The Shogun's Daughter si-17 Page 6

  Sano was shocked to hear even a garrulous drunk malign his dead wife so crudely. He pitied Tsuruhime, even though she was beyond caring. “It wasn’t her fault that you lost money on her.” Or that she hadn’t borne him a child. Sano knew that Lord Tsunanori had no illegitimate offspring, despite the fact that he had concubines. The wife usually took the blame for infertility. The husband didn’t want to admit he was responsible. It was the same with the shogun. His failure to produce an heir had been blamed on his wife, his concubines, his preference for men, and sins committed in a past life, but woe betide anyone who suggested that his seed was defective. Sano had had a hell of a time discrediting Yoshisato, partly because the shogun welcomed Yoshisato as proof of his virility.

  “Tsuruhime made the situation worse,” Lord Tsunanori said. “She treated me like dirt. And she wasn’t even pretty.” Anger at her turned to disgust. “Lady Nobuko spoiled Tsuruhime. She taught her that because she was the shogun’s daughter, she should expect people to treat her like a goddess and punish them if they didn’t. Her servants were afraid of her. She beat them with a hairbrush. I had to pay them exorbitant wages to work for her. Hell, I was afraid of her. She kept threatening to tell her father that I was a bad husband. The shogun could have granted her a divorce, but you’d better believe he’d have charged me a fortune to get rid of her!”

  “Thanks to the smallpox, you got rid of her for free,” Marume said.

  “Hey, I don’t like your attitude.” Then Lord Tsunanori realized that his own wasn’t so respectable. “I shouldn’t speak ill of Tsuruhime. But I’m glad not to be married to her anymore.”

  “Did Lady Nobuko know how you felt about Tsuruhime?” Sano asked.

  “Yes. Whenever she lectured me about what I owed Tsuruhime for the honor of being her husband, I gave her a piece of my mind.”

  Sano expelled his breath in consternation. He’d come to prove Yanagisawa was responsible for Tsuruhime’s death, but here was another suspect. And Lady Nobuko knew Lord Tsunanori had strong reason for killing Tsuruhime, but she’d kept quiet about it. She’d set Sano on a dangerous campaign against Yanagisawa while aware that he could be innocent and that if Sano pursued the investigation he might run afoul of Lord Tsunanori, who was a powerful daimyo and the shogun’s son-in-law. But Sano couldn’t stop the investigation just because it might not incriminate Yanagisawa or because it would make him new enemies.

  “I’d like to talk to the members of your household,” Sano said.

  Surprised by the change of subject, Lord Tsunanori drew back from Sano with appalled realization. “You didn’t come here to offer condolences, did you? That was just a pretense. You think Tsuruhime was murdered, and you’re out to get me for it!”

  “You’ve given me reason to think you’re guilty.” Sano could easily imagine Lord Tsunanori getting fed up with Tsuruhime and feeling driven to kill her as a last resort. “I’ve no choice but to investigate.” He had a duty to obtain justice for his lord’s daughter, no matter if it wasn’t Yanagisawa he brought down. Sano rose; so did Marume. “I’m going to talk to your household members. I’m also going to inspect Tsuruhime’s room.”

  Lord Tsunanori stood, swayed, pointed his finger at Sano, and shouted, “Get out of my house, or I’ll throw you out.”

  His men rushed in. Gathering around him, they glared at Sano and Marume. Sano smelled nerves burning alcohol out of them. Lord Tsunanori’s face flushed and muscles engorged with combat lust. Samurai instinct urged Sano to fight, but a brawl with Lord Tsunanori was too dangerous for another reason besides the fact that he had a huge army at his disposal. The other daimyo already resented the government for draining their treasuries to pay for rebuilding Edo. Sano had barely managed to stave off one rebellion since the earthquake. The daimyo might seize on his clash with Lord Tsunanori as a pretext to launch another.

  To defuse the conflict, Sano spoke in a mild tone. “If you’re innocent, you should be glad to cooperate with my investigation. If you don’t cooperate, that would mean you have something to hide.”

  Lord Tsunanori shifted his weight as contradictory emotions pulled at him. His eyes flashed with anger because Sano had saddled him with a dilemma, but he wasn’t drunk enough or stupid enough not to foresee the serious consequences of violence against a government official. The cash-strapped regime would welcome the excuse to confiscate his wealth.

  “Very well.” Glad to avoid a fight while saving face in front of his men, Lord Tsunanori gestured as if tossing garbage at Sano’s feet. “Interrogate my household. Search my wife’s room. You won’t find any evidence against me.” He spoke with such confidence that Sano wondered if he was really innocent or really sure he’d covered his tracks. He told his men, “Go collect everybody for Chamberlain Sano to talk to.”

  They departed. Aggression flared in Lord Tsunanori’s eyes again. “If you go around saying my wife was murdered and I’m under suspicion, you’ll be sorry.” He wasn’t drunk or stupid enough not to recognize how dangerous the suspicion could be to him, or not to know the trouble that he and the other daimyo could cause Sano and the Tokugawa regime.

  “Good enough.” Sano pretended grudging concession, hid his relief that he could count on Lord Tsunanori to keep quiet about the investigation.

  It was the only bright spot in his investigation, which was already going wrong, leading away from Yanagisawa.

  7

  The Shogun’s heir’s residence was isolated in the western fortress of Edo Castle, on the tier of the hill just below the palace. Enclosed by stone walls topped by covered corridors and a guard tower, the residence was a miniature version of the palace. Damage from the earthquake had been repaired. The residence was a safe nest from which the new dictator of Japan would eventually hatch.

  Yanagisawa strode through the chambers, sliding open the partitions between them, admiring the gilded landscape murals, smelling the fresh, sweetly scented tatami, and exulting in the territory he’d won in this round of his battle for power.

  “I’ve done it. We’re here at last, set to rule Japan!”

  At the opposite end of the building, Yoshisato stood in his new room. He rearranged books and clothes that the servants had unpacked. “What do you mean, we? I’m the one who will inherit the dictatorship.”

  Stung by his ungraciousness, Yanagisawa said, “You couldn’t have gotten here by yourself.” He moved toward Yoshisato. “Whose idea was it to pass you off as the shogun’s son?”

  “Yours,” Yoshisato admitted grudgingly. He rammed books onto shelves.

  “Well, then.” Yanagisawa prided himself on the brilliant scheme he’d dreamed up after he’d lost his favorite son, after Ienobu had devised a plot to banish him from court. Yoshisato, one of his other four sons, was his salvation. “Don’t forget how hard I’ve worked to convince the shogun, his clan members, and his top officials that you are indeed his son. Don’t forget how much money I’ve paid in bribes to persuade people to support your bid for the succession.”

  “Don’t forget that it wasn’t your money. It came from my allowance from the shogun.”

  “Without me you wouldn’t have that allowance. So you shouldn’t mind if I celebrate our accomplishment.”

  “Do it by yourself. Now that I’m the shogun’s heir, I don’t need you anymore.”

  Fear stabbed Yanagisawa. He’d known that the day he put Yoshisato in line to become the next dictator could be the day he outlived his usefulness to Yoshisato. They’d been at odds during their four-month collaboration. It was a miracle that they’d come this far together.

  “You do need me.” Yanagisawa had to convince Yoshisato. One bad word from him, and the shogun would throw Yanagisawa out of the regime. Yanagisawa’s enemies would descend on him like a pack of wolves. “I’m the one with a lifetime of experience in politics. You’re just a seventeen-year-old boy. Without me, you’d be eaten alive.”

  “I won’t be seventeen forever,” Yoshisato said, irritated because Yanagisawa was right. He meti
culously folded clothes into drawers. “And I’ve learned a lot.”

  “With my tutoring,” Yanagisawa reminded him. “And I got rid of witnesses who could have testified that your mother never slept with the shogun.” He’d scoured the city clean of officials and servants who’d worked in the castle at the time Lady Someko was purported to have been the shogun’s concubine. He’d also cleared out people in his own household who knew she’d been sharing his bed at the time Yoshisato was conceived. He’d bribed the witnesses to keep quiet, threatened them, sent them to faraway places, and had the most dangerous ones assassinated. “You couldn’t have done that for yourself. And you need me to deal with the false witnesses who are sure to crop up.” How he resented having to justify his worth to this insolent young man!

  Yoshisato glowered, resentful of his own need. “All right. You can stay until the shogun dies and I take over. Then you go.”

  That the dictatorship would someday be entirely in Yoshisato’s hands! Yanagisawa forced a scornful laugh. “If you think you’ll be fine on your own once you’re shogun, then you’re a fool. There are many Tokugawa relatives who would like to rule Japan themselves. When the shogun’s not around to protect you, they’ll rise up against you. I’m the one who has powerful allies to back you with their armies.”

  “You also have powerful enemies. As long as you’re with me, they’re my enemies, too. When I dump you, they’ll accept me as their lord.”

  “I’ve heard your lame political theories before: Get rid of me, and my enemies will be so grateful, they’ll let you rule happily ever after. What you don’t understand is that bad blood runs deep. My enemies won’t forget that you’re my protégé. They’ll destroy you as revenge on me. And Sano will lead the charge. You shouldn’t have insisted on keeping him in the regime.”

  “That’s the price you pay for my cooperating with your plot,” Yoshisato said with a grin. “Let Sano stay, or I tell the shogun I’m not his son and you made me pretend to be.”

  Yanagisawa fumed at the ultimatum. “You won’t tell the shogun now.”

  “Try me. Kill Sano. See what happens.”

  Yanagisawa glared at Yoshisato, whose smirk widened to a nasty grin. He didn’t dare call Yoshisato’s bluff. He didn’t trust Yoshisato not to jeopardize them both for the sake of a victory in their private war. The boy was as ruthless as he was. The same blood flowed in their veins. Yanagisawa knew it, no matter that he’d convinced half the world that Yoshisato belonged to the shogun.

  “You’re asking for trouble by keeping Sano around just to spite me,” Yanagisawa said. “If he can’t prove you’re not the shogun’s blood heir, he’ll wait until the shogun is dead, and he’ll assassinate you before you’ve ruled Japan for one day.”

  “He won’t,” Yoshisato said with confidence. “Sano’s not like that.”

  Incredulous and disdainful, Yanagisawa said, “I’ve known Sano a lot longer than you have. He will. That’s what I would do.”

  Yoshisato regarded Yanagisawa with sardonic amusement. “Your trouble is that you judge Sano, and me, and everyone else by your own measure. It blinds you to reality.”

  Yanagisawa grimaced. There was no use arguing. He and Yoshisato were equally stubborn. Like father, like son. “Very well. Keep Sano at court as if you’re a little boy with a pet viper in a basket. Someday you’ll see that I’m right.”

  Yoshisato laughed. “If Sano does assassinate me, it would be worth it, having him beat you in the end.”

  The magnitude of his antipathy hurt Yanagisawa; he loved his son even though he detested the youth’s attitude. “Why do you hate me so much?”

  Yoshisato gazed at him with fierce, hard eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. I wouldn’t waste that much emotion on you.”

  “Fine.” Yanagisawa pretended indifference, but he longed for Yoshisato to love him in return. He’d been terribly lonely since his favorite son, Yoritomo, died. He missed having someone who cared about him. He cursed himself for craving more from Yoshisato than Yoshisato was willing or able to give. “So why can’t we be friends? It would make things easier for both of us.”

  “Excuse me for not feeling particularly friendly toward you. You ignore me for my whole life, and then my half brother dies and you need a new political pawn, so you come sucking up to me. What a wonderful basis for friendship.”

  Yanagisawa knew that Yoshisato was hurt because Yanagisawa had, in effect, disowned him by positioning him as the shogun’s son. “So I didn’t fuss over you like a mother hen while you were growing up. Not many fathers would have.” Yanagisawa’s own father had been a cold, ambitious man who’d introduced Yanagisawa to the shogun as soon as Yanagisawa was old enough to tempt the shogun’s sexual appetite. Yanagisawa’s longtime affair with the shogun had resulted in many political and economic benefits for his family. “But I’ve given you something worth far more than my attention-the chance to rule Japan. And I’m here now. Can we put the past behind us and make a fresh start?”

  Longing, pain, and confusion mixed in Yoshisato’s gaze. It was clear that he cared more about Yanagisawa than he wanted to admit. Then his face hardened. “It’s too late. I’m not your son anymore. I’m the shogun’s. And you’re not going to stick around when I’m head of the regime. You might stab me in the back like you’ve done to other people who’ve crossed you.”

  Yanagisawa felt as if he were pushing a wild horse up a mountain while it bit, thrashed, and tried to kick him down. Too furious to apologize for his past sins and grovel, he grabbed Yoshisato by the front of his robes, shook him, and yelled, “You ungrateful, stubborn, foolhardy wretch! You won’t deprive me of my rightful share in ruling Japan!”

  “Yes, I will!” Yoshisato grabbed Yanagisawa’s wrists. “Take your hands off me!”

  A quavering voice called, “Hello?”

  Yanagisawa and Yoshisato froze. They both knew they mustn’t fight in front of anyone, especially the shogun. They kept their battles private.

  The shogun tiptoed into the room, as hesitant and nervous as if he were a trespasser instead of the lord over everything he saw. “Am I, ahh, intruding?”

  “Not at all, Your Excellency.” Yanagisawa smoothed Yoshisato’s robes with a fond gesture before unhanding the young man. “Please join us.”

  He’d already wiped his expression clean of his inner turmoil and donned a relaxed, serene pose. Yoshisato wasn’t yet as adept at concealing his emotions. Anxiety showed through his artificial calmness like bare flesh through inexpertly laced armor.

  The shogun wandered through the quarters while Yanagisawa and Yoshisato followed. “Ahh, this place looks different than I remember. But I only lived here a short time, when my older brother was shogun. He suddenly took ill and named me as his successor. A few days later he died. I became shogun.” Worry deepened the lines in his forehead. “My brother waited until his end was near before he designated his heir. Perhaps I should have chosen to do the same.”

  Yanagisawa and Yoshisato exchanged alarmed glances. They’d thought Yoshisato safely installed, but now the shogun was having second thoughts. “Your brother waited because he knew the dictatorship would pass to you whether or not he officially designated you as his heir,” Yanagisawa said. “You and he were both sons of the previous shogun.” Yanagisawa suspected the older brother had hoped the younger would die first and his son, Ienobu, could inherit the regime. Ienobu would have liked that. “Your installation was a formality he put off. But there’s no need for you to wait until you’re on your deathbed to install your son as your heir, with all the ceremony, honor, and pleasure you both deserve.” Yanagisawa extended his arms to draw Yoshisato and the shogun together.

  Shying away from Yoshisato, the shogun said, “The problem is … Lately I’ve, ahh, begun to wonder if you’re, ahh, really my son.”

  “Of course I’m your son!” Yoshisato looked so anxious that Yanagisawa winced. Fearful of being punished for his deceit, Yoshisato had reverted from Yanagisawa’s brilliant protégé to the
inexperienced seventeen-year-old he was.

  Yanagisawa needed to get at the root of the shogun’s belated misgivings and dig it out, fast. He spoke loudly, to draw the shogun’s attention away from Yoshisato. “Why on earth should you wonder, at this late date, if Yoshisato is really your son?”

  The shogun pivoted, as if he were a Bunraku theater puppet and Yanagisawa had jerked the poles that controlled his body. “Last night I woke up to hear two men whispering outside my bedchamber. They said I’m not Yoshisato’s father.” A red, angry spot of blush colored each of his cheeks. “They said you are.”

  Yanagisawa cursed inwardly. He’d given orders, backed by threats, that no one was to talk about Yoshisato’s parentage near the shogun. He and Yoshisato tried to make sure that one of them was with the shogun at all times, to discourage gossip. But lately the shogun had insomnia; he couldn’t fall asleep unless he was alone in his chamber. He’d evidently heard someone whispering, through the thin walls.

  “Who was it?” Yanagisawa said, disguising his consternation with outrage. “Who dared to voice the blasphemous suggestion that I’m your son’s father?”

  Sheepishness weakened the shogun’s anger. “Ahh, I didn’t recognize their voices.”

  They were probably his guards or personal attendants, the only people allowed near the shogun while he was sleeping. “It was just idle speculation,” Yanagisawa said in a consoling, condescending tone. “You should ignore it.”

  “But I can’t!” The shogun flapped his hands. “It’s been happening every night for months.” He whispered loudly, “‘Yoshisato is Yanagisawa’s son. He’s not the shogun’s. Yanagisawa is Yoshisato’s father.’” Shamefaced, he added, “I didn’t mention it earlier because I was afraid to, ahh, have to take it seriously.”

  Yanagisawa realized that something more sinister was at play than careless gossip. The whispering represented a deliberate attempt to make the shogun believe that Yoshisato was a fraud. And Yanagisawa could guess who was responsible.