Nagasaki.”
“Ah. Yes.” Fury filled Yanagisawa like a geyser of corrosive fluid, tapping the deeper anger that had burgeoned in him ever since Sano Ichiro had come to Edo Castle. Sano was a rival he’d failed to eliminate, a man who stood between him and his heart’s desire.
“His Excellency was very impressed with the sosakan-sama’s victory,” Makino said, a hint of sly satisfaction coloring his obsequious manner. “What do you think, Honorable Chamberlain?”
With emphatic, deliberate movements, Yanagisawa took another arrow from his quiver and kept walking. “Something must be done about Sano Ichiro,” he said.
Since his youth, Yanagisawa had been the shogun’s lover, using his influence over Tokugawa Tsunayoshi to gain the exalted position of second-in-command, actual ruler of Japan. Yanagisawa’s administrative skills kept the government functioning while the shogun indulged a passion for the arts, religion, and young boys. Through the years, Yanagisawa had amassed great riches by skimming money from tributes paid to the Tokugawa by daimyo clans and taxes collected from merchants, and by charging fees for access to the shogun. Everyone bowed to Yanagisawa’s authority. Yet all this wealth and power wasn’t enough. Recently he had formulated a plan for becoming a daimyo, the official governor of an entire province. Four months ago he’d banished Sosakan Sano to Nagasaki, thinking he’d seen the last of his enemy, believing that he’d permanently secured his position as the shogun’s favorite.
However, his plan had backfired. Sano had survived exile-as he had Yanagisawa’s past attempts to discredit him-and returned a hero. Today he’d married the daughter of Magistrate Ueda, who also had more influence with the shogun than Yanagisawa liked. Tokugawa Tsunayoshi, peeved at him for sending Sano away, had so far refused Yanagisawa’s bid to enlarge his domain. Sano’s status at court had risen. So had that of another rival, whose influence Chamberlain Yanagisawa had easily counteracted in the past. And now, with the shogun finally aware of the animosity between his advisers, Yanagisawa dared not use against Sano the method he’d employed to dispose of past enemies: assassination. The risk of exposure and subsequent punishment was too great. Still, he must somehow destroy his competition.
“Honorable Chamberlain, if the sosakan-sama protects Japan from corruption and treason, isn’t this a good thing?” said Hamada Kazuo, an increasingly enthusiastic partisan of Sano. “Should we not support his efforts?”
Murmurs of timid agreement came from all the elders except Makino, Yanagisawa’s chief crony. Panic flared in Chamberlain Yanagisawa. The elders had once accepted his pronouncements without any objection. Now, because of Sano, he was losing control over the men who advised the shogun and set government policy. But he wouldn’t let it happen. No one must impede his rise to power.
“How dare you contradict me?” he demanded. Speeding his pace, he forced the elders to walk faster as they offered hasty apologies. “Hurry up!”
Oh, how he savored their obedience, a reminder of his authority- and how he dreaded its slightest weakening, which threatened to plunge him into the nightmare of his past…
His father had been chamberlain to Lord Takei, daimyo of Arima Province, and his mother the daughter of a merchant family that had sought advancement through union with a samurai clan. Both parents had viewed children as tools to improve the family’s rank. Money and attention were lavished upon their upbringing, but only as means to an end: a position in the shogun’s court.
In Yanagisawa’s clearest early memory, he and his brother Yoshihiro knelt in his father’s gloomy audience chamber. He was six, Yoshihiro twelve. Rain pattered on the tile roof; it seemed that the sun never shone in those days. Upon the dais sat their father, a grim, towering figure dressed in black.
“Yoshihiro, your tutor reports that you are failing all your academic subjects.” Contempt laced their father’s voice. To Yanagisawa he said, “And the martial arts master tells me that you lost in a practice sword match yesterday.”
He didn’t mention the fact that Yanagisawa could read and write as well as boys twice his age, or that Yoshihiro was the best young swordsman in town. “How do you expect to bring honor to the family this way?” His face purpled with anger. “You’re both worthless fools, unfit to be my sons!”
Grabbing the wooden pole that always lay upon the dais, he battered the boys’ bodies. Yanagisawa and Yoshihiro cringed under the painful beating, fighting tears which would further enrage their father. In an adjacent chamber their mother punished their sister, Kiyoko, for her failure to excel at the accomplishments she must master before they could marry her off to a high-ranking official: “Stupid, disobedient girl!”
The sound of slaps, blows, and Kiyoko’s weeping echoed constantly through that house. No matter what the children achieved, it was never enough to please their elders. Still, the punishment might have been bearable if they’d found consolation in the company of people outside the family, or in one another’s love. However, their parents had made this impossible.
“Those brats are beneath you,” Yanagisawa’s mother would say, isolating him and his siblings from the young offspring of Lord Takei’s other retainers. “One day you’ll be their superiors.”
The children learned that they could avoid punishment by passing the blame for misbehavior. Therefore, they hated and distrusted one another.
Through all those terrible years, Yanagisawa remembered crying only once, on the cold, rainy day of his brother Yoshihiro’s funeral. At age seventeen, Yoshihiro had committed seppuku. While priests chanted, Yanagisawa and Kiyoko wept bitterly, the only people in the crowd of mourners to show emotion.
“Stop that!” whispered their parents, administering slaps. “Such a pathetic display of weakness. What will people think? Why can’t you bring honor to the family, like Yoshihiro did?”
But Yanagisawa and Kiyoko knew that their brother’s ritual suicide wasn’t a gesture of honor. Yoshihiro, the eldest son, had succumbed to the pressure of being the chief repository of the family’s ambitions. Always falling short of his parents’ expectations, he’d killed himself to avoid further anguish. Yanagisawa and Kiyoko wept not for him but for themselves, because their parents had traded their lives for a higher place in society.
Kiyoko, fifteen and married to a wealthy official, had lost a child during one of her husband’s beatings, and was pregnant again. And Yanagisawa, eleven, had served three years as Lord Takei’s page and sexual object. His anus bled from the daimyo’s assaults; his pride had suffered even worse mortifications.
Then, as the smoke from the funeral pyre drifted over the cremation ground, a change took place inside Yanagisawa. The weeping drained a reservoir of accumulated misery from his heart until there was nothing left except a bitter core of resolve. Yoshihiro had died because he was weak. Kiyoko was a helpless girl. But Yanagisawa vowed that someday he would be the most powerful man in the country. Then no one could ever use, punish, or humiliate him again. He would exact revenge upon everyone who had ever hurt him. Everyone would do his bidding; everyone would fear his anger.
Eleven years later, Tokugawa Tsunayoshi heard reports of a young man whose looks and intelligence had facilitated his rapid advancement through the ranks of Lord Takei’s retainers. Tsunayoshi, enamored of beautiful males, summoned Yanagisawa to Edo Castle. Yanagisawa had grown to splendid maturity; he was arrestingly handsome, with intense dark eyes. When the palace guards escorted Yanagisawa into Tsunayoshi’s private chamber, the twenty-nine-year-old future shogun dropped the book he was reading and stared.
“Magnificent,” he said. Wonder dawned on his soft, effeminate features. To the guards, he said, “Leave us.”
By this time, Yanagisawa knew his own limitations and assets. The relatively low status of his clan impeded his entry into the bakufu’s upper ranks, as did lack of wealth, but he’d learned how to use the talents given him by the gods of fortune. Now, gazing into Tokugawa Tsunayoshi’s eyes, he saw lust, weakness of mind and spirit, and a craving for approval. Inwardly Yanagisawa smiled. He bowed without bothering to kneel first, taking the first of many liberties with the future shogun. Tokugawa Tsunayoshi, humble in his awe, bowed back. Yanagisawa walked to the dais and picked up the older man’s book.
“What are you reading, Your Excellency?” he asked.
“The, ahh, ahh-” Stammering with excitement, Tokugawa Tsunayoshi trembled beside Yanagisawa. “The Dream of the Red Chamber.”
Boldly Yanagisawa sat on the dais and read from the classic, erotic Chinese novel. His reading, perfected by childhood study and punishment, was flawless. He paused between passages, smiling provocatively into Tsunayoshi’s eyes. Tsunayoshi blushed. Yanagisawa held out his hand. Eagerly the future shogun grasped it.
There was a knock at the door, and an official entered. “Your Excellency, it’s time for your meeting with the Council of Elders. They’re to brief you on the state of the nation and solicit your opinion on new government
