The Snow Empress

23

Chieftain Awetok and Urahenka knelt on the dirt floor of an empty storehouse inside the castle. They were stripped to the waist, hands and ankles tied. Their fierce faces gleamed with sweat raised by a crackling wood fire whose flames gilded the thick hair on their bodies and cast their shadows toward Gizaemon, Lord Matsumae, and Captain Okimoto. Okimoto held a leather whip that bristled with metal barbs.

“This is your last chance,” Lord Matsumae said, shrill with manic excitement. “Admit you murdered Tekare.”

Gizaemon relayed the order to the natives in their language. Near the door, eight soldiers guarded Hirata and Sano. Hirata had never felt so helpless. If he tried to save the Ainu, the Matsumae folk wouldn’t punish just Sano but also Reiko and their other comrades. He watched with impotent rage as the chieftain and Urahenka spoke, denying the accusation.

“They say their trial by ordeal proves they’re innocent,” Gizaemon said.

Lord Matsumae laughed. “Let’s see if you can withstand my kind of ordeal!”

Okimoto cracked his whip, striking the chieftain and Urahenka across their chests. They held themselves rigid, jaws clenched. Bloody lash marks appeared on their skin. Sano wore the intense, somber expression that Hirata knew meant he was thinking hard, formulating and discarding strategies.

“What do you say now?” Lord Matsumae asked the natives. Each uttered denials. “Well, if you want to suffer, by all means do.”

Again the whip cracked. Again the natives stoically bore the punishment. Chieftain Awetok’s body was so tough with sinew and leathery skin that he looked as if he could endure the whipping indefinitely. But Urahenka was shivering; the sweat rolled down his face.

Tearful with frustration, Lord Matsumae hurled more accusations and demands for confessions at the natives. But Gizaemon had an air of enjoyment. Sano said to him, “You’re eager for them to confess, aren’t you?”

“You bet.” Gizaemon relished chewing a sassafras toothpick. “It’ll help my nephew, make him well again.”

“I think your reason is more personal than that,” Sano said. “If they confess, that lets you off the hook.”

Gizaemon glowered. “That’s enough from you.”

Sano persisted even though the troops pressed their spears into his coat: “Before Lilac died, she told my wife that she knew something about the murder.” He raised his voice above Lord Matsumae’s angry shouts. “Was it about you?”

Hirata understood what Sano was trying to do-draw suspicion away from the natives and focus it on Gizaemon. And he could tell that Gizaemon knew.

“Lilac seems to have had a habit of bartering information for favors,” Sano said. “But maybe you already know that, from personal experience.”

I’m warning you,“ Gizaemon said.

“Did she tell you that she saw you set the spring-bow trap for Tekare?” Hirata joined in. “Did she threaten to tell Chamberlain Sano unless you gave her money?”

Gizaemon didn’t answer, and Lord Matsumae was too busy ranting to hear the suggestion that his uncle could be the murderer. The natives continued to resist him until their torsos were crisscrossed with bloody lines punctuated by deeper wounds where the barbs had dug in. Both were breathing hard now, both in obvious pain. Hirata looked away in shame. He couldn’t bear to see the chieftain whipped to death while he stood by.

Suddenly the chieftain blurted an exclamation. “Wait,” Gizaemon told Okimoto, who’d raised the whip again. “He says he’s ready to give in.”

Alarm beset Hirata. He didn’t think the chieftain was a murderer; Awetok must have simply reached the limits of his endurance. But Hirata’s confidence wavered in spite of himself. Maybe the chieftain was guilty. Maybe Awetok had been deceiving Hirata, luring him with promises of knowledge, to win an ally.

“At last you’ve come to your senses,” Lord Matsumae said with relief. “Let us hear the truth.”

The chieftain spoke. Gizaemon’s expression turned foul. “The bastard says he’ll talk only under one condition. That we call off the war.”

Awetok was sacrificing himself to protect his people. Hirata admired the man’s nobleness even as he continued to wonder if Awetok was the killer. Hirata knew two things for sure: The chieftain had held out this long to increase the value of his confession and use it as leverage to save the Ainu, and he would be executed whether he deserved it or not.

“You’re in no position to bargain,” Lord Matsumae said. “Talk now, and we’ll make a deal later.”

As Gizaemon relayed these words to him, Awetok nodded in resignation. He uttered a statement that sounded final.

“He admits that he killed Tekare,” Gizaemon said with a smug look at Sano.

Sano’s mouth curled with disgust. “This is as false a confession as I’ve ever seen.”

Lord Matsumae ignored Sano, exulting, “At last I know who the culprit is. At last I will have justice for my Tekare.” He beckoned Okimoto. “Take him to the execution ground.”

Urahenka began yelling. The chieftain rapped out a command at him, but he yelled louder.

“What’s he saying?” Sano asked.

“That the chieftain didn’t kill Tekare,” Gizaemon said, annoyed by the interruption. “He says the chieftain only confessed to protect him. He’s the killer, and he wants to prove it to us, with his own confession.”

Lady Matsumae sputtered in fury. “The nerve of you! Have you no manners? You act like a cheap peasant girl.”

“Save your insults,” Reiko said. “They don’t hurt me. Nothing can, after what’s happened.”

“What are you blabbering about now?” Lady Matsumae wiped her face with a wet hand and spat water into the tub in which she sat.

“My son is dead.” Grief swelled within Reiko; her voice trembled. “He has been since before I got here.”

Lady Matsumae’s gaze was stupid with confusion. “How do you know?”

“I went to the keep. I saw the cage where they put Masahiro.” The terrible memory almost undid Reiko. “I saw his blood.”

“How did you get inside the keep?” Lady Matsumae said, as if that was the most important thing about what Reiko had said.

“That doesn’t matter.” Reiko didn’t want to reveal that Wente had helped her; Lady Matsumae would punish Wente. “What matters is that your husband murdered my son. And I think it’s your fault as much as his.”

My fault? How could it be? I never even saw your son. I didn’t know he was here until you told me. If he’s dead, I had nothing to do with it.“

Reiko didn’t believe her. “You started this whole disaster. You murdered Tekare. It drove your husband mad. You’re directly responsible for all his crimes.”

“I didn’t murder her,” Lady Matsumae said, impatient and offended. “I’ve already told you. I wouldn’t lift a finger to kill one of those barbarian whores.” Her tone was one she might use to say that stepping on ants was beneath her. “They’re not worth the trouble.”

“This one was, because you believe she murdered your daughter.”

Dismay sagged Lady Matsumae’s features. She clutched at her heart as if Reiko had struck her there. “Where did you learn that?”

“From Lilac. She told me how your daughter got sick and how Tekare performed a healing ritual. But your daughter died. And you think Tekare poisoned her.”

“Lilac was a terrible gossip,” Lady Matsumae said with disgust, but she didn’t deny Reiko’s claim. “I always said that her tongue would be the death of her.”

“Maybe it was. Yesterday she promised me information about Tekare’s murder. She’d already let me know that you wanted Tekare dead and why. What else did she have to tell?”

“…I don’t know.”

“I think you do. I think Lilac saw you or your ladies setting up the spring-bow by the path. You found out that she knew. How? Did she try to blackmail you? Did she take money or gifts from you in exchange for her silence?”

“That’s ridiculous.”

Lady Matsumae was vehement, but Reiko continued, “When my husband started investigating the murder, that must have worried you. Here was someone who could give Lilac more than you could-a new life in Edo. You became afraid she would tell on you.”

“There was nothing to tell about me!”

“You knew that if your husband found out you killed Tekare, he would put you to death,” Reiko went on, relentless. “You needed to protect yourself. So you did away with Lilac.”

Lady Matsumae drew herself up and declared, “I have nothing to hide from my husband. I had nothing to fear from a gossipy, conniving servant girl.”

“This morning you followed her to the hot spring. You hit her on the head.”

“I never left the castle until the funeral. I hadn’t seen Lilac since last night. I never touched her!”

“You killed her,” Reiko said. “Then you came to the funeral as if nothing had happened.”

“Stop bothering me.” Lady Matsumae’s temper matched Reiko’s. “Leave at once!” She pointed a dripping, shaky finger at the door.

Reiko folded her arms. “Not until you admit what you did.”

“Then I’m going. I don’t have to listen to your foolish accusations.” Lady Matsumae rose, reaching for the towel and robe that lay near the tub.

Reiko snatched them and flung open the exterior door. Bright, freezing air poured into the bath chamber. As Lady Matsumae protested, Reiko hurled the towel and robe into the snow-covered garden outside. She faced Lady Matsumae.

Cowering in the tub, Lady Matsumae ordered, “Shut that door. I’ll catch a cold.”

“Don’t expect me to care.” Part of Reiko knew she was acting like a child having a tantrum, but it felt good in a nasty, shameful way. “You killed Tekare. You killed Lilac. You’re responsible for my son’s death. Admit it!”

Lady Matsumae shrank from Reiko. “You’re mad!”

“Maybe I am. And people who are mad are dangerous. Your husband is proof of that. You’d better confess, or Lilac won’t be the only one to die in a hot bath today.”

“Help!” Lady Matsumae cried.

“I can kill you before anyone comes. Now talk!”

It didn’t occur to Lady Matsumae to fight back against Reiko: She was physically passive, as were most women of her class. But her eyes gleamed with unexpected cunning. “What makes you so sure Lilac told the truth when she said she had more information?”

“Don’t play games with me,” Reiko said. “I’m running out of patience.”

“She was dishonest,” Lady Matsumae continued, although scared breathless. “She was just trying to get what she wanted out of you. She didn’t really know anything.”

Reiko put aside her own knowledge that Lilac had been stringing tar along about Masahiro. Once a liar didn’t have to mean always a liar. “I rate her truthfulness higher than yours. You’re trying to save yourself. She’s been murdered. That’s evidence that she knew too much-about you.”

Lady Matsumae suddenly repeated her earlier question: “How did you get inside the keep? Was it Lilac who took you?” Reiko’s face must have given away the answer, because Lady Matsumae said, “So it wasn’t.” A mean, sly smile curved her mouth. “But I think I know who did. It was that Ezo concubine, the one you stopped me from beating.”

“No,” Reiko began.

“I suppose the little whore was grateful to you and wanted to return the favor. And you were ready to trust her because she seemed so pathetic, so simple.” Lady Matsumae laughed disdainfully. “I warned you before that you don’t understand the ways of Ezogashima. You outsiders think that what you see of the barbarians is all there is to them. But appearances are deceiving. Especially when you’re so blind.”

A cold, apprehensive sensation crept through Reiko. She was distracted even though she knew that was Lady Matsumae’s intention. “What are you saying?”

“You’ve put your trust in the wrong place.” Lady Matsumae was unafraid, her voice stronger now and laced with contempt. “Wente is Tekare’s sister.”

“I’m aware of that. She told me.” But Reiko recalled her interrupted conversation with Wente yesterday. What would she have learned if they’d had the time to finish it?

“You don’t seem aware that she and Tekare were on bad terms, Lady Matsumae retorted. ”In fact, they were enemies. The other Ezo women had to keep them separated so they wouldn’t fight. I suppose she didn’t tell you that?“

Reiko was aghast at this information about her friend and upset because she’d had to hear it from Lady Matsumae. She woodenly shook her head.

Lady Matsumae laughed again. “Well, I’m telling you now. Maybe this time you’ll listen to me. I saw a quarrel between the two of them, just a few days before Tekare died. They were slapping and clawing each other and shouting.”

“What were they quarreling about?” Reiko hated to ask.

“I don’t know; I don’t understand Ezo language. But Wente had the last word. And I know a threat when I hear it.” Lady Matsumae’s smile shone with cruel triumph. “You should be accusing Wente instead of me.”