The Shogun's Daughter (40 page)

He looked up to his left. Korika stood on the base of the watchtower, holding onto the wooden framework and crying.

Masahiro scooted up the ridge toward her. The troops shouted at him to stop, but they didn’t come after him. They were afraid to climb onto the unstable wall. Masahiro kept going. The ridge crumbled. Sand slithered downhill. Masahiro crawled through a gap in the framework onto the tower’s base. It was solid, level. The wall foundation that extended from the tower’s other side was also intact, too high for the troops to scale. Masahiro lay there a moment, panting with relief, then rose.

Korika sobbed, pressing the knuckles of one hand against her mouth. Masahiro glanced down into the passage. The foreshortened figures of priests, mourners, and troops stood with heads tilted, raptly watching him and Korika. The leader called, “Somebody fetch a ladder!”

“You have to come with me. You have to tell the shogun that you set the fire,” Masahiro said, even though he didn’t know how he would get Korika to the shogun.

“I can’t.” She shook her head violently. “I’m afraid.”

She sidled between the wooden posts of the framework, to the edge of the base that overlooked the hillside. Masahiro gazed down the vertical stone surface. Below was the castle’s official district. The houses on the street directly under Masahiro had been crushed when the old tower fell during the earthquake. The debris had been cleared; a new retaining wall braced the slope. On either side of the street were mansions under construction. Beyond them, the tile roofs of finished mansions extended to a breathtaking view of the city below the hill. Masahiro didn’t know how far above the street the tower base was—maybe five or six stories. But he was up high enough that waves of fear rippled from his toes to his chest.

Standing at the edge, gazing down, Korika said forlornly, “I’d rather die here, now.”

40

“
YOU MURDERED THE
shogun’s daughter.”

Sano’s accusation sent a flurry of excitement through the crowd outside the mausoleum. Lord Tsunanori’s face showed the chagrin of a man who’d thought he’d gotten away with murder and just realized he hadn’t.

“You have no business interrupting the funeral!” Yanagisawa said, furious that Sano had managed to slip from his control, had intruded on the rites for his son. “Your days of conducting investigations are over!”

“This isn’t the time or place to be flinging around accusations,” Ienobu huffed.

Yanagisawa ordered the soldiers, “Put Sano back under house arrest. Keep him there until it’s time to burn him and his family to death.”

The soldiers moved in on Sano. Lord Tsunanori blew out a breath of relief. The shogun nodded, glad to be spared more unpleasantness. Sounds of disappointment issued from people in the crowd who wanted to learn whether Lord Tsunanori was indeed the murderer. Sano experienced a despair more complete than he’d thought possible. He’d walked the last branch of the road, lost his chance to finish his last investigation and bring one last criminal to justice.

But even though he was trapped at a dead end, pushed to the limits of his resources, another course of action occurred to him. He could do something he’d been wanting to do for fifteen years. He had nothing left to lose.

Sano called out, “Tokugawa Tsunayoshi!”

The shogun jerked, startled by the sound of his name spoken without the customary honorifics. The crowd buzzed. The soldiers paused, disconcerted.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Sano asked the shogun.

The shogun’s mouth pursed. His eyebrows rose quizzically. He pointed to his chest.

“Yes, you,” Sano said. “Why are you standing there like a wax dummy?”

The buzz from the crowd turned to groans. Nobody ever talked to the shogun like that. Ienobu and Lord Tsunanori gaped. Even Yanagisawa was dumbstruck. The shogun, who had the power to order Sano killed on the spot, seemed too flummoxed to speak.

“How typical of you,” Sano said scornfully. “You would rather be passive than act. You let other men tell you what to think and lead you around by the nose. You sit idle while they run the government. What’s the matter with you? Are you too lazy, or weak, or stupid to take control yourself?”

It felt so good to speak his mind, to express his anger at the shogun, to vent the frustration bottled up inside him for so long. The shogun bit his lips, like a child trying not to cry. Sano pitied him not at all.

“Or maybe you’re lazy,
and
weak,
and
stupid. You certainly give that impression.” Sano supposed he would pay for his rant, but he didn’t care. He would be dead at the end of the day. Then, nothing would matter. For now, the release was supremely worth it.

“Look what’s happening,” Sano said. “You’re letting him get away with murdering your daughter.” He pointed at Lord Tsunanori, who flinched. “And you let
him
protect Tsuruhime’s killer by silencing me before I can make him confess!” Sano pointed at Yanagisawa. “Is it too much trouble to stand up to other people? Are you not smart enough to realize they’re manipulating you? Or are you just too scared?”

The crowd gasped. That someone would openly accuse the shogun of cowardice! It was unheard of, blasphemous. Ienobu sputtered, offended on behalf of his uncle. Sano saw a familiar, hooded expression on Yanagisawa: He was letting the scene play out while scrambling to determine where it was going and how to turn it to his advantage.

“Yes, I think you are a coward.” Sano gloried in recklessness. “Why else would you stand there and let me insult you?”

The shogun’s face was white except for his pink-rimmed eyes and red, bitten lips. He did look like a wax dummy. The bearers set down Yoshisato’s bier. Nobody else moved. Nobody tried to stop Sano. He was saying what many secretly thought about the shogun and wanted somebody else to voice.

“It’s hard to believe you’re descended from the great Tokugawa Ieyasu, who founded the regime. He fought the Battle of Sekigahara against powerful warlords and their armies, and he won. What would he think of you?” Sano asked with biting contempt. “Your conceited ass of a son-in-law murders your own daughter, and instead of getting revenge for her, you stick your head up your behind!”

The fluttering of the birds in their cages was the only noise. Ienobu, with his bulging eyes and livid complexion, looked ready to explode. Yanagisawa wore a faint, curious smile. Sano rushed on, heedless.

“You let Chamberlain Yanagisawa condemn me for Yoshisato’s murder even though I’m innocent and you know it in your heart. You should make Lord Tsunanori confess to his part in Tsuruhime’s murder and put him to death. If you don’t, you’re the sorry, disgraceful dupe that Tokugawa Ieyasu would think you are!”

Sano stopped, out of breath. He’d thought he could go on forever, but he’d distilled all his grievances into one short, devastating speech. His reservoir of anger and hatred toward the shogun was empty. He felt cleansed, shaken by catharsis, and as light as air.

A hush filled the atmosphere, as if the world were holding its breath. The shogun stood speechless, blank-faced and shrunken by Sano’s invective, the temper and pettiness flayed out of his fragile body.

“Well,” Yanagisawa said. “You must feel better now that you’ve gotten that out of your system.” He sounded disgusted by Sano’s tirade yet gleeful. “Enjoy it while you can. You’ve just put the seal on your own doom.”

Even as exhilaration wore off and reality sank in, Sano held his head high. He didn’t regret what he’d said. It was true and just, and he’d dedicated his life to the pursuit of truth and justice, his personal code of honor. He hadn’t violated Bushido by telling off the shogun. A samurai’s duty included telling his lord things he didn’t want to hear and alerting him to mistakes he was making. Sano had performed his last, best service to the shogun. He could go to his death, not happily but with a sense of completion.

Yanagisawa nodded to the soldiers. “Take him.”

Ienobu’s concave chest and Lord Tsunanori’s muscular one expanded with relief. Excited whispers hissed through the crowd. People were already discussing what had transpired, passing the news to people outside the mausoleum compound.

“No,” the shogun said. “Wait.”

The whispers faded; the audience realized the show had a second act. “Why, Uncle?” Ienobu said, as surprised as Sano was.

Ignoring Ienobu, the shogun addressed Sano. “You’re right. I am a lazy, weak, stupid, cowardly dupe.” His voice trembled, and his face was wet with tears, but his speech impediment had vanished. “Everything you’ve said is fair, even though it hurts. I’ve always revered Tokugawa Ieyasu, but he would be ashamed of me.” Sano had unwittingly touched his most tender spot, his wish to deserve his ancestor’s respect. “Thank you for making me look at myself through his eyes. I don’t like what I see, but I must face it.”

This can’t be happening,
Sano thought. He couldn’t believe what he, or the shogun, had just said. Now it was his turn to gape in shock.

Yanagisawa and Ienobu reacted with horror. “Don’t swallow that tripe Sano threw at you!” Yanagisawa said.

Ienobu said, “He’s trying to dupe you into sparing his life.”

“Quiet!” the shogun said with more force than Sano had ever heard. “I have to think for myself, instead of, ahh, being led by the nose.” Out of habit he lapsed into faltering speech, but recovered. “I must do what I, not other people, think is right.”

“Your Excellency,” Yanagisawa and Ienobu began.

The shogun waved, hushing them. “I always wanted to be my own man. But it was easier not to.” Shame lowered his voice. The spectators pressed closer to hear. “Being led by the nose became a habit. I thought it was too late to change.” A smile brightened his face. “But recently a wise young man told me that it’s never too late. He said, ‘As long as we’re alive, there’s a chance to do the things that are important.’”

Sano was amazed to hear his own words coming out of the shogun’s mouth. That was what he’d told Masahiro whenever Masahiro complained that he wanted to be good at many things but didn’t have enough time to practice them all. Masahiro must have talked to the shogun and passed on the sayings he’d heard at home. He was the shogun’s wise young man.

“He was right, too,” the shogun said. “I vow to change, starting today. I’m going to study the Way of the Warrior, and make my own decisions, and take my own actions. Even if other people don’t like it. Even if I make mistakes. ‘Mistakes are our best teachers.’”

Sano’s lips involuntarily formed these words he often said to both his children.

The shogun swelled with ardor. Color flooded back into his face. “I’m going to be like Tokugawa Ieyasu instead of a wax dummy.”

Sano saw the horror in Yanagisawa’s and Ienobu’s expressions worsen, and a lack of enthusiasm on the faces in the crowd. Nobody welcomed the shogun’s transformation. But Sano wanted to applaud the shogun. For the first time Sano had ever seen, the shogun was demonstrating humility. He sounded ready to make good on his vow. Sano forgave him fifteen years of maltreatment. His own forgiveness made Sano feel even calmer, lighter, and more at peace with the way he’d chosen to spend his last moments.

“I shall start by seeking justice for my daughter.” The shogun pointed to Lord Tsunanori. A tremor in his hand betrayed his fear of taking the first step, of opposing his subordinates, of confronting a murderer. “I order you to tell me: Did you kill Tsuruhime?”

Lord Tsunanori put his hand over his heart. He oozed sincerity. “I swear on my honor, I did not.”

Sano said, “You have no honor to swear on. I just talked to Namiji. She confessed that you asked her to infect Tsuruhime with smallpox. She betrayed you when she realized that she would take the whole blame for the murder and you would let her die rather than share the punishment. She’s under arrest.”

Lord Tsunanori’s loose mouth sagged. Terror enlarged his bold eyes. “That’s not true! I never asked Namiji to kill anybody! If she said I did, she’s lying.”

“No,
you’re
lying!” the shogun exclaimed. “I see your guilt written on your face. You’re responsible for my daughter’s death!” He looked frightened but determined to challenge the younger, stronger man instead of backing down. His cheeks reddened with anger. “Why?” he said. “Why did you do it?”

Lord Tsunanori hesitated, balanced between his tendency to do whatever he felt like, no matter how inappropriate, and his inkling that a wise man in his position would stand his ground. The shogun’s demands and his own impulsiveness tipped him over the edge.

“How would
you
like being married to a homely, vain, silly cow who constantly criticizes you?” he burst out. “How would
you
like to pay through the nose for the privilege, just because she’s your lord’s daughter? And she couldn’t even give me an heir. You of all people should know what a pain that is!”

The shogun frowned at the insult to Tsuruhime, the rudeness to himself. Lord Tsunanori went on, as if unable to stop. “Could you stand to be stuck with an ugly, barren, tiresome wife for the rest of your life? Well, I couldn’t. She kept pushing me and pushing me until she finally pushed me too far. And I couldn’t divorce her! So I told Namiji to give her smallpox. It was supposed to look natural, except that bitch Lady Nobuko got involved. She put Sano on to me. The way everything turned out, it’s all her fault.”

Sano had heard many self-justifying confessions but none as brazen. The shogun regarded Lord Tsunanori with loathing. He believed the confession.

Lord Tsunanori looked around at the spectators. He obviously realized he’d doomed himself. Tears blotched his face, but he smiled; his broad chest inflated his white robe. The man who stripped while playing
hanetsuki
enjoyed the attention. He said with pathetic triumph, “I’m not sorry I killed Tsuruhime. I’m just sorry I got caught.”

The audience beheld him with the vacant aspect of people who’d already used up their capacity for surprise.

“Uncle, you must—” Seeing the shogun glower at him, Ienobu said, “If I might make a suggestion—your law requires that since Lord Tsunanori is guilty of murder, he must commit
seppuku.
”