The Shogun's Daughter (18 page)

“And so will you.” Her tone and expression were vicious. “I would almost be willing to sacrifice myself and Yoshisato, just to spite you.”

“Almost,” Yanagisawa said. That was his hold on her—the fact that if she compromised him, the son she dearly loved would suffer. “Don’t be difficult. I’ve positioned Yoshisato to rule Japan. You should thank me.”

Lady Someko gave an unladylike snort. “Oh, and I should thank you for making my son a target for everyone who hates you.” She paced around him; her fiery skirts swirled. “Every day I hear rumors that you’ve finally gone too far. Do you know what I think? That you can’t pull off this plot. That Sano or Ienobu or one of your other enemies is going to bring you down.”

Her voice had the ominous resonance of a curse. “Shut up!” Yanagisawa ordered. “Never say that!”

“You can shut me up but not change what I think.”

Yanagisawa felt the same sensation of his self-control slipping, his temper consuming him, as during his confrontations with Sano and Ienobu. “Let’s see what you think about this.” He grabbed her wrist.

Fear widened her eyes as she laughed. “What are you going to do?” Her wrist felt small and delicate in his grasp. “Beat me?”

Yanagisawa wanted to pummel her face into a pulp so she couldn’t speak and he wouldn’t have to see the mockery in her eyes. “I hate you!” He wanted to vent his anger on her. But a sudden rush of desire flushed heat through his body. He jerked Lady Someko close to him.

“Hah!” she exclaimed. “You hate me, but you want me!” A triumphant grin bared her sharp teeth. “Doesn’t that make you feel like a fool?”

He was a fool, enslaved by her power to arouse him; yet he savored the urgency of his arousal. When he’d first made Lady Someko his concubine, he’d tolerated her viciousness because it added excitement to the sex, like an aphrodisiac poison. Recently they’d come together again. In the interim Yanagisawa had had so many lovers that he’d lost count. Women, men, pubescent boys and girls—his desire respected few boundaries, except that he usually preferred his lovers to be young. But when Lady Someko goaded him into such a fever as this, he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anyone else.

Yanagisawa locked his arm around Lady Someko’s waist. He pressed his erection against her. She laughed scornfully.

“Is that as big and hard as you can get? You’re pitiful!” She rubbed herself against him. Her lips shone with saliva.

She wanted him as badly as he wanted her. The aphrodisiac worked both ways. Yanagisawa squeezed her breasts. Her nipples were hard under her smooth silk garments. He dragged her down onto the floor, threw himself on top of her. She kicked and screamed. He pulled her skirts above her waist. One of Lady Someko’s hands tore open his robes, jerked at the loincloth wound around his crotch. The other punched his head. He fended off her blows while he pried her legs apart with his knees. Her legs were slender and smooth. Her pubis was shaved, in the fashion of prostitutes. Yanagisawa had never asked why; he didn’t care. It whetted his excitement. As she freed his penis, he thought he would climax before he could take her. She jerked it so savagely that he cried out in pain. He reached down and tore her hand off him. He shoved his fingers between her legs.

She moaned. She was wet, ready. He plunged into her. The pleasure was almost unbearable. As he began thrusting, Lady Someko clawed at his face. He grabbed her hand before she could scratch his eyes. Her fingernails raked his cheek. This was part of her allure—that if he let down his guard, she would hurt him. She arched her back to meet his thrusts. She dug her nails into his back, leaving sore gouges on scars from their previous couplings. Yanagisawa pinned her arms alongside her head. She bucked frantically, then stiffened and wailed as she climaxed.

Yanagisawa thrust faster, pounding her against the floor. He climaxed in a burst of ecstasy that seemed to launch him out of his body, into some black, dreadful void. He yelled while he emptied himself into Lady Someko. His body shuddered with its release.

Lady Someko collapsed under him. Their ragged breaths mingled as his body calmed and his wits returned. Now Yanagisawa couldn’t stand being close to Lady Someko. Drenched with sweat, he rolled off her, covering his limp penis with his kimono. He reclined, propped on his elbows. He heard silk rustle as she pulled down her skirts, then a whimper.

He looked at her lying beside him. Her hair was disheveled; gold ornaments had scattered across the floor. She turned her head away from him. He saw a glistening trail on her cheek. She was crying.

“Damn you,” she whispered.

She was ashamed of her desire for him, Yanagisawa knew. She felt defeated every time she succumbed to the pleasure he gave her. She sat up, rearranged her hair, collected the ornaments, and reinserted them with trembling fingers. Her makeup was tear-streaked, but she had dignity even as she rose on unsteady legs. She smoothed the brown folds of her kimono, which glinted with their fiery sheen.

Hobbling out of the room, she called over her shoulder, “You should do as Yoshisato says. Placate your enemies. Get them on your side. Or you’ll be sorry.”

18

IN THE LAUNDRY
tent at Lord Tsunanori’s estate, Taeko pushed a hot iron along a damp kimono spread on a board. The air was steamy from the water in the tubs. Her arm ached from lifting the heavy iron off the charcoal brazier. Her fingers were blistered with burns. The other women chattered gaily as they worked, but she was homesick and miserable.

“Hey, you,” said Kiku, the sullen girl who’d wakened her that morning. “Help me carry these quilts to the house.”

Eager to escape the hot tent, anxious to look for a witness, Taeko set down the iron. Carrying quilts, she followed Kiku into the mansion, through the women’s quarters. Lord Tsunanori’s concubines, female relatives, and their attendants sat in their chambers. Their high voices filled the air, which was stale with perfumed hair oil and tobacco smoke. A loud shriek pierced the din.

Taeko paused to look inside the room from which it had come. Kiku went on without her. A maid in a blue kimono and white head kerchief knelt, a comb in her hand, behind a sour-faced, richly dressed woman. The woman shouted, “You pulled my hair again!”

“I’m sorry.” The maid cringed. She was perhaps ten or eleven years old.

The woman snatched up a hairbrush, hit the girl on her face, and yelled, “Get out!”

The girl hurried from the room, her hand over her left eye. She ran down the corridor past Taeko. Taeko was horrified by the woman’s cruelty. Her parents, and Masahiro’s, didn’t let anybody hit the servants. Taeko went after the girl, followed her outside to the garden. Ladies sat in a pavilion, feeding carp in a pond. The girl ran to a bent willow tree and ducked under its hanging boughs. When Taeko caught up with her, she saw the girl curled in the green, sun-dappled shade, sobbing.

Taeko crawled under the boughs and dropped her stack of quilts. “Are you hurt?”

Holding her hand over her eye, the girl sat up. Her oval face was lovely despite the tears that blotched her ivory skin, the ragged kerchief. Taeko would have liked to draw her someday.

“What are you doing here?” The girl’s voice was a fearful whimper.

“I came to help you,” Taeko said.

The girl’s smooth brow wrinkled. She seemed puzzled by the idea that anyone should want to help her. “You’d better go back to work, or you’ll get in trouble.”

She also seemed more concerned about Taeko than herself. Taeko warmed to her. “It’s all right. Let me look at your eye.”

The girl slowly lowered her hand. Her eye was red, swollen.

“Can you see out of it?” Taeko asked. The girl nodded. Relieved, Taeko noticed that her cheek had taken the worst of the blow. It was bruised around broken skin. “Your face is bleeding.” Taeko dabbed her sleeve against the girl’s cheek.

“I haven’t seen you before,” the girl said. “Are you new?”

“I started working in the laundry yesterday. My name is Taeko. What’s yours?”

“Emi.”

“Does that lady hit you often?”

Emi nodded sadly. “They all do.”

“Well, they shouldn’t. They’re mean and stupid.” Taeko knew that some ladies didn’t like servants who were prettier than themselves. “And jealous.”

Emi smiled. It was like the sun coming out after the rain. “You’re the only person here who’s ever been kind to me. If there’s anything I can do for you…”

Taeko didn’t like to take advantage of a poor, lonely, picked-on girl, but she needed help. “Maybe there is. I’m looking for a witness. Can you tell me where to find one?”

Confusion pursed Emi’s delicate mouth. “A witness to what?”

“I don’t know,” Taeko confessed. “I don’t even know what a witness is.”

“I think it’s someone who saw or heard something,” Emi said. “There were two samurai here yesterday. They were asking questions. I heard Lord Tsunanori’s men say they were looking for witnesses.”

The two samurai must have been Masahiro’s father and Detective Marume, Taeko realized. They’d come to investigate the murder of the shogun’s daughter, who’d been Lord Tsunanori’s wife. A witness must be a person who knew something about the murder. That was what Masahiro wanted!

“Do you know anything about Lord Tsunanori’s wife?” Taeko asked hopefully.

Apprehension clouded Emi’s lovely features. “We’re not supposed to talk about the mistress.”

Taeko felt a stir of excitement. She sensed that Emi knew something important. “I promise not to tell.”

Emi peeked through the willow branches to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “It was the night before Lady Tsuruhime got sick. She gave me a coin and a folded piece of paper and told me to take them to a pharmacy shop the next morning. She said to give them to the man there and bring her back what he gave me. I was surprised because I didn’t usually work for her. Whenever she wanted something, she usually asked her own maids. And she ordered me not to tell anybody.”

This didn’t sound related to murder, but Taeko liked secrets and she wanted to hear the rest of the story. “Did you do what she asked?”

“Yes. I went to the shop. There was an old man. I gave him the paper and the coin. He gave me a bag of herbs.”

“What were they?”

“I don’t know.”

“What was on the paper?”

Emi shook her head. “I can’t read.”

“What happened to it?”

“The man threw it away.”

“What else happened?”

“I took the bag home. But when I got here, the women were all upset because Lady Tsuruhime had smallpox. Nobody was allowed to go near her except her nurse. So I couldn’t give her the bag. And I couldn’t give it to anybody else because it was supposed to be a secret.”

“Where is the bag now?” Taeko scarcely dared to hope.

Emi chewed her lip, torn between obedience and her desire to help Taeko.

“Tsuruhime is dead,” Taeko said. “It doesn’t matter to her.”

Sighing, Emi reached inside her kimono and pulled out a small cloth pouch that had been tied around her waist with a string. “I didn’t know what to do with it. I was afraid to throw it away.”

Taeko extended her open hand. Emi dropped the bag in it, seeming glad to pass it to someone she trusted. She frowned as if she had another secret she wondered whether to share.

“What is it?” Taeko asked eagerly.

The willow boughs rustled. Kiku thrust her head between them. Emi gasped. Taeko shoved the herb bag inside her kimono.

“Hah, there you are!” Kiku said to Taeko. “Come out!”

Taeko and Emi scrambled from beneath the willow. Kiku said, “What were you doing?”

“Nothing,” Taeko said.

“Hiding from work, is more like it,” Kiku said. “I’m going to tell the housekeeper. You’re going to get in trouble.”

“It’s my fault,” Emi said. “I hurt my eye. She was just trying to help me.”

Kiku pointed at the front of Taeko’s kimono. “What have you got in there?”

“Nothing.” Taeko folded her arms.

“You’re lying.” Kiku thrust her open hand at Taeko. “Give it to me.”

Taeko ran. Kiku chased her and shouted, “When I catch you, you’re going to be sorry!”

*   *   *

BY SUNDOWN SANO
had conducted twelve more trials. He’d condemned two more men, sentenced seven to beatings, imposed hefty fines on three, and acquitted none. His close view of the rampant corruption outraged him, yet he deplored his own role as a judge who served up death and suffering along with justice. By the time he and Marume rode up to Edo Castle, he was as exhausted as if he’d fought a battle all day, and he still had urgent business to do.

Sano knew where to find the shogun; therefore, he also knew where to find Yoshisato, who rarely left the shogun’s side. After leaving Marume and his horse at home, he walked to the martial arts practice ground. A tournament had been scheduled. The tournaments were designed to give the warrior class a reprieve from earthquake problems, vent their frustration, and raise morale. They ran until after dark. The shogun never missed one.

On the practice ground, shadows cloaked the archery targets and horse-racing track. A pond for water battles reflected the orange light of the setting sun. Lanterns hanging from strings tied between poles illuminated a crowd of cheering, clapping men who sat in wooden stands. Sano walked between the stands, to the edge of the arena.

In the middle, two men armed with wooden swords, dressed in white jackets and trousers, circled each other. One was Yoshisato, the other an instructor from the Tokugawa army. The men lunged and slashed, their blades clacking. Yoshisato was athletic, graceful, and well trained. Sano knew the instructor was going easy on him—no one in his right mind would risk injuring the shogun’s heir—but Yoshisato fought hard. The match ended with his blade against his opponent’s neck. The spectators applauded. The shogun laughed in vicarious delight, cheering his heir. As Yoshisato walked off the field, Sano moved toward him. A palace guard intercepted Sano and said, “Don’t get any closer.”

“It’s all right,” Yoshisato said. The guard retreated. Sano knew without looking that Yanagisawa was absent. If he were here, he’d have rushed to separate Sano and Yoshisato.