Shinju

When they finished, Lord Niu stood. “A poem to commemorate this occasion,” he announced, a sly smile lifting the corner of his mouth. Gesturing with the rolled scroll, he recited:

“The sun sets over the plain-”

Good luck as the New Year approaches.”

The poem was not familiar to Sano, nor did it seem a very good one. And its significance escaped him. But the conspirators greeted it with wild cheers and laughter that broke the tension which had accompanied their oath. Then Lord Niu began shouting more epithets against the Tokugawas, inciting his men to greater fury. The house thundered with their shouts.

“Soon we will show our fathers that we are true samurai!” Lord Niu cried. “We will make them proud to call us their sons!”

For the first time, Sano heard real passion behind Lord Niu’s words. Now he understood that while the other young men sought power and glory for their generation, Lord Niu was doing this for his father. The knowledge gave Sano an unexpected and unwilling sense of identification with Lord Niu. Filial duty compelled them both. Except in Lord Niu, some warped form of love drove him to expose the daimyo to the dubious benefits and certain dangers of having a traitor in the family. But Sano began to despair of learning the details of the plot. Even if he didn’t need them to complete his case against Lord Niu, duty required that he report them to the authorities. He looked over his shoulder for the guards. How long could he stay without getting caught?

A sudden drop in the noise level inside recalled his attention to the window. He brought his eye to the hole again. He saw the men turn toward a guard who had entered the room.

Lord Niu said, “What is it?” Breathless from his efforts, he wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve.

The guard bowed. “I am sorry to interrupt you, master, but I must warn you that there is a trespasser on the grounds. We almost caught him in the west woods, but he got away.”

First Sano froze. Then he felt an instinctive desire to flee. Only his compelling need to hear more kept him where he was.

“A spy!” a Hosokawa man gasped.

The others let loose a volley of panicky questions and laments. “Oh, no! Are we discovered? Who betrayed us? What will we do now?” They seemed so young, so excitable, and so easily frightened that Sano wondered how they would manage to carry out whatever plan they’d concocted.

Lord Niu strode to the front of his platform. He alone showed no fear. “Fools!” he said with a sardonic laugh. “Why do you waste time talking and worrying? Go out and kill him, and he won’t trouble us any longer.”

“He’s right! Come on!” Swords drawn, the men stampeded from the room.

“And don’t just look in the west woods-search the whole estate,” Lord Niu called after them. He remained on his platform, arms folded, face stern and immobile.

Sano didn’t wait for the bloodthirsty horde to spill out of the shinden. Turning, he ran into the woods, making straight for the wall. He scaled it and jumped into the darkness and safety that lay outside.

Chapter 22

The swordmaker, dressed like a Shinto priest in white ceremonial robes, pulled a glowing bar of red-hot steel from the outdoor furnace with his tongs. His assistant grabbed the other end, bending the pliant metal double. Then, chanting prayers, the two men began to beat the bar with heavy mallets, the first step in the process of folding and refolding the steel into a million layers that would give the finished blade flexibility as well as strength. Each blow rang sharply in the clear morning air. Apprentices dashed about, fetching water for the final quenching, stoking the furnace with coal. Heat poured from the furnace into the lane that separated the swordmaker’s shop from a row of foundries where craftsmen shaped metal into horseshoes and other more mundane forms.

Sano leaned against the low wooden fence, alternately watching the swordmakers and scanning the lane. Laborers pushed past him, carrying raw materials and finished wares to and from the workshops. Whenever a woman approached, he straightened in anticipation, then leaned back again when he saw it was not O-hisa. But he wasn’t worried. He’d arrived a little ahead of the appointed hour, and besides, a short wait couldn’t spoil his mood.

Lord Niu’s men hadn’t caught him last night. A hot bath and a few hours of sleep at an inn had eased the effects of the long walk back to Edo and an equally long stay at a disreputable teahouse on the edge of town, where he’d waited for dawn and the opening of the gates. In clothes dried over the brazier, and with both swords at his waist, Sano felt confident that he could meet the day’s challenges with success. The crisp, bright weather reflected his renewed optimism. Only the constant worry over his father gnawed at the edges of his thoughts. Patience, he counseled himself. He had Noriyoshi’s sandal and the rope tucked in his cloak, ready to bring to the Council of Elders. And soon he would have O-hisa, his witness.

He would regain his former status as yoriki, thereby positioning himself to investigate and thwart the plot against the government. He would reclaim his honor. His father would live.

Noon came and went. The street quieted as the craftsmen had their meals, then clamored with activity again when they returned to work. Still no O-hisa. Sano’s optimism waned. He began fabricating excuses for her. Lord Niu had decided to stay longer at the villa and had kept the servants with him. Lady Niu or one of the other women had detained her with some task, and O-hisa would sneak away as soon as she could. Finally, though, he had to entertain the worst of all possibilities: she’d changed her mind. Or been found out by the Nius and silenced. She wasn’t coming. He’d lost his chance to salvage his family’s honor, and all hope of his father’s recovery.

Panic made Sano reckless. He rushed through Nihonbashi to the daimyo district. Just as he reached the Nius’ gate, it opened. Hope swelled, then died again when he saw not O-hisa, but a mounted samurai come charging through the portals. One look at the man’s face sent him running for cover. It was Lord Niu.

In an instant, Sano had to weigh his choices. He could wait for O-hisa, who might never appear, or he could follow Lord Niu and perhaps learn more about the plot. His commitment to O-hisa and their earlier plan warred with his curiosity. He took a step in Lord Niu’s direction, then paused, looking back at the estate. Finally a desire for positive action swayed his decision. He hurried after Lord Niu.

Following the daimyo’s son proved harder than it had yesterday, but not because he was on foot while Lord Niu rode. Although Setsubun wouldn’t officially start until dark, the streets of Nihonbashi were filling with rowdy townspeople who had begun their celebrations early. Young men dressed in women’s clothes assailed Lord Niu with mock come-ons, persisting until he waved his sword at them. His horse shied when children threw firecrackers that popped near its hooves. Housewives hurried to and fro with bundles of last-minute purchases for their New Year’s Day feasts. In such confusion, a mounted man could travel no faster than one who walked. But without his disguise, Sano had to lag far behind Lord Niu to avoid being seen and recognized. The crowds got in his way and distracted him. What if he confused Lord Niu with some other rider dressed in plain dark clothing? A drunken old man accosted Sano, urging sake upon him. A group of adolescent boys blocked his way with a mock sword battle. With relief he emerged from the suffocating residential district into a wide, relatively uncrowded street of fine shops and rich merchants’ dwellings. He was just in time to see the back of Lord Niu’s horse disappear down an alley on the other side. He hurried forward, but a roaring wave of sound, comprised of shouts, hoofbeats, and the tramp of countless marching feet, bore down on him.

A horde of mounted samurai rounded the corner, bearing banners emblazoned with the cross-within-a-square Asano crest. Ahead of them, runners dashed back and forth across the street.

“Out of the way!” they yelled. “Bow down! Bow down!”

All around Sano, people hastened to comply. Dropping their bundles, they fell to their knees in the gutters, arms extended before them, foreheads pressed to the ground. Everyone knew that the samurai wouldn’t hesitate to exercise kirisute-their legal right to cut down and kill any peasant not quick enough to bow before a daimyo’s procession. Sano leaped forward, hoping to cross the street ahead of the procession. But rows of kneeling bodies blocked his way.

The procession thundered past. First the horsemen, haughty and upright, then hundreds of servants carrying baskets of provisions and treasure. Foot soldiers came next, wearing big, circular wicker hats, shoulders moving in their characteristic, bold “cutting the air” manner. Finally the daimyo’s gaudy palanquin appeared, followed by