The Ronin’s Mistress

Sano was aware that peremptory action for the sake of action would be a dire mistake. This was such a sensitive issue that any decision was bound to create discord. It could even ignite a civil war. Yanagisawa wanted to force Sano to decide now. Later he would make sure it turned out to be the wrong choice and that Sano suffered the consequences.

Two could play that game.

Sano said, “Chamberlain Yanagisawa is second-in-command. He’s the man who should advise Your Excellency.”

“Ahh, you’re right.” The shogun turned to Yanagisawa. “What do you suggest?”

Yanagisawa couldn’t hide his annoyance that Sano had deflected the responsibility onto him. The case of the forty-seven ronin was like a hot coal that would burn whoever held it, and he was quick to toss it to someone else. “I suggest that the Council of Elders should decide.”

The elders didn’t flinch. They’d been in politics for so long that they recognized a fatal game of catch and they were prepared. Ohgami said, “We should create a special supreme court to rule on the fate of the forty-seven ronin.”

“Yes!” The shogun sat up, closed his robe, and clapped his hands, ecstatic. “That’s the perfect solution! Who shall be the, ahh, judges?”

The physician packed up his equipment and decamped. A wise move, Sano thought. Everyone else probably wished they could leave, too, lest they end up on the court.

“First, let’s decide on how many judges we need,” Yanagisawa said, obviously buying time to think how to turn the new situation to his advantage. “I suggest four.” He must think he could control that small number of men.

“That’s not enough to decide such an important issue. I suggest twenty-five.” Sano knew that was too many, but he’d allowed room to negotiate.

“Six,” Yanagisawa countered.

Impatience heated up the shogun’s temper. “I say fourteen.” His rash, arbitrary decision was final.

“The judges should be high, trusted officials in the regime,” Yanagisawa said. “I nominate Inspector General Nakae.”

“I second the nomination,” Ihara said.

In theory, the inspector general was responsible for auditing government operations and making sure they were conducted properly. But Nakae was a crony of Yanagisawa’s, which meant he kept a lookout for misbehavior done by everyone except Yanagisawa.

“I nominate Magistrate Ueda,” Sano said. Magistrate Ueda was Reiko’s father, and not only Sano’s ally but an honest man who would do his best to ensure that the court acted fairly.

“Second,” Ohgami said.

There followed a heated discussion about who else should be appointed. As Sano and Yanagisawa each vied to stack the supreme court with his own allies, Sano was disturbed to see that the case was becoming more about politics than justice. But he could breathe easier now. With the case in hands other than his, he was safe.

After a while the shogun said, “Why is it so hard to choose fourteen judges? Give me their names now and, ahh, be done!”

Sano quickly recited seven names, including Magistrate Ueda’s. Yanagisawa named his seven choices, headed by Inspector General Nakae.

“Inform the judges that they’ve been appointed to the supreme court,” Ohgami told Sano.

The shogun brushed his hands together. “I’m glad that’s finished.”

“It isn’t quite,” Yanagisawa said. “The supreme court will need to investigate the case and collect evidence.”

Sano realized that Yanagisawa was angling to throw him back into jeopardy. “An investigation isn’t necessary. Because we already know that the defendants killed Kira,” he said, even though the case wasn’t as clear-cut as he would like.

Ohgami backed Sano up. “Why do we need evidence, when the forty-seven ronin have already confessed?”

“This isn’t like other murder trials,” Yanagisawa explained smoothly. “What we need is evidence that will justify the supreme court’s verdict, so that everyone accepts it and no one starts a war over it.”

“What kind of evidence would that be?” the shogun asked, hopeful yet confused.

“Anything that pertains to the forty-seven ronin’s actions or motives, or the events leading up to Kira’s death, that hasn’t come to light yet,” Yanagisawa said.

Sano had to agree that Yanagisawa’s point was valid. Neither side in the controversy would be satisfied with a verdict based solely on the results of a judicial debate. If the shogun exercised his right to punish the forty-seven ronin, he had better have solid grounds unless he wanted extreme political strife on his hands. And if the shogun reversed his original decision that prohibited punishing Kira, he had better have a strong rationale unless he wanted to lose face and expose weakness that would practically beg for an attack on his regime.

“I suggest that Sano-san be appointed to help the judges investigate,” Yanagisawa said.

“Fine,” the shogun said, before Sano could forestall him. “Sano-san, you are appointed.”

Yanagisawa and Yoritomo smiled identical smiles of cruel satisfaction. Sano’s heart dropped. Now he would share the responsibility for any bad consequences that arose from the court’s decision. His own fate and the forty- seven ronin’s were intertwined.

“One last thing, Your Excellency,” Yanagisawa said. “Sano-san’s investigations have a tendency to cause trouble. Last time he got your wife raped. Let’s give him an extra incentive to do better this time.”

Sano saw Yanagisawa getting ready to heap more trouble on him. “There’s no need-”

“What kind of extra incentive?” the shogun interrupted.

“If the supreme court doesn’t reach a satisfactory verdict, then Sano-san should be permanently assigned to a post at some distant location-let’s say Kyushu,” Yanagisawa said, “while his family remains in Edo as hostages to his good behavior.”

“Very well,” the shogun said.

9

Riding home in her palanquin, Reiko brimmed with thoughts about the ronin’s mistress, but her companions seemed disinclined toward conversation. Chiyo sat gazing out the window at the street, where pedestrians clambered over snowbanks to enter shops that sold ceramic jars of pickles, root vegetables, salted fish, and fermented tofu. Masahiro rode his horse alongside the palanquin. He looked straight ahead, his expression somber and pensive.

Reiko waited until their procession turned onto the boulevard that led to Edo Castle, then said, “You’re not happy that I agreed to help Okaru.”

Chiyo reluctantly assented. “The whole business disturbs me.”

Reiko cut to the heart of the problem. “You didn’t like Okaru, did you?”

Chiyo hesitated. “She seems very sweet. But her background…”

A pang of disappointment chimed in Reiko. She’d thought her friend was more open-minded about people from other social classes. “Okaru can’t help that her parents died and left her destitute. She became a teahouse girl because there was no other way to make a living.”

“I’m not saying Okaru is a bad person because she’s a teahouse girl.” Chiyo sounded afraid of losing Reiko’s good opinion. “What I mean is that people in her position do whatever they must in order to survive. Sometimes that includes taking advantage of other people.”

“I see your point,” Reiko had to admit. “But Okaru hasn’t asked me for money or a job or a chance to move