The Concubine’s Tattoo

14

The gilt crest above the gate of Lord Miyagi Shigeru of Tosa Province represented a pair of swans facing each other, their wings spread around them in a feathered circle, touching at the tips. Sano arrived at dusk, when homebound samurai trooped through the darkening streets. An elderly manservant led Sano into the mansion, where he left his shoes and swords in the entryway. Edo ’s daimyo district had been rebuilt since the Great Fire; hence, the Miyagi estate dated from a recent period. Yet the interior of the house seemed ancient, the woodwork of the corridor dark with age and probably salvaged from an older structure. A faint smell of decay hung in the air, as if from centuries of moisture, smoke, and human breath. In the reception room, an eerie melody ended as the servant ushered Sano inside and announced, “Honorable Lord and Lady Miyagi, I present Sano Ichirō, the shogun’s sōsakan-sama.”

Four people occupied the room: a gray-haired samurai, reclining on silk cushions; a middle-aged woman who knelt beside him; and two pretty young maidens seated together, one holding a samisen, the other a wooden flute. Sano knelt, bowed, and addressed the man.

“Lord Miyagi, I’m investigating the murder of the shogun’s concubine, and I must ask you some questions.”

For a moment, everyone regarded Sano with silent wariness. Cylindrical white lanterns burned, giving the room an intimate, late-night ambience. Charcoal braziers warmed away the autumn chill. The Miyagi swan insignia was repeated in carved roundels on the ceiling beams and pillars, in the gold crests on the lacquer tables and cabinets and the man’s brown silk dressing gown. Sano had the distinct sense of a self-contained world, whose inhabitants perceived other people as outsiders. An aura of perfume, wintergreen hair oil, and a barely perceptible musky odor formed a cocoon around them, as if they exuded their own atmosphere. Then Lord Miyagi spoke.

“May we offer you some refreshment?” He gestured toward a low table, which held teapot, cups, smoking tray, and sake decanter, plus a lavish spread of fruit, cakes, and sushi.

Observing social convention, Sano politely refused, was persuaded, then graciously accepted.

“I wondered whether you would find out about me.” Lord Miyagi had a thin, lanky body and long face. His downward-tilted eyes were moist and luminous, his full mouth softly wet. Loose skin wattled his neck and cheeks. His drawling voice reflected his languid posture. “Well, I suppose I might have expected that my connection with Harume would become known eventually; the metsuke is most efficient. I am just glad that it happened after her death, when it can hardly matter anymore. Ask me whatever you please.”

Preserving the possible advantage of keeping Lady Harume’s diary a secret, Sano did not correct the daimyo’s impression that Tokugawa spies had uncovered the relationship. “Perhaps we should talk alone,” Sano said, eyeing Lady Miyagi. He needed the intimate details of the affair, which Lord Miyagi might want to hide from his wife.

However, Lord Miyagi said, “My wife will stay. She already knows all about Lady Harume and myself.”

“We are cousins, joined in a marriage of convenience,” Lady Miyagi explained. Indeed she did bear a striking family resemblance to her husband, with the same skin, facial features, and thin figure. Yet her posture was rigid, her eyes a flat, lusterless brown, her unpainted mouth firmly set. She had a deep, mannish voice. While everything about Lord Miyagi bespoke weakness and sensuality, she seemed a stern, dry husk within her brocade kimono. “There is no need for us to keep secrets from each other.”

Then she added, “But perhaps we do require a bit more privacy. Snowflake? Wren?” She beckoned to the maidens, who rose and knelt before her. “These are my husband’s concubines,” Lady Miyagi said, surprising Sano, who had assumed they were the couple’s daughters.

With a motherly pat to the cheek of each girl, she said, “You may go now. Continue practicing your music.”

“Yes, Honorable Mistress,” the girls chorused. They bowed and left the room.

“So you knew that your husband was secretly meeting Harume in Asakusa?” Sano asked Lady Miyagi.

“Of course.” The woman’s mouth curved in a smile, baring her cosmetically blackened teeth. “I am in charge of all my lord’s amusements.” Beside her, Lord Miyagi nodded complacently. “I select his concubines and courtesans. Last summer I made an acquaintance with Lady Harume and introduced her to my husband. I organized their every rendezvous, sending Harume letters telling her when to be at the inn.”

Some wives went to extraordinary lengths to serve their men, Sano thought. While this arrangement caused him a prickle of distaste, he wished Reiko possessed some of Lady Miyagi’s willingness to please. “You took a big risk by sporting with the shogun’s concubine,” he told Lord Miyagi.

“I find much enjoyment in danger.” The daimyo stretched luxuriously. His tongue came out, moistening his lips with saliva.

A true devotee of fleshly delights, he seemed acutely conscious of every physical sensation. He wore his robe as though he felt the soft caress of silk against his skin. Picking up a tobacco pipe from the metal tray, he drew on it with slow deliberation, sighing while he expelled the smoke. In his frank pleasure, he appeared almost childlike. Yet Sano saw a sinister shadow behind the veiled eyes. He recalled what he knew of the Miyagi.

They were a minor clan, more renowned for sexual debauchery than political leadership. Rumors of adultery, incest, and perversion haunted both male and female members, though their wealth purchased freedom from legal consequences. Apparently the present daimyo followed the family tradition-which had sometimes included violence.

Addressing both husband and wife, Sano said, “Did you know that Lady Harume planned to tattoo herself?”

Lord Miyagi nodded and smoked. His wife answered, “Yes, we did. It was my husband’s wish that Harume prove her devotion by cutting a symbol of love for him upon her body. I wrote the letter asking her to do so.”

Sano wondered whether Lady Miyagi’s stiff bearing reflected a sexual coldness that precluded normal marital relations between her and her husband. Certainly she possessed none of the physical attractions valued by a man such as him. But perhaps she pursued her own carnal thrills by procuring her husband’s; she, too, was a member of the infamous clan. From the cloth pouch at his waist, Sano removed the black lacquer bottle whose ink had poisoned Harume. “Did she get this from you, then?”

“Yes, that is the bottle we sent with the letter,” Lady Miyagi said calmly. “I bought it. My husband wrote Harume’s name on top.”

So they both had handled the bottle. “And when was this?” Sano asked.

Lady Miyagi considered. “Four days ago, I believe.”

That would have been before Lieutenant Kushida’s suspension from duty in the Large Interior, but after Lady Harume’s complaint. But Kushida claimed to have had no prior knowledge of the tattoo, and Sano didn’t yet know about Lady Ichiteru. Presumably Hirata would obtain the information. For now, the Miyagi seemed the ones with the best opportunity to poison the ink.

“Were you on good terms with Lady Harume?” Sano asked Lord Miyagi.

The daimyo shrugged languorously. “We had no quarrels, if that’s what you mean. I loved her as much as I’m capable of loving anyone. I was getting what I wanted from the affair, and I presumed she was, too.”

“What was it that she wanted?” The diary explained how Lord Miyagi achieved gratification, but Sano was curious to know why the beautiful concubine had risked her life for sordid, joyless encounters with an unattractive man.

For the first time, Lord Miyagi looked uncomfortable; his Adam’s apple bobbed in the loose flesh of his throat, and he looked to his wife. Lady Miyagi said, “Harume had a craving for adventure, sōsakan-sama. The forbidden liaison with my husband satisfied it.”

“And you?” Sano asked. “How did you feel about Lady Harume and the affair?”

The woman smiled again-a curiously unpleasant expression that emphasized her homeliness. “I was grateful to Harume, as I am to all my husband’s women. I consider them my partners in serving his pleasure.”

Sano suppressed a shudder of revulsion. Lady Miyagi reminded him of a Yoshiwara brothel owner, catering to clients’ sexual whims with professional skill. She didn’t even seem to care how vulgar or perverted she might appear. From down the corridor drifted faint strains of music, and the concubines’ voices, singing. Sano suddenly became aware of how quiet the house was. He heard none of the sounds usually associated with a provincial lord’s estate-no troops patrolling; no officials conducting business; no servants at work. The solidly built mansion shut out street noises, reinforcing Sano’s impression of a closed world. What an odd household this was!

“So you see,” the daimyo said with a tired sigh, “neither my wife nor I had reason to kill Lady Harume, and we didn’t. I shall sadly miss the pleasure she provided me. And my dear wife has never been jealous about my liaisons with Harume or anyone else.” Raising himself from his cushions, he made a weak gesture toward the refreshment tray.

Quickly Lady Miyagi said, “Let me help you, Cousin,” and poured tea for him. She put the cup in his left hand, a persimmon in his right. For a moment, their arms joined in a circle, and Sano was struck by their resemblance to the Miyagi double-swan crest. A mated pair, mirror images of each other, wings touching, locked in a strange but mutually agreeable union…

The musky odor grew stronger, as though produced by the couple’s contact. Sano perceived between them a deep, emotional connection that did not exclude passion. Weighing the statements they’d given, he found that he believed Lady Miyagi’s story of accepting and even abetting her husband’s infidelity, but Lord Miyagi’s claim of love for Harume rang less true. Had she somehow threatened the marriage? Had one or both spouses wished her dead?

“Who else had access to the ink bottle before it reached Lady Harume?” Sano said.

“The messenger who carried it to Edo Castle,” said Lady Miyagi, “as well as everyone in the house. The retainers; the servants; Snowflake and Wren. When I brought the bottle home, my husband wasn’t here, so I left it on his desk while I attended to other business. Some hours passed before we sent it off. Anyone could have tampered with the ink without our knowledge.”

Was she simply relating facts, or shielding herself and Lord Miyagi by directing suspicion toward other residents of the estate? Perhaps one of them had borne a grudge against Harume. “My detectives shall come and question everyone in your household,” Sano said.

Nodding indifferently, Lord Miyagi ate his fruit. The juice ran down his chin; he licked his fingers. “As you wish,” Lady Miyagi said.

And now for the delicate, critical part of the interrogation, Sano thought. “Have you any children?” he asked the couple.

Neither husband nor wife altered expression, yet Sano’s trained senses detected a sudden pressure in the air, as though it had expanded to push against the walls. Lady Miyagi sat motionless, her gaze fixed straight ahead, a tightness about her jaw muscles. Lord Miyagi said, “No. We do not.” Regret permeated his words. “Our lack of sons has forced me to name a nephew as my heir.”

From the strained atmosphere between the Miyagi couple, Sano guessed that he’d touched a vulnerable spot in their marriage. He suspected that each harbored different feelings about their childlessness. And the answer to his question disappointed Sano. Harume’s pillow book portrayed Lord Miyagi as a voyeur who preferred self-stimulation to bedding a woman. Did this tendency, combined with his lack of offspring, mean that he was impotent? Was the shogun-weak, sickly, and inclined toward manly love-the father of Harume’s child after all?

Sano dreaded both telling Tokugawa Tsunayoshi that his unborn heir had died with the concubine, and the added pressure to solve the murder case. If he failed, the shogun’s unreliable affection wouldn’t save him from disgraceful death. And so far, this interview had not incriminated Lord or Lady Miyagi. Yet Sano would not give up hope.

“Lord Miyagi, I understand that Harume would undress and touch herself, while you watched through the window,” Sano said bluntly. He couldn’t spare the daimyo’s feelings at the expense of his own salvation.

“My, but the metsuke are efficient,” Lord Miyagi drawled. “Yes, that is correct. But I fail to see how my private habits are any of your business.” Lady Miyagi neither moved nor spoke, and the couple didn’t look at each other, but hostility radiated from them both: Though open about the daimyo’s affairs, they resented Sano’s quest for details.

“Did you ever penetrate Lady Harume?” Sano asked.

The daimyo gave a nervous chuckle, looking at his wife. When she offered no help, he said feebly, “Really, sōsakan-sama, this intrusion verges on disrespect toward me, and Lady Harume as well. What bearing can our relations have upon her death?”

“In a murder investigation, anything about the victim’s life can prove significant,” Sano said. He couldn’t mention Harume’s pregnancy before first informing the shogun, who would be angry to hear such important news via gossip instead of directly from Sano. “Answer the question, please.”

Lord Miyagi sighed, then shook his head, eyes downcast. “All right. No-I did not penetrate Harume.”

“Of course he didn’t!” Lady Miyagi’s outburst startled Sano, as well as Lord Miyagi, who jerked upright. Glaring at Sano, she demanded, “Do you think my husband would be so foolish as to violate the shogun’s concubine? And risk death? He never touched her; not even once. He wouldn’t!”

Wouldn’t-or couldn’t? Here was the passion Sano had sensed in Lady Miyagi, though he didn’t understand her vehemence. “You say that you organized your husband’s affair with Harume. Aside from the danger, why does the thought of his touching her bother you?”

“It doesn’t.” With an obvious effort, Lady Miyagi regained her composure, though an unattractive flush stained her cheeks. “I believe I’ve already explained my attitude toward my lord’s women,” she said coldly.

In the ensuing silence, the daimyo shrank into his cushions as if he wished to disappear behind them. His fingers played with a fold of his robe, savoring the feel of silk. Lady Miyagi sat rigidly still, biting her lips. From down the corridor came the concubines’ tinkly laughter. Sano could tell that husband and wife were lying about something: their relationship with Harume, or their feelings toward her? Did they already know about the pregnancy because the daimyo was responsible for it? And why hide the truth? To avoid scandal and punishment for the forbidden liaison-or murder charges?

“It’s getting late, sōsakan-sama,” Lady Miyagi said at last. Her husband nodded, relieved that she’d taken charge of the situation. “If you have any further questions, perhaps you would be so good as to return some other time.”

Sano bowed. “I may do that,” he said, rising. On impulse, he said to Lord Miyagi, “What inn did you and Lady Harume use for your meetings?”

Lord Miyagi hesitated, then answered, “The Tsubame, in Asakusa.”

As the manservant escorted Sano from the room, he looked back to see the Miyagi watching him with grave inscrutability. Once outside the gate, he could almost feel their strange, private world close against him, like a membrane sealing shut. A creeping, unclean sensation lingered, as though contact with that world had polluted his spirit. Yet Sano must probe its secrets, by indirect means if necessary. Perhaps when Hirata traced the poison dealer, the search would lead back to the Miyagi. And there was another side to the story of Lord Miyagi and Lady Harume’s affair: hers. An investigation into her life might provide answers that would avert the threat of failure and death that shadowed Sano. But now his thoughts turned homeward.

Mounting his horse, Sano headed up the boulevard. Lanterns burned at the guarded portals of daimyo estates. The moon rose in the evening sky over Edo Castle, perched on its hill, where Reiko waited. The, thought of her beauty and youthful innocence came to Sano like a purifying force that washed away the contamination of his encounter with the Miyagi. Perhaps tonight he and Reiko could settle yesterday’s quarrel and begin their marriage anew.