The Concubine's Tattoo Read online

  Now Sano grew angry. He recalled his docile mother cooking the foods her husband preferred, managing the household to accommodate his needs without ever asking anything for herself. In a samurai’s world of unstinting duty to the Tokugawa regime, his own home was the only domain under his absolute control. Now Sano felt this precious control slipping, his manly authority weakening in the face of Reiko’s challenge. Fatigue strained his patience. Although the last thing he wanted was a quarrel on his wedding night, his temper snapped.

  “How dare you contradict your husband?” Sano demanded, throwing down his chopsticks. “How dare you even suggest that you, a silly, headstrong girl, can do anything better than I can?”

  “Because I’m right!”

  Reiko leapt to her feet, eyes sparking with a fury that matched Sano’s. Her tongue touched her chipped incisor; her hand went to her waist as if reaching for a sword. This unfeminine, aggressive response incensed Sano—and aroused him deeply. Anger turned Reiko’s delicate beauty into the raw, female power of a goddess. Her rapid breathing and flushed cheeks suggested sexual excitement. Despite Sano’s dislike of her impertinence, he admired her courageous spirit, yet he couldn’t believe her capable of investigating a murder—or let her undermine his masculinity by talking back to him. He shoved aside his tray and stood, glaring at his young wife.

  “I order you to stay home where you belong, and not to interfere with my work,” he said, though aghast at the hostile turn their relationship had taken. He wanted them to be happy together, and hurting Reiko’s feelings wouldn’t achieve that. But what else could he do? “I’m your husband. You will obey me. And that’s final!”

  Scorn narrowed Reiko’s eyes. “And what will you do if I disobey?” she demanded. “Beat me? Send me back to my father? Or kill me?” A bitter laugh burst from her throat. “I wish you would, because I’m sorry I married you. I’d rather die than submit to you or any other man!”

  Her repudiation stabbed Sano like a knife to the heart. Wounded and furious, he experienced an overwhelming urge to assert his power by taking physical possession of her. His manhood sprang erect. He stepped forward and seized her shoulders.

  At once, Reiko’s brave defiance dissolved. She shrank within Sano’s grasp. Towering over her, he felt the fragility of her bones. Terror filled her eyes, and he knew it wasn’t blows or death she feared. It was the crueler injury a man could inflict upon a woman—the personal assault on the most sensitive parts of her body. Yet as their gazes locked, Sano sensed in her an unfathomed appetite for that intimate, brutal engagement. Reiko’s lips were wet; her breaths came hard and fast. Before Sano shimmered a vision of the two of them naked and entwined, resolving all argument in the primitive mating rite. And he could tell from the shocked expression on Reiko’s face that she shared it—and wanted it—too.

  Slowly Sano lifted his hand and touched her soft cheek. Their breath mingled for a long, tense moment. Then suddenly she twisted out of his grasp and ran from the room.

  “Reiko. Wait!” Sano called.

  Her rapid footsteps receded down the passage. A door slammed. His emotions in chaos, his body still engorged with desire, Sano stood frozen, hands holding the emptiness she’d left behind.

  In the sanctuary of her private chamber, Reiko latched the door and breathed a tremulous sigh. Her heart still beat wildly in her breast; her muscles quaked. Feverish in her agitation, she hurried through the outer door and stepped onto the veranda.

  A lopsided ivory moon poured soft illumination over the garden’s trees, boulders, and pavilion. Crickets chirped; dogs barked. Somewhere in the night, guards patrolled the estate and castle; footsteps, hoofbeats, and low voices carried through clear, cold air that smelled of frost and charcoal smoke. In chilly solitude Reiko paced, trying to sort out her tumultuous feelings.

  How she hated Sano for disregarding her wishes, for mocking her intelligence and abilities! And how angry she was at herself for badly handling the situation. She should have taken things more slowly, playing the submissive wife and winning his affection before pleading her cause. But she sensed that it wouldn’t have made any difference. Sano was like all other men, and she’d been mad to think otherwise.

  “Pompous, ignorant samurai!” she muttered, seething with anger. “Ordering me around as if I were a servant, or a child.” Beneath her anger was the leaden misery of disappointment. How naïve and foolish seemed her dream of solving crimes and achieving glory. “Better that I should have committed seppuku than ever marry!”

  As Reiko paced, a warm trickle of moisture slid down her inner thigh. Thinking she’d begun her monthly bleeding, she felt under her skirts. Her hand came up smeared with a clear, musk-scented secretion; the fluid of arousal, her body’s involuntary response to the confrontation with Sano. Horror gripped Reiko as she became aware of a heaviness in her lower abdomen, the dull, hot pulse between her legs. Crouching on the veranda, she faced the sum of her fears.

  She didn’t fear beating, the common punishment for unruly wives—martial arts training had given her a high tolerance for pain—and she knew instinctively that Sano wasn’t the kind of man who would hurt a woman in anger. Yet she dreaded the sexual act, a battleground where nature had made her vulnerable to a man’s violation. And desire could make her the thrall of the husband who already owned her, destroying her precious independence.

  Even so, she was terrified that Sano would divorce her. If he did, everyone would blame her for the marriage’s failure; no other man would have her. She and her family would suffer public humiliation. The specter of a bleak future as a disgraced spinster living on the charity of relatives loomed before Reiko. And despite her anger at Sano’s tyranny, she didn’t want to leave him. She wanted to experience love’s dangerous pleasures. Body and spirit yearned for it, even as her mind recoiled at the prospect of a life of domestic seclusion and boredom.

  Reiko watched the branches of a tall pine capture the rising moon. Through the tangle of conflicting emotions she identified one certainty: She must make the marriage work—but on her own terms.

  She went inside her chamber and knelt before her writing desk. On a shelf above it lay the swords she’d retrieved that afternoon. Reiko ground ink, readied paper, and took up her brush. Desperation strengthened her resolve. She would prove to Sano that a wife could be a detective. She would show him that it was in his best interest to make her a partner in his work instead of a glorified house slave. She would make him love her for herself, not for his idea of what she should be.

  With her tongue touching her chipped tooth, Reiko began listing plans for her secret inquiry into the murder of Lady Harume.

  Alone, Sano reluctantly decided against going after Reiko: In his current state of anger, confusion, and unsatisfied desire, he would only make things worse between them. He finished eating, though the food had grown cold and he’d lost his appetite. Wearily he rose, went to his room, and shed his clothes. In the bathchamber he scrubbed, rinsed, soaked in the tub, then wrapped himself in a cotton robe. He walked down the corridor, past the empty suite where he’d planned to spend his first night with his bride. Next door, the paper wall of her private chamber glowed with lamplight. Sano paused outside.

  Reiko’s hazy shadow moved, shrugging off garments, combing her hair. She evidently intended to sleep there. Desire welled in Sano’s loins. Fierce possessiveness enflamed his anger. Despite their quarrel, she was his wife. He had the right to command her presence in the marriage bed. Sano grasped the door handle …

  …then let his hand fall away, shaking his head as reason tempered angry lust. He could not subdue Reiko through physical strength, because he didn’t want a resentful mate who obeyed him only because society decreed that woman must submit to man. He still yearned for a union of mutual love. It had been a long, difficult day, probably no less for Reiko than him. They’d gotten off to a bad start, but tomorrow they would begin again, after a good night’s sleep. He would show her every kindness. She would realize that her pla
ce was in their home, not in a murder investigation. And she would learn to love him as her husband and superior.

  Reluctantly Sano went to his bedchamber, but with his mind replaying his argument with Reiko and thinking of what he should have said, he felt too tense to sleep. Amid the folds of discarded clothing on the floor lay the diary he’d taken from Lady Harume’s room. Sano picked it up with a sigh. There was nothing like work to take his mind off domestic troubles, and he might actually learn something useful from the murdered concubine’s record of her life and private thoughts. He lay down on the futon and pulled the lamp near. Propping himself on his elbow, he opened the diary’s mauve-and-green, clover-printed cloth cover and turned to the first page.

  The text was written in an awkward hand, with lots of crossed-out mistakes. Like many women, Lady Harume had been barely literate. Maybe this was for the best, Sano thought, considering how Reiko’s superior education had fostered her contrary nature. However, as Sano scanned the diary, Harume’s natural flair for descriptive prose emerged:

  I enter the Large Interior. The guards lead me through the corridors like a prisoner to her cell. Hundreds of women stand and watch. They stop chattering as I pass, and they’re staring at me: such disdain! Staring, staring—greedy, caged animals wondering if the newcomer’s arrival means less food for them. But I hold my head up. I may be poor, but I’m prettier than anyone I see. Someday soon I will be the shogun’s favorite concubine. And no one will dare disdain me again.

  None of the entries was dated, but this first one must have been written just after the New Year, eight months ago, when Harume came to Edo Castle. Sano skimmed passages describing the routines and irritations of the Large Interior, Harume’s various amusements, and her increasingly frequent visits to the shogun’s bedchamber.

  This place is so crowded that we must eat and bathe in shifts. There is always someone bumping into me whenever I move, always someone in the privy when I have to go, someone’s finger in my business, someone’s stink in my nose. The bathwater is always scummy by the time it’s my turn, and the noise never stops, even at night, because someone is always talking, snoring, coughing, or weeping. But although I long for solitude, I am dying of loneliness. The others treat me as an outsider, and I don’t like them either. And there’s nothing to do except the same things. Every day is like the last, and we don’t get to go out often enough.

  Yesterday was very hot, with thunder grumbling like angry dragons. We went for a picnic in the hills. I wore my green kimono with the willow leaf pattern. We drank sake and were very merry until all of a sudden, pouring rain! We shrieked and hurried into the palanquins while servants ran around packing up the food. What great fun to see those haughty senior concubines drenched and squawking like wet hens!—particularly after they had mocked my rustic manners.

  Last night I entertained His Excellency again. I wore my red satin kimono printed with lucky characters so that I might bear him a son and be rich and happy for the rest of my life, like Lady Keisho-in.

  As Sano had expected, Harume’s pillow book resembled those written by imperial court ladies of centuries past, who had documented the trivia of life rather than important historic events. About such great occasions as the last, Harume gave no details: Even naïve young girls knew that any careless remark about the shogun could bring harsh censure, including dismissal or even death. Harume must also have feared that nosy comrades would read her pillow book and take revenge for unfavorable portrayals. Lady Ichiteru and Lieutenant Kushida appeared only in the middle of a long list entitled “Things I Dislike About Living in Edo Castle”:

  39. Being served the tough, crusty rice from the bottom of the pot because the senior concubines get the best food.

  40. Ichiteru, who thinks she’s better than everyone else just because she’s the emperor’s cousin.

  41. The monthly health examinations, and Dr. Kitano’s cold hands on my private parts.

  42. Lieutenant Kushida—a terrible pest.

  In subsequent passages there was no indication of any particular animosity or quarrel that could have led to her murder. Sano was growing drowsy. He turned to the last page.

  Yesterday we went on a pilgrimage to Kannon Temple. I love the Asakusa district because the streets are so busy that the guards and palace officials can’t keep a close watch over us. We can escape them and wander through the marketplace, buying food and souvenirs at the stalls, having our fortunes told, watching the pilgrims, priests, children, and sacred doves: Freedom!

  I hurry along the narrow lanes to the inn. As usual, there’s a room already reserved for me, so I slip through the pine groves and bamboo thickets that surround the inn like a small forest. My room is in the rear building—very private. I go inside, close the door, and wait. Soon I hear footsteps crunching on the gravel path. They stop outside my room—

  Sano was now wide awake and fully alert. So Lady Harume had used her freedom for secret assignations.

  —and I see his tall, thin shadow on the paper window. There’s a hole in the pane, and his eye appears. But he doesn’t speak, and neither do I. Pretending I’m alone, I slowly take off my cloak. I untie my sash and let my outer-and under-kimonos drop to the floor, facing the window so he can see me, but never meeting his eye.

  His shadow stirs. Naked, I run my hands over my breasts, sighing and licking my lips. His garments rustle as he parts them and loosens his loincloth. I lie on the floor cushions. I spread my legs wide, my womanhood open to him. I caress myself with my fingers. Faster and faster, moaning, arching my back, tossing my head with a pleasure I don’t really feel. He gasps and grunts. When I cry out, he does, too—an ugly sound, like a dying animal.

  Then I lie still, my eyes half closed. I watch his shadow move past the window and out of sight. When I’m sure he’s gone, I dress quickly and hurry back to the market before the palace officials discover I’m not with the other girls. I could be beaten, dismissed, or even killed for what I’ve done. But he’s very rich and powerful. Soon he travels to Shikoku, and we won’t meet again for at least eight months. I must get what I can now, from him, no matter the risk.

  Aroused by this erotic scenario, Sano felt like a voyeur himself, spying on a dead woman’s intimate life. He closed the book and pondered the meaning of what he’d just read. Harume had probably thought that anyone who happened to read the story would deem it a fantasy, but it had the quality of truth. Who was her partner in the bizarre game, and why had she played when she got no pleasure from it? What else might have happened between them? Sano considered the clues: a tall, thin man who was rich, powerful, and bound for an eight-month stay on that southern island …

  Then he smiled. He knew of someone who fit the hints Harume had dropped about her paramour. Sano blew out the lamp, lay down with his head on the wooden neck rest, and pulled the quilt over him. Tomorrow he and Reiko would reconcile their differences and begin their happy marriage. And tomorrow, sometime between reporting to the shogun, attending the examination of Harume’s corpse at Edo Morgue, and interviewing Lady Ichiteru and Lieutenant Kushida, Sano would visit the latest suspect in Lady Harume’s murder: Lord Miyagi Shigeru, daimyo of Tosa Province.

  8

  Their breath frosting the morning air, Sano and Hirata strode through Edo Castle’s winding passages and security checkpoints on their way to report to the shogun. It was another crisp, clear day, though colder than the previous one. Sunlight glittered on the tile roofs of the walled passages, flashed through wind-tossed pine boughs above, and reflected off the armor of patrolling guards. Shadows were as precise as paper cutouts, and every sound rang clear: horses’ hooves on stone paths; marching footsteps; voices calling. Geese winged across the vast, cloudless blue sky, trailing a streamer of honks over the castle. An invigorating tang of fallen leaves and charcoal smoke spiced the air.

  “Did you sleep well?” Hirata asked, alluding to Sano’s wedding night with a meaningful look.

  “Fine, thank you,” Sano said tersely, hoping
Hirata wouldn’t pursue the subject. He hadn’t seen Reiko today. Unwilling to risk another disastrous scene before work, he’d decided to postpone their next meeting until tonight.

  Hirata, ever sensitive to Sano’s moods, said, “The men and I had a little celebration planned for you last night. I guess it’s just as well that we decided to put it off and let you rest.”

  Knowing what wedding night festivities were like, Sano fervently agreed. He hoped the meeting with the shogun would progress more smoothly than his marriage. But although he’d assumed the news that there was no epidemic would have allayed the shogun’s concerns, he soon discovered otherwise. Tokugawa Tsunayoshi, ensconced in his private sitting room amid guards and attendants, greeted Sano and Hirata’s arrival with an anguished cry.

  “Ahh, Sōsakan-sama,” he wailed. “The murder of my concubine has distressed me so much that I could not sleep last night. Now I have the most terrible headache. I feel sick at my stomach, and my, ahh, entire body pains me.”

  Tokugawa Tsunayoshi lay on the dais, supported by cushions, wearing a bronze silk dressing gown. The fact of Harume’s death having belatedly sunk into his mind, he looked shriveled, pale, and much older than his forty-four years. An attendant placed a screen by the window, shielding him from the sunlit paper panes. Others stoked charcoal braziers, heating the room to an ovenlike warmth. A priest chanted prayers. Dr. Kitano hovered beside the shogun with a cup of steaming liquid.

  Sano and Hirata knelt and bowed. “I apologize for intruding upon you in your illness, Your Excellency,” Sano said. “If you’d like to wait until later for me to report the status of the murder investigation—”

  The shogun waved away this suggestion with a feeble hand. “Stay, stay.” He raised himself to drink from Dr. Kitano’s cup, then eyed it suspiciously. “What is this?”