Kill the Shogun (6 page)

An evil nature
can reside in a small space.
An atrocious child.

O
ne of Okubo’s earliest memories was of seeing a man boiled alive. His father had a special fondness for this type of punishment, and he prescribed it often for miscreants of all types. Okubo couldn’t remember the crime of the first man he saw boiled, but he did remember the event.

In the center of the courtyard of the Okubo villa, a large iron pot was placed. This kind of pot was normally used for cooking vegetable stew for large numbers of troops, but it served admirably for the purposes of Okubo’s father.

On the wooden veranda that encircled three sides of the courtyard, new t
atami
mats were placed. Okubo’s father sat on one of these mats, with his young son at his side. Okubo’s mother pronounced the proceedings “gruesome” and refused to attend the execution.

Okubo remembered that his father, who was a tall, normally phlegmatic man, was very animated and excited about the boiling. He was constantly leaping up to inspect or supervise some aspect of the execution. He directed his vassals as to how to arrange the logs around the pot and where to put the kindling. Then he sat
on the tatami eating pickled radishes as he waited impatiently for the servants to bring bucket after bucket of water to fill up the pot.

When the condemned man was brought into the courtyard, Okubo’s father personally supervised tying him up before placing him in the pot. The prisoner was crying, and Okubo clearly remembered his father slapping the prisoner and telling him to be a man.

When he returned to the tatami, Okubo’s father explained to him some of the fine points of how the man was tied. Tying up prisoners was one of the skills learned by samurai, but these ties were meant to immobilize a prisoner, not keep him trussed up in a pot. Okubo especially remembered his father telling him not to loop a length of rope around the prisoner’s neck, because he might be able to use it to strangle himself and thereby cut short his misery.

Finally, when all was ready, Okubo’s father ordered the fire lit.

At first the man was relatively stoic, crying softly as the logs surrounding the pot gradually heated up the water within. By the end, the man was screaming for mercy and begging Okubo’s father to end his agony.

At the very end, one of the guards broke ranks and stepped forward with a spear, ready to thrust it into the prisoner to end his suffering. Angrily, Okubo’s father ordered the guard arrested before he could deliver the thrust of mercy. Okubo couldn’t remember what happened to that guard, but he supposed that the guard was himself boiled at a later date. What he did remember was that his father quite enjoyed himself, laughing out loud while the other witnesses to the execution all turned away.

Okubo’s father kept the man in the pot until his flesh started boiling off his bones. Young Okubo and his father sat on the veranda for the entire time this took. Then, when it was all over,
Okubo’s father asked his heir if he enjoyed the spectacle. The young Okubo answered, “Hai! Yes!”

When Okubo was around nine, his father conducted a series of disastrous campaigns against his neighboring daimyo. Although he was outnumbered, the neighbor was just too good a general to be beaten by the Okubo clan, and Okubo’s father was forced to settle for peace under humiliating circumstances. Part of the peace agreement required the young heir to go to the enemy’s castle as a hostage for three years, to guarantee the Okubo clan’s good behavior.

So the young Okubo, then ten, was sent to the next fief. He took with him several servants and retainers so he could continue to live in spoiled comfort. He was officially an honored guest, but his entire clan knew his life would be forfeit if his father started another ill-fated adventure within three years.

What only he knew was that, on the night before he left, his father came to him in his room.

“I hate those people!” his father declared. “They think they’re more virtuous than us, even though our rank in the Imperial Court is much higher than theirs! I want you to know that since you are my heir, I will try to restrain myself, but someday the Okubos will have a chance to bring that family to ruin! If that day comes sometime within the next three years, I intend to act. I can always father another boy.” Then Okubo’s father left without a further word. The next morning, as Okubo and his entourage left for the next fief, his father did not appear to say farewell.

Despite his precarious position, the neighboring daimyo turned out to be quite kind and solicitous of Okubo’s welfare. Instead of responding to this kindness, the young Okubo felt bile in his soul, and for some reason his hatred and contempt of the neighboring clan grew to exceed even the hatred expressed by his father.

The neighboring fief seemed to be run more efficiently than
Okubo’s own, even though the daimyo seemed so weak that he didn’t grind his vassals into the dirt. Instead, he treated them with respect, and they responded with loyalty and maximum efforts in peace or in war. Instead of embracing this model, the example only hardened the heart of the young Okubo. It made him want to embrace the autocratic ways of his father all the more.

One thing the young son missed was executions by boiling. When execution was required, the neighboring daimyo had it done swiftly, with a single stroke of a sword. Missing one of his favorite recreations, the young Okubo decided to rectify this.

He had three of his retainers find him a stray dog. They trussed up the poor animal, taking special care to tie up its muzzle. Then, behind the villa of the daimyo, Okubo had firewood and a pot of water brought. The dog was in a panic when Okubo had his retainers place the animal in the water. The dog thrashed about, causing the water to fly. Okubo himself lit the fire; then he stepped back to see the fun.

“What are you doing?”

Okubo looked over his shoulder to see the person who now called himself Matsuyama Kaze looking at him. Okubo’s body was shielding Kaze’s view of what was in the pot. The three Okubo retainers had stepped away when the young Okubo lit the fire, and none of them made a move to intercept the young Kaze.

Kaze was nine then, and in his youthful hands he held a paper kite and twine. Okubo ignored him. Kaze was the son of a mid-level samurai at the castle, and should not have even been addressing an heir and future daimyo like Okubo.

“I asked, what are you doing?”

Okubo was not used to being addressed in such a tone of voice, and he said irritably, “This is none of your business. Go off and play your stupid games!”

Kaze stepped to one side to see the contents of the pot that was
sitting in the midst of the newly lit fire. When he saw the pot’s contents, he dropped his kite and twine to the earth.

“Let that poor creature go!” Kaze’s voice was sharp and low. Although he was a full head taller than Kaze, Okubo somehow felt threatened.

“Take care of that brat,” Okubo ordered his retainers. Incredibly, they made no move to comply. Instead, they stood there immobile and mute.

“I said, let that creature go!” Kaze had advanced on Okubo, his hands now in two tight fists.

Okubo looked at his retainers, still not understanding why they hadn’t moved to follow his orders. When he looked back at Kaze, his face was filled with a fist flying toward it.

The fight was not an elegant one. It was a schoolboy scuffle. Okubo was taller and stronger than Kaze, but Kaze had the strength of will and rapid reflexes that rained a shower of blows on Okubo. The fight ended with Kaze sitting on Okubo’s chest, pummeling his head, while the older boy tried to protect himself by placing his hands over his face. The three Okubo retainers simply looked on.

Convinced he had thrashed the older boy, Kaze got off Okubo and ran to the fire. He kicked the pot over and the spilling water doused half the flame, sending up a cloud of white steam. Kaze took the struggling dog out of the pot and untied it, first making sure the water had not yet gotten hot enough to harm the animal. As soon as Kaze released the dog from its bonds, the animal leapt up and ran with all speed out of the area.

Okubo complained about the beating. Since he was the son of a daimyo, the Lord who was holding him hostage called Kaze and his father to explain themselves.

As they sat outside the Lord’s reception room, Kaze could see his father was irritated by the trouble Kaze had caused. Kaze knew
the Lord had power of life and death over his father and everyone in the fief. From the fact that his father was irritated but not concerned, Kaze guessed the situation wasn’t as serious as that. Still, he felt acute embarrassment for causing trouble.

He sat waiting, trying to wash all thoughts from his mind and concentrating on his breathing. Breath was life and Kaze had already been taught the breathing exercises that samurai students were drilled in. It calmed him and also steeled him to go through his first direct contact with his daimyo. He wanted to greet the daimyo as a warrior and not a child.

The Lord finally called them in.

A
s they entered, the daimyo and his son, who was a few years older than Kaze, were sitting on a dais at the end of the room. Kaze and his father marched to the daimyo, stopping a respectful distance away. They both gracefully sank to their knees, put their hands on the floor before them, and gave a deep, formal bow, almost touching their heads to the floor. Then they both sat up, sitting on their legs, with calm faces and rigid backs.

The daimyo was impressed. The young boy had been well schooled in proper etiquette, but any child likely to have contact with daimyo and other high officials of the clan would be so schooled. What impressed the daimyo was the calm of the boy. Most children would be nervous or even crying when summoned to see the Lord of the fief after beating the son of another daimyo. The daimyo glanced at his son, to see if he had also noted the young boy’s presence. In the normal course of things, this young boy would someday serve the daimyo’s son, just as the father served the daimyo.

“Young Okubo complained about your beating him,” the daimyo said without preliminaries. The young boy sat calmly, not denying the charge or rushing to offer an excuse.

“I did beat him, great Lord,” the boy said.

After waiting to see if the boy would say more, the daimyo continued. His respect for this youth increased because he maintained an impressive composure, and he started looking at him as a precocious young man, and not a child. “Why did you beat him?” he asked.

“Young Lord Okubo had a dog tied up in a pot of water and he seemed intent on boiling it alive.”

“So he was torturing your dog?”

“It was not my dog, great Lord.”

Surprised, the daimyo asked, “It was not your dog?”

“No, Lord. I think it was a stray dog.”

“Then why did you rush to protect it? Are you aware that some daimyo hunt dogs, shooting them from horseback with a bow and arrow?”

“Yes, great Lord.”

“And would you beat up the son of a daimyo if he was doing that?”

“Probably not, great Lord.”

“Why not?”

“Because that is not cruelty for cruelty’s sake. I was taught that all creatures must die, including human beings. Death is inevitable, by one means or another. The manner of death, however, is important. Being boiled alive to give another pleasure is not a good death, even for a dog. I have never seen this type of cruelty exhibited before by our clan. Young Lord Okubo is a future daimyo, but he is also a guest of our clan. He should abide by the customs of our clan. That includes not inflicting pain for callous reasons, even to a dog.”

Kaze’s father opened his mouth as if to say something, but then closed it. His son was acquitting himself like a man. He didn’t know from what depths the young boy was pulling up the answers he was giving. He wanted to turn his head and look at his son,
but protocol prevented him from doing so in this type of formal interview. He had to keep his face toward his daimyo.

The daimyo raised his eyebrows at Kaze’s answer, surprised at the response.

“Undoubtedly there are other customs in Okubo’s own clan,” the daimyo said diplomatically. “Why do you think Okubo complained to me about the beating you gave him?”

“To get me in trouble because he was defeated and …” For the first time in the interview, Kaze looked his age as youthful embarrassment flitted across his face. He stopped talking.

“Finish your thought,” the daimyo commanded.

“Yes, great Lord. I believe young Lord Okubo complained to you because he has not been properly trained in bushido, the way of the warrior. A true warrior would never complain about such a trivial matter.”

The daimyo placed his hand to his face to hide his smile, but his son, who was not as experienced in maintaining his composure, laughed out loud.

After a moment, the daimyo said, “All right. I’m not going to punish you this time, but please try to restrain yourself from beating up the sons of daimyo, even if they’re engaged in what you think is cruelty.”

Kaze and his father gave another deep, formal bow and left the room. As they left, Kaze’s father looked at his son as if he were seeing him for the first time.

When the father and son were gone, the daimyo looked at his own son and said, “Someday that young man will become your right arm.”

O
kubo was assured that proper punishment had been given to Kaze, but he continued to hate the young boy. He also hated the retainers
who did not defend him, and when he returned to his own fief, he had the three retainers put to death.

Later, Kaze and Okubo met again during the finals of Hideyoshi’s great sword tournament. There, Okubo’s clan tried to bribe Kaze, which made him want to destroy Okubo, not just defeat him.

Poor pay, much hardship,
and the joy of the moment.
Welcome, show business!

K
aze balanced the top on his blade and walked it toward the tip. Although he kept the top balanced on the sword, his attention was not on the spinning orb of painted wood. Instead, he was studying a building across the street from him.

It was a discreet building of dark wood and white plaster outer walls. It might have been an upper-class residence, except for the blue half-curtain hanging from the top of the door. The curtain had the
kanji
for “Little Flower” on it.

The building had no windows facing the street, and in the twenty minutes Kaze took to do his act with the tops, no one entered or left. It was midmorning, and the street was bustling with people conducting their shopping or business. After years of a solitary existence on the road, the swirl of people that made up a typical Edo street was strange to Kaze, but he willed away the distractions and focused his attention on the brothel.

Kaze was in Ningyo-cho, a compact community of Edo, not too far from the construction site of Edo-jo, tucked in the angle of the Sumida River and the Nihonbashi. It was filled with brothels, drinking places, theaters, and other entertainment establishments
of various sorts. It also had a great number of the shops that gave the district its name: Doll Town. These dolls were the kind made of porcelain and cloth, and Kaze noted the irony of putting a brothel that apparently specialized in young children in a district where the parents of other, more fortunate, children purchased treasured dolls.

In theory, girls were to be left alone until they were considered women, and they could not be kept in sexual slavery at any age. In fact, there was no organization to see to the welfare of children. If an enterprise like the Little Flower Whorehouse remained low-key and didn’t cause problems for the authorities, it was allowed to function.

Kaze watched the Little Flower for almost an hour. It remained quiet, but that was no surprise because it was a business that operated primarily at night. He didn’t see any tradesmen entering to deliver food and drink, nor did he see anyone leave. Dressed as a street entertainer, he couldn’t just walk into the Little Flower to see if the Lady’s daughter was inside, so he decided to circle the block to see if there was an alley or side street that led to a back entrance.

As he made his way around the block of buildings, he entered a few narrow passages, but they turned out to be private alleys leading to particular businesses and not to the Little Flower. He decided to circle the block once more. Like most of Edo, Ningyo-cho had been hastily reconstructed after the great fire, so it was a confusing jumble of makeshift buildings and permanent structures. Kaze was confident of his ability to detect something as slight as the passage of a rabbit on a forest trail, but he wasn’t as certain of his ability to see all the possible crannies in and around city businesses, one of which could turn into a back entrance for the Little Flower.

When he was on the far side of the block, a man walked out
of one of the businesses and stopped, looking at Kaze with surprise.

“Samurai-san!” the man exclaimed.

It was Goro, one of two peasants Kaze had met recently. The two men had helped Kaze transport a load of gold for a merchant to Kamakura. At the end of the journey, Kaze had given Goro, and his partner Hanzo, four gold coins, a magnificent reward.

“What are you doing here?” Kaze asked.

Goro puffed out his chest. “I am the proprietor of this business,” he said proudly.

Kaze looked at the curtain above the doorway. All it had was the word “Kabuki.” It was a word Kaze wasn’t familiar with. It seemed to be made up of three kanji:
ka
, which meant song;
bu
, which meant dance; and
ki
, which means skills. Song-dance-skills. It was peculiar.

“And what kind of business is this?” Kaze asked.

“It’s something totally new! You samurai have had Noh plays forever, but Kabuki was just started in Kyoto by Okuni. She was a shrine maiden who used to dance in a riverbed to great crowds. It’s going to really catch on here in Edo. Come in! Come in! We’re in the midst of rehearsals so you can see for yourself.”

Kaze entered the building, curious to see what the peasant had gotten himself into. He found himself in a lobby constructed of rough boards. Goro led Kaze through the small lobby and into the rest of the building. It was a large room. The floor was crisscrossed with low railings, dividing it into sections. Each section had low-quality tatami mats on the floor. At the back of the room was a raised platform that was reminiscent of the platforms used for Noh performances, or by shrine maidens for dancing. Behind the platform was a large curtain with a crudely painted pine tree on it, forming a backdrop.

It was a theater.

Flickering torches illuminated the room, and on the platform a man and a woman were standing. They wore garish kimonos. Kaze was used to the stately refinement of Noh, where the actors were all men. They did wear sumptuous kimonos in Noh, but their faces were covered by masks that indicated what part they were playing. Kaze was surprised by the lack of masks on these players, and he was also surprised at the presence of a woman onstage.

In front of the stage, Hanzo was busy wrapping
omusubi
, rice balls covered with dried seaweed, in broad, green leaves to protect them. Evidently, Hanzo was in charge of selling snacks to the audience.

“The samurai!” Hanzo said. He dropped everything and rushed to Kaze, genuine pleasure showing on his broad peasant’s face. He gave a deep bow, and Kaze returned the bow with a nod of his head.

“How did you get involved in this place?” Kaze asked Goro.

“After you gave us the money in Kamakura, we decided to come to Edo to have a good time. Hanzo and I argued about it, because he wanted to spend the money on a once-in-a-lifetime binge, and I wanted to start a business so we don’t have to return to our little farm. We decided to compromise. We came to Edo and had a small binge. Before we could complete our binge, we met the former owner of this theater, who offered to sell us this. Hanzo and I argued some more, but we eventually bought it, thanks to the gold you gave us in Kamakura.”

The part about Hanzo and Goro arguing was something Kaze could well believe. The two men argued like an old married couple. The two of them running a business was what Kaze found hard to believe.

“Have you ever run a theater before?”

“No, but the man who sold us the theater company said it’s a gold mine!”

“And why did the mine owner want to give it up?”

Goro looked puzzled. He looked at Hanzo, who simply scratched his head. Kaze sighed. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

“Well, I guess business has been a bit slow. The actors get part of the money the people pay, and they’ve been grumbling about it. I guess many women used to be in the show, but they’re gone now. The only woman we have left is her,” Goro pointed with his chin at the young girl on the stage. “She used to help the other women get dressed, but she says she’s an actress.”

Kaze shared some of the samurai view of morality. It was his heritage. But after years of wandering and countless contacts with peasants and other commoners, he understood that the earthy values of the heimin also had a place in society. Still, Kaze didn’t quite approve of women onstage. He was sure that if this Kabuki got popular, the Tokugawa authorities would eventually ban women completely. As in Noh, the stage was the realm of men, even if they were playing the parts of women.

“In fact, that girl, Momoko, is helping us to build up business for the theater.”

“How?”

“We’re going to hand out leaflets to tell people about our big show. We had a woodblock cut with the information about our theater.”

“What did it say?”

Goro looked sheepish. “I don’t know. I can’t read. I just had a woodblock man put down what he thought would get people to the show.”

Kaze shook his head. Kaze wondered how many potential patrons couldn’t read, either. Goro and Hanzo didn’t seem prepared for any business venture.

The couple onstage seemed done with their rehearsals. The girl came off the stage and walked to Goro and Hanzo, apparently wanting to discuss something. In her tight kimono, she walked with the tiny, shuffling steps dictated by the wrapped cloth. Kaze judged her to be in her midteens. She used a wig and some makeup to look older, but her youthful features couldn’t be masked. She was not pretty. She had a tiny pug nose, a mouth that was too wide, and a short neck; the exact opposite of classical beauty, which called for a straight nose, a small mouth, and a long, swanlike neck.

As she walked up to the three men, her gaze fixed on Kaze. Her steps slowed, and her eyes widened. She reached the men and stood before Kaze, mute, obviously taken with him. Kaze knew that some women found him attractive, but the girl’s blatant fascination made him uncomfortable. He tried to ignore it.

“This is our friend,” Hanzo said.

“I am Saburo,” Kaze said. Goro and Hanzo looked surprised at the false name, but, for once, they kept their mouths shut.

“I am Momoko,” the girl said. Momoko gave a deep bow. Kaze merely nodded in return, as was proper, considering the difference in their ages and social class.

“Excuse me. I didn’t realize you had a guest,” Momoko said. It was obvious she did realize it and had come forward only to get a better look.

Momoko thought he was thirty or so. He was obviously a samurai, probably a ronin, but he wore only a single sword. It was the long katana sword. He did not have a
wakizashi
, the samurai’s “keeper of honor,” the sword used for both close-in fighting and to commit seppuku, when necessary. His intense eyes were crowned by expressive eyebrows that made a definite V shape, and he had high cheekbones and a firm jaw. His skin was brown from an extended time outdoors. His expression was serious, but there
was a small smile on his lips that made Momoko think he had a sense of humor.

Momoko was used to actors, who tended to be self-involved and vain. This samurai seemed to have no pretensions, and she could tell that her close scrutiny of him made him uncomfortable, not puffed up with the pride men sometimes had when they were attractive to women.

“I, ah, I’ll come back later, when you’re done with your discussion.” She addressed this to Goro and Hanzo, but her eyes were fixed on Kaze. She turned and went back to the stage and the backstage area behind the curtain.

When she left, Kaze said, “Tell me, is there a back entrance to the theater?”

“No, Samurai-san.” Goro looked surprised. “Why do you ask?”

“I am interested in the Little Flower Whorehouse, which is on the opposite side of this block.”

“Are you, ah, a patron of that place, Samurai-san?” Goro was being discreet, at least for him.

“No,” Kaze said. “But I am interested in seeing how its building is laid out.”

Goro found the samurai’s interest in the architecture of a whorehouse peculiar, but he had already found this particular samurai different from others of his ilk, and he didn’t pry.

H
ave you found this Matsuyama Kaze yet?” Yoshida looked at his chief captain, Niiya, with a scowl.

“No, Lord, we have not. We are searching everywhere. If he is in Edo, we will find him.”

“Do you understand how important it is that we find him?”

“Yes, Lord.”

“It is a task that the Shogun himself has given me, Niiya. If I
do it properly, other important tasks will follow. With Nakamura-san gone, there is no natural successor for the Shogun’s favor. Others understand this, and many daimyo are now trying to bring themselves to Ieyasu-sama’s attention. If I bring the Shogun the head of this Matsuyama Kaze, then my place in the new government will be assured. Do you understand what that means?”

“Yes, Yoshida-sama.”

“Good. Have each district captain talk to every gambler, merchant, and entertainer. This Matsuyama Kaze is staying someplace in Edo, and someone must know about it. Do it quietly, however. This man will be hard to kill, and it will be easier if we can do it with surprise. Spread the gold around. Don’t be stingy. Tell them that there is a thousand-ryo reward just for information about where he is. Tell them there’s a ten-thousand-ryo reward if they bring us his head.”

“Ten thousand ryo?” Niiya actually gasped.

“Yes. I have a golden opportunity to place myself in Ieyasu’s favor, and I won’t let mere money stand in the way of that opportunity. Someone will tell us where he is if the reward is big enough.”

“Yes, Yoshida-sama!”

O
kubo’s hands trembled with excitement. He looked at the sword merchant. “If this is not genuine, it will go hard with you,” he said.

The merchant masked his feelings and simply continued unwrapping the object. He unfolded the cloth and revealed the
daito
, the extra long sword, twice as long as a regular katana. It was normally used from horseback, but it could also be used on foot by a man who had trained with it. “I assure you, Okubo-sama, that it is a genuine Muramasa blade. Finding any sword made by
Muramasa is getting extremely difficult, and finding the long-bladed kind favored by you, great Lord, is almost impossible. As you know, the Tokugawas destroy Muramasa blades whenever they can. The blades made by Muramasa have a special enmity for the house of Tokugawa, even though Muramasa blades were made at least two hundred years ago. Ieyasu-sama’s grandfather, Kiyoyasu, was killed by a Muramasa blade. Both Ieyasu-sama and his father were hurt by Muramasa blades. And when Ieyasu ordered his son Nobuyasu to commit suicide because he suspected his loyalty, a Muramasa blade was used to remove his head.”

“I know of this history,” Okubo said curtly. Now it was his turn to mask his feelings. It was precisely this enmity toward the Tokugawas, not the fine craftsmanship, that caused Okubo to covet a blade made by the master swordsmith Muramasa.