, though, had suffered more than his peers seemed to; he never recovered as they did. When his sexuality bloomed, some compulsion drove him to reenact that first encounter with Lord Takei. Promiscuous in his youthful lust, he’d experimented with men and women, singly and in combinations, in countless situations. But nothing else satisfied him as much as following this script, which had become ritual.

“I invited you here because I’ve heard reports that you are the most brilliant of all my pages,” he said to the boy, “and I wanted to meet you.”

Shichisaburō’s response was prompt and sincere. “Your attention does me great honor, master!” He flashed his lovely smile, his fear overcome by happiness at being singled out by his lord. How amazing that he could blush at will.

Yanagisawa’s heartbeat quickened; his manhood hardened. “Now that I’ve seen you, I have decided that you will be my personal assistant. You’ll serve me well. And I… ” He paused to enjoy his burgeoning erection “… have so much to teach you.”

“It would be an honor to learn from you, master.” Shichisaburō recited his line with convincing ardor.

“Then we will begin your first lesson now.” Yanagisawa towered over the boy, reveling in his own masculinity, his superiority. As Lord Takei must have.

“An understanding of the human body is essential to mastery of the martial arts.” Slowly Yanagisawa loosened his sash. “I will use my own as an example for your education.” His garments parted to reveal the body he perfected every day with strenuous martial arts training: sculpted chest; strong legs; and the bulge beneath the tight wrappings of his white silk loincloth.

With ceremonial dignity, Yanagisawa unwound the loincloth and let it drop. He took his erection in his hand, offering it for Shichisaburō’s scrutiny. “See how large it is, how potent,” he murmured, caressing himself.

As if mesmerized, Shichisaburō gazed upon the organ, eyes blank with uncomprehending fascination.

Lord Takei had made sure that none of his men had already used the young page Yanagisawa-although they would later. He’d reserved the first turn for himself. Yanagisawa had reacted to Lord Takei’s self-exposure just as Shichisaburō was doing now.

“This,” Yanagisawa intoned, “is manhood in its most beautiful form.”

Wounded and disillusioned by his encounter with Lord Takei, the young Yanagisawa had wept every night when the other pages couldn’t see him. With the stoicism of his samurai upbringing, he’d suffered the humiliation and pain of subsequent abuse. But gradually he’d begun to see how he could use Lord Takei’s obsession with him. Soon he’d risen to the post of chief page. His precocious intelligence had enabled him to assume duties normally entrusted to the daimyo’s adult retainers. As a young man he’d quickly advanced through the ranks of these. So when, at age twenty-two, word of his beauty and talent reached Tsunayoshi, the young shogun-to-be, Yanagisawa was ready for greater opportunities.

“This is the glory and the power you must aspire to.” Yanagisawa moved closer to Shichisaburō. “Touch me.”

He shuddered with pleasure as the boy’s delicate hands stroked his shaft, fondled his scrotum. Shichisaburō was better than he, in his inexperienced awkwardness, must have been with Lord Takei.

But not as good as he’d been with the shogun.

Tokugawa Tsunayoshi-weak, trusting, sensual-had quickly fallen under Yanagisawa’s control. As he enjoyed Yanagisawa’s company in the bedchamber, so did he depend on his counsel. With Tsunayoshi’s ascension to the position of shogun, Yanagisawa became chamberlain. He exacted tribute from the daimyo, the Tokugawa vassals and retainers, and anyone else who sought the shogun’s favor. His fortune grew. But money wasn’t enough. Always he craved greater wealth, higher status. He wanted to be a daimyo-a landowning lord-himself. He wanted to rise above those who had once been his superiors. He yearned to be rid of the fear that the capricious shogun might suddenly transfer his favor to Sano. And he would do anything to achieve the absolute power and freedom to fulfill all desires that the past had instilled in him.

“Take me in your mouth,” he gasped now.

Shichisaburō knelt and lowered his head. His warm, wet lips closed over Yanagisawa’s organ, sucking and licking. Yanagisawa forced himself to keep his eyes from closing in rapture. Watching someone else submit, as he once had, was the best part of the ritual. Knowing that now it was not he but his victim who suffered humiliation.

To Yanagisawa, humiliation was an integral component of sexual gratification. In his youth it had aroused him even as it withered his self-respect. Now he craved the cruel joy of abasing his partners. Especially the shogun. Oh, he felt a certain condescending affection for Tokugawa Tsunayoshi. They shared many interests-religion, theater, Confucian studies. The shogun doted on him, showered him with gifts and compliments. Sex between them was still pleasurable-although they both preferred boys- and allowed Yanagisawa to maintain his hold on the shogun. But in his deepest soul, Yanagisawa hated Tsunayoshi as an authority figure who dominated him as Lord Takei had.

And how he hated Sōsakan Sano, who had not only garnered the shogun’s attention, but was also free from the demons of compulsion, and as honorable, well-intentioned, and as full of integrity as he himself should have been.

Yanagisawa banished the thought of Sano. He moaned, giving himself over to pleasure. At the brink of climax, he withdrew from Shichisaburō’s mouth. It was time for the next step in the ritual.

“Rise, Shichisaburō,” he ordered hoarsely. “Turn.”

His hands on his docile victim’s shoulders, Yanagisawa walked Shichisaburō to a low table against the wall. He smiled at the terrified, bewildered glances that Shichisaburō threw over his shoulder. Such perfect acting.

“Now I will initiate you into the rites of manhood.”

He lifted Shichisaburō onto the table. He raised the boy’s kimono, and gasped at the sight and feel of the soft, naked buttocks. He moved his hands around to caress the boy’s small organ, which stiffened at his touch.

Like his own had, under Lord Takei’s hands.

Then, with a groan like that of a wounded animal-his imitation of Lord Takei’s-he drove his organ into the hot, tight mouth. of Shichisaburō’s anus.

Shichisaburō screamed in simulated fear and pain. “No, master! No!” His hands clawed the wall, leaving scratches among the others already there.

“How dare you defy me?” Yanagisawa demanded.

Jaws clenched, he plunged in and out, excitement mounting. Across the distance of twenty-four years, he heard his own childish screams, felt his own hands against rough plaster, felt the tearing pain as Lord Takei violated his body. And he remembered the sublime moment when he’d first penetrated Tokugawa Tsunayoshi after a year together, finally reversing their roles to become the dominant partner. Since then, no one had ever taken him. He was the taker now.

Shichisaburō’s cries turned to whimpers; his body went limp. These cues nearly drove Yanagisawa mad with arousal, but he held back, awaiting the boy’s final response, the one that would bring the ritual to its climax.

“… please… ” A tearful plea.

Yanagisawa’s excitement peaked in a cataclysm of pleasure. He shouted out his orgasm. But as always, he experienced a triumph infinitely more satisfying than any physical sensation.

Never again would anyone dominate him, punish him, or make him suffer the humiliation he feared above all else. It was he who dominated, punished, and humiliated others.

No one must interfere with his rise to power. He would rule the land, if not as shogun, then as the next best thing. No one would ever relegate him to his former status as powerless victim.

Especially not Sōsakan Sano Ichirō, whom he must and somehow would destroy.