The Concubine's Tattoo Read online

  “I, ahh …I’m busy now. Can’t it wait? Besides, I don’t think I have any opinions on anything.” Tsunayoshi looked to Yanagisawa, as if for rescue.

  At that moment, Yanagisawa saw his path to the future he’d envisioned. He would be Tsunayoshi’s companion, and furnish the views that the foolish dictator lacked. Through Tokugawa Tsunayoshi, Yanagisawa would rule Japan. He would wield the shogun’s power of life and death over its citizens.

  “We’ll both attend the meeting,” he said. The official frowned at his impertinence, but Tsunayoshi nodded meekly. As they left the room together, Yanagisawa whispered to his new lord, “When the meeting is over, we shall have all the time in the world to become acquainted.”

  When Tokugawa Tsunayoshi assumed the position of shogun, Yanagisawa became chamberlain. Former superiors fell under his control. He seized Lord Takei’s lands, turning the daimyo and all his retainers—including Yanagisawa’s father—out to fend for themselves. Yanagisawa received urgent letters from his impoverished parents, begging for mercy. With a gleeful sense of vindication, he denied aid to the family that had brought him up to be exactly what he was. Yet Yanagisawa never forgot how precarious a position he held. The shogun doted on him, but new rivals vied constantly for Tsunayoshi’s changeable favor. Yanagisawa dominated the bakufu, but no regime lasted forever.

  Senior Elder Makino’s crackly voice drew Chamberlain Yanagisawa out of his ruminations. “We should discuss the possible epidemic and plan how to prevent serious consequences.”

  “There will be no epidemic,” Yanagisawa said. As the sky’s brightness diminished, forest trails vanished into the tangle of trees, but Yanagisawa maintained his pace. “Lady Harume was poisoned.”

  The elders gasped and exclaimed. “Poisoned?” “But we’ve heard nothing of this.” “How do you know?”

  “Oh, I have ways of learning things.” Chamberlain Yanagisawa had spies in the Large Interior, as well as everywhere else in Edo. These agents maintained surveillance on important people, eavesdropping on their conversations and riffling through their belongings.

  “There will be trouble,” Makino said. “What shall we do?”

  “We needn’t do anything,” Yanagisawa said. “Sōsakan Sano is investigating the murder.”

  Suddenly a brilliant plan burst into his mind. By using Lady Harume’s murder case, he could destroy Sano—and his other rival. Yanagisawa wanted to rejoice aloud, but the plan required extreme discretion. He needed the sort of accomplice not offered by the present company.

  Halting the procession in a clearing, Chamberlain Yanagisawa told his entourage, “You may go home now.” The elders departed in relief; only Yanagisawa’s personal attendants remained. “I wish rest and refreshment,” he said. “Put up my shelter.”

  The servants unloaded supplies and erected an enclosure like those used by generals as battlefield headquarters: white silk curtains hung from a square frame, open to the sky. Inside they spread futons, lit lanterns and charcoal braziers, and set out sake and food. With bodyguards stationed outside, Yanagisawa smugly reclined on a futon. He had no real need for this makeshift shelter, with the entire castle at his disposal. But he loved the spectacle of other men toiling for his comfort, the clandestine air of a night rendezvous outdoors. And was he not akin to a general, marshaling his troops for an attack?

  “Bring Shichisaburo here,” Chamberlain Yanagisawa ordered a servant, who ran off to comply.

  As Yanagisawa waited, the sensual thrill of lust increased his excitement. Shichisaburo, leading actor of the Tokugawa No theater troupe, was his current paramour. Schooled in the venerable tradition and practice of manly love, he also had other uses….

  Soon the silk curtains parted, and Shichisaburo entered. Fourteen years old, small for his age, he wore his hair in the style of a samurai boy: crown shaven, with a long forelock tied back from his brow. His red and gold brocade theatrical robe covered a figure as gracefully slender as a willow sapling. Kneeling, Shichisaburo bowed.

  “I await your orders, Honorable Chamberlain,” he murmured.

  Yanagisawa sat upright as his heartbeat quickened. “Rise,” he said, “and approach.” He tasted desire, raw and salty as blood. “Sit beside me.”

  The youth obeyed, and Yanagisawa gazed possessively upon his face, admiring the exquisite nose, tapered chin, and high cheekbones; smooth, childish skin; rosy lips like a delicious fruit. Shichisaburo’s wide, expressive eyes, aglow in the lantern light, reflected a gratifying eagerness to please. Yanagisawa smiled. Shichisaburo came from a distinguished theatrical family that had entertained emperors for centuries. Now the family’s great talent, concentrated in this youth, was Yanagisawa’s to command.

  “Pour me a drink,” Chamberlain Yanagisawa ordered, adding magnanimously, “and one for yourself.”

  “Yes, master. Thank you, master!” Shichisaburo lifted the sake decanter. “Oh, but the liquor is cold. Please allow me to warm it for you. And may I serve other refreshments for your delectation?”

  Yanagisawa looked on with delight as the young actor set the decanter on the charcoal brazier and laid rice cakes on a plate. At the beginning of their affair, Shichisaburo had spoken and behaved with adolescent gaucheness, but he was intelligent, and had quickly adopted Yanagisawa’s speech patterns; now, the big words and long, complicated sentences issued from him with mature fluency. When not abasing himself as custom dictated, he also assumed the chamberlain’s bearing: head high, shoulders back, movements swift, impatient, but smoothed by natural grace. This flattering mimicry pleased Yanagisawa greatly.

  They drank the warm sake. His face rosy from the liquor, Shichisaburo said, “Have you had a difficult day ruling the nation, master? Shall I soothe you?”

  Chamberlain Yanagisawa lay down on the futon. Shichisaburo’s hands moved over his neck and back, easing the stiff muscles, arousing desire. Though tempted to roll over and pull the boy against him, Yanagisawa resisted the urge. They had business to discuss first.

  “It’s an honor to touch you.” Fingers rubbing, stroking, teasing, Shichisaburo whispered close to Yanagisawa’s ear: “When we’re apart, I yearn for the time when we can be together again.”

  Yanagisawa knew he was only acting and didn’t mean a word of what he said, but this didn’t bother Yanagisawa at all. How wonderful that someone respected him enough to exert all this effort to please!

  “At night I dream of you, and—and I must confess an embarrassing secret.” Shichisaburo’s voice trembled convincingly. “Sometimes my desire for you is so great that I caress myself and pretend you are touching me. I hope that this does not offend you?”

  “Far from it.” Yanagisawa chuckled. The actor, despite his talent and heritage, was a commoner, a nobody. He was weak, naïve, pathetic, and another man might consider his words an insult. Yet Chamberlain Yanagisawa relished the charade as proof that he was no longer the helpless victim, but the omnipotent user of other men. He had flunkies instead of friends. He’d married a wealthy woman related to the Tokugawa clan, but kept a distance from her and their five-year-old daughter, for whom he’d already begun seeking a politically advantageous match. He didn’t care if everyone despised him, as long as they obeyed his orders. Shichisaburo’s pretense aroused Yanagisawa; power was the ultimate aphrodisiac.

  Now Chamberlain Yanagisawa reluctantly deferred his pleasure. “I need your help with a very important matter, Shichisaburo,” he said, sitting upright.

  The young actor’s eyes brimmed with happiness, and Yanagisawa could almost believe he truly felt flattered by the request, which was actually an order. “I’ll do anything for you, master.”

  “This is a matter of utmost secrecy, and you must promise to tell no one about it,” Yanagisawa warned.

  “Oh, I promise, I promise!” Sincerity radiated from the boy. “You can trust me. Just wait and see. Pleasing you means more to me than anything else in the world.”

  Yet Yanagisawa knew that it was not devotion but the threat of punishme
nt that held Shichisaburo in thrall to him. Should the actor disobey, he would be stripped of his status as star of the Tokugawa theater troupe, banished from the castle, and put to work in some squalid highway brothel. The chamberlain smiled. Everyone will do my bidding and fear my anger…

  Bending close, Chamberlain Yanagisawa whispered to Shichisaburo. Inhaling the boy’s fresh, youthful scent, Yanagisawa felt his manhood lift within his loincloth. He finished conveying his orders, then let his tongue trace the delicate whorl of Shichisaburo’s ear. The actor giggled and turned to Yanagisawa in delighted admiration.

  “How clever you are to think of such a wonderful plan! FU do exactly as you say. And when we’re done, Sōsakan Sano will never trouble you again.”

  From above the enclosure came a flutter of wings. On impulse, Chamberlain Yanagisawa fitted an arrow to his bow and aimed upward, scanning the cobalt sky, the black filigree border of trees. Against the moon’s luminescent silver disc hovered a dark shape. Yanagisawa released the arrow to invisible flight. A screech pierced the evening calm. Into the enclosure plummeted an owl, the arrow stuck in its breast. Its own prey—a tiny blind mole—was still gripped in the sharp talons.

  Shichisaburo clapped his hands gleefully. “A perfect shot, master!”

  Chamberlain Yanagisawa laughed. “By attacking one, I also claim the other.” The symbolism was as perfect as his aim, the shot an auspicious omen for his scheme. Triumph fed Yanagisawa’s desire. Dropping the bow, he extended his hand to Shichisaburo. “But enough of business. Come here.”

  The young actor’s eyes faithfully mirrored Yanagisawa’s need. “Yes, master.”

  The wind’s hushed breath stirred the forest; the rising moon swelled. On the silk walls of the enclosure, two shadows fused into one.

  6

  When Sano arrived at his residence after the long, tiring ride from Edo Jail, Hirata came out through the gate to meet him. “The shogun’s mother has agreed to speak with us before her evening prayers. The otoshiyori—chief lady palace official—will answer questions, but she has to make her night tour of inspection around the Large Interior soon.”

  Sano cast a longing look at his mansion, which held the promise of food, a hot bath, and the company of his new bride. With what peaceful, feminine pursuits had she occupied the time since their wedding? Sano pictured her sewing, writing poetry, or perhaps playing the samisen—an oasis of calm amid violent death and palace intrigue. He yearned to enter that oasis, to become acquainted with Reiko at last. But night was rapidly descending upon the castle and Sano couldn’t keep Lady Keisho-in and her otoshiyori waiting, or delay informing the shogun that there would be no epidemic because Lady Harume had been murdered.

  Leaving his horse with the guards, Sano said to Hirata, “We’d better hurry.”

  Through stone-walled passages they ascended the hill, past patrol guards carrying flaming torches. Out of cautious habit they didn’t speak until they’d cleared the last security checkpoint and were approaching the palace, whose many-gabled tile roof gleamed in the moonlight. Torches flared against its half-timbered walls and sentries guarded the doors. The garden lay deserted under the moonlight. Here, among the gravel paths and shadowy trees, Sano told Hirata the results of Dr. Ito’s test.

  “The residents and staff of the Large Interior are potential murder suspects,” Sano said. “Did your inquiries turn up anything?”

  “I spoke to the guards and their commander,” Hirata said, “as well as the chief administrator of the Large Interior. The official story is that Harume’s death is a tragedy, which they all mourn. No one would say otherwise.”

  “Because it’s the truth, or to protect themselves?” Sano mused. With the fact of murder established, he and Hirata could probe beyond official stories later. The women were the people closest to Harume, with the easiest access to her room and the ink jar. Sano and Hirata needed the cooperation of Lady Keisho-in and the otoshiyori before they could interview the concubines and attendants.

  Gaining admission to the palace, they walked past silent, dark offices to the shogun’s private chambers. The guards stationed there told Sano, “His Excellency is not available. He left word that you should report to him first thing tomorrow.”

  “Please tell him there’s no epidemic,” Sano said, so that Tokugawa Tsunayoshi need worry about illness no longer.

  Then he and Hirata continued deeper into the palace’s labyrinth. As they approached the Large Interior, a high-pitched hum pervaded the quiet. When the guards opened the door to the women’s quarters, the hum exploded into a din of shrill female voices, chattering to the accompaniment of slamming doors, running footsteps, splashing water, and the rattle of crockery.

  “Merciful gods,” Hirata said, covering his ears. Sano winced at the noise.

  In the hours since their first visit, the Large Interior had assumed what must be its normal condition. Walking toward Lady Keisho-in’s private suite at the center, Sano and Hirata passed chambers jammed with pretty, gaudily dressed concubines eating meals off trays, preening before mirrors, or playing cards while arguing with one another and calling orders to their servants. Sano saw nude women scrubbing themselves or soaking in high wooden tubs, and blind masseurs massaging naked backs. All the women met his gaze with a curious passivity that reflected a stoic acceptance of their lot. Sano was reminded of Yoshiwara’s courtesans: the only difference seemed to be that those women existed for public pleasure, and these for only the shogun’s. When he and Hirata passed a chamber, conversation and activity ceased momentarily before resuming with undiminished noise. A gray-robed female official patrolled the corridors beside a male guard. In this feminine prison, life went on, even after the violent demise of an inmate.

  Yet Sano wondered if one or more of the women knew the truth about Lady Harume’s death, and the identity of the killer. Perhaps they all did, including their mistress.

  The door to Lady Keisho-in’s private chambers, located at the end of a long corridor, was like the main portal of a temple: solid cypress, rich with carved dragons. A lantern burned above; two sentries stood like guardian deities a discreet twenty paces away. As Sano and Hirata approached, the door slid open. A tall woman stepped out and bowed.

  “Madam Chizuru, chief lady official of the Large Interior,” Hirata said.

  He introduced Sano, who studied the otoshiyori with interest. She was in her late forties; white strands threaded the hair piled neatly atop her head. Her drab gray kimono draped a body as strong and muscular as a man’s. Madam Chizuru’s square face also had a masculine cast, emphasized by a cleft chin, thick, unshaven brows, and a shadowing of dark hairs on her upper lip. Sano knew that the otoshiyori’s most important duty was to keep a vigil outside Tokugawa Tsunayoshi’s bedchamber whenever he slept with a concubine, to ensure that no woman extorted favors during his vulnerable moments. Like the other female palace officials, she would have once been a concubine herself—probably to the previous shogun—but the only visible feminine charm was her mouth, as dainty as that of a courtesan in a woodblock print. Arms folded, she regarded Sano with a bold, level gaze that brooked no misbehavior.

  “You cannot see Lady Keisho-in yet,” Madam Chizuru said. Her voice was deep, but not unpleasant. “His Excellency is with her now.”

  So that was where the shogun had gone. “Weil wait,” Sano said. “And we need to speak with you, too.”

  As Madam Chizuru nodded, a pair of younger female officials arrived. An unspoken form of communication—oblique glances, nods, a twitch of lips—passed between them and their superior. In this alien territory, even the language was different. Then Madam Chizuru said to Sano and Hirata, “Urgent business demands my attention. But I shall return shortly. Wait here.”

  “Yes, master,” Hirata said under his breath as the otoshiyori, flanked by her lieutenants, strode away. To Sano he said, “These women will be running the country someday if we men don’t watch out.”

  The otoshiyori had left Lady Keisho-in’s door open a
crack. Murmurs came from within. Curiosity overcame Sano. He stole a look. In the shadowy chamber, a ceiling lantern formed a nimbus of light around a woman seated upon silk cushions. Small and dumpy, she wore a loose, shimmering gold satin dressing gown printed with blue waves. Long black hair, untouched by gray, spilled around her shoulders, giving the sixty-four-year-old Keisho-in a strikingly youthful appearance. Sano couldn’t see her face, which was bent over the man cradled in her plump arms.

  Tokugawa Tsunayoshi, Japan’s supreme military dictator, pressed his face against his mother’s ample breasts. His black court robes swaddled his bent knees; his shaved crown, minus the customary black cap, looked as vulnerable as an infant’s. Mumbles and whimpers issued from him: “…so afraid, so unhappy…. People always wanting things from me…expecting me to be strong and wise, like my ancestor, Tokugawa Ieyasu…never know what to do or say …stupid, weak, unworthy of my position…”

  Lady Keisho-in petted her son’s head, emitting soothing sounds. “There, there, my dear little boy.” Her crusty voice betrayed the age that her appearance belied. “Mother is here. She’ll make everything all right.”

  Tokugawa Tsunayoshi relaxed; his whimpers turned to a purr of contentment. Lady Keisho-in took up the long, silver pipe that lay on the smoking tray beside her, puffed, coughed, and addressed her son gently. “To earn happiness, you must build more temples, support the clergy, and hold more sacred festivals.”

  “But Mother, that sounds so difficult,” the shogun whined. “How shall I ever manage it?”

  “Give money to Priest Ryuko, and he’ll take care of everything.”

  “What if Chamberlain Yanagisawa or the Council of Elders object?” Tokugawa Tsunayoshi’s voice quavered with fear of his subordinates’ disapproval.

  “Just tell them that your decision is the law,” said Lady Keisho-in.

  “Yes, Mother,” sighed the shogun.

  At the sound of footsteps in the corridor, Sano quickly moved away from the door, embarrassed and appalled by what he’d observed. The rumors about Keisho-in’s influence over Tokugawa Tsunayoshi were true. She was a fervent Buddhist, dominated by the ambitious, self-aggrandizing Ryuko, her favorite priest—and, Sano had heard, her lover. No doubt Ryuko had convinced her to ask the shogun for money. That such power lay in their hands posed a serious threat to national stability. Throughout history, the Buddhist clergy had raised armies and challenged samurai rule. And how ironic that Tsunayoshi had officials to protect him from unscrupulous concubines, but not from the most dangerous woman of all!