The Ronin’s Mistress

as he rammed himself against Tsunamori’s buttocks. Another guard, similarly undressed, held Tsunamori’s face against his crotch. Tsunamori whimpered as the men took their pleasure.

Kajikawa was so sick with horror that he almost vomited. Sex between men was rampant in Edo Castle; he’d happened onto similar scenes before. He knew that the shogun’s older retainers often used the younger ones. It was the custom. It had happened to Kajikawa when he was young, and he’d almost forgotten it. But this was his son!

“Stop!” Kajikawa rushed into the clearing. He shoved the guards. “Leave him alone!”

They slunk away, straightening their clothes. Kajikawa knelt beside Tsunamori, who lay sobbing on the ground. “Has this been happening since you started working in the castle?” Kajikawa asked.

Tsunamori nodded. He picked up his clothes and slowly dressed.

“Well, it’s the last time,” Kajikawa said. “I’ll have those guards thrown out of the regime. They’ll never touch you again.”

“No!” Tsunamori cried with a vehemence that startled Kajikawa. “You mustn’t!”

“Why not?”

“Kira told them they could have me. He told me that if I didn’t let them do whatever they wanted, I would lose my post.”

Kajikawa was thunderstruck. He couldn’t believe Kira would do such a thing! But he could see that Tsunamori was telling the truth. “Go home,” he said grimly. “I’ll handle Kira.”

By the time he found Kira, in the Corridor of Pines, he was shaking with rage. “You forced my son to service those animals! You’re nothing but a dirty pimp!”

Kira smiled, the same ugly smile he’d given Tsunamori at that first meeting. “Oh, you saw the little scene at the shrine. Good.”

Fresh shock left Kajikawa breathless. “You meant for me to see? That’s why you sent me there!”

“Of course. What good is a performance without an audience?”

The gall, the heartlessness, the sheer perversion of the man! “You won’t get away with this! I’ll-I’ll-”

“Report me to the shogun?” Kira snickered. “His Excellency isn’t likely to frown on pursuits that he himself enjoys.”

Kajikawa was disheartened; he knew it was true. “I’ll tell everybody what you are!”

The smile dropped off Kira’s face. “If you utter one complaint or accusation, I’ll have you and your son both thrown out of the regime.” He raised a finger at Kajikawa, a warning that it wielded more power than Kajikawa had in the world. Then Kira turned and glided away.

Kajikawa spent a sleepless night. His fear of Kira argued with his need to protect his son and his thirst for revenge. He’d never been a brave man, and fear won out. It would be best, for him and Tsunamori both, if he did nothing rather than risk the disgrace and hardship of their becoming ronin.

“You’ll just have to put up with it until the guards get tired of you or Kira finds someone else to pick on,” Kajikawa told Tsunamori the next day.

“Yes, Father,” Tsunamori said meekly.

As months passed, Kajikawa couldn’t meet Tsunamori’s eyes and think of what his son suffered while he looked the other way. He couldn’t bear to admit he’d let Tsunamori down.

One winter night, Tsunamori didn’t come home. The next morning, Kajikawa ran all over the castle, searching for him. He found Tsunamori at the shrine, dangling from a noose tied to a branch of a tree in the clearing where the guards had raped him. Kajikawa had come too late. Tsunamori was dead.

In his anguish, Kajikawa blamed Kira. Kira had brought about the degradation that had caused Tsunamori to take his own life. Kira should be punished. But Kajikawa was still afraid of Kira. Instead of registering a vendetta and killing his enemy, Kajikawa sought another way to settle the score. He began spying on Kira. He secretly watched and listened to Kira torment Lord Asano. He witnessed sharp exchanges between Kira and Oishi. Eventually, he followed Kira to the squalid little inn by the river.

He hid in a bamboo grove and watched Kira peek through a hole in the window of a room. After a short while, Kira left, smiling his ugly smile. Then Kajikawa saw Oishi exit the room next to the one Kira had spied on. Oishi’s expression was grim enough to turn wine into vinegar. A few moments afterward, a woman ran weeping from the room on the other side. Interested to see what had upset her and Oishi so much, Kajikawa tiptoed to the window and looked through Kira’s peephole.

In the room, Lord Asano slumped naked on the bed. A woman stood with her back to him, dressing. Her head was bowed as if in shame. Lord Asano said, “Your husband is my loyal chief retainer and best friend. I wish I could take back what I did.”

“I wish I could take it back, too,” the woman said. “Your wife is my best friend.”

They both sounded remorseful about their illicit love affair. Kajikawa deduced the women’s identities: This one was Oishi’s wife. The weeping woman from the next room must be Lord Asano’s.

“I’m sorry,” Lord Asano said.

“It’s not your fault,” Oishi’s wife said bitterly. “It’s Kira’s.”

Kajikawa realized that he and his son weren’t the only people that Kira had manipulated into a sordid scene for his own pleasure. Kira had forced Lord Asano to bed Oishi’s wife, and arranged for Oishi and Lady Asano to see it. Kajikawa was disgusted by the enormity of Kira’s perversion. He was elated when Lord Asano attacked Kira, and disappointed because Kira didn’t die.

After months of ruminating on past events, he realized that Lord Asano had presented him with an opportunity for revenge. He concocted a plan and worked up the nerve to set it in motion.

Kajikawa went looking for Oishi and discovered that the man had gone to Miyako. He traveled there, found the house where Oishi was living, and waited outside. When Oishi emerged, Kajikawa said, “Oishi- san, what a surprise. How about a drink?”

When they were seated in the teahouse and had drunk a few cups, Kajikawa described what he’d seen at the inn. He told Oishi that Kira had organized the tryst between Oishi’s wife and Lord Asano.

Oishi pounded on the table and cursed. “Kira is a dead man!”

Kajikawa felt a searing satisfaction in his heart. What he couldn’t do, Oishi would. He felt guilty as he egged Oishi into plotting an illegal vendetta, but he told Oishi, and himself, that he could protect Oishi from the consequences. They would both get their revenge, and neither would be punished.

* * *

Hirataraced through the torii gate that led to the Momijiyama. Temple dogs glared at him through a coating of ice. A forest of crystallized trees shivered around him as he skidded along the slippery flagstone path. He perceived a faint trace of Kajikawa’s aura and stopped. He lifted his head. The aura emanated from the forest, which was silent except for the tinkle of falling ice crystals. Hirata followed the aura, crunching on brittle snow. He arrived at a clearing where rays of pale daylight shone through the ice-draped canopy of tree branches.

The clearing was empty. The aura came from a strip of white paper that lay atop frozen leaves. Hirata picked up the paper. Written on it in shaky calligraphy were the words, Tsunamori. Your father is sorry.

Hirata laid down the paper and left the forest. On the path he met a Shinto priest, who said, “You’re too late. He left almost an hour ago.”

Hirata remembered where else Kajikawa had been sighted. He ran for the palace.

* * *

In the Shogun’s chamber, Sano realized that he had finally uncovered the truth behind the forty-seven ronin’s vendetta. The story of the vendetta was like a tapestry, thickly woven with details. Sano had picked apart the many threads-the conflicting versions of events-before discovering that the forty-seven ronin hadn’t been the only men bent on destroying Kira.

There was a forty-eighth avenger.

But even while Kajikawa held his blade to the shogun’s throat, he seemed the unlikeliest avenger in the world.

“I thought Oishi would kill Kira and I could feel that I’d paid Kira back for my son’s death,” Kajikawa lamented, his tiny features dripping tears. “I can’t believe how wrong everything went. All I wanted was justice for my son!”