The Concubine's Tattoo Read online

  “Lieutenant Kushida,” he said, “I’m placing you under house arrest until the investigation of Lady Harume’s murder is complete. At that time, your fate will be decided. Meanwhile, you shall remain inside your family home, under constant guard; you are not permitted to leave for any reason except fire or earthquake.” These were the standard terms of house arrest, the samurai alternative to jail, a privilege of rank. To the detectives, Sano said, “Escort him to the bancho” This was the district west of Edo Castle where hereditary Tokugawa vassals lived.

  Hirata regarded Sano with dismay. “Wait, Sōsakan-sama. May I have a word with you first?”

  They went out to the corridor, leaving the detectives to guard Lieutenant Kushida. Hirata whispered, “Sumimasen—excuse me, but I think you’re making a mistake. Kushida is guilty, and lying to cover it up. He killed Harume because she had a lover and he was jealous. He should be charged and sent to trial. Why are you being so easy on him?”

  “And why are you so eager to accept the easy solution, so early in the investigation?” Sano countered. “This isn’t like you, Hirata-san.”

  Flushing, Hirata said stubbornly, “I think he killed her.”

  Sano decided that this wasn’t the right time to address his chief retainer’s problems, whatever they were. “The weaknesses in the case against Kushida are obvious. First of all, the break-in is evidence of something wrong with him, but not necessarily that he’s guilty of murder. Second, just because he lied about certain things doesn’t mean we should disregard everything he says.

  “Third: If we close the case too soon, the real killer may go free, while an innocent man is executed. More murders could follow.” Sano told Hirata about Magistrate Ueda’s conspiracy theory. “If there’s a plot against the shogun, we must identify all the criminals, or the threat to the Tokugawa line will persist.”

  Hirata nodded in reluctant agreement. Sano leaned through the doorway and said to the detectives, “Proceed.” Then he turned back to Hirata. “Besides, I’m not ready to dismiss my questions about the other suspects.”

  Although Hirata’s unhappy silence troubled him, Sano didn’t intend to drop his investigation of the Miyagi—or Lady Ichiteru.

  18

  Standing in the doorway to the shogun’s bedchamber, Oto-shiyori Madam Chizuru announced, “Your Excellency, I present your companion for the night: the Honorable Lady Ichiteru.” She beat three ritual strokes on a small gong, then bowed and withdrew.

  Slowly, regally, Lady Ichiteru marched into the chamber. She carried a large book bound in yellow silk and wore a man’s kimono, striped in black and brown, with thick padding to widen her shoulders. Beneath it, cloth bands flattened her breasts. Her face was devoid of powder, lips unpainted, hair knotted in a severe, masculine style. After thirteen years as Tokugawa Tsunayoshi’s concubine, she knew how to appeal to his tastes. Now, with retirement only three months away, her life was dominated by the increasingly urgent need to conceive his child before time ran out. She must take advantage of every opportunity to seduce him.

  “Ahh, my dearest Ichiteru. Welcome.” Tokugawa Tsunayoshi lay abed in a futon piled with colorful quilts, in a lair furnished with gilded lacquer cabinets and the finest tatami. Brilliant wall murals depicted a mountain landscape. Screens decorated with flowers kept out drafts and contained the warmth radiating from sunken charcoal braziers. A standing lamp cast a warm, inviting pool of light upon the shogun, who wore a mauve silk dressing gown and cylindrical black cap. Lavender incense perfumed the air. They were alone except for the bodyguards stationed outside the room and Madam Chizuru listening next door. Yet the shogun’s mood was anything but romantic.

  “It has been a most, ahh, irritating day,” he said. Fatigue lined his pallid face. “So many decisions to make! Then there is the distressing business of, ahh, Lady Harume’s murder. I hardly know what to do.”

  Sighing, he looked up at Lady Ichiteru for sympathy. She sat, laid aside the book, and cradled his head in her lap. He elaborated upon his troubles while she murmured comforting words: “Don’t worry, my lord. Everything will be fine.” After so many years together, they were like an old married couple, with her as his friend, mother, nursemaid, and—least often—his lover. As she stroked his forehead, impatience simmered beneath Ichiteru’s tranquil demeanor. A distant temple bell tolled, signaling the relentless passage of time toward her dreaded thirtieth birthday. But she must let Tokugawa Tsunayoshi talk himself out before they could begin sex. While his doleful voice droned on, her thoughts drifted back to the one truly happy period of her life….

  Kyōto, the capital of Japan’s emperors for a thousand years. In the heart of the city stood the great, walled complex of the Imperial Palace. Ichiteru’s family were cousins of the current emperor. They lived in a villa within the palace grounds. Ichiteru had grown up in sheltered isolation there, but her childhood hadn’t been lonely. The emperor’s court numbered in the thousands. Ichiteru recalled idyllic days spent playing with her sisters, cousins, and friends. But outside the golden halo of her existence, the dark shadow of her future lurked.

  As a constant background noise ran the complaints of the adults. They deplored the plain food, the outmoded garments everyone wore, the lack of entertainment, the shortage of servants, and the government. Gradually Ichiteru came to understand the reason for their genteel poverty and her elders’ resentment toward the Tokugawa regime: The bakufu, fearing that the imperial family would try to reclaim its former power, maintained it on a limited income so it couldn’t afford to raise troops and launch a rebellion. But not until she reached adulthood did Ichiteru become aware of how politics had charted her life from the very beginning.

  “Ahh, Ichiteru.” Tokugawa Tsunayoshi’s voice drew her back to the present. “Sometimes I think you’re the only person who understands me.”

  Looking down at him, Ichiteru saw that his face had relaxed. At last he was ready for the business of the evening. “Yes, I do understand you, my lord,” she said with a provocative smile. “And I’ve brought you a gift.”

  “What is it?” Like an eager child, the shogun sat up, pleasure lighting his eyes.

  Lady Ichiteru placed the book before him. “It’s a spring book, my lord”—a collection of shunga, erotic prints—“created by a famous artist, just for you.”

  She opened the cover and turned to the first page. In lovely, subtle colors, this showed two naked samurai lying side by side beneath trailing willow boughs. Their swords lay atop piles of discarded clothing as they fondled each other’s erect organs. In the corner was a poem written in elegant calligraphy:

  Warriors in peacetime:

  Ah! Their jade shafts may prevail

  Over blades of steel.

  “Exquisite,” breathed Tokugawa Tsunayoshi. “You know what I like, Ichiteru.” From the other side of the wall came the soft rustle of Madam Chizuru stirring, alert to the beginning of the sexual play. Now the shogun noticed Ichiteru’s mannish appearance. His eyebrows raised in happy interest. “And how nice you look tonight.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” said Ichiteru, pleased that her scheme for his seduction was working. She let him admire the picture awhile longer, then turned to the second page of the book. The scene featured a bald Buddhist priest, standing in a temple worship hall with his saffron robe hiked above his waist. A young novice knelt at his feet, sucking his swollen member. The poem read:

  As the lone raindrop is to a summer storm,

  So does spiritual enlightenment compare

  With the ecstasies of the flesh!

  “Ahh, how blasphemous and disgusting!” Giggling, To-kugawa Tsunayoshi leaned against Ichiteru. Down the corridor came the rhythmic footsteps of patrolling guards. Next door, Madam Chizuru coughed softly. But the shogun seemed oblivious to these distractions as he batted his eyes flirtatiously at Ichiteru.

  Smiling in encouragement, Ichiteru suppressed a shudder. She’d always felt extreme revulsion for the shogun’s foolish personality and sickly body.
Were she able to choose a lover, she would pick someone like Detective Hirata, whom she had so enjoyed teasing at the puppet theater. Now there was a man who could truly appreciate her! But ambition must prevail over emotion. Ichiteru must fulfill the destiny laid out for her long ago.

  During her childhood music, calligraphy, and tea ceremony lessons, adult members of the imperial family would often drop by to observe. “Ichiteru shows great promise,” they would say. A bright but naïve girl, ever compliant and respectful toward her elders, Ichiteru had basked in the praise. Soon came other lessons, given only to her.

  A beautiful courtesan from Kyoto’s pleasure quarter had come to the palace. Her name was Ebony, and she taught Ichiteru the art of pleasing a man: how to dress and flirt; how to make amusing conversation; how to flatter the male ego. On a wooden statue, Ebony demonstrated hand and mouth techniques for arousing a lover. Later she taught Ichiteru the use of erotica, toys, and games to maintain a man’s interest. She undressed Ichiteru and introduced her to the pleasures of her own body. Fingers caressing the downy cleft of Ichiteru’s young womanhood, Ebony had brought about her first sexual climax. When Ichiteru had gasped and arched and cried out in rapture, Ebony had said, “That is what a man wishes to see and hear when he beds you.”

  Using a wooden rod, Ebony had shown her how to tighten her inner muscles around a male organ. She taught Ichiteru ways to seduce a man who didn’t like women; how to satisfy unusual appetites. Later the court physician had instructed her on the use of drugs to heighten arousal and promote conception. Ever dutiful, Ichiteru neither objected to anything demanded of her, nor asked why she had been singled out for this special schooling. Hence, she didn’t learn until her sixteenth birthday where the lessons were leading.

  Envoys from Edo came to the palace. Ichiteru was dressed in her best clothes and presented to them. Afterward, the empress told her, “You have been selected to be a concubine to the next shogun. The fortune-tellers have prophesied that you shall bear his heir and unite the emperor’s clan with the Tokugawa. Through you, wealth and power shall return to the imperial family. You leave for Edo tomorrow.”

  Later Ichiteru learned that her family had sold her to the shogun’s envoys. In a daze of grief and confusion, she endured the month-long trip from Kyoto to Edo. One thought sustained her: The fate of the imperial family depended on her. She must win Tokugawa Tsunayoshi’s favor and induce him to impregnate her. It was her duty to the emperor, her country, and the people she loved.

  However, Ichiteru’s attitude had soon changed. She hated the noise and crowded conditions of the Large Interior, the constant surveillance, the indignity of compulsory sex, the quarrels and rivalries among the women. Soon her brightness turned to cunning; love of family turned to resentment toward those who had condemned her to misery. Her sense of duty vanished. She began to crave wealth and power for herself. She hated Lady Keisho-in’s stupidity and tiresome demands for attention with passionate jealousy. The vulgar old peasant woman symbolized what Ichiteru wanted to be: A woman of the highest, most secure rank, living in luxury, free to do as she pleased, while commanding everyone’s respect.

  Thus began Ichiteru’s drive to bear Tokugawa Tsunayoshi’s heir. Her beauty, talent, and lineage attracted his capricious fancy; her status as his favorite made her a leader within the hierarchy of the Laçge Interior, no matter that the shogun wanted her company only a few nights a month. Because he squandered his virility on boys, this was much better than any of the other women fared. Four years into her concubinage, Ichiteru was pregnant.

  The shogun rejoiced. Blessings poured into Edo Castle from across the land. In Kyoto, the imperial family eagerly awaited its return to prominence. Everyone pampered Ichiteru; she reveled in the attention. A luxurious nursery was prepared.

  Then, after eight months, she delivered a stillborn baby boy. The nation mourned. Yet neither the shogun nor Ichiteru gave up. As soon as she regained her health, she returned to Tokugawa Tsunayoshi’s bedchamber. Finally, last year, she had gotten with child again. But when she miscarried it at seven months, the bakufu blamed Ichiteru. They advised the shogun against wasting any more precious seed on her. They brought in new concubines to tempt his meager appetite.

  One of them was Lady Harume.

  Ichiteru’s hatred of her rival still burned inside her, even now, with Harume dead. Reminding herself that Harume was no longer a threat, she turned to the next page of the book. Tokugawa Tsunayoshi gasped with delight. In a moonlit garden pavilion, a naked young boy crouched on all fours. Behind him knelt an older man, also naked, except for a black cap identical to the shogun’s. With one hand, the man inserted his erection into the boy’s anus; with the other, he grasped the boy’s organ. Lady Ichiteru read the accompanying poem aloud:

  “Day becomes night,

  The tides rise and ebb;

  Frost melts beneath the sun—

  Royalty may take its pleasure however found.”

  Seeing the gleam of lust in Tokugawa Tsunayoshi’s eyes, Ichiteru said with a provocative smile, “Come, my lord, and take your pleasure from me.”

  She parted her kimono. Strapped to her groin by leather bands was a flesh-colored jade shaft carved in realistic likeness of an erect male member. The shogun stared in amazement. A tremulous sigh escaped him. “Ahhhh …”

  “Close your eyes,” Ichiteru crooned.

  He obeyed. She took his hand and placed it on the carving. The shogun moaned, stroking it up and down. Ichiteru reached beneath his robes. The tiny, soft worm of his manhood stiffened under her caresses. When he was ready, she gently removed his hand from the carving and raised him to his knees. He groaned as she removed his garments, leaving on his cap. She bent over, balancing on her knees and elbows, kimono lifted above her waist, and rubbed her bare buttocks against his erection. The shogun grunted, heaving at her. Ichiteru reached back and guided him to her womanhood, which she’d moistened with fragrant oil. As he moaned and thrusted, trying to penetrate her, she looked back and caught a glimpse of him: flabby muscles straining, mouth open, eyes closed to preserve the illusion that she was a man.

  Please, she prayed silently. Let me conceive this time! Make me the mother of the next shogun, and my sordid, degrading life worthwhile!

  The shogun’s erection entered Ichiteru. Groaning, he plunged in and out. Hope rose within her. By this time next year, she could be Tokugawa Tsunayoshi’s official consort. She would persuade him to restore the Imperial Court to its former splendor, thereby achieving her family’s goal and placing them in her debt forever. Holding this vision of the future, Ichiteru endured the shogun’s assault. And to think how close she’d come to losing everything!

  Harume, young and fresh and lovely. Harume, with her robust, peasant charm. Harume, full of the promise that Ichiteru had once offered. Soon it was Harume whom Tokugawa Tsunayoshi most often invited to his bedchamber. After twelve years of whoredom and the agony of two births, Ichiteru was forgotten—but unwilling to accept defeat. She began plotting Harume’s downfall. At first she spread cruel rumors and snubbed the girl, encouraging her friends to do the same, hoping that Harume would become so miserable as to ruin her health and looks. But the ploy failed. Lady Keisho-in took a liking to Harume, and promoted her to the shogun as his best prospect for an heir. Hating her rival, wishing her dead, Ichiteru had resorted to more effective means. Still, nothing worked.

  Then, two months ago, Ichiteru had noticed that Harume wasn’t eating; at mealtimes, she just picked at her food. The bloom faded from her skin. Three mornings in a row Ichiteru discovered her vomiting in the privy. Ichiteru’s worst fear was realized: Her rival was pregnant. Ichiteru grew desperate. She had to prevent Harume from beating her to their mutual goal of becoming mother to the next dictator. She couldn’t just wait and hope that the child would be female or not live. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life as an overworked palace official, and no man worth marrying would accept a failed concubine as a wife. Nor did she want to return to
Kyoto in disgrace. With new determination, she sought a way to destroy her rival.

  Unwittingly, Harume had abetted Ichiteru’s purpose by not reporting her condition. Perhaps, in her youthful ignorance, she didn’t recognize it as pregnancy. Ever watchful, Ichiteru spied Harume stealing from the basket where the women disposed of bloodstained cloths. Ichiteru realized she must be wearing them so Dr. Kitano wouldn’t discover that her monthly bleeding had ceased. Maybe she thought she was ill and would be banished from the castle if anyone knew. But Ichiteru could think of a better explanation: The child wasn’t Tokugawa Tsunayoshi’s. Ichiteru had seen Harume sneak off during excursions away from Edo Castle. Did she fear punishment for consorting with another man? Snooping through her rival’s room in search of clues to his identity, Ichiteru had discovered a package containing a fancy jar of ink and a letter from Lord Miyagi. But whatever the reason for Harume’s secrecy, it gave Ichiteru opportunity to hope and scheme.

  And now Harume was dead. Since none of the other concubines could arouse the shogun sufficiently, Ichiteru regained her position as his favorite female partner. She had another chance at conceiving his heir before retiring. One problem remained: She must convince the Sōsakan-sama that she was not guilty of Harume’s murder. She must live to enjoy the fruits of thirteen years’ labor.

  Abruptly Tokugawa Tsunayoshi went soft inside her. With a cry of dismay, he collapsed upon the futon. “Ahh, my dear, I am afraid I cannot proceed.”

  Ichiteru sat back on her heels, ready to weep with disappointment and frustration, but she hid her emotions. “I’m sorry, my lord,” she said meekly. “Perhaps if I help you …?”