The Ronin's Mistress (8 page)

The estates were private cities carved out of the forest. The barracks that enclosed them had high white plaster walls decorated with black geometric tile patterns. Bushes with spiky, leafless branches grew outside the barracks. Countless other buildings rose from within, their roofs like mountain ranges of snow-covered tile. Along the highway, porters carried litters heaped with charcoal, rice, and other goods in the vast quantities needed to supply the estates. Tokugawa law prohibited all wheeled vehicles except for oxcarts owned by the government; this prevented troop movements and rebellions, at least in theory. The porters stared at Hirata’s group of bloodstained
r
ō
nin
. Soldiers from the estates came out to watch the peculiar parade.

Hirata led his group to the estate that belonged to the Hosokawa
daimyo
clan. The Hosokawa was an ancient family that controlled the fief of Higo Province. Higo was a top rice-producing domain and the Hosokawa clan one of Japan’s largest, wealthiest landholders. Their estate was the grandest in the area, with a gate made of wide, iron-studded planks. When Hirata and his companions approached it, two sentries stepped out of an ornate guardhouse.

Hirata introduced himself. “I’ve got sixteen prisoners. I want you to keep them under house arrest here.”

The sentries looked nonplussed. One said, “That’s never been done before. We’ll have to get permission.”

“Go ahead.” Hirata glanced at the sixteen
r
ō
nin.
They gazed straight ahead, their faces impassive. None showed any sign of wanting to bolt. “We’ll wait.”

A sentry went inside the estate. After a long while he came out with the
daimyo
himself. Lord Hosokawa was in his sixties, with gray hair tied in a neat topknot on his shaved crown. He wore robes patterned in neutral colors, instead of the gaudy, fashionable garb that other rich
daimyo
sported. He had an intelligent, worried face and a reputation for managing his domain with excruciating attention to detail. After he and Hirata exchanged formal greetings, he said, “You want me to do what?”

Hirata repeated his request. He explained who the
r
ō
nin
were and what they’d done.

Lord Hosokawa’s worried expression deepened. “Why do they have to be here? Why not at one of the other estates?”

“The other estates are getting prisoners, too,” Hirata said. “There are forty-seven in all.”

“I see. But why can’t you take them to town and find someplace for them there?”

“Do you want them wandering around in the open that long?” Hirata said.

“… No.” Lord Hosokawa gazed at the sixteen
r
ō
nin
as if afraid they would suddenly go berserk. “But who’s responsible for feeding them and keeping them under control?”

“You are.” Hirata knew Lord Hosokawa could afford the expense and had plenty of guards with nothing better to do.

“Well, I don’t like it,” Lord Hosokawa said. “There’s sure to be a scandal. I would rather not be dragged into it.”

“Don’t worry; your honor won’t be tarnished by association with them,” Hirata said. Under Tokugawa law, guilt by association was a punishable crime. “I’ll make it clear to the shogun that you did him a favor by taking in these prisoners.”

Lord Hosokawa pursed his mouth. “And if I refuse?”

“I’ll make it clear to the shogun that you were derelict in your duty to him,” Hirata said.

That was a capital offense. “Oh. Well, in that case…” Lord Hosokawa reluctantly moved away from the gate. “If anything bad happens, I will hold your master responsible.”

Hirata hoped nothing would go wrong. Lord Hosokawa hadn’t yet taken sides in the conflict between Sano and Yanagisawa. He liked the peace that came with neutrality, but if he took offense at Sano, he might change his mind. And Hirata knew that similar scenes were going on at the other estates, where the two other
daimyo
surely wouldn’t want to provide a makeshift jail any more than Lord Hosokawa did. Sano couldn’t afford to strain their goodwill, either. But if Sano didn’t secure the forty-seven
r
ō
nin
at once and they caused problems, that would worsen his position far more.

Lord Hosokawa called his troops to take charge of the prisoners. Hirata glanced at the faces of the men who led the prisoners away. Some regarded the
r
ō
nin
with disgust, others with awe at these men who had followed Bushido to the ultimate degree. Hirata saw a storm brewing, the forty-seven
r
ō
nin
at the center, and spectators already taking sides.

“Behave yourselves,” he told the
r
ō
nin.

“We will,” Oishi said, quiet and stern.

Hirata and his troops had mounted their horses to ride back to town, when Hirata felt a strange, tingling sensation. Then came a force that pulsated through the cold air, that boomed in counter-rhythm to his heartbeat. His whole body tensed with recognition and fright. It was the energy aura he’d last encountered two years ago.

His stalker had finally returned.

Hirata resisted two opposing urges—to draw his sword for combat or drop flat on the ground and cover his head. Instead, he called to the troops, “Go ahead.” He had to face his stalker alone and not endanger the men. “I’ll catch up.”

They went. Hirata sat astride his horse and swept his gaze over the scene. He saw the glare of sun on snow and the white plaster wall of the estate across the street. Passersby glanced at him curiously, but none with malevolent intent. The aura seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. It began to fade. Hirata saw a movement to his left—a redness like a splash of blood. He whirled.

It was a strip of red paper stuck on a spiky bush near the Hosokawa gate. Hirata could have sworn that it hadn’t been there a moment ago. It fluttered in the wind. Hirata leaped off his horse and snatched the paper. It was clean and neatly cut, not a torn scrap of garbage. Figures written in elegant black calligraphy graced one side. Hirata read,

Sunlight illuminates the darkness inside a black cave.

What you seek has already found you.

Seek no further.

Hirata puzzled over the cryptic message. Was it for him, from his stalker? If so, what did it mean?

Someone came up behind him and tapped his shoulder. Hirata started violently. He turned. The man he saw was a soldier dressed in an iron helmet and a tunic made of iron plates covered with leather and laced together, standard military gear. A scarf muffled the soldier’s face up to the nose. His eyes crinkled with amusement.

Hirata drew his breath to speak. In that instant the soldier vanished, then reappeared halfway down the street. He held Hirata’s gaze for another instant, then turned and walked away. Hirata hurried after him. A squadron of mounted samurai emerged from a gate and blocked Hirata’s path. By the time Hirata got around them, the soldier was nowhere in sight.

8

WHEN SANO, MARUME
, and Fukida arrived at Edo Castle, soldiers loitered outside, avidly reading news broadsheets. The broadsheets were illustrated with a crude drawing of the forty-seven
r
ō
nin
on the march, carrying Kira’s head on a spear. At the palace, Sano found the very same broadsheet in the shogun’s private chambers.

The shogun held a copy above his face while he lay on his back in bed. His robe was open, his naked torso exposed. A physician rubbed spice-scented oil on the shogun’s stomach. Chamberlain Yanagisawa, Yoritomo, and two men from the Council of Elders—Sano’s friend Ohgami and enemy Ihara—knelt around the shogun, twisting into awkward postures, trying to read the broadsheet. Yoritomo read aloud, “A hundred savage
r
ō
nin
broke into the estate of the shogun’s master of ceremonies. They cut off his head and massacred everybody else.”

Yanagisawa and the elders listened with concern. The shogun exclaimed, “This is even worse than I feared! Can it be true?”

Yanagisawa noticed Sano standing at the threshold. His eyes narrowed. “Here’s the man who should be able to tell us.”

“There were forty-seven
r
ō
nin,
not a hundred,” Sano said. “They spared the women, children, and servants.”

“How nice of them.” Sarcasm didn’t improve the looks of Elder Ihara’s monkey face.

Yoritomo started reading a gory description of the murder. The shogun said, “Stop right there, or I’ll be sick!” and flung away the broadsheet.

The physician lit a candle and waved the flame inside several bamboo cups, which he placed upside down on the shogun’s stomach. This was an ancient Chinese medical treatment that promoted the flow of life energy through the body. The vacuum inside the cups drew blood to the areas underneath. The suction penetrated the tissues and released poisons. The position of the cups told Sano that the shogun was suffering from constipation again. The shogun was always suffering from something, always threatening to die. So far so good, but he had gotten frail. Maybe he would die soon, without a son or designated heir. And then would follow the battle over the succession.

“What are you doing back so soon?” Yanagisawa asked Sano. “Shouldn’t you be out chasing the forty-seven
r
ō
nin
?”

“I’ve already captured them,” Sano said.

“Oh.” Yanagisawa looked unpleasantly surprised.

Sano described what had happened after he’d tracked the
r
ō
nin
to Sengaku Temple. Everyone was nonplussed.

“That’s certainly peculiar,” said Elder Ohgami, Sano’s quiet, white-haired friend.

“So the forty-seven
r
ō
nin
surrendered. All you had to do was scoop them up,” Yanagisawa concluded.

“Nevertheless, the crime is solved,” Sano said, controlling his temper. Trust Yanagisawa to minimize his accomplishments. “The forty-seven
r
ō
nin
are under house arrest.”

“Is it all over, then?” the shogun said with cautious hope. The cups attached to him looked like the nubs on a caterpillar.

Swiftly, before Sano could say that it was and parlay his success into a pardon for past offenses, Yanagisawa shot down that hope. “No. It’s certainly not over.”

“Why not?” Anxiety crinkled the shogun’s face. The physician slid the bamboo cups around on his pale, droopy stomach, massaging the organs beneath.

“There’s still the matter of what to do with the forty-seven
r
ō
nin,
” Yanagisawa said.

“That’s easy. They should be convicted of murder and condemned to death,” Ihara declared. “They sought revenge against Kira after His Excellency ruled that Kira wasn’t at fault in the incident between him and Lord Asano and he shouldn’t be punished. They not only killed a helpless old man in cold blood; they defied His Excellency. It’s standard procedure that anyone who does that automatically pays with his life.”

“This isn’t a standard case,” Ohgami pointed out. “The forty-seven
r
ō
nin
followed the Way of the Warrior. They avenged their lord’s death. Bushido trumps the law in this case.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Yoritomo hastened to protest. “Their ultimate duty is to the shogun. And they went against his orders.”

Sano sensed emotions rising fast among his colleagues. The case had touched a place deep inside them, where their samurai spirit lived. The forty-seven
r
ō
nin
’s vendetta had raised questions about their own worth as samurai, as it had done for Sano.

Exasperation showed on Ohgami’s face. “Lord Asano was their hereditary master. They were compelled by honor to avenge him, no matter what.”

“Not everyone thinks so,” Ihara said. “Some people are already calling the forty-seven
r
ō
nin
heroes, but others think they’re criminals.”

Sano suspected that those who called the
r
ō
nin
criminals felt guilty about the short shrift that they themselves gave to Bushido. They wanted to punish anyone who made them look neglectful of their own duties. The people who lauded the forty-seven as heroes took a vicarious pride in the deed which they would probably never have the courage to perform themselves. Sano felt torn because he could see both sides of the argument.

On one hand, Bushido was the foundation of his life. His father had raised him to believe that nothing was more important than a samurai’s duty to his master. His samurai blood told him that the forty-seven
r
ō
nin
had done right to murder Kira.