Samurai's Wife (7 page)

Turning to his attendants, the emperor said, "Summon Prince Momozono."

As her palanquin carried her through the labyrinth of the imperial compound, Reiko experienced an odd sense of moving far away from everyday life, into a place that existed outside time. The archaic costumes of the people who passed her in the narrow lanes, and the old-fashioned houses glimpsed through open gates, evoked ancient legends of emperors and empresses, princes and princesses, nobles and ladies. But the dark reality of murder overshadowed the romantic past.
Now the old, white-haired courtier led her into a separate compound within the palace, to a large hall that presided over a quadrangle of connected buildings. The bearers set down the palanquin. Stepping out, Reiko saw curved eaves shading wide verandas and ornately latticed windows. Birds winged over trees visible beyond the horizontal ridge of the roofs.
"What is this place?" Reiko asked the courtier.
"It is the Palace of the Abdicated Emperor."
Reiko knew that emperors surrendered the throne for various reasons. Some did so because of old age or poor health; some preferred to let a successor take over the wearisome rituals while they managed court affairs from behind the scenes. Others entered monasteries. However, many were forced off the throne. Strife within the imperial family could depose weak emperors; bad omens unseated others. When the reign of Emperor Go-Sai had been plagued by natural disasters, the court had deemed these evidence of his unfitness as a ruler and ordered his abdication. The grandfather of the present emperor had clashed with the bakufu over the establishment of laws that limited his power; he'd resigned in protest. Reiko couldn't recall why Abdicated Emperor Reigen, father of Tomohito, had retired.
"Lady Jokyoden spends most days here," said the courtier. "She awaits your arrival."
Mounting the steps, Reiko pictured the emperor's mother as a frail, shy old woman who was hardly likely to possess the power of kiai. Reiko smiled to herself, recalling Sano's warnings about danger. At best, she hoped to clear up the mystery of Lady Jokyoden's whereabouts on the night of the murder and cross one suspect off the list.
In the hall's spacious, bare audience chamber, raised wall panels framed a view of a park outside, where maple and cherry trees created cool oases around a miniature mountain from which the former emperor could view the city. Brightly dressed figures strolled; their laughter blended with the tinkle of wind chimes. On the veranda overlooking the park, a man and woman knelt side by side, their backs to the room. A line of seated nobles faced them; servants waited to one side.
"As you will note from these figures, the imperial budget for this year exceeds the funds provided by the bakufu," said a noble. "Since we can't reduce expenses without degrading the emperor's manner of living, we recommend selling some more of his poems to the public. Do you approve, Your Highness?"
"He approves," said the woman. "Draft an order for all court poets to write verses for the emperor to copy and sign."
A secretary wrote busily. The courtier led Reiko over to the group and said, "Honorable Abdicated Emperor and Imperial High Council, please excuse the interruption." Conversation ceased as Reiko knelt on the veranda and bowed. "The wife of the shogun's sosakan-sama has come to see Lady Jokyoden."
Abdicated Emperor Reigen gave a weary sigh. In his late thirties, he had a pudgy, placid face; his stout body sagged against cushions that propped him up. He regarded Reiko with calm indifference. "Greetings," he said in a lethargic voice.
Reiko murmured a polite reply, her attention riveted upon the woman.
"How good of you to come, Honorable Lady Sano." In sharp contrast to her husband, Lady Jokyoden sat upright and alert; her cultured voice was brisk. Some years older than the abdicated emperor, she had a smooth, youthful complexion and long, blue-black hair upswept with combs. She was a classic Miyako beauty: slender, long-limbed, with thin, delicate nose and mouth, her eyes narrow ovals beneath high, painted brows. But Reiko detected strength in the body beneath the ivory and mauve silk layers of Jokyoden's garments. There was intelligence in those lovely eyes, and confident self-possession in the way her pale, tapered hands rested, fingertips together, on top of the ebony desk before her. "Your attention is an undeserved honor for this humble woman."
Reiko's preconceptions about the emperor's mother shattered like the reflection in a pond when a stone drops on the surface. Flustered, she said, "Many thanks for receiving me."
"Please allow me a moment to conclude my business," said Lady Jokyoden. It was less a request than an order, given by a woman accustomed to commanding obedience. Lady Jokyoden turned to the abdicated emperor. "My lord, you will please sign the directive to the court poets?"
Reigen sighed again. "Well, if I must, I must."
The secretary handed over a scroll. Jokyoden inked Reigen's jade seal. Lifting his hand, she molded it around the seal, stamped the document, and gave it back to the secretary. Then she dismissed the nobles, who bowed and departed; servants hoisted Reigen onto a litter and bore him away.
Reiko stared in awe. She'd thought herself daring and clever for helping Sano with his work, but here was a woman who did her husband's thinking for him and gave the orders.
Lady Jokyoden performed the customary welcoming ritual of serving tea. In her curiosity about her hostess, Reiko forgot manners. "How is it that you can conduct business that is usually the province of men?" she blurted.
Filling Reiko's tea bowl, Jokyoden looked momentarily startled. Then she eyed Reiko with heightened interest. The atmosphere between them altered subtly, lifting the social constraints that allowed only superficial talk during formal visits. Jokyoden answered with equal frankness: "My husband has always been disinclined toward physical and mental exertion. He married me because he knew I could act in his stead. Abdicating relieved him of certain duties, but I continue to manage the household for him until our son is ready to do so. The court accepts the situation out of respect for my husband."
"Forgive my impertinence in asking," Reiko said, noting the parallel between Lady Jokyoden's situation and her own: Marriage had brought both of them the chance to exercise their particular talents. "It's just so rare to see a woman in charge."
"It is also rare for the wife of an Edo official to travel to Miyako," said Jokyoden. "May I ask how that came about?"
Reiko experienced a stab of trepidation. Surely Jokyoden knew that Sano was investigating the death of Left Minister Konoe. Would she guess that Reiko was here on Sano's business? Now his warning didn't seem so groundless.
"My husband thought I would enjoy seeing the old capital," Reiko said.
"Indeed." Jokyoden sounded skeptical. "And what is your impression of Miyako?"
"I haven't seen much yet, but it's very different from Edo," Reiko said, glad that Jokyoden hadn't challenged her explanation. "I'm particularly fascinated by the Imperial Palace."
A wry smile touched Jokyoden's lips. "You would find it less fascinating if you had spent your entire life here."
"You've never been outside?" Reiko said.
"On four occasions during my lifetime, when the court was evacuated from the palace because of fires. But I've not left the compound in sixteen years."
Reiko believed that she herself would go mad under such circumstances. "Do you mind very much?"
Her expression serene, Jokyoden shrugged. "Although I sometimes crave different scenery and a wider acquaintance, there's no lack of stimulation here. The palace is the world in miniature, with all the excitement of human drama."
"And crime," Reiko said, seizing the opportunity to turn the conversation to the subject of her interest.
"Then you know something about the murder that your husband is investigating?" Jokyoden asked coolly.
Aware of a sudden tension, Reiko said, "All I know is that the imperial left minister was killed by a spirit cry, in the Pond Garden. My husband prefers that I have nothing to do with his business here, but I can't help being curious. Did you know the left minister?"
"Yes, of course." Abruptly, Jokyoden set down her tea bowl and rose. "Shall we walk in the park?"
They descended the steps from the veranda. Jokyoden was taller than Reiko, her stride quick yet fluid. While they strolled together along a path that wound between trees, Reiko conjectured that Jokyoden had disrupted their conversation because she needed time to think about what Reiko's interest in the murder meant and how to respond. Surely, Jokyoden was wondering if everything she said would be reported to Sano.
Feigning chagrin, Reiko said, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought up the murder." She must convince Jokyoden that she wouldn't tell Sano about their conversation. "My husband would be very angry if he found out I distressed you by prying into matters that are none of my business."
Lady Jokyoden walked in silence, contemplating a group of courtiers who had gathered for a picnic on the miniature mountain. "There's no need for apology," she said at last. Perhaps she'd decided there was no harm in discussing the murder with Reiko, because she explained, "I've suffered no personal loss. I frequently saw Left Minister Konoe when he was advising my son, and I often spoke with him about the administration of the palace, but our relationship was not close."
Reiko could detect no falseness in Jokyoden's neutral tone or manner, yet she understood that the sudden rapport between the two of them didn't preclude dishonesty. Just as Reiko was deceiving Jokyoden, so might Jokyoden be deceiving her.
"What kind of person was the left minister?" In case her interest seemed too avid, Reiko said, "I never knew anyone who was murdered. I'm interested to learn why someone could hate a man enough to kill him."
After a moment's hesitation, Jokyoden replied, "He was more respected than liked. Underneath his handsome looks and charm, he had a selfish, ambitious spirit and a great need for power over other people. He couldn't tolerate anyone defying him, or admit he was wrong."
Those qualities could have easily provoked violence. "How did you get along with him?" Reiko asked.
"We had no quarrels." As they passed under a vine-covered arbor, the sudden dimness obscured Jokyoden's face. "I didn't always approve of the way he managed the palace finances or handled my son, but it wasn't my place to question his judgment. It was my duty to obey his orders."
Yet Reiko observed that Jokyoden's description of Konoe might very well fit Jokyoden herself. Had they clashed over control of the court? If so, Konoe would have won by grace of his rank and sex. Had Jokyoden then taken revenge by killing him?
"Didn't the left minister mind having a woman in a position of influence?" Reiko asked.
"He tolerated the situation," Jokyoden said, "because he knew it was temporary. When the emperor is mature enough to rule the court himself, my efforts will no longer be necessary."
Reiko recalled Jokyoden presiding over the meeting of the Imperial High Council. Maybe Konoe had viewed her as a threat to his own domination of the court. Had she sought to protect her position for however short a time that remained? How much had she gained by Konoe's death?
They emerged from the arbor into the open space around a pond. Jokyoden bent her shrewd gaze upon Reiko, who felt exposed and transparent in the hot sunlight. Surely, Jokyoden could guess what bearing her relationship with Konoe might have upon the murder case.
"Imperial politics can be brutal even though times have changed and courtiers fight over rank and privileges instead of control of the nation," Jokyoden said firmly. "Left Minister Konoe had numerous enemies, including certain high-ranking nobles."
But they, along with almost everyone else in the court, had alibis for the night of Konoe's murder, according to Yoriki Hoshina's report, which Reiko had read yesterday evening. "Who do you think killed him?" Reiko asked.
"It's hard to envision any of one's associates as a murderer."
Reiko believed that Jokyoden must have some ideas about potential culprits-if she hadn't killed Konoe herself. As if in idle thought, Reiko said, "The killer must be an expert martial artist, to have mastered the power of kiai."
"Indeed he must," Jokyoden said, ignoring Reiko's unspoken invitation to speculate.
"You said `he,' " Reiko observed. "You believe the killer was a man."
"Only because men have the freedom to move about at will," said Jokyoden, "whereas the imperial women are confined under strict supervision."
Although Reiko saw the logic of this reasoning, she also realized that it benefited Jokyoden, as well as Lady Asagao, by eliminating them as suspects. And the lack of freedom also applied to the emperor, who would be constantly surrounded by attendants and seldom left the palace. That left the emperor's cousin as the killer. Of course Jokyoden would prefer to see Prince Momozono convicted of murder than herself, her son, or his consort.
"Who might have been in the Pond Garden with the left minister that night?" Reiko said, hoping that her interest would pass for natural curiosity.
"Left Minister Konoe had ordered everyone to stay away from the garden. There are very few people who dared disobey him and risk punishment."
Reiko noted Jokyoden's repeated evasion of questions. She realized that Konoe's orders had informed all the suspects that he would be alone in the garden. Had one of them taken advantage of the circumstances? She voiced another possibility: "Perhaps the killer had arranged to meet the left minister for a private rendezvous."
"As far as I know, Left Minister Konoe never told anyone why he wanted the garden to himself," Jokyoden said, gazing at the circular green lotus leaves that covered the pond. She added, "I didn't see him at all that night. The weather was very hot; I couldn't sleep. So I took a walk around the summer pavilion, which is north of the Pond Garden. 1 was sitting outside, watching the moon, when I heard the scream."
"Did you see anyone else around?" Though aware that these questions might give away her ploy, Reiko needed the answers.
"No. The area around the pavilion was deserted. And I didn't take any attendants with me or tell them I was going out because I desired solitude."
This story explained why Jokyoden hadn't been in her chambers and had no witness to give her an alibi. Still, Reiko found herself pleased that Jokyoden had no apparent motive for the murder. Meeting Jokyoden, she realized with concern, had altered her hopes for the investigation.
She'd come to the palace bent upon pursuing a killer, wanting it to be one of the suspects she interviewed. Now she didn't want Jokyoden to be guilty of murder because she felt a sense of kinship with her. But she couldn't let her feelings toward a suspect compromise her judgment.