The Ronin’s Mistress

location available near Sengaku Temple, the three samurai estates along the southern highway. While Sano rode back to Edo Castle to report to the shogun, Hirata divided the ronin into two groups of sixteen men and one of fifteen. He sent troops to escort two groups to their makeshift jails while he and a few soldiers accompanied the other. His sixteen ronin included Oishi the leader and his son Chikara. Hirata and the soldiers rode their horses while the ronin trudged down the highway like obedient cattle.

The estates were private cities carved out of the forest. The barracks that enclosed them had high white plaster walls decorated with black geometric tile patterns. Bushes with spiky, leafless branches grew outside the barracks. Countless other buildings rose from within, their roofs like mountain ranges of snow-covered tile. Along the highway, porters carried litters heaped with charcoal, rice, and other goods in the vast quantities needed to supply the estates. Tokugawa law prohibited all wheeled vehicles except for oxcarts owned by the government; this prevented troop movements and rebellions, at least in theory. The porters stared at Hirata’s group of bloodstained ronin. Soldiers from the estates came out to watch the peculiar parade.

Hirata led his group to the estate that belonged to the Hosokawa daimyo clan. The Hosokawa was an ancient family that controlled the fief of Higo Province. Higo was a top rice-producing domain and the Hosokawa clan one of Japan’s largest, wealthiest landholders. Their estate was the grandest in the area, with a gate made of wide, iron-studded planks. When Hirata and his companions approached it, two sentries stepped out of an ornate guardhouse.

Hirata introduced himself. “I’ve got sixteen prisoners. I want you to keep them under house arrest here.”

The sentries looked nonplussed. One said, “That’s never been done before. We’ll have to get permission.”

“Go ahead.” Hirata glanced at the sixteen ronin. They gazed straight ahead, their faces impassive. None showed any sign of wanting to bolt. “We’ll wait.”

A sentry went inside the estate. After a long while he came out with the daimyo himself. Lord Hosokawa was in his sixties, with gray hair tied in a neat topknot on his shaved crown. He wore robes patterned in neutral colors, instead of the gaudy, fashionable garb that other rich daimyo sported. He had an intelligent, worried face and a reputation for managing his domain with excruciating attention to detail. After he and Hirata exchanged formal greetings, he said, “You want me to do what?”

Hirata repeated his request. He explained who the ronin were and what they’d done.

Lord Hosokawa’s worried expression deepened. “Why do they have to be here? Why not at one of the other estates?”

“The other estates are getting prisoners, too,” Hirata said. “There are forty-seven in all.”

“I see. But why can’t you take them to town and find someplace for them there?”

“Do you want them wandering around in the open that long?” Hirata said.

“… No.” Lord Hosokawa gazed at the sixteen ronin as if afraid they would suddenly go berserk. “But who’s responsible for feeding them and keeping them under control?”

“You are.” Hirata knew Lord Hosokawa could afford the expense and had plenty of guards with nothing better to do.

“Well, I don’t like it,” Lord Hosokawa said. “There’s sure to be a scandal. I would rather not be dragged into it.”

“Don’t worry; your honor won’t be tarnished by association with them,” Hirata said. Under Tokugawa law, guilt by association was a punishable crime. “I’ll make it clear to the shogun that you did him a favor by taking in these prisoners.”

Lord Hosokawa pursed his mouth. “And if I refuse?”

“I’ll make it clear to the shogun that you were derelict in your duty to him,” Hirata said.

That was a capital offense. “Oh. Well, in that case…” Lord Hosokawa reluctantly moved away from the gate. “If anything bad happens, I will hold your master responsible.”

Hirata hoped nothing would go wrong. Lord Hosokawa hadn’t yet taken sides in the conflict between Sano and Yanagisawa. He liked the peace that came with neutrality, but if he took offense at Sano, he might change his mind. And Hirata knew that similar scenes were going on at the other estates, where the two other daimyo surely wouldn’t want to provide a makeshift jail any more than Lord Hosokawa did. Sano couldn’t afford to strain their goodwill, either. But if Sano didn’t secure the forty-seven ronin at once and they caused problems, that would worsen his position far more.

Lord Hosokawa called his troops to take charge of the prisoners. Hirata glanced at the faces of the men who led the prisoners away. Some regarded the ronin with disgust, others with awe at these men who had followed Bushido to the ultimate degree. Hirata saw a storm brewing, the forty-seven ronin at the center, and spectators already taking sides.

“Behave yourselves,” he told the ronin.

“We will,” Oishi said, quiet and stern.

Hirata and his troops had mounted their horses to ride back to town, when Hirata felt a strange, tingling sensation. Then came a force that pulsated through the cold air, that boomed in counter-rhythm to his heartbeat. His whole body tensed with recognition and fright. It was the energy aura he’d last encountered two years ago.

His stalker had finally returned.

Hirata resisted two opposing urges-to draw his sword for combat or drop flat on the ground and cover his head. Instead, he called to the troops, “Go ahead.” He had to face his stalker alone and not endanger the men. “I’ll catch up.”

They went. Hirata sat astride his horse and swept his gaze over the scene. He saw the glare of sun on snow and the white plaster wall of the estate across the street. Passersby glanced at him curiously, but none with malevolent intent. The aura seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. It began to fade. Hirata saw a movement to his left-a redness like a splash of blood. He whirled.

It was a strip of red paper stuck on a spiky bush near the Hosokawa gate. Hirata could have sworn that it hadn’t been there a moment ago. It fluttered in the wind. Hirata leaped off his horse and snatched the paper. It was clean and neatly cut, not a torn scrap of garbage. Figures written in elegant black calligraphy graced one side. Hirata read,

Sunlight illuminates the darkness inside a black cave.

What you seek has already found you.

Seek no further.

Hirata puzzled over the cryptic message. Was it for him, from his stalker? If so, what did it mean?

Someone came up behind him and tapped his shoulder. Hirata started violently. He turned. The man he saw was a soldier dressed in an iron helmet and a tunic made of iron plates covered with leather and laced together, standard military gear. A scarf muffled the soldier’s face up to the nose. His eyes crinkled with amusement.

Hirata drew his breath to speak. In that instant the soldier vanished, then reappeared halfway down the street. He held Hirata’s gaze for another instant, then turned and walked away. Hirata hurried after him. A squadron of mounted samurai emerged from a gate and blocked Hirata’s path. By the time Hirata got around them, the soldier was nowhere in sight.

8

When Sano, Marume, and Fukida arrived at Edo Castle, soldiers loitered outside, avidly reading news broadsheets. The broadsheets were illustrated with a crude drawing of the forty-seven ronin on the march, carrying Kira’s head on a spear. At the palace, Sano found the very same broadsheet in the shogun’s private chambers.

The shogun held a copy above his face while he lay on his back in bed. His robe was open, his naked torso exposed. A physician rubbed spice-scented oil on the shogun’s stomach. Chamberlain Yanagisawa, Yoritomo, and