The Shogun's Daughter

7

The Shogun’s heir’s residence was isolated in the western fortress of Edo Castle, on the tier of the hill just below the palace. Enclosed by stone walls topped by covered corridors and a guard tower, the residence was a miniature version of the palace. Damage from the earthquake had been repaired. The residence was a safe nest from which the new dictator of Japan would eventually hatch.

Yanagisawa strode through the chambers, sliding open the partitions between them, admiring the gilded landscape murals, smelling the fresh, sweetly scented tatami, and exulting in the territory he’d won in this round of his battle for power.

“I’ve done it. We’re here at last, set to rule Japan!”

At the opposite end of the building, Yoshisato stood in his new room. He rearranged books and clothes that the servants had unpacked. “What do you mean, we? I’m the one who will inherit the dictatorship.”

Stung by his ungraciousness, Yanagisawa said, “You couldn’t have gotten here by yourself.” He moved toward Yoshisato. “Whose idea was it to pass you off as the shogun’s son?”

“Yours,” Yoshisato admitted grudgingly. He rammed books onto shelves.

“Well, then.” Yanagisawa prided himself on the brilliant scheme he’d dreamed up after he’d lost his favorite son, after Ienobu had devised a plot to banish him from court. Yoshisato, one of his other four sons, was his salvation. “Don’t forget how hard I’ve worked to convince the shogun, his clan members, and his top officials that you are indeed his son. Don’t forget how much money I’ve paid in bribes to persuade people to support your bid for the succession.”

“Don’t forget that it wasn’t your money. It came from my allowance from the shogun.”

“Without me you wouldn’t have that allowance. So you shouldn’t mind if I celebrate our accomplishment.”

“Do it by yourself. Now that I’m the shogun’s heir, I don’t need you anymore.”

Fear stabbed Yanagisawa. He’d known that the day he put Yoshisato in line to become the next dictator could be the day he outlived his usefulness to Yoshisato. They’d been at odds during their four-month collaboration. It was a miracle that they’d come this far together.

“You do need me.” Yanagisawa had to convince Yoshisato. One bad word from him, and the shogun would throw Yanagisawa out of the regime. Yanagisawa’s enemies would descend on him like a pack of wolves. “I’m the one with a lifetime of experience in politics. You’re just a seventeen-year-old boy. Without me, you’d be eaten alive.”

“I won’t be seventeen forever,” Yoshisato said, irritated because Yanagisawa was right. He meticulously folded clothes into drawers. “And I’ve learned a lot.”

“With my tutoring,” Yanagisawa reminded him. “And I got rid of witnesses who could have testified that your mother never slept with the shogun.” He’d scoured the city clean of officials and servants who’d worked in the castle at the time Lady Someko was purported to have been the shogun’s concubine. He’d also cleared out people in his own household who knew she’d been sharing his bed at the time Yoshisato was conceived. He’d bribed the witnesses to keep quiet, threatened them, sent them to faraway places, and had the most dangerous ones assassinated. “You couldn’t have done that for yourself. And you need me to deal with the false witnesses who are sure to crop up.” How he resented having to justify his worth to this insolent young man!

Yoshisato glowered, resentful of his own need. “All right. You can stay until the shogun dies and I take over. Then you go.”

That the dictatorship would someday be entirely in Yoshisato’s hands! Yanagisawa forced a scornful laugh. “If you think you’ll be fine on your own once you’re shogun, then you’re a fool. There are many Tokugawa relatives who would like to rule Japan themselves. When the shogun’s not around to protect you, they’ll rise up against you. I’m the one who has powerful allies to back you with their armies.”

“You also have powerful enemies. As long as you’re with me, they’re my enemies, too. When I dump you, they’ll accept me as their lord.”

“I’ve heard your lame political theories before: Get rid of me, and my enemies will be so grateful, they’ll let you rule happily ever after. What you don’t understand is that bad blood runs deep. My enemies won’t forget that you’re my protégé. They’ll destroy you as revenge on me. And Sano will lead the charge. You shouldn’t have insisted on keeping him in the regime.”

“That’s the price you pay for my cooperating with your plot,” Yoshisato said with a grin. “Let Sano stay, or I tell the shogun I’m not his son and you made me pretend to be.”

Yanagisawa fumed at the ultimatum. “You won’t tell the shogun now.”

“Try me. Kill Sano. See what happens.”

Yanagisawa glared at Yoshisato, whose smirk widened to a nasty grin. He didn’t dare call Yoshisato’s bluff. He didn’t trust Yoshisato not to jeopardize them both for the sake of a victory in their private war. The boy was as ruthless as he was. The same blood flowed in their veins. Yanagisawa knew it, no matter that he’d convinced half the world that Yoshisato belonged to the shogun.

“You’re asking for trouble by keeping Sano around just to spite me,” Yanagisawa said. “If he can’t prove you’re not the shogun’s blood heir, he’ll wait until the shogun is dead, and he’ll assassinate you before you’ve ruled Japan for one day.”

“He won’t,” Yoshisato said with confidence. “Sano’s not like that.”

Incredulous and disdainful, Yanagisawa said, “I’ve known Sano a lot longer than you have. He will. That’s what I would do.”

Yoshisato regarded Yanagisawa with sardonic amusement. “Your trouble is that you judge Sano, and me, and everyone else by your own measure. It blinds you to reality.”

Yanagisawa grimaced. There was no use arguing. He and Yoshisato were equally stubborn. Like father, like son. “Very well. Keep Sano at court as if you’re a little boy with a pet viper in a basket. Someday you’ll see that I’m right.”

Yoshisato laughed. “If Sano does assassinate me, it would be worth it, having him beat you in the end.”

The magnitude of his antipathy hurt Yanagisawa; he loved his son even though he detested the youth’s attitude. “Why do you hate me so much?”

Yoshisato gazed at him with fierce, hard eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. I wouldn’t waste that much emotion on you.”

“Fine.” Yanagisawa pretended indifference, but he longed for Yoshisato to love him in return. He’d been terribly lonely since his favorite son, Yoritomo, died. He missed having someone who cared about him. He cursed himself for craving more from Yoshisato than Yoshisato was willing or able to give. “So why can’t we be friends? It would make things easier for both of us.”

“Excuse me for not feeling particularly friendly toward you. You ignore me for my whole life, and then my half brother dies and you need a new political pawn, so you come sucking up to me. What a wonderful basis for friendship.”

Yanagisawa knew that Yoshisato was hurt because Yanagisawa had, in effect, disowned him by positioning him as the shogun’s son. “So I didn’t fuss over you like a mother hen while you were growing up. Not many fathers would have.” Yanagisawa’s own father had been a cold, ambitious man who’d introduced Yanagisawa to the shogun as soon as Yanagisawa was old enough to tempt the shogun’s sexual appetite. Yanagisawa’s longtime affair with the shogun had resulted in many political and economic benefits for his family. “But I’ve given you something worth far more than my attention-the chance to rule Japan. And I’m here now. Can we put the past behind us and make a fresh start?”

Longing, pain, and confusion mixed in Yoshisato’s gaze. It was clear that he cared more about Yanagisawa than he wanted to admit. Then his face hardened. “It’s too late. I’m not your son anymore. I’m the shogun’s. And you’re not going to stick around when I’m head of the regime. You might stab me in the back like you’ve done to other people who’ve crossed you.”

Yanagisawa felt as if he were pushing a wild horse up a mountain while it bit, thrashed, and tried to kick him down. Too furious to apologize for his past sins and grovel, he grabbed Yoshisato by the front of his robes, shook him, and yelled, “You ungrateful, stubborn, foolhardy wretch! You won’t deprive me of my rightful share in ruling Japan!”

“Yes, I will!” Yoshisato grabbed Yanagisawa’s wrists. “Take your hands off me!”

A quavering voice called, “Hello?”

Yanagisawa and Yoshisato froze. They both knew they mustn’t fight in front of anyone, especially the shogun. They kept their battles private.

The shogun tiptoed into the room, as hesitant and nervous as if he were a trespasser instead of the lord over everything he saw. “Am I, ahh, intruding?”

“Not at all, Your Excellency.” Yanagisawa smoothed Yoshisato’s robes with a fond gesture before unhanding the young man. “Please join us.”

He’d already wiped his expression clean of his inner turmoil and donned a relaxed, serene pose. Yoshisato wasn’t yet as adept at concealing his emotions. Anxiety showed through his artificial calmness like bare flesh through inexpertly laced armor.

The shogun wandered through the quarters while Yanagisawa and Yoshisato followed. “Ahh, this place looks different than I remember. But I only lived here a short time, when my older brother was shogun. He suddenly took ill and named me as his successor. A few days later he died. I became shogun.” Worry deepened the lines in his forehead. “My brother waited until his end was near before he designated his heir. Perhaps I should have chosen to do the same.”

Yanagisawa and Yoshisato exchanged alarmed glances. They’d thought Yoshisato safely installed, but now the shogun was having second thoughts. “Your brother waited because he knew the dictatorship would pass to you whether or not he officially designated you as his heir,” Yanagisawa said. “You and he were both sons of the previous shogun.” Yanagisawa suspected the older brother had hoped the younger would die first and his son, Ienobu, could inherit the regime. Ienobu would have liked that. “Your installation was a formality he put off. But there’s no need for you to wait until you’re on your deathbed to install your son as your heir, with all the ceremony, honor, and pleasure you both deserve.” Yanagisawa extended his arms to draw Yoshisato and the shogun together.

Shying away from Yoshisato, the shogun said, “The problem is … Lately I’ve, ahh, begun to wonder if you’re, ahh, really my son.”

“Of course I’m your son!” Yoshisato looked so anxious that Yanagisawa winced. Fearful of being punished for his deceit, Yoshisato had reverted from Yanagisawa’s brilliant protégé to the inexperienced seventeen-year-old he was.

Yanagisawa needed to get at the root of the shogun’s belated misgivings and dig it out, fast. He spoke loudly, to draw the shogun’s attention away from Yoshisato. “Why on earth should you wonder, at this late date, if Yoshisato is really your son?”

The shogun pivoted, as if he were a Bunraku theater puppet and Yanagisawa had jerked the poles that controlled his body. “Last night I woke up to hear two men whispering outside my bedchamber. They said I’m not Yoshisato’s father.” A red, angry spot of blush colored each of his cheeks. “They said you are.”

Yanagisawa cursed inwardly. He’d given orders, backed by threats, that no one was to talk about Yoshisato’s parentage near the shogun. He and Yoshisato tried to make sure that one of them was with the shogun at all times, to discourage gossip. But lately the shogun had insomnia; he couldn’t fall asleep unless he was alone in his chamber. He’d evidently heard someone whispering, through the thin walls.

“Who was it?” Yanagisawa said, disguising his consternation with outrage. “Who dared to voice the blasphemous suggestion that I’m your son’s father?”

Sheepishness weakened the shogun’s anger. “Ahh, I didn’t recognize their voices.”

They were probably his guards or personal attendants, the only people allowed near the shogun while he was sleeping. “It was just idle speculation,” Yanagisawa said in a consoling, condescending tone. “You should ignore it.”

“But I can’t!” The shogun flapped his hands. “It’s been happening every night for months.” He whispered loudly, “‘Yoshisato is Yanagisawa’s son. He’s not the shogun’s. Yanagisawa is Yoshisato’s father.’” Shamefaced, he added, “I didn’t mention it earlier because I was afraid to, ahh, have to take it seriously.”

Yanagisawa realized that something more sinister was at play than careless gossip. The whispering represented a deliberate attempt to make the shogun believe that Yoshisato was a fraud. And Yanagisawa could guess who was responsible.

“Those are just ignorant dolts talking,” Yoshisato scoffed. “Don’t listen, Honorable Father.”

The shogun turned on him. “Don’t call me ‘Father’ when I’m not certain you have the right to do so!”

Yoshisato stared, aghast. The shogun scowled at Yanagisawa, pointed at Yoshisato. “I want the truth: Is he my son, or have you put a cuckoo’s egg into my nest?”

Yanagisawa deployed the wisdom, skill, and instinct gleaned from his long relationship with the shogun. He arranged his features into an expression of concern and sympathy. “The truth is that there seems to be a problem with your health.”

“My health?” Always easily distracted by the mention of his favorite topic, always terrified of illness, the shogun gasped. “What sort of problem?”

“Well, let me see,” Yanagisawa said. “You’ve been having insomnia, is that correct?”

The shogun nodded, his clasped hands extended toward Yanagisawa, dreading yet eager for bad news.

“And headaches?”

“Very often.”

“What about dizziness?”

Yoshisato frowned, trying to figure out what Yanagisawa was doing.

“… No,” the shogun said. Always vulnerable to suggestion, he changed his mind. “A little.”

“Blurred vision?” Yanagisawa asked.

The shogun’s pale complexion turned stark white. He nodded, convinced that he had blurred vision, whether he really did or not.

“And you’ve started hearing strange voices.” Yanagisawa tapped his chin with his fingertip and nodded sagely, as he’d seen physicians do while considering a patient’s symptoms. “Hmm.” The sudden enlightenment on Yoshisato’s face was so comical that Yanagisawa almost laughed. “Taking your other symptoms into account, I would say the voices are hallucinations. The problem is just as I suspected.”

“Merciful gods!” The shogun clutched at Yanagisawa. “What is wrong with me, pray tell?”

“Nothing serious.” Yanagisawa’s tone belied his words. “You have a blockage of the energy flow to your brain.”

The shogun’s eyes bulged with terror. “What should I do?”

“Go immediately to your physician. He’ll set you right.”

“Yes, yes.” The shogun hurried out of the room.

“You made that up,” Yoshisato said scornfully.

“I got us out of a tough spot,” Yanagisawa said. “You only made things worse.”

Yoshisato regarded him with offense and disbelief. “How is the doctor supposed to treat the shogun for his imaginary illness?”

“Oh, he’ll give him a harmless potion. That’s what he always does when the shogun fancies he’s sick.”

“But those voices are real. How can a potion make the shogun stop hearing them?”

“It can’t, but I can. The shogun will have a new set of guards and attendants before the day is over. They’ll be my people, who will prevent anyone from saying a word outside the shogun’s chamber. I’ll stop this campaign to poison the shogun’s mind against you.”

Yoshisato’s ire turned to dismay. “The whispering is part of a campaign? Not just idle gossip?”

“That should be obvious to you, if you’ve learned anything about the ways of the court.”

“Who’s behind it? Ienobu?”

Yanagisawa pointed his finger at Yoshisato. “Very astute of you, if a little slow. If you’re discredited, Ienobu will inherit the dictatorship. He’ll put both of us to death before the ink on the succession document is dry.”

Realizing that his rival was craftier than he’d thought, Yoshisato looked younger and more vulnerable than he had moments ago. “What are we going to do about Ienobu?”

“What do you mean, we?” Yanagisawa said with a sarcastic smile. “Are you admitting that you need me after all and you want me to stay?”

The same anger, frustration, and helplessness that Yanagisawa had felt earlier now showed in Yoshisato’s expression. Yoshisato squared his shoulders and tightened his jaw, striving for dignity. “Yes.” His tone boasted that he was smart enough to recognize that he was in over his head and to accept help from a father he hated rather than perish on his own.

Yanagisawa’s heart swelled with pride in Yoshisato. What a marvelous son! Would that the shogun never believed that Yoshisato’s fine qualities came from someone other than himself. Hiding his thoughts behind a patronizing smile, Yanagisawa said, “I’m glad that’s understood.”

He anticipated an eventual clash with Ienobu. Thank the gods that the shogun didn’t have other, closer relatives to contend for the succession! Yanagisawa foresaw more struggles with Yoshisato, but at least he had one consolation.

The shogun’s daughter was safely dead. She couldn’t produce a rival for Yoshisato.