The Iris Fan (18 page)

“I didn’t stab my husband! You’re deluded!”

“Confess that Lord Ienobu conspired with you to kill the shogun. Yoshisato and Yanagisawa will put him to death.” Gripping Lady Nobuko’s arm, Reiko said, “They’ll pardon you because you did them a favor by getting rid of both the shogun and Lord Ienobu.”

“Take your filthy little hand off me!”

“Don’t protect Lord Ienobu. He’s already murdered the shogun’s daughter. He wouldn’t protect you. Betray him and save yourself!”

“No, no, no!” Lady Nobuko pounded her fists and heels on the bed like an elderly child having a tantrum.

“She must calm down or she’ll hurt herself,” the physician told Reiko. “Please go.”

Frustrated because she couldn’t even beat Lady Nobuko while the old woman was down, Reiko had no choice except to leave. And even if she could prove that Lord Ienobu was guilty, how much good would it do, when Yanagisawa and Yoshisato were set to seize power?

19

YANAGISAWA AND YOSHISATO
stood before a huge map of Japan that hung on the wall of Yanagisawa’s office. Black lines divided the country into provinces. Ocean, lakes, and rivers were colored blue, mountain ranges brown, farmlands green. Red highways connected cities labeled in purple ink.

“These are the
daimyo
that will take my side against Lord Ienobu.” Yanagisawa jabbed black pins into the map, in provinces ruled by those lords.

“That’s not many,” Yoshisato said, “and they’re not the ones with the largest armies. You’ve lost a lot of ground since I’ve been gone.”

The brat had no idea how hard Yanagisawa had worked to maintain even those few allies! Yanagisawa stifled a sharp retort rather than waste time on another argument. “Here are the
daimyo
in Ienobu’s camp.” He stuck red pins in the richest provinces. When he was done, the map looked as if it were infested with red ants.

“What about the
daimyo
in the unmarked provinces?”

“They’re neutral.”

“Meaning, they don’t like either you or Ienobu.”

“Here’s how to change that,” Yanagisawa said. “We strip Ienobu’s most powerful allies of their titles and confiscate their wealth and lands. We make you
daimyo
of those provinces.”

Yoshisato gazed at him in disbelief. “Can we do that?”

“You’re Acting Shogun. You have the Tokugawa army to back you up.” Yanagisawa pulled red pins out of the map, tossed them in a lacquer box, and replaced each with a black pin. “Once these provinces are under your control, the neutral lords won’t be able to hold out against you. Meanwhile, you’ll have purged Ienobu’s cronies from the government and replaced them with your supporters or turned them into your allies.”

“This will change the political map of Japan!”

“To your advantage. Shall we proceed with it?”

The atmosphere in the room felt as hazardous as the air during the Mount Fuji eruption. Yoshisato was the one person Yanagisawa couldn’t manipulate. Yanagisawa would never have the same degree of influence over Yoshisato that he had over the current shogun, but for now, putting Yoshisato in power was top priority, and there was more riding on Yoshisato’s decision besides a victory over Ienobu.

This plan was Yanagisawa’s gift to Yoshisato, a compensation for all the evils Yoshisato had suffered on account of being Yanagisawa’s pawn. He hoped that when he’d put Yoshisato securely at the head of the regime, they would be at peace.

“It’s the most audacious thing I ever heard.” But Yoshisato spoke with grudging, admiring acceptance.

Yanagisawa suppressed his smile. He didn’t want Yoshisato to think he was showing off his cleverness, gloating over how much Yoshisato needed his help. “Then let’s go mobilize the troops. Not all of Ienobu’s
daimyo
are in town, but we can start with the ones who are.” The law of alternate attendance required the
daimyo
to spend half of each year in Edo and the other half in their provinces, on staggered schedules. This prevented them from forming alliances and revolting, at least in theory.

Yoshisato hesitated. Yanagisawa said, “What are you waiting for? You know how the shogun is—he could easily change his mind about you. We have to act fast.”

“This won’t settle the matter of who stabbed the shogun,” Yoshisato said. “Unless the blame lands squarely on Ienobu, he’ll keep fighting us. And Sano will fight us no matter what.”

“Ienobu will go down for the attack on the shogun,” Yanagisawa said confidently. “Don’t worry about him, or about Sano.”

*   *   *

“THIS IS WHERE
Sano lives?” Hirata gazed with dismay at the shabby little house behind the leafless, snow-frosted bamboo hedge.

Keep quiet
, General Otani warned.

Hirata was shocked at how far Sano had fallen in the world. Guilt tormented him because he hadn’t been there to help Sano.

It’s his own fault for going against Lord Ienobu.

The thought of his wife and children, as well as Sano’s family, living in such reduced circumstances, deepened Hirata’s hatred for Lord Ienobu, General Otani, and himself. His foolishness had put him on Ienobu’s side against Sano. As he loitered in the cold, near Sano’s house, a woman came out of the gate. She wore a padded blue cotton cloak, a gray scarf over her head, and carried a large wicker basket. Hirata was shocked to recognize Midori. Her face, once plump and rosy, was thinner, mottled, and careworn. The hair above her brow was streaked with gray. But Hirata saw in her the pretty girl he’d married fifteen years ago. He wanted to run to Midori, catch her up in his arms, and weep.

General Otani’s will clamped down on him.
Not here.

Midori walked right past Hirata without a glance. In his wicker hat and plain cotton garments, without his swords, and his hair cropped instead of shaved at the crown and tied in a topknot, he looked like a peasant. General Otani let him follow Midori to the Nihonbashi merchant district. Townspeople thronged shops where clerks ladled tofu and pickled vegetables from vats. Coins changed hands amid talk and laughter. Smoke that smelled of fish grilling and noodles boiling in miso broth wafted from outdoor food stalls. Seagulls, stray dogs, and beggar children snatched at scraps. Midori entered a grocer’s shop. Hirata watched her buy daikon and turnips. At another shop she bought eggs. The proprietor made some joking remark and she smiled. When she came out, Hirata accosted her. “Midori!”

Her smile froze then vanished as she heard his voice; she clutched the handle of her basket. “You,” she whispered.

Hirata pulled her into an alley where they could have some privacy. The alley extended between the back walls of shops. Laundry hung from balconies on the second stories. Hirata and Midori faced each other amid reeking garbage bins and vats of night soil.

“What are you doing here?” she asked in a tremulous voice.

Hirata felt a needle of pain inside his head, a warning from General Otani. Midori hated it when he lied to her, but he couldn’t tell her the truth. “I wanted to see you.”

She didn’t look glad to see him. She looked horrified. “Do you know that Sano-
san
reported you for treason? Do you know that the army is after you?”

“Yes. But I had to come.” Hirata saw her through a scrim of tears. “I’ve missed you so much!” He hadn’t realized how much until this moment. He remembered when they’d fallen in love and their families hadn’t wanted them to marry. He remembered waking in bed with Midori the day after their wedding. They’d laughed as they made love, happy that they could sleep together every night. He remembered when she’d put their first baby in his arms, and he’d looked into Taeko’s little face and seen himself and Midori there.

Midori’s disgusted expression said she remembered something very different. “You missed me so much that you abandoned me and let me live on charity from Sano and Reiko?”

“I didn’t want to,” Hirata protested.

“I suppose you didn’t want to choose those troublemaking friends of yours over me.” Midori’s voice was replete with scorn. “But you did anyway.”

“Things happened—” Another jab from General Otani silenced Hirata.

“Things always happen, and it’s never your fault, is it? You never take any responsibility for the things you do.”

“I’m here to take it now.” Hirata swallowed his pride. “I’m sorry.”

She stared, incredulous. “What good is apologizing? It won’t change the fact that you’re a wanted traitor, or that the children and I will share your punishment.”

The thought of the children drove another spear through Hirata’s heart. “How are Taeko and Tatsuo?” They would be almost grown up now. “And Chiyoko?” She wouldn’t remember him; she’d been a baby when he’d left.

“You don’t deserve to know.”

“But I’m their father.”

“You should have remembered that before you put their lives in jeopardy.”

Hirata fought despair. “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you and the children?”

“Yes.” Angry tears sparkled in Midori’s eyes. “You can go kill yourself. Then maybe the government will be happy you’re gone and they’ll let me and the children live.”

She cared so little about him that she wanted him to die! “I tried to kill myself. But I couldn’t—” General Otani held his tongue before he could explain.

“Shut your mouth before any more nonsense comes out! I’m going home.”

Desperate to keep her with him, Hirata grabbed her arms. “Wait.”

“Let go!” As she tried to wrench away, Midori dropped her basket. Hirata held tight.

“Please! Forgive me!” His voice was hoarse with emotion and tears. He pulled Midori to him. “I love you so much.”

“Leave me alone!” She struggled and thrashed.

For years Hirata had felt no lust. Mystic martial arts training, and later his problems, had diminished his sex drive. But now it was revived by the softness of Midori’s body against him, the heat of her breath and anger. He was suddenly erect, wild with desire.

“Stop!” Midori cried. Terror filled her eyes as she twisted in his grasp. “Please!”

Hirata didn’t want to frighten her or hurt her, but he was so excited. He nuzzled her neck, caressed her body through her clothes, and groaned. He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d experienced sexual release. A hunger that wasn’t his own fanned the fire of his need. The ghost inside him roared with excitement, urging him on. It had been even longer since General Otani had had sex. The ghost overpowered Hirata’s self-control. Hirata shoved Midori against a wall and yanked up her skirts.

Midori bit Hirata on the cheek. He shouted in pain. General Otani howled with rage. Hirata let go of Midori and staggered backward. Touching his cheek, he felt warm, wet blood. Midori pulled her skirts down and began to cry. Hirata’s desire vanished. He felt a shame and remorse so strong that they drowned out General Otani’s angry frustration.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That wasn’t me, I didn’t mean to—”

Sobbing, Midori picked up her basket and flung it at Hirata. It struck his chest, then fell to the ground, spilling its contents. “I hate you!” she screamed. “I never want to see you again!”

She ran out of the alley. Hirata dropped to his knees amid the broken eggs, miserable, wishing he hadn’t seen Midori. It had only made things worse.

I told you so,
muttered General Otani.

*   *   *

INSIDE THE HEIR’S
residence, servants scurried about, preparing for Lord Ienobu’s departure. They bundled up clothes and bedding, tied straw mats around furniture, nestled ceramic vases in straw in wooden crates. In the garden, porters loaded the packed items onto litters and carried them out of the castle. Lord Ienobu stood with Manabe in the empty reception chamber. His face was set in resolute lines; his protuberant eyes didn’t blink. Ignoring the people emptying his home, he was the still center of the storm.

Manabe watched Ienobu with concern. His master’s reaction to the crisis was unnatural, unnerving. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Ienobu said. “Don’t fuss over me like a nursemaid.”

Once Manabe had, in effect, been Ienobu’s nursemaid. They’d met forty-seven years ago, when Manabe was ten and Ienobu an infant. Manabe had been a page in the household of a retainer to Ienobu’s father, the now deceased Lord Tokugawa Tsunashige. Lord Tsunashige was the older brother of the current shogun. He’d fathered a baby on a chambermaid. The baby Ienobu’s birth was hushed up, lest it jeopardize Lord Tsunashige’s betrothal to a noblewoman. Ienobu was sent to live with the retainer, who would raise Ienobu as his own child. Manabe remembered the day the baby arrived and everyone had discovered why its existence needed to be kept secret.

The newborn Ienobu was deformed. Should the family of Lord Tsunashige’s fiancée find out, they would cancel the betrothal for fear that Lord Tsunashige had bad blood and would sire more defective children. Horrified by Ienobu’s misshapen body and face, the adoptive parents confined him to a separate wing of their house with a wet nurse, a maidservant, a bodyguard, and Manabe. The nurse, bodyguard, and maidservant, repulsed by Ienobu, gave him minimal attention. Manabe felt sorry for the poor little thing. He took over Ienobu’s care. It was Manabe who played with Ienobu, and held Ienobu’s hands while Ienobu learned, at the late age of four, to walk. He’d grown fond of Ienobu, and he’d discovered how clever Ienobu was. Ienobu had taught himself to read by the time he was six. By that time he already spoke with big words, and when other children teased him, he responded with devastating insults that made them cry. He’d never let abuse go unpunished.

Manabe was worried to see Ienobu so passive now. His long history with Ienobu allowed him to speak bluntly. “Yanagisawa and Yoshisato are set to take over the regime. Why are you just standing there with one foot in the grave?”