The Concubine’s Tattoo

5

Autumn twilight descended upon Edo. Clouds sketched swirls across a pale gold western sky, like script written in smoke. Lanterns burned above gates and in the windows of peasant houses, merchant dwellings, and great daimyo mansions, the Edo residences of landowning lords. A gibbous moon rose amid early stars, distant beacons heralding night and guiding a hunting party that tramped through the Edo Castle forest preserve. Porters laden with chests of supplies followed servants leading horses and barking dogs. Ahead, the hunters, armed with bows, moved on foot among the trees, above which birds soared in prenocturnal flight.

“Honorable Chamberlain Yanagisawa, is it not getting a bit late for hunting?” Senior Elder Makino Narisada hurried to catch up with his superior. The other four members of Japan ’s Council of Elders followed, huffing and gasping. “There is a most unpleasant chill in the air. And soon it will be too dark to see anything. Should we not go back to the palace and continue our meeting in comfort?”

“Nonsense,” Yanagisawa retorted, drawing his bow and sighting along the arrow. “Night is the best time to hunt. Though I cannot see my prey clearly, neither can he see me. It’s much more of a challenge than hunting in the unsubtle light of day.”

Tall, slender, strong-and, at age thirty-three, at least fifteen years younger than any of his comrades-Chamberlain Yanagisawa moved swiftly through the woods. Night’s mystical energy always stimulated his senses. Vision and hearing gained power and clarity until he could detect the slightest motion. In the forest’s pine-scented shadows, he heard wings flap softly as a bird landed on a nearby bough. He froze, then took aim.

Hunting aroused Yanagisawa’s killing instinct. What better condition in which to conduct affairs of state? He let fly the arrow. With a thump, it struck a tree. The bird flew off unharmed. Squawks arose as a nearby flock took wing in panic.

“A marvelous shot,” Senior Elder Makino said anyway. The other elders echoed his praise.

Chamberlain Yanagisawa smiled, not caring that he’d missed his target. He was after larger, more important prey. “Now, what is the next subject on our agenda?”

“The sōsakan-sama’s report on his successful murder investigation and capture of a smuggling ring in Nagasaki.”

“Ah. Yes.” Fury filled Yanagisawa like a geyser of corrosive fluid, tapping the deeper anger that had burgeoned in him ever since Sano Ichirō had come to Edo Castle. Sano was a rival he’d failed to eliminate, a man who stood between him and his heart’s desire.

“His Excellency was very impressed with the sōsakan-sama’s victory,” Makino said, a hint of sly satisfaction coloring his obsequious manner. “What do you think, Honorable Chamberlain?”

With emphatic, deliberate movements, Yanagisawa took another arrow from his quiver and kept walking. “Something must be done about Sano Ichirō,” he said.

Since his youth, Yanagisawa had been the shogun’s lover, using his influence over Tokugawa Tsunayoshi to gain the exalted position of second-in-command, actual ruler of Japan. Yanagisawa’s administrative skills kept the government functioning while the shogun indulged a passion for the arts, religion, and young boys. Through the years, Yanagisawa had amassed great riches by skimming money from tributes paid to the Tokugawa by daimyo clans and taxes collected from merchants, and by charging fees for access to the shogun. Everyone bowed to Yanagisawa’s authority. Yet all this wealth and power wasn’t enough. Recently he had formulated a plan for becoming a daimyo, the official governor of an entire province. Four months ago he’d banished Sōsakan Sano to Nagasaki, thinking he’d seen the last of his enemy, believing that he’d permanently secured his position as the shogun’s favorite.

However, his plan had backfired. Sano had survived exile-as he had Yanagisawa’s past attempts to discredit him-and returned a hero. Today he’d married the daughter of Magistrate Ueda, who also had more influence with the shogun than Yanagisawa liked. Tokugawa Tsunayoshi, peeved at him for sending Sano away, had so far refused Yanagisawa’s bid to enlarge his domain. Sano’s status at court had risen. So had that of another rival, whose influence Chamberlain Yanagisawa had easily counteracted in the past. And now, with the shogun finally aware of the animosity between his advisers, Yanagisawa dared not use against Sano the method he’d employed to dispose of past enemies: assassination. The risk of exposure and subsequent punishment was too great. Still, he must somehow destroy his competition.

“Honorable Chamberlain, if the sōsakan-sama protects Japan from corruption and treason, isn’t this a good thing?” said Hamada Kazuo, an increasingly enthusiastic partisan of Sano. “Should we not support his efforts?”

Murmurs of timid agreement came from all the elders except Makino, Yanagisawa’s chief crony. Panic flared in Chamberlain Yanagisawa. The elders had once accepted his pronouncements without any objection. Now, because of Sano, he was losing control over the men who advised the shogun and set government policy. But he wouldn’t let it happen. No one must impede his rise to power.

“How dare you contradict me?” he demanded. Speeding his pace, he forced the elders to walk faster as they offered hasty apologies. “Hurry up!”

Oh, how he savored their obedience, a reminder of his authority- and how he dreaded its slightest weakening, which threatened to plunge him into the nightmare of his past…

His father had been chamberlain to Lord Takei, daimyo of Arima Province, and his mother the daughter of a merchant family that had sought advancement through union with a samurai clan. Both parents had viewed children as tools to improve the family’s rank. Money and attention were lavished upon their upbringing, but only as means to an end: a position in the shogun’s court.

In Yanagisawa’s clearest early memory, he and his brother Yoshihiro knelt in his father’s gloomy audience chamber. He was six, Yoshihiro twelve. Rain pattered on the tile roof; it seemed that the sun never shone in those days. Upon the dais sat their father, a grim, towering figure dressed in black.

“Yoshihiro, your tutor reports that you are failing all your academic subjects.” Contempt laced their father’s voice. To Yanagisawa he said, “And the martial arts master tells me that you lost in a practice sword match yesterday.”

He didn’t mention the fact that Yanagisawa could read and write as well as boys twice his age, or that Yoshihiro was the best young swordsman in town. “How do you expect to bring honor to the family this way?” His face purpled with anger. “You’re both worthless fools, unfit to be my sons!”

Grabbing the wooden pole that always lay upon the dais, he battered the boys’ bodies. Yanagisawa and Yoshihiro cringed under the painful beating, fighting tears which would further enrage their father. In an adjacent chamber their mother punished their sister, Kiyoko, for her failure to excel at the accomplishments she must master before they could marry her off to a high-ranking official: “Stupid, disobedient girl!”

The sound of slaps, blows, and Kiyoko’s weeping echoed constantly through that house. No matter what the children achieved, it was never enough to please their elders. Still, the punishment might have been bearable if they’d found consolation in the company of people outside the family, or in one another’s love. However, their parents had made this impossible.

“Those brats are beneath you,” Yanagisawa’s mother would say, isolating him and his siblings from the young offspring of Lord Takei’s other retainers. “One day you’ll be their superiors.”

The children learned that they could avoid punishment by passing the blame for misbehavior. Therefore, they hated and distrusted one another.

Through all those terrible years, Yanagisawa remembered crying only once, on the cold, rainy day of his brother Yoshihiro’s funeral. At age seventeen, Yoshihiro had committed seppuku. While priests chanted, Yanagisawa and Kiyoko wept bitterly, the only people in the crowd of mourners to show emotion.

“Stop that!” whispered their parents, administering slaps. “Such a pathetic display of weakness. What will people think? Why can’t you bring honor to the family, like Yoshihiro did?”

But Yanagisawa and Kiyoko knew that their brother’s ritual suicide wasn’t a gesture of honor. Yoshihiro, the eldest son, had succumbed to the pressure of being the chief repository of the family’s ambitions. Always falling short of his parents’ expectations, he’d killed himself to avoid further anguish. Yanagisawa and Kiyoko wept not for him but for themselves, because their parents had traded their lives for a higher place in society.

Kiyoko, fifteen and married to a wealthy official, had lost a child during one of her husband’s beatings, and was pregnant again. And Yanagisawa, eleven, had served three years as Lord Takei’s page and sexual object. His anus bled from the daimyo’s assaults; his pride had suffered even worse mortifications.

Then, as the smoke from the funeral pyre drifted over the cremation ground, a change took place inside Yanagisawa. The weeping drained a reservoir of accumulated misery from his heart until there was nothing left except a bitter core of resolve. Yoshihiro had died because he was weak. Kiyoko was a helpless girl. But Yanagisawa vowed that someday he would be the most powerful man in the country. Then no one could ever use, punish, or humiliate him again. He would exact revenge upon everyone who had ever hurt him. Everyone would do his bidding; everyone would fear his anger.

Eleven years later, Tokugawa Tsunayoshi heard reports of a young man whose looks and intelligence had facilitated his rapid advancement through the ranks of Lord Takei’s retainers. Tsunayoshi, enamored of beautiful males, summoned Yanagisawa to Edo Castle. Yanagisawa had grown to splendid maturity; he was arrestingly handsome, with intense dark eyes. When the palace guards escorted Yanagisawa into Tsunayoshi’s private chamber, the twenty-nine-year-old future shogun dropped the book he was reading and stared.

“Magnificent,” he said. Wonder dawned on his soft, effeminate features. To the guards, he said, “Leave us.”

By this time, Yanagisawa knew his own limitations and assets. The relatively low status of his clan impeded his entry into the bakufu’s upper ranks, as did lack of wealth, but he’d learned how to use the talents given him by the gods of fortune. Now, gazing into Tokugawa Tsunayoshi’s eyes, he saw lust, weakness of mind and spirit, and a craving for approval. Inwardly Yanagisawa smiled. He bowed without bothering to kneel first, taking the first of many liberties with the future shogun. Tokugawa Tsunayoshi, humble in his awe, bowed back. Yanagisawa walked to the dais and picked up the older man’s book.

“What are you reading, Your Excellency?” he asked.

“The, ahh, ahh-” Stammering with excitement, Tokugawa Tsunayoshi trembled beside Yanagisawa. “The Dream of the Red Chamber.”

Boldly Yanagisawa sat on the dais and read from the classic, erotic Chinese novel. His reading, perfected by childhood study and punishment, was flawless. He paused between passages, smiling provocatively into Tsunayoshi’s eyes. Tsunayoshi blushed. Yanagisawa held out his hand. Eagerly the future shogun grasped it.

There was a knock at the door, and an official entered. “Your Excellency, it’s time for your meeting with the Council of Elders. They’re to brief you on the state of the nation and solicit your opinion on new government policies.”

“I, ahh… I’m busy now. Can’t it wait? Besides, I don’t think I have any opinions on anything.” Tsunayoshi looked to Yanagisawa, as if for rescue.

At that moment, Yanagisawa saw his path to the future he’d envisioned. He would be Tsunayoshi’s companion, and furnish the views that the foolish dictator lacked. Through Tokugawa Tsunayoshi, Yanagisawa would rule Japan. He would wield the shogun’s power of life and death over its citizens.

“We’ll both attend the meeting,” he said. The official frowned at his impertinence, but Tsunayoshi nodded meekly. As they left the room together, Yanagisawa whispered to his new lord, “When the meeting is over, we shall have all the time in the world to become acquainted.”

When Tokugawa Tsunayoshi assumed the position of shogun, Yanagisawa became chamberlain. Former superiors fell under his control. He seized Lord Takei’s lands, turning the daimyo and all his retainers- including Yanagisawa’s father-out to fend for themselves. Yanagisawa received urgent letters from his impoverished parents, begging for mercy. With a gleeful sense of vindication, he denied aid to the family that had brought him up to be exactly what he was. Yet Yanagisawa never forgot how precarious a position he held. The shogun doted on him, but new rivals vied constantly for Tsunayoshi’s changeable favor. Yanagisawa dominated the bakufu, but no regime lasted forever.

Senior Elder Makino’s crackly voice drew Chamberlain Yanagisawa out of his ruminations. “We should discuss the possible epidemic and plan how to prevent serious consequences.”

“There will be no epidemic,” Yanagisawa said. As the sky’s brightness diminished, forest trails vanished into the tangle of trees, but Yanagisawa maintained his pace. “Lady Harume was poisoned.”

The elders gasped and exclaimed. “Poisoned?” “But we’ve heard nothing of this.” “How do you know?”

“Oh, I have ways of learning things.” Chamberlain Yanagisawa had spies in the Large Interior, as well as everywhere else in Edo. These agents maintained surveillance on important people, eavesdropping on their conversations and riffling through their belongings.

“There will be trouble,” Makino said. “What shall we do?”

“We needn’t do anything,” Yanagisawa said. “Sōsakan Sano is investigating the murder.”

Suddenly a brilliant plan burst into his mind. By using Lady Harume’s murder case, he could destroy Sano-and his other rival. Yanagisawa wanted to rejoice aloud, but the plan required extreme discretion. He needed the sort of accomplice not offered by the present company.

Halting the procession in a clearing, Chamberlain Yanagisawa told his entourage, “You may go home now.” The elders departed in relief; only Yanagisawa’s personal attendants remained. “I wish rest and refreshment, " he said.”Put up my shelter.”

The servants unloaded supplies and erected an enclosure like those used by generals as battlefield headquarters: white silk curtains hung from a square frame, open to the sky. Inside they spread futons, lit lanterns and charcoal braziers, and set out sake and food. With bodyguards stationed outside, Yanagisawa smugly reclined on a futon. He had no real need for this makeshift shelter, with the entire castle at his disposal. But he loved the spectacle of other men toiling for his comfort, the clandestine air of a night rendezvous outdoors. And was he not akin to a general, marshaling his troops for an attack?

“Bring Shichisaburō here,” Chamberlain Yanagisawa ordered a servant, who ran off to comply.

As Yanagisawa waited, the sensual thrill of lust increased his excitement. Shichisaburō, leading actor of the Tokugawa No theater troupe, was his current paramour. Schooled in the venerable tradition and practice of manly love, he also had other uses…

Soon the silk curtains parted, and Shichisaburō entered. Fourteen years old, small for his age, he wore his hair in the style of a samurai boy: crown shaven, with a long forelock tied back from his brow. His red and gold brocade theatrical robe covered a figure as gracefully slender as a willow sapling. Kneeling, Shichisaburō bowed.

“I await your orders, Honorable Chamberlain,” he murmured.

Yanagisawa sat upright as his heartbeat quickened. “Rise,” he said, “and approach.” He tasted desire, raw and salty as blood. “Sit beside me.”

The youth obeyed, and Yanagisawa gazed possessively upon his face, admiring the exquisite nose, tapered chin, and high cheekbones; smooth, childish skin; rosy lips like a delicious fruit. Shichisaburō’s wide, expressive eyes, aglow in the lantern light, reflected a gratifying eagerness to please. Yanagisawa smiled. Shichisaburō came from a distinguished theatrical family that had entertained emperors for centuries. Now the family’s great talent, concentrated in this youth, was Yanagisawa’s to command.

“Pour me a drink,” Chamberlain Yanagisawa ordered, adding magnanimously, “and one for yourself.”

“Yes, master. Thank you, master!” Shichisaburō lifted the sake decanter. “Oh, but the liquor is cold. Please allow me to warm it for you. And may I serve other refreshments for your delectation?”

Yanagisawa looked on with delight as the young actor set the decanter on the charcoal brazier and laid rice cakes on a plate. At the beginning of their affair, Shichisaburō had spoken and behaved with adolescent gaucheness, but he was intelligent, and had quickly adopted Yanagisawa’s speech patterns; now, the big words and long, complicated sentences issued from him with mature fluency. When not abasing himself as custom dictated, he also assumed the chamberlain’s bearing: head high, shoulders back, movements swift, impatient, but smoothed by natural grace. This flattering mimicry pleased Yanagisawa greatly.

They drank the warm sake. His face rosy from the liquor, Shichisaburō said, “Have you had a difficult day ruling the nation, master? Shall I soothe you?”

Chamberlain Yanagisawa lay down on the futon. Shichisaburō’s hands moved over his neck and back, easing the stiff muscles, arousing desire. Though tempted to roll over and pull the boy against him, Yanagisawa resisted the urge. They had business to discuss first.

“It’s an honor to touch you.” Fingers rubbing, stroking, teasing, Shichisaburō whispered close to Yanagisawa’s ear: “When we’re apart, I yearn for the time when we can be together again.”

Yanagisawa knew he was only acting and didn’t mean a word of what he said, but this didn’t bother Yanagisawa at all. How wonderful that someone respected him enough to exert all this effort to please!

“At night I dream of you, and-and I must confess an embarrassing secret.” Shichisaburō’s voice trembled convincingly. “Sometimes my desire for you is so great that I caress myself and pretend you are touching me. I hope that this does not offend you?”

“Far from it.” Yanagisawa chuckled. The actor, despite his talent and heritage, was a commoner, a nobody. He was weak, naïve, pathetic, and another man might consider his words an insult. Yet Chamberlain Yanagisawa relished the charade as proof that he was no longer the helpless victim, but the omnipotent user of other men. He had flunkies instead of friends. He’d married a wealthy woman related to the Tokugawa clan, but kept a distance from her and their five-year-old daughter, for whom he’d already begun seeking a politically advantageous match. He didn’t care if everyone despised him, as long as they obeyed his orders. Shichisaburō’s pretense aroused Yanagisawa; power was the ultimate aphrodisiac.

Now Chamberlain Yanagisawa reluctantly deferred his pleasure. “I need your help with a very important matter, Shichisaburō,” he said, sitting upright.

The young actor’s eyes brimmed with happiness, and Yanagisawa could almost believe he truly felt flattered by the request, which was actually an order. “I’ll do anything for you, master.”

“This is a matter of utmost secrecy, and you must promise to tell no one about it,” Yanagisawa warned.

“Oh, I promise, I promise!” Sincerity radiated from the boy. “You can trust me. Just wait and see. Pleasing you means more to me than anything else in the world.”

Yet Yanagisawa knew that it was not devotion but the threat of punishment that held Shichisaburō in thrall to him. Should the actor disobey, he would be stripped of his status as star of the Tokugawa theater troupe, banished from the castle, and put to work in some squalid highway brothel. The chamberlain smiled. Everyone will do my bidding and fear my anger…

Bending close, Chamberlain Yanagisawa whispered to Shichisaburō. Inhaling the boy’s fresh, youthful scent, Yanagisawa felt his manhood lift within his loincloth. He finished conveying his orders, then let his tongue trace the delicate whorl of Shichisaburō’s ear. The actor giggled and turned to Yanagisawa in delighted admiration.

“How clever you are to think of such a wonderful plan! I’ll do exactly as you say. And when we’re done, Sōsakan Sano will never trouble you again.”

From above the enclosure came a flutter of wings. On impulse, Chamberlain Yanagisawa fitted an arrow to his bow and aimed upward, scanning the cobalt sky, the black filigree border of trees. Against the moon’s luminescent silver disc hovered a dark shape. Yanagisawa released the arrow to invisible flight. A screech pierced the evening calm. Into the enclosure plummeted an owl, the arrow stuck in its breast. Its own prey-a tiny blind mole-was still gripped in the sharp talons.

Shichisaburō clapped his hands gleefully. “A perfect shot, master!”

Chamberlain Yanagisawa laughed. “By attacking one, I also claim the other.” The symbolism was as perfect as his aim, the shot an auspicious omen for his scheme. Triumph fed Yanagisawa’s desire. Dropping the bow, he extended his hand to Shichisaburō. “But enough of business. Come here.”

The young actor’s eyes faithfully mirrored Yanagisawa’s need. “Yes, master.”

The wind’s hushed breath stirred the forest; the rising moon swelled. On the silk walls of the enclosure, two shadows fused into one.