with a major source of conflict between him and Reiko gone, they could get a fresh start on their marriage. But Sano wasn’t ready to close the case.
“Lieutenant Kushida,” he said, “I’m placing you under house arrest until the investigation of Lady Harume’s murder is complete. At that time, your fate will be decided. Meanwhile, you shall remain inside your family home, under constant guard; you are not permitted to leave for any reason except fire or earthquake.” These were the standard terms of house arrest, the samurai alternative to jail, a privilege of rank. To the detectives, Sano said, “Escort him to the bancho.” This was the district west of Edo Castle where hereditary Tokugawa vassals lived.
Hirata regarded Sano with dismay. “Wait, sosakan-sama. May I have a word with you first?”
They went out to the corridor, leaving the detectives to guard Lieutenant Kushida. Hirata whispered, “Sumimasen-excuse me, but I think you’re making a mistake. Kushida is guilty, and lying to cover it up. He killed Harume because she had a lover and he was jealous. He should be charged and sent to trial. Why are you being so easy on him?”
“And why are you so eager to accept the easy solution, so early in the investigation?” Sano countered. “This isn’t like you, Hirata-san.”
Flushing, Hirata said stubbornly, “I think he killed her.”
Sano decided that this wasn’t the right time to address his chief retainer’s problems, whatever they were. “The weaknesses in the case against Kushida are obvious. First of all, the break-in is evidence of something wrong with him, but not necessarily that he’s guilty of murder. Second, just because he lied about certain things doesn’t mean we should disregard everything he says.
“Third: If we close the case too soon, the real killer may go free, while an innocent man is executed. More murders could follow.” Sano told Hirata about Magistrate Ueda’s conspiracy theory. “If there’s a plot against the shogun, we must identify all the criminals, or the threat to the Tokugawa line will persist.”
Hirata nodded in reluctant agreement. Sano leaned through the doorway and said to the detectives, “Proceed.” Then he turned back to Hirata. “Besides, I’m not ready to dismiss my questions about the other suspects.”
Although Hirata’s unhappy silence troubled him, Sano didn’t intend to drop his investigation of the Miyagi-or Lady Ichiteru.
18
Standing in the doorway to the shogun’s bedchamber, Otoshiyori Madam Chizuru announced, “Your Excellency, I present your companion for the night: the Honorable Lady Ichiteru.” She beat three ritual strokes on a small gong, then bowed and withdrew.
Slowly, regally, Lady Ichiteru marched into the chamber. She carried a large book bound in yellow silk and wore a man’s kimono, striped in black and brown, with thick padding to widen her shoulders. Beneath it, cloth bands flattened her breasts. Her face was devoid of powder, lips unpainted, hair knotted in a severe, masculine style. After thirteen years as Tokugawa Tsunayoshi’s concubine, she knew how to appeal to his tastes. Now, with retirement only three months away, her life was dominated by the increasingly urgent need to conceive his child before time ran out. She must take advantage of every opportunity to seduce him.
“Ahh, my dearest Ichiteru. Welcome.” Tokugawa Tsunayoshi lay abed in a futon piled with colorful quilts, in a lair furnished with gilded lacquer cabinets and the finest tatami. Brilliant wall murals depicted a mountain landscape. Screens decorated with flowers kept out drafts and contained the warmth radiating from sunken charcoal braziers. A standing lamp cast a warm, inviting pool of light upon the shogun, who wore a mauve silk dressing gown and cylindrical black cap. Lavender incense perfumed the air. They were alone except for the bodyguards stationed outside the room and Madam Chizuru listening next door. Yet the shogun’s mood was anything but romantic.
“It has been a most, ahh, irritating day,” he said. Fatigue lined his pallid face. “So many decisions to make! Then there is the distressing business of, ahh, Lady Harume’s murder. I hardly know what to do.”
Sighing, he looked up at Lady Ichiteru for sympathy. She sat, laid aside the book, and cradled his head in her lap. He elaborated upon his troubles while she murmured comforting words: “Don’t worry, my lord. Everything will be fine.” After so many years together, they were like an old married couple, with her as his friend, mother, nursemaid, and-least often-his lover. As she stroked his forehead, impatience simmered beneath Ichiteru’s tranquil demeanor. A distant temple bell tolled, signaling the relentless passage of time toward her dreaded thirtieth birthday. But she must let Tokugawa Tsunayoshi talk himself out before they could begin sex. While his doleful voice droned on, her thoughts drifted back to the one truly happy period of her life…
Kyoto, the capital of Japan ’s emperors for a thousand years. In the heart of the city stood the great, walled complex of the Imperial Palace. Ichiteru’s family were cousins of the current emperor. They lived in a villa within the palace grounds. Ichiteru had grown up in sheltered isolation there, but her childhood hadn’t been lonely. The emperor’s court numbered in the thousands. Ichiteru recalled idyllic days spent playing with her sisters, cousins, and friends. But outside the golden halo of her existence, the dark shadow of her future lurked. As a constant background noise ran the complaints of the adults.
They deplored the plain food, the outmoded garments everyone wore, the lack of entertainment, the shortage of servants, and the government.
Gradually Ichiteru came to understand the reason for their genteel poverty and her elders’ resentment toward the Tokugawa regime: The bakufu, fearing that the imperial family would try to reclaim its former power, maintained it on a limited income so it couldn’t afford to raise troops and launch a rebellion. But not until she reached adulthood did Ichiteru become aware of how politics had charted her life from the very beginning.
“Ahh, Ichiteru.” Tokugawa Tsunayoshi’s voice drew her back to the present. “Sometimes I think you’re the only person who understands me.”
Looking down at him, Ichiteru saw that his face had relaxed. At last he was ready for the business of the evening. “Yes, I do understand you, my lord,” she said with a provocative smile. “And I’ve brought you a gift.”
“What is it?” Like an eager child, the shogun sat up, pleasure lighting his eyes.
Lady Ichiteru placed the book before him. “It’s a spring book, my lord”-a collection of shungaerotic prints,-“created by a famous artist, just for you.”
She opened the cover and turned to the first page. In lovely, subtle colors, this showed two naked samurai lying side by side beneath trailing willow boughs. Their swords lay atop piles of discarded clothing as they fondled each other’s erect organs. In the corner was a poem written in elegant calligraphy:
Warriors in peacetime:
Ah! Their jade shafts may prevail
Over blades of steel.
“Exquisite, ' breathed Tokugawa Tsunayoshi.”You know what I like, Ichiteru.” From the other side of the wall came the soft rustle of Madam Chizuru stirring, alert to the beginning of the sexual play. Now the shogun noticed Ichiteru’s mannish appearance. His eyebrows raised in happy interest. “And how nice you look tonight.”
“Thank you, my lord,” said Ichiteru, pleased that her scheme for his seduction was working. She let him admire the picture awhile longer, then turned to the second page of the book. The scene featured a bald Buddhist priest, standing in a temple worship hall with his saffron robe hiked above his waist. A young novice knelt at his feet, sucking his swollen member. The poem read:
As the lone raindrop is to a summer storm,
So does spiritual enlightenment compare
With the ecstasies of the flesh!
“Ahh, how blasphemous and disgusting!” Giggling, Tokugawa Tsunayoshi leaned against Ichiteru. Down the corridor came the rhythmic footsteps of patrolling guards. Next door, Madam Chizuru coughed softly. But the shogun seemed oblivious to these distractions as he batted his eyes flirtatiously at Ichiteru.
Smiling in encouragement, Ichiteru suppressed a shudder. She’d always felt extreme revulsion for the shogun’s foolish personality and sickly body. Were she able to choose a lover, she would pick someone like Detective Hirata, whom she had so enjoyed teasing at the puppet theater. Now there was a man who could truly appreciate her! But ambition must prevail over emotion. Ichiteru must fulfill the destiny laid out for her long ago.
During her childhood music, calligraphy, and tea ceremony lessons, adult members of the imperial family would
