Sano. “And you shall be the first enemy I slay.”
“Don’t do this,” Sano entreated the emperor. “You can’t beat me.”
Tomohito laughed. “I could have killed you yesterday. Now I will.”
He swung the sword. Sano leapt backward, and the blade whistled past his chin. The emperor howled, lashing out furiously while Sano dodged. When Tomohito sliced at his legs, Sano jumped over the blade. Cuts battered his armor tunic.
“Your Majesty, the revolt wasn’t your idea,” Sano said. He darted behind a pillar, and Tomohito’s sword stuck in the wood. “Right Minister Ichijo incited it, didn’t he?”
Yanking the blade free of the pillar, Tomohito lunged after Sano. “Ichijo has nothing to do with this. I want to conquer the Tokugawa. And you can’t stop me!”
“You couldn’t have recruited an army or procured weapons by yourself,” Sano countered, dodging more cuts. “Ichijo must have done it.”
“Stop talking nonsense!”
The emperor’s blade slashed at Sano’s head, driving him toward the wall of the building. Sano knew that if he fought back, he risked hurting the emperor, but refusing to stand up to Tomohito would only confirm the boy’s belief that he was good enough to take on the Tokugawa army and send him to his death in the battle. Drawing his sword, Sano parried cuts.
“When Ichijo found out that Left Minister Konoe was a metsuke spy who’d discovered the plot, Ichijo killed him,” Sano said. His blade clanged against Tomohito’s, forcing the emperor across the veranda toward the railing. But Tomohito only laughed; his attacks grew wilder. “If you’ll implicate Ichijo, I’ll persuade the shogun to pardon you.”
“I don’t care if Ichijo did kill Left Minister Konoe. I don’t need him anymore. I don’t need a pardon from the shogun, either. When I rule Japan, he’ll be my servant!”
Sano’s arm ached from blocking strikes; his head reverberated with the ring of steel. He was the far better swordsman, but a person who wants to win has an advantage over one who doesn’t want to fight. Tomohito whacked Sano’s left upper arm. The blade cut through the chain mail and padding of his sleeve. To his alarm, Sano felt searing pain, then the warm wetness of blood.
“Ha!” Tomohito exclaimed. “I got you! Prepare to die!”
Eyes bright with glee, the emperor raised his sword in both hands. He rushed Sano, bellowing. In desperation, Sano feinted a jab at Tomohito’s groin. The emperor sprang backward and lowered his weapon. Sano brought his blade around, slashing at Tomohito’s hands. With a cry of pain, the emperor let go of the sword. It clattered across the veranda. Tomohito stood paralyzed, gazing with horror at his outspread right hand.
A narrow cut traced a red line across the knuckles. He looked at Sano, his face aghast.
“I’m bleeding.” His voice was a ragged croak. Probably he’d never been injured before, never seen his own blood. He must have thought himself invincible.
“I’m sorry,” Sano said, horrified at wounding the sacred sovereign. Perhaps, though, the experience would teach Emperor Tomohito a lesson. “But this is minor compared to what will happen if you don’t cooperate.”
“The gods shall strike you down for this,” Tomohito whimpered. Dropping to his knees, he cradled his bloody hand.
“The penalty for treason is death by decapitation.” Sano kept his sword pointed at Tomohito, underscoring the threat. “Even your divine status won’t save you-unless you agree to denounce Right Minister Ichijo.”
Marume and Fukida hurried onto the veranda. “The guards are dead,” Marume said.
“Go back to the battlefield,” Sano said. “I’ll handle things here.”
The detectives left. Sano stood beside Tomohito. “The right minister manipulated you into believing that the plot was your idea and he was just carrying out your orders. He’s a murderer who doesn’t deserve your protection. Give up, Your Majesty. Save yourself and let Ichijo suffer.”
Tomohito shook his head in dazed misery. “No,” he whispered. His complexion was a sickly white; he seemed on the verge of fainting. “He didn’t. I can’t…”
“Look around.” Sano swept his sword in a high arc that encompassed the mountains above Kiyomizu Temple, the lighted city below. “Japan is bigger than you can comprehend. The Tokugawa army is hundreds of thousands strong. Any rebels who escape slaughter tonight may straggle across the country, attracting a few followers, stirring up trouble, but they’ll be defeated in the end. Ichijo’s ambitions far exceed his grasp.”
As the emperor gazed at the view, he seemed to see it for the first time. A shudder passed through his body. The shadows of dying dreams darkened his eyes. Sano sheathed his sword, overcome with sorrow for the boy. Tomohito wept.
“I wanted to rule Japan,” he mourned. “I wanted to be someone besides a useless god locked away from the world. Now I’m afraid to die.” The knowledge of his own mortality filled his voice with terror; tears streamed down his face as he looked up at Sano. “Right Minister Ichijo didn’t mount the revolt, but if you want me to say he did, I will, if you’ll spare my life.”
His insistence upon the right minister’s innocence disturbed Sano. Finally he had the testimony needed to convict Ichijo, but what if Ichijo really wasn’t the instigator of the revolt? Did that mean he hadn’t killed Left Minister Konoe or Aisu either?
Reluctantly, Sano entertained the possibility that the revolt and the murders were not connected, or else were connected in a way he’d never guessed. He began arranging facts into a new theory. Emperor Tomohito was the heart of the Imperial Court as well as the center of the revolt. The interests of everyone at the palace were linked to his. Therefore, someone other than the traitor could have killed to protect Tomohito from the punishment he would suffer if Konoe reported the conspiracy, then later tried to kill Sano and halt his investigation for the same reason. If the traitor and the killer weren’t the same person…
A flash of enlightenment seared Sano’s mind. The suspect he’d dismissed as incapable of mounting an insurrection fit this new logic as well as did the more likely culprits. Prince Momozono was the emperor’s confidant, and must also be privy to the secrets of many other people who didn’t bother hiding their business from an idiot. He could have known about the plot, and that Left Minister Konoe was a metsuke spy. Sano tallied other reasons that pointed to Momozono’s guilt. Stricken by the certainty that this new theory was right, he marveled at the unexpected turn the case had taken.
Then, from the east side of the hall, Sano heard hooting sounds, followed by slow, stumbling footsteps. He recalled Ichijo saying that Prince Momozono must have run away with Emperor Tomohito.
“Help me, Momo-chan!” the emperor cried.
The killer was coming.
34
From astride his horse, Chamberlain Yanagisawa surveyed the battle. Gun muzzles spewed thunder; arrows flew. Swordsmen clashed, their blades glinting in the light of fallen torches and a tree that had caught fire. Hundreds of bodies lay strewn across the plaza and the steps leading to Kiyomizu Temple; riderless horses galloped free; blood stained the ground. Yanagisawa’s army had suffered many casualties, but the Tokugawa forces now far outnumbered the rebels. Victory was near.
Yanagisawa rode back and forth along the perimeter of the battlefield. Waving his war fan, he shouted orders to the commanders, who conveyed them to the troops with conch-shell trumpet, war drums, and flags. His throat was sore and his voice hoarse, his ears deafened by the noise. Smoke and gunpowder fumes filled his lungs. He ached from the impact of bullets against his armor. The barbaric violence sickened him, yet he gloried in it. Battle had fully roused the samurai spirit that had awakened within him during the investigation.
Now his political feuds seemed like trivial substitutes for real war. When a mounted rebel soldier charged him, Yanagisawa swung his sword, slashing the man’s throat. A soaring exhilaration lifted him above himself, to a rarefied plane where he could fulfill his true purpose in life: to lead his lord’s army to victory, or die in the effort.
A pair of outlaw priests broke away from the combat zone. Clutching spears, tattered saffron robes flying, they sprinted down the sloping road toward the city.
