Red Chrysanthemum

“Really?”

Ozuno lashed out at Hirata with his staff. Hirata never saw the blow coming. It landed smack across his stomach. As he cried out in surprise and doubled over in pain, Ozuno kicked his rear end. He found himself facedown on the pavement.

“If you’re so advanced, you should have sensed that I was going to hit you and counterattacked me,” Ozuno said.

Hirata rolled over and groaned. Ozuno said, “Winning that battle was just beginner’s luck. Get up, you fool. You’ve got a long way to go.”

“Surely you’re not going to do what General Isogai and the elders want,” Reiko said, alarmed. “You’re not going to challenge Lord Matsudaira?”

“It’s something I must consider,” Sano said.

He and Reiko sat in the pavilion of their garden in the coolness of the evening. They kept their voices low in case there were spies lurking in the shadows. Lanterns glowed in the windows of the house. Fragrant incense burned to repel mosquitoes. Across the garden, Masahiro carried a lantern, pulled up worms for a fishing expedition. Reiko stared at Sano in disbelief.

“You mean you might actually do what you were falsely accused of doing-betray Lord Matsudaira?” She was so shocked that her mouth gaped and closed several times.

Sano’s expression was dark, conflicted. “I know how it sounds.”

“You would try to seize power after you were almost put to death for treason?”

“It’s less a matter of ambition than survival.”

“Have General Isogai and the elders manipulated you into believing that?” Reiko said, incredulous.

He rose and stood at the railing that enclosed the pavilion, his back to her. “No. I was surprised that they were keen on the idea, but I’ve been thinking about challenging Lord Matsudaira since before they suggested it.”

“You have?” Reiko had thought that nothing else could surprise her anymore.

“It’s been on my mind every time I remembered how sick I am of having to defend myself against Lord Matsudaira,” Sano assented, “every time I wondered how to prevent more crises like the one we’ve just been through. Every time I imagine how much better my life would be if Lord Matsudaira were gone, overthrowing him seems like the logical solution.”

The anger in his voice troubled Reiko even though she understood it and she, too, was angry at Lord Matsudaira, because he’d almost condemned her to death for a crime she hadn’t committed. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to agree with Sano.

“It would be dangerous,” she said. “You could lose.”

“I could lose by doing nothing,” Sano said. “Lord Matsudaira likes me well enough now, but he could turn on me again at any time. He’s not exactly comfortable with how powerful I’ve become. And I still have enemies. They wouldn’t mind joining with Lord Matsudaira to crush me while they can.”

Reiko couldn’t argue with that, but she had other, stronger objections. “To be so disloyal to your superior would violate the samurai code of honor.”

Sano turned slightly, and the light from the house gilded the wry smile on his face. “Bushido is a double standard. On one hand, it keeps the lower-ranking samurai in their places. On the other hand, every warlord who’s risen to power has done it at the expense of a superior, and there’s no disgrace attached to that.”

His cynicism troubled Reiko. In the space of a few days, he’d changed from her husband who marched along a distinct line that divided right and wrong to a stranger who perceived infinite shadings between them. Yet she found herself nodding. The murder case had changed her, too. She was as sick of being suspected, accused, and threatened by Lord Matsudaira as Sano was. Maybe it was time to stand up for themselves, to secure the future of their children. And Sano deserved an opportunity to govern the nation more fairly than his colleagues had. But the idea of his staging a coup terrified her even though his allies and army were strong and his chances of winning worth a gamble. The idea of war and bloodshed daunted any mother, even a samurai woman.

She rose, stood beside Sano, and laid her hand on his. “Promise me you won’t act rashly.”

He covered her hand with his other. “I promise that whatever I do will be carefully thought out in advance.”

Together they looked at Masahiro’s lantern zigzagging across the dark garden. “I just pulled up a big worm!” Masahiro called, excited. “I’ll catch lots of fish tomorrow.”

Reiko smiled, distracted from her thoughts for a moment. “This investigation didn’t turn out the way we wanted. It seems only the beginning of something even more serious.”

Sano nodded, then mused, “That’s not the only reason I’m dissatisfied with the outcome. I have a feeling there’s something not right, something unresolved.”

“Do you? So do I,” Reiko said, glad because he shared her suspicions.

“I never did learn who planted my notes in that warehouse,” Sano said. “I’ve got people still investigating, but no clues have turned up.”

“Have you found out who was in on Lord Mori’s plot to overthrow Lord Matsudaira?”

“No, and not for lack of trying. That’s the other thing that bothers me. It’s as if the conspiracy that almost got me killed never existed.

“I can’t believe that it was irrelevant to Lord Mori’s murder,” Reiko said, “or that it could just fade away like smoke after the fire is gone.”

“Nor can I,” Sano said. “There’s something we’re missing about this case.”

“What can it be?” Reiko asked.

“I wish I knew.” Sano gazed up at the starlit sky. “Astrologers say that the movements of a celestial body that’s far, far away in space can determine our destiny. We can’t see it. But it’s there.”

epilogue

The stars wheeled above the temple outside Totsuka village, a day’s journey from Edo. There the exiled former chamberlain Yanagisawa admitted two travelers into his small, austere cottage hidden by pine trees. His shaved head and saffron robe glowed in the lantern light. The men bowed to him and removed the hats that shadowed their faces.

“Greetings, Father,” Yoritomo said.

“Welcome, my son.” Yanagisawa turned to his other guest. “Welcome, Enju-san. Or, I should say, Lord Mori.”

“Yes,” Enju said, “I’m daimyo now that my stepfather is dead.”

“Your new position becomes you,” Yanagisawa said, noticing that Enju was no longer the diffident young man who’d hidden a lifetime of pain behind lowered eyelashes and a controlled expression. Now Enju’s face was relaxed and serene, his gaze open and direct. Confidence had given him new vitality. He stood taller, as if he’d shed a heavy burden.

“I owe you a great debt,” Enju said. “Without everything you’ve done, I wouldn’t be where I am today. A million thanks.”

“I can’t take all the credit,” Yanagisawa said modestly. “Some of it goes to Yoritomo, for bringing us together.”

He smiled at his son, who flushed with delight at the praise. Yoritomo had proved to be an intelligent accomplice who hadn’t wasted the past three years at court; he’d spent them watching and listening. He’d identified men for Yanagisawa to enlist in his campaign to seize power. Some were old allies, fugitive troops from his army, daimyo clans oppressed by Lord Matsudaira, and disgruntled officials. Some were young samurai who were eager for combat or had relatives conquered by Lord Matsudaira and been treated badly by him. Others were just bored, unhappy, or looking for a cause. Yoritomo had recruited them, brought them secretly to the temple, and they’d agreed to help stage Yanagisawa’s comeback. They now numbered in the thousands, including their troops.

Enju was one of them.

They sat, and as Yanagisawa poured sake, he remarked, “I must say that things have worked out well for us