The Ronin’s Mistress

13

Hirata followed Chikara to a room in the barracks where the Hosokawa clan retainers practiced martial arts. Wooden swords and spears hung from racks. The bare wooden floor was marred by scuffs, nicks, and gouges. Polished steel mirrors were mounted on one wall. Chikara stood in the center of the room, his arms folded, a safe distance from Hirata.

“I’ve heard of you,” Chikara said, his voice unsteady but belligerent. “You’re the famous fighter. Well, you don’t scare me.”

“That’s good,” Hirata said, “because I’m not here to hurt you.”

Chikara looked askance at Hirata. He reached for the swords he usually wore at his waist, but his hand closed around empty air. He glanced at the weapons on the racks, realized that they were wooden and Hirata’s blades were steel, and discarded the idea of fighting.

“A good choice,” Hirata said. “You’re wiser than a lot of men twice your age.”

Chikara peered at Hirata, wondering if Hirata was making fun of him. Hirata solemnly returned his gaze. Chikara asked, “What do you want with me?”

“I want you to tell me about the vendetta.”

“What about it?” Chikara asked warily.

“Why did you wait so long to go after Kira?” This wasn’t a minor issue that Hirata wanted to clear up so that he could set the record straight. Twenty-two months was a long time. A lot could have happened besides the forty-seven ronin stewing about their master’s death and fixating on revenge. Maybe something else had gone on, which could affect the supreme court’s decision-and Sano’s and Hirata’s fate.

Chikara tilted his head. “Isn’t it obvious why waiting was a good idea?”

“Suppose you tell me, and I’ll decide whether it is,” Hirata said.

Chikara hesitated for a moment that was fraught with his reluctance to obey and his fear of the consequences of disobeying. “All right.”

1701 May

After the dissolution of the Asano estate in Edo, Oishi gathered Lord Asano’s remaining men in his shabby little rented house and said, “Let us make our plan to avenge our master.”

“Why do we need a plan?” Chikara had always been rash and hotheaded, unlike his prudent, calculating father. “Why can’t we just go kill Kira now?”

The other men eagerly seconded Chikara. But Oishi said, “Because Kira is expecting us. He’s surrounded by guards. We have to lull him into thinking we’re not coming.”

“And in the meantime, we do nothing?” Chikara said in dismay.

“Far from it. We have important work to do.”

Chikara felt the group’s morale rise. His father had given them a mission, a purpose that their lives had lost when they’d become ronin. “What kind of work?”

“I’ll try to get the house of Asano reinstated,” Oishi said. “I don’t expect to succeed, but I owe it to Lord Asano. The rest of you will convince Kira that revenge is the last thing on our minds. You can pretend to accept that you’ve lost your samurai status and go to work like good little commoners. Or you can pretend to become good-for-nothing bums. Make sure that lots of people see you. We want word to get back to Kira.”

One man said, “I’ll be a bum. That’s easier than working.” Laughter arose.

“Remember that it’s just an act,” Oishi warned. “You have to stay strong and keep your wits. Kira is a careful bastard. Even after he thinks he’s safe, he’ll still keep troops around him. We’ll have to fight. You need to be ready.

“We also need someone to spy on Kira, to determine the best place and time to attack.” Oishi chose three of the cleverest men. “Learn his routine. Cultivate some informants. If he’s spying on us, we need to be aware. And we’d better split up, so he won’t guess that we’re conspiring against him.” He divided the men into three groups that would stage themselves in Osaka, Kamakura, and Miyako.

“How will we keep in contact?” one of the spies asked.

“Chikara and I will stay in Edo,” Oishi said. “Send me messages here unless I give you other instructions. Everyone let me know where you can be reached. I’ll let you know when it’s time to act.” He rose. “Are we understood?”

The men stood and said in unison, “Yes.” Chikara felt their spirits and his swell with a sense of destiny.

“Then farewell,” Oishi said, “until we meet again.”

Time passed. His campaign to reinstate the house of Asano failed. His spies reported that Kira was still vigilant about security. The Asano ronin were scattered across Japan. One night in the early summer of the year after Lord Asano’s death, Chikara and his parents were sitting by the hearth, his young sisters asleep in a corner, when there was a knock at the door. Oishi let in Kinemon, one of the spies.

“I’ve come to warn you,” Kinemon said. “Kira is suspicious. He’s been making inquiries about you. He thinks you’re up to something. I heard that he plans to have you framed for some kind of crime and exiled to Sado Island.”

Horror filled Chikara. “What are we going to do?”

“I’ll allay Kira’s suspicions.” Oishi stood, calm and resigned. “I will leave Edo. Tonight.”

Chikara’s mother stared in shock and grief at his father. She said, “Please don’t leave me!”

“My dearest,” Oishi said tenderly. “You knew this day would come.”

She was the only person outside the group of ronin who knew about the plan. “But not so soon.” Tears welled in her eyes.

“You know what I have to do,” Oishi said. “You know it’s against the law. To save you and our children from sharing my punishment, I must sever my ties with you.” He spoke with pain and reluctance. “I will obtain a divorce.”

Ukihashi wept, but she didn’t protest. She understood her husband’s obligations.

Oishi said to Chikara, “You can come with me, or you can stay and take care of your mother and sisters.”

Chikara understood that this was the biggest decision he would ever have to make. His mother sobbed. They both knew where his duty lay. Without hesitation he said, “I’ll go with you, Father.”

As Chikara and his father packed a few belongings, Oishi said, “We won’t wake the girls.”

“What shall I tell them?” Ukihashi asked.

Oishi held her hands, looked into her eyes. “People will say terrible things about me. They’ll probably be true. But I swear that no matter what I do, I love you and our girls. Tell them that. Remember.”

Ukihashi whispered, “I will.” She embraced him, then Chikara, for the last time.

Oishi and Chikara traveled to Miyako. That summer, at a teahouse named Ichiriki, they secretly met up with nineteen ronin that Oishi had sent there. The men had become laborers, traders, or monks. None sported the trappings of their former class. Oishi and Chikara had left their swords at their lodgings; hats covered their crowns, where stubble had begun to grow. After greetings and toasts, Oishi said, “Let’s take an oath.” He raised his fist. “I swear, on my ancestors’ graves, to deliver Kira to justice and avenge Lord Asano.”

Chikara’s and everyone else’s fists shot into the air. Voices solemnly repeated the oath. A foreboding silence fell. Then one of the men said, “Why have you come, Oishi-san? I thought you were going to stay in Edo until it’s time for the deed to be done.” When Oishi explained, the man said, “Kira has spies in Miyako, too. They’re always watching us. They’re bound to find out that you’re here.”

“I’ll give them something to report.”

The next day Oishi began frequenting the teahouses, where he pretended to drink too much. He became loud and obnoxious; he picked fights. He took a mistress, a young girl named Okaru, who was too stupid to realize that she was just part of his act. One day he poured wine over himself, then collapsed on the street, in a feigned, drunken stupor.

Chikara waited nearby, watching people jeer at Oishi. A man with a cross face stopped and said, “Oishi-san? Is that you? Why are you lying in the gutter? What happened?” He recoiled in disgust. “The rumors are true, then. You’ve become a bum.” He announced, “This is Oishi Kuranosuke, former retainer to Lord Asano. He doesn’t have the courage to avenge his master’s death. Faithless beast!” He trampled on Oishi and spat in his face. “You are unworthy of the name of samurai!”

Oishi signaled Chikara to stand back while a crowd joined in the taunting, kicking, and spitting. His plan to defame himself worked. The winter after he and Chikara left Edo, they learned, from their own spies there, that Kira thought he had nothing to fear from the Asano ronin. His estate was no longer as heavily guarded as a fort. It was time.

Oishi contacted the ronin who’d gone to other cities. Forty-seven men, counting Oishi and Chikara, still remained loyal. They returned to Edo, one by one, anonymously and inconspicuously, and gathered at a cheap inn.

“I’ve found out Kira is having a banquet at his house tomorrow,” Kinemon said. “He and his men are sure to drink so much that they’ll be easy targets.”

“We’ll attack late tomorrow night,” Oishi decided.

Kinemon unrolled a large sheet of paper on the table. “Here are the plans for the house.”

“How did you get them?”

“I married the daughter of the man who built Kira’s estate. I stole the plans from his office.”

Reviewing the plans, Oishi discovered the secret exit in Kira’s bedchamber. The forty-seven ronin checked the equipment they’d brought; they settled on their strategy. Oishi looked around the table and said, “You can back out if you want.”

Chikara and the others were moved to tears. They knew he was giving them a chance to save their lives, and if they took it, he wouldn’t think ill of them. He loved them that much. His generosity cemented their loyalty to him and to their dead master.

“We’re not backing out,” Chikara said. “I swear, on my ancestors’ graves, to deliver Kira to justice and avenge Lord Asano.” The other men seconded him, renewing their oath.

Oishi’s stern expression didn’t hide the gratitude in his eyes. “Tomorrow night we go to meet our fate.”

* * *

When Chikara had finished his tale, Hirata said, “So you waited almost two years just to put Kira off his guard. That’s all there was to it?”

“That’s it,” Chikara said.

Hirata raised the issue that Chikara’s story hadn’t clarified. “After Kira was dead, why did you wait for orders?”

“Because my father said we should.”

Hirata shook his head.

Chikara frowned, offended. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“You’re hiding something. I can tell.”

“How?” Chikara backed away from Hirata, suspicious and fearful. “Are you doing some kind of magic on me?”

Hirata had learned to read dishonesty in human energy auras. It made them vibrate at a quick, erratic frequency, as Chikara’s aura did now. But he said, “I don’t need magic. Look at yourself.” He pointed to Chikara’s reflection in a mirror on the wall of the martial arts practice room where they stood. “Your eyes are open too wide. That’s fake innocence. And if you fold your arms any more tightly around your chest to hold the truth in, your ribs will crack.”

Dismayed by his transparency, Chikara let his arms drop and forced his face to relax. “We waited because we had to trick Kira. We waited for orders because my father said to. That’s my story. I’m sticking with it even if you torture me.”

No one could stand up to the kind of torture Hirata could administer. But Sano was opposed to torture because it often produced false confessions, and Hirata generally agreed with Sano. Besides, Hirata felt a profound respect for Chikara. The young man had gone where few of his elders had the courage to go. Hirata sought a kinder way to make Chikara talk.

“I admire you people. You followed Bushido to its most extreme limits.” Hirata wasn’t just seeking a way to gain Chikara’s trust; he genuinely admired the forty-seven ronin.

Chikara’s chest inflated with pride. “Yes, we did.”

“Most samurai will never know what that’s like.”

“No, they won’t.”

Hirata knew. He’d once taken a blade intended for Sano and suffered the injury that had almost killed him and would have crippled him permanently if not for his mystic martial arts training. But the attack had happened so fast that he hadn’t had time to think, whereas the forty-seven ronin had had months to come to grips with the personal risk that their act required. Hirata found himself wanting to save the forty-seven ronin, even though he must maintain his impartiality for the sake of the investigation and he had a duty to uphold the law.

“I think it would be a pity if you were condemned to death,” Hirata said. “The world needs good samurai like you.”

Chikara smiled at the compliment, caught himself, and resumed his imitation of his father’s stern expression. “I did what I had to do. I’m not afraid to die.”

Probably he didn’t comprehend the finality of death. Hirata remembered his own youth, when he’d felt invincible. He hadn’t truly understood that he was mortal until he’d been hurt. And he doubted that any man could imagine the agony of ritual suicide until he did it himself.

“But maybe you don’t need to die,” Hirata said.

Chikara scowled. “You’re trying to trick me. You’ll promise to help me, and I’ll tell you things, and then you’ll break your promise. Well, I’m not that stupid.”

“What things?” Hirata asked.

Chikara looked abashed because he’d as good as admitted that he had something to hide. Then he scowled harder.

“The reason we’re having this conversation is that the government can’t decide whether you’re heroes or criminals,” Hirata said. “The shogun has formed a supreme court to figure it out. Heroes, you live. Criminals, you die.”

Hirata had another, more personal reason-the fact that his master’s fate, and therefore his own, hinged on the verdict. He needed to find evidence that would produce a verdict that the shogun, the political factions, and the public would like. If he failed, Sano would be sent away, and Hirata would have to go with him. Because Hirata couldn’t take his wife and children along while Sano’s were forced to stay behind, he would be separated from his family, too.

“So if you know something that could persuade the judges that you’re heroes,” Hirata said, “it’s in your best interest to tell me what it is.”

“I already told you,” Chikara said, obstinate. “We avenged our master’s death. That’s Bushido.”

“That’s not enough to make the court pardon your gang.”

“We’re not asking to be pardoned.”

Hirata changed tactics again. “You and the other ronin must be pretty close friends.”

“Yes. We’re like brothers.” Chikara spoke with the pride of every young man who’d fought a battle alongside his comrades.

“Then wouldn’t you save them if you could?”

“They don’t want to be saved. They’re as ready to die as I am.”

“But you’re different from your friends,” Hirata said. “You have an obligation to someone else besides Lord Asano.”

Confusion wrinkled Chikara’s brow.

“To Oishi, your father,” Hirata clarified. “It’s your filial duty to protect him. If he’s condemned to death because you kept your mouth shut, then you’re a bad son.”

Chikara glared, clenched his fists, and took a step toward Hirata. Then he remembered that attacking the best fighter in Edo wasn’t a smart idea, and he halted. “I’ve honored my father. I’m a good son-anybody who knows us will tell you.”

“If you’re a good son, then prove it,” Hirata challenged. “Tell me what you’re hiding. Save his life if you can.”

Chikara shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He turned his head from side to side, seeking guidance, escape, or perhaps both. His gaze settled on the mirror that he and Hirata stood facing. Reflected in the polished steel, Chikara looked young and alone and small without his father and friends, but his eyes bravely met Hirata’s.

“I’ve told you the whole truth,” Chikara said. “I’m done talking.”

He turned and strode out of the room. His shoulder blades were pulled back, as if he expected to be stabbed between them. Hirata was left to wonder why the youth was so bent on evasion. Was it because if he talked, he would make things even worse for the forty-seven ronin? They had one foot in the grave already. As long as the government vacillated about them, they had a chance to live. One piece of adverse evidence-from Chikara or another witness-could sway the supreme court to condemn them to death.

And what would happen to Sano, and Hirata, as a result?