The Shogun's Daughter

18

In the laundry tent at Lord Tsunanori’s estate, Taeko pushed a hot iron along a damp kimono spread on a board. The air was steamy from the water in the tubs. Her arm ached from lifting the heavy iron off the charcoal brazier. Her fingers were blistered with burns. The other women chattered gaily as they worked, but she was homesick and miserable.

“Hey, you,” said Kiku, the sullen girl who’d wakened her that morning. “Help me carry these quilts to the house.”

Eager to escape the hot tent, anxious to look for a witness, Taeko set down the iron. Carrying quilts, she followed Kiku into the mansion, through the women’s quarters. Lord Tsunanori’s concubines, female relatives, and their attendants sat in their chambers. Their high voices filled the air, which was stale with perfumed hair oil and tobacco smoke. A loud shriek pierced the din.

Taeko paused to look inside the room from which it had come. Kiku went on without her. A maid in a blue kimono and white head kerchief knelt, a comb in her hand, behind a sour-faced, richly dressed woman. The woman shouted, “You pulled my hair again!”

“I’m sorry.” The maid cringed. She was perhaps ten or eleven years old.

The woman snatched up a hairbrush, hit the girl on her face, and yelled, “Get out!”

The girl hurried from the room, her hand over her left eye. She ran down the corridor past Taeko. Taeko was horrified by the woman’s cruelty. Her parents, and Masahiro’s, didn’t let anybody hit the servants. Taeko went after the girl, followed her outside to the garden. Ladies sat in a pavilion, feeding carp in a pond. The girl ran to a bent willow tree and ducked under its hanging boughs. When Taeko caught up with her, she saw the girl curled in the green, sun-dappled shade, sobbing.

Taeko crawled under the boughs and dropped her stack of quilts. “Are you hurt?”

Holding her hand over her eye, the girl sat up. Her oval face was lovely despite the tears that blotched her ivory skin, the ragged kerchief. Taeko would have liked to draw her someday.

“What are you doing here?” The girl’s voice was a fearful whimper.

“I came to help you,” Taeko said.

The girl’s smooth brow wrinkled. She seemed puzzled by the idea that anyone should want to help her. “You’d better go back to work, or you’ll get in trouble.”

She also seemed more concerned about Taeko than herself. Taeko warmed to her. “It’s all right. Let me look at your eye.”

The girl slowly lowered her hand. Her eye was red, swollen.

“Can you see out of it?” Taeko asked. The girl nodded. Relieved, Taeko noticed that her cheek had taken the worst of the blow. It was bruised around broken skin. “Your face is bleeding.” Taeko dabbed her sleeve against the girl’s cheek.

“I haven’t seen you before,” the girl said. “Are you new?”

“I started working in the laundry yesterday. My name is Taeko. What’s yours?”

“Emi.”

“Does that lady hit you often?”

Emi nodded sadly. “They all do.”

“Well, they shouldn’t. They’re mean and stupid.” Taeko knew that some ladies didn’t like servants who were prettier than themselves. “And jealous.”

Emi smiled. It was like the sun coming out after the rain. “You’re the only person here who’s ever been kind to me. If there’s anything I can do for you…”

Taeko didn’t like to take advantage of a poor, lonely, picked-on girl, but she needed help. “Maybe there is. I’m looking for a witness. Can you tell me where to find one?”

Confusion pursed Emi’s delicate mouth. “A witness to what?”

“I don’t know,” Taeko confessed. “I don’t even know what a witness is.”

“I think it’s someone who saw or heard something,” Emi said. “There were two samurai here yesterday. They were asking questions. I heard Lord Tsunanori’s men say they were looking for witnesses.”

The two samurai must have been Masahiro’s father and Detective Marume, Taeko realized. They’d come to investigate the murder of the shogun’s daughter, who’d been Lord Tsunanori’s wife. A witness must be a person who knew something about the murder. That was what Masahiro wanted!

“Do you know anything about Lord Tsunanori’s wife?” Taeko asked hopefully.

Apprehension clouded Emi’s lovely features. “We’re not supposed to talk about the mistress.”

Taeko felt a stir of excitement. She sensed that Emi knew something important. “I promise not to tell.”

Emi peeked through the willow branches to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “It was the night before Lady Tsuruhime got sick. She gave me a coin and a folded piece of paper and told me to take them to a pharmacy shop the next morning. She said to give them to the man there and bring her back what he gave me. I was surprised because I didn’t usually work for her. Whenever she wanted something, she usually asked her own maids. And she ordered me not to tell anybody.”

This didn’t sound related to murder, but Taeko liked secrets and she wanted to hear the rest of the story. “Did you do what she asked?”

“Yes. I went to the shop. There was an old man. I gave him the paper and the coin. He gave me a bag of herbs.”

“What were they?”

“I don’t know.”

“What was on the paper?”

Emi shook her head. “I can’t read.”

“What happened to it?”

“The man threw it away.”

“What else happened?”

“I took the bag home. But when I got here, the women were all upset because Lady Tsuruhime had smallpox. Nobody was allowed to go near her except her nurse. So I couldn’t give her the bag. And I couldn’t give it to anybody else because it was supposed to be a secret.”

“Where is the bag now?” Taeko scarcely dared to hope.

Emi chewed her lip, torn between obedience and her desire to help Taeko.

“Tsuruhime is dead,” Taeko said. “It doesn’t matter to her.”

Sighing, Emi reached inside her kimono and pulled out a small cloth pouch that had been tied around her waist with a string. “I didn’t know what to do with it. I was afraid to throw it away.”

Taeko extended her open hand. Emi dropped the bag in it, seeming glad to pass it to someone she trusted. She frowned as if she had another secret she wondered whether to share.

“What is it?” Taeko asked eagerly.

The willow boughs rustled. Kiku thrust her head between them. Emi gasped. Taeko shoved the herb bag inside her kimono.

“Hah, there you are!” Kiku said to Taeko. “Come out!”

Taeko and Emi scrambled from beneath the willow. Kiku said, “What were you doing?”

“Nothing,” Taeko said.

“Hiding from work, is more like it,” Kiku said. “I’m going to tell the housekeeper. You’re going to get in trouble.”

“It’s my fault,” Emi said. “I hurt my eye. She was just trying to help me.”

Kiku pointed at the front of Taeko’s kimono. “What have you got in there?”

“Nothing.” Taeko folded her arms.

“You’re lying.” Kiku thrust her open hand at Taeko. “Give it to me.”

Taeko ran. Kiku chased her and shouted, “When I catch you, you’re going to be sorry!”

* * *

By sundown Sano had conducted twelve more trials. He’d condemned two more men, sentenced seven to beatings, imposed hefty fines on three, and acquitted none. His close view of the rampant corruption outraged him, yet he deplored his own role as a judge who served up death and suffering along with justice. By the time he and Marume rode up to Edo Castle, he was as exhausted as if he’d fought a battle all day, and he still had urgent business to do.

Sano knew where to find the shogun; therefore, he also knew where to find Yoshisato, who rarely left the shogun’s side. After leaving Marume and his horse at home, he walked to the martial arts practice ground. A tournament had been scheduled. The tournaments were designed to give the warrior class a reprieve from earthquake problems, vent their frustration, and raise morale. They ran until after dark. The shogun never missed one.

On the practice ground, shadows cloaked the archery targets and horse-racing track. A pond for water battles reflected the orange light of the setting sun. Lanterns hanging from strings tied between poles illuminated a crowd of cheering, clapping men who sat in wooden stands. Sano walked between the stands, to the edge of the arena.

In the middle, two men armed with wooden swords, dressed in white jackets and trousers, circled each other. One was Yoshisato, the other an instructor from the Tokugawa army. The men lunged and slashed, their blades clacking. Yoshisato was athletic, graceful, and well trained. Sano knew the instructor was going easy on him-no one in his right mind would risk injuring the shogun’s heir-but Yoshisato fought hard. The match ended with his blade against his opponent’s neck. The spectators applauded. The shogun laughed in vicarious delight, cheering his heir. As Yoshisato walked off the field, Sano moved toward him. A palace guard intercepted Sano and said, “Don’t get any closer.”

“It’s all right,” Yoshisato said. The guard retreated. Sano knew without looking that Yanagisawa was absent. If he were here, he’d have rushed to separate Sano and Yoshisato.

“What do you want?” Yoshisato said, his tone carefully neutral. He sounded just like Yanagisawa when Yanagisawa was plotting mayhem. Either he really was Yanagisawa’s son, or he’d taken to imitating his adoptive father.

“Just to talk,” Sano said.

“Why don’t we talk while we have a match?” Yoshisato said with a challenging smile.

“Are you serious?” It wasn’t a good idea for two men to spar when they were on opposite sides of a feud. Sano had seen fights like that end in death.

“It’s our only chance for a private conversation.”

Sano glanced at the audience. Men craned their necks, trying to eavesdrop. A samurai didn’t refuse a challenge unless he wanted to look like a coward. “All right.”

Someone tossed Sano a wooden sword. As he inspected it, he hoped he wasn’t making a mistake. He’d won many real fights, but he was almost thirty years older than Yoshisato, and although he was adept at controlling his weapon during practice matches, so as not to hurt his opponent, an accident was always possible.

Yoshisato walked confidently to the center of the field. Sano followed. They faced each other, swords in hand. The audience rumbled with anticipation. Yoshisato lifted an eyebrow, waiting for Sano to speak or move first.

He was so like Yanagisawa, in his mannerisms if not his looks.

“I’m investigating the murder of the shogun’s daughter,” Sano said.

“I know. You think somebody infected her with smallpox.”

“Who told you? Your father?”

Yoshisato smiled briefly, letting Sano know that he knew Sano didn’t mean the shogun. “My adoptive father.”

Sano bowed, ceding their first round to Yoshisato while formally opening the match. Yoshisato bowed to Sano. They flexed their knees in combat stance, raised their swords. The cheers from the men in the audience had a rawer edge of excitement than was usual during tournaments. They knew this was a match between real enemies. They expected to see blood.

“I’ve been told that you went to visit Tsuruhime shortly before she got smallpox,” Sano said as he and Yoshisato circled each other. His muscles felt stiff, rusty. Since the earthquake he’d not had much time for martial arts practice. “Is it true?”

“Yes.” Maybe Yoshisato realized there was no use lying; maybe he felt he had nothing to hide. He lunged, slicing at Sano.

Sano easily dodged. He could tell that Yoshisato was testing his skill, not attacking him in earnest yet. “Why did you visit her?” Sano wielded his blade, carving the air near Yoshisato. A few mocking cheers rose from the audience.

Yoshisato deflected each cut with a grace that hid the effort. His supporters roared. “She was my half sister.” He wasn’t even winded from his previous match. But Sano knew, with the instinct of a veteran fighter, that Yoshisato had never fought a real battle. “I wanted to meet her and pay my respects to her.”

“How did you like her?” Sano asked as he and Yoshisato charged, slashed, and parried. He was breathing faster.

“I didn’t.” Yoshisato was having the harder time concentrating on both the fight and the conversation. “She was an awful braggart. ‘This is the most expensive tea.’ ‘My cook made these cakes. He’s the best in Edo.’ ‘This kimono I’m wearing is made of the finest Chinese silk. It was a present from our father. He’s the most important man in Japan, and he thinks nothing is too good for his daughter.’ All the while, she flirted with me, giggling and batting her eyelashes behind her fan,” Yoshisato said in disgust. “As if she thought I would be impressed by her beauty and her charm. But she didn’t have any.”

This jibed with Lord Tsunanori’s description of his wife, Sano thought. “You brought her a chest of gifts. What was in it?”

“Boxes of sweets, some vases, and a bolt of silk.” Yoshisato ducked as Sano’s sword whistled over his head. “Not a smallpox-contaminated bedsheet. I’ll save you the trouble of asking me if I killed her. I didn’t.”

He charged and lashed at Sano. When Sano parried, Yoshisato’s sword hit his with a resounding clack that rattled his arm bones. The audience cheered louder.

“You were in her room,” Sano said. “You could have had the sheet tucked inside the silk.” He feinted at Yoshisato’s left side. While Yoshisato moved to block the cut, Sano made another that whacked Yoshisato’s right hip. “You could have sneaked it in among her things.”

Boos from the audience drowned out the cheers. Yoshisato looked alarmed: The cut would have been fatal if Sano’s blade were steel. “How could I? She was there the whole time. She’d have seen. I suppose I could have said, ‘Excuse me while I put this sheet with your underwear and give you smallpox.’”

His voice dripped with sarcasm, like Yanagisawa’s. He launched a series of cuts that Sano had to work hard to fend off. One rapped his thigh. Sano tried not to gasp with pain. “I didn’t. Have anything. To do. With Tsuruhime’s death.” Yoshisato punctuated each phrase with a slash of his sword.

Sano was rapidly tiring. “You admit you didn’t like her.”

“I felt sorry for her.” Compassion softened Yoshisato’s voice while his blade relentlessly battered Sano’s. “She didn’t know our father at all. Her presents were sent by his secretary. He couldn’t have cared less about her.” Yoshisato attacked Sano with increased vigor. “She wasn’t nice, but she didn’t deserve to die.”

Sano’s heartbeat was speeding; he could hardly talk and breathe at the same time. “She could have interfered with your becoming the next shogun, if she’d lived to bear the shogun a grandson.”

“For the last time, I didn’t kill her.” Yoshisato whacked viciously at Sano, who shook the dripping sweat out of his eyes as he defended himself. “If I had to resort to murder to be the next shogun, then I would rather not be the next shogun at all.”

His words were spoken with such ardent sincerity that shock froze Sano. Had this been a real fight, Sano would be a dead man.

The crowd shouted for Yoshisato to finish him off. Instead, Yoshisato retreated and began circling Sano, giving Sano time to recover. Confusion rippled through the audience. “You misjudge me,” Yoshisato said. “You think I’m like Yanagisawa-san. But I’m not.”

“I’m beginning to see that,” Sano said.

“You’ve been having this feud with Yanagisawa-san for almost as long as I’ve been alive. Well, I want none of it.” His breaths came faster now as he and Sano resumed fighting. “I want you and me to be allies, not enemies.”

Shock upon shock stunned Sano. He almost missed parrying a blow to his ribs. “If this is a joke, it’s not funny.”

“It’s no joke.” Not a glimpse of humor, or malice, showed on Yoshisato’s solemn face. “Why do you think you’re still alive? Yanagisawa-san wanted you killed. If not for me, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“You protected me?” At last Sano knew the reason he’d been spared. “Why?”

“Because you’re an honorable samurai. I want to build a coalition within the regime, and I want you to be part of it because you try to do what’s right rather than what’s in your own selfish interest.”

Astonished and skeptical, Sano lashed his sword at Yoshisato’s feet. “How do you know that about me? This is the first time we’ve met.”

“I’ve talked to lots of people.” Yoshisato jumped Sano’s blade. “Your friends, and even some of your enemies, have good things to say about you.”

Sano was impressed that Yoshisato hadn’t blindly accepted Yanagisawa’s judgment. “Why do you want this coalition?”

“Because I hate all the corruption, and incompetence, and political warfare I’ve seen since I’ve been at court! I want to bring people together, so that there can be peace, and progress, when I’m shogun. But I can’t do it alone. I need men like you to help.”

They were both fighting in order to continue their conversation rather than to win. Now Sano realized that Yoshisato was genuine. He was decent, idealistic, and touchingly naïve, the exact opposite of Yanagisawa. His dream of a harmonious rule had a strong appeal for Sano, who gained a new respect for him. That such a young man, from such a background, should have the vision to create a better world without the strife his elders considered normal!

“Does Yanagisawa-san know about your plans for a coalition?” Sano asked.

“Not yet.”

“He’ll never go along with it, especially if it includes me.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll handle him.”

Sano almost believed Yoshisato could. “Do you believe you’re the shogun’s son?”

“The shogun has named me as his heir,” Yoshisato said as they circled, attacked, counterattacked, and retreated. “That’s proof enough for me.”

“Well, I say you’re not,” Sano said. “You shouldn’t inherit the regime. I can’t ally with a fraud.”

“Why not accept the fact that I’ll be your lord someday and work with me instead of fighting me?”

They were both breathless now, from sparring verbally as well as physically. Sano admitted to himself that Yoshisato’s proposition was tempting. A peaceful partnership with the next shogun, a better government, and security for his family-these weren’t advantages to be easily rejected.

“Will you at least promise to consider it?” Yoshisato asked.

He sounded as young as Masahiro. His face was alight with hope, zeal, and pleading. Sano couldn’t say no. “I promise,” Sano said.

Yoshisato’s smile expressed relief and gratitude. “That’s all I ask.”

They backed away from each other, ending their combat in a draw, and bowed. The audience’s cheers faded into discontented, puzzled murmurs: There wouldn’t be blood spilled tonight. Sano and Yoshisato bowed to the shogun, who squinted at them. Everyone sensed that something unusual had happened, even if they didn’t know what.

Sano had come to interrogate a murder suspect and wound up liking Yoshisato, his enemy’s pawn.