Ryuko laughed. “It takes one to know one, Honorable Chamberlain. And the truth is written all over you.” Looking at the map, he sneered. “You might as well forget about any schemes to take over the country.” He began yanking out pins, tossing them on the floor with the others. “Sosakan Sano and Lady Keisho-in have resolved the misunderstanding caused by your trick. Soon the shogun will hear of your heinous attack against his mother and favorite retainer.” The priest’s desire to gloat had apparently overcome any misgivings about serving advance notice on Yanagisawa. “His Excellency shall come to recognize your true character at last.”
Removing the coral pin from Hachijo, Ryuko said, “I can guess whom you planned to send there.” He took Yanagisawa’s hand and placed the pin ceremoniously in his palm. “Here. You can trade this bauble for food and shelter when you arrive on the Island of Exile.”
Horror rendered Yanagisawa Chamberlain speechless. How could his clever plot have backfired so horribly? Fear turned his bowels to rice gruel. Finding his voice, he shouted, “Guards!”
Footsteps pounded the corridor. Two soldiers entered. Yanagisawa pointed at Ryuko. “Get him out of here!”
The soldiers moved to seize the priest, but Ryuko sailed past them toward the door, saying over his shoulder, “I shan’t outstay my welcome.” Then he paused and turned. “I just wanted you to know what’s going to happen to you,” he said, puffed up with his own moral superiority. “This way you can suffer a little longer for trying to harm my lady.”
With the guards following, Priest Ryuko strode out of the room. The door slammed. For a moment, Yanagisawa stared after the harbinger of evil. Then he crouched on the tatami, arms wrapped around his knees. He felt himself shrinking into the miserable little boy he’d once been. Again his back ached from the blows of his father’s wooden pole. The sharp voice echoed down through the years: “You’re stupid, weak, incompetent, pitiful… You bring nothing but disgrace to this family!”
Yanagisawa breathed the desolate atmosphere of his youth-that amalgam of rain, decaying wood, drafty rooms, and tears. Now the past had caught up with the present. Ghastly scenarios crowded Yanagisawa’s mind.
He saw Tokugawa Tsunayoshi’s face, pinched with hurt and anger; heard him say, “After all I’ve given you, how could you treat me this way? Exile is too good for you, and so is ritual suicide. For your treasonous act against my family, I sentence you to execution!”
He felt iron shackles lock around his wrists and ankles. Soldiers dragged him to the execution ground. A jeering horde threw rocks and garbage, while his enemies applauded. Gawkers surrounded him as the soldiers forced him to kneel beside the executioner. Nearby waited the wooden frame on which his corpse would be displayed at the Nihonbashi Bridge. Chamberlain Yanagisawa realized that his father’s prediction had come true: his stupidity and incompetence had brought him to the ultimate disgrace, the punishment he deserved.
And the last thing he saw before the sword severed his head was Sano Ichiro, Japan ’s new chamberlain, standing in the place of honor at Tokugawa Tsunayoshi’s right.
Hatred for Sano seared Yanagisawa like a red-hot skewer twisted through his innards, rousing him from his paralysis. Anger flooded him like a healing tonic. With great relief, he felt himself expand to fill his adult persona and the world that his intelligence and strength had created. He surged to his feet. He didn’t have to yield to Sano, Lady Keisho-in, or Ryuko. He wouldn’t give up life without a fight, as his brother Yoshihiro had. Chamberlain Yanagisawa paced the room. Action restored his sense of power. Now he focused all his energy on solving his problem.
Sabotaging the murder investigation was the least of Yanagisawa’s concerns, although he still hoped Sano would fail and disgrace himself. Instead Yanagisawa devised a strategy for combating Sano and Lady Keisho-in’s retaliation. Again the plan would accomplish a double purpose. Again it would involve Shichisaburo.
The actor had ruined Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s first brilliant scheme. Yanagisawa regretted becoming so entangled with him. He should have discarded the boy long ago; he should never have let infatuation blind him to the danger of using an amateur instead of a professional agent. In a rare moment of honesty, he acknowledged his mistake. Pathetically hungry for love, smitten with the actor, he’d suffered a fatal lapse of judgment. The howling emptiness still yawned within him; he teetered on the brink. His own weakness and need were his greatest enemies.
Then Chamberlain Yanagisawa placed the blame where it truly belonged: on the inept, naive Shichisaburo, whom he despised almost as much as he did Sano. Relief sealed the abyss. This time his plan would work. A perfect expression of his genius, it would save him, while ending his disastrous relationship with the actor. His dream of ruling Japan, though deferred, was still possible.
Yanagisawa’s breath came in gasps, as if he’d just fought a battle; exhaustion weakened him. But his smile returned as he gathered up the scattered pins and replaced them on the map.
36
On his way to see Lady Harume’s secret lover, Sano stopped at Edo Jail. The eta settlement was unfamiliar territory to him, and he needed a guide who could introduce him to Chief Danzaemon. Mura, assistant to Dr. Ito, was the only eta Sano knew. They traveled to Nihonbashi’s northern outskirts, Sano on horseback and Mura walking behind him. Beyond the last scattered houses of Edo proper, they traversed an expanse of weed-infested wasteland where stray dogs foraged through piles of trash. On the opposite side was the eta settlement, a sprawling village of huts surrounded by a wooden fence.
Mura led the way through a gate that consisted of a gap in the rough plank fence, then down narrow, crooked lanes awash in mud. Beside these ran open gutters full of reeking sewage. The houses were tiny shacks assembled from scrap wood and paper. In the doorways, women cooked over open fires, scrubbed laundry, or nursed babies. Children ran barefoot. Everyone gaped, then dropped to their knees as Sano passed: Probably they’d never seen a bakufu official enter their community. Clouds of smoke and steam billowed over the settlement, creating a foul miasma that stank of decaying flesh. Sano tried not to breathe. He’d eaten a hasty meal before leaving Asakusa, but now, as nausea gripped his stomach, he wished he hadn’t.
“It’s the tanneries, master,” Mura said apologetically.
Sano hoped he could hide his distaste for the settlement when he questioned its chief. Such different worlds Lady Harume and her lover had inhabited!
Following Mura down a dim passage, Sano looked into a courtyard. A lye pond full of carcasses bubbled. Men stirred it with sticks, while women sprinkled salt on freshly flayed hides. Cauldrons steamed on open hearths; a partially butchered horse oozed blood and viscera. When a gust of wind wafted rancid fumes toward Sano, he nearly vomited. Feeling immersed in spiritual pollution, he resisted the urge to flee. How could Lady Harume have ignored society’s taboos to love a man contaminated by this place? What had brought her and Danzaemon together “in the shadow between two existences”?
Mura halted. “There he is, master.”
Toward Sano came three adult male eta, walking with brisk, purposeful strides. The middle, youngest one immediately drew his attention.
Thin as a sapling, his body carried no excess flesh to soften the hardness of bone and muscle. Strong tendons stood out like cords in his neck. Sharp-edged planes carved his face into a pattern of angles. His thin mouth was compressed in a resolute line. Thick, cropped hair grew back from a deep peak above his brow like a hawk’s crest. Head high and shoulders squared, he projected an aura of fierce nobility at odds with his patched, faded clothes and eta status. The two swords he wore proclaimed his identity.
Danzaemon, chief of the outcasts, knelt and bowed. His two companions did the same, but while the gesture humbled them, Danzaemon’s dignity elevated it to a ritual that honored himself as well as Sano. Arms outstretched, forehead to the ground, he said, “I beg to be of service, master.” His quiet tone, while respectful, bore no obsequiousness.
“Please rise.” Impressed by the chief’s poise, which would have done a samurai proud, Sano dismounted and addressed Danzaemon politely. “I need your help in an important matter.”
With athletic grace, Danzaemon stood. At his command, his men also rose, keeping their heads inclined. The eta chief turned a measuring gaze on Sano, who saw with surprise that he wasn’t more than twenty-five years old. But Danzaemon’s eyes belonged to someone who’d seen a lifetime of toil, poverty, violence, and suffering. A long,
