Laura Rowland: The Samurai’s Wife

“I can’t promise that there will be any work you can do on the investigation,” Sano warned her. “The usual laws and customs apply in Miyako. In addition, the Imperial Court has its own special rules. You may end up with even less freedom there than here.”

“I’m sure there will be something for me to do,” Reiko said blithely, opening a wardrobe and sorting out kimonos to pack. “And I’ll be with you.”

“Yes.”

A grim, decisive note in his voice stilled Reiko. Realization struck her. Turning, she said, “You’re taking me so that Chamberlain Yanagisawa can’t hurt me while you’re gone.”

“And because I want you,” Sano said, rising and embracing her.

“We’ll solve the case together,” Reiko said, wanting to bolster his confidence in himself and their future. “We’ll be free of Yanagisawa long enough for you to restore your honor and regain the shogun’s favor.”

A procession crowded the final stretch of the Tōkaidō, the east-west highway that linked Edo with Miyako. Mounted banner bearers, wearing flags emblazoned with the Tokugawa crest, led soldiers armed with swords and spears. Behind these, Sano rode alongside the palanquin that carried Reiko. Then came the two detectives Sano had brought in lieu of Hirata, whom he’d left at home to manage his detective corps. Servants carrying baggage followed, preceding the foot soldiers of the rear guard.

The journey had taken them through villages and woods, along the sea coast, across rivers and mountains. Now, in the late afternoon of the fifteenth day, they entered the plain where Miyako lay. Behind them rose the hills east of the city, the highest peaks lost in dense clouds. Mist hazed the forested slopes. The air, trapped by more hills to the north and west, had a moist, tropical warmth. Flies buzzed; mosquitoes swarmed. The segmented green poles and feathery foliage of bamboo border {}bordered the road. Beyond stretched lush green rice fields, reeking of night soil. Peasants drove teams of black oxen; herons waded in ditches; flocks of wild geese winged across the sky. Reiko, enclosed in the palanquin, used a silk fan to supplement the meager flow of air through the sedan chair’s open windows. She was perspiring and weary, and the hardships of the journey had dimmed the glamour of her adventure.

She now knew firsthand the difficulties experienced by women while traveling. Hot weather, crowded inns, and strange food were minor problems. To obtain Reiko’s pass, Sano had spent a day bribing petty officials. However, neither the pass nor his high rank had guaranteed an easy passage through the checkpoints where the bakufu monitored activities along the Tōkaidō. There inspectors had interrogated Sano about his reasons for bringing his wife. Female assistants had searched Reiko’s baggage and person for secret documents, smuggled weapons, or unusually large quantities of money. And highway laws prolonged the ordeal. Custom barred women from riding horses. To prevent the movement of troops and war supplies across Japan, the Tokugawa prohibited all wheeled traffic except for oxcarts owned by the bakufu. Hence, ladies traveled by palanquin-a slow, uncomfortable process. Reiko regretted the expense and delay she’d caused Sano.

Now she spoke through the window to him: “I’m sorry to be so much trouble.”

He gazed affectionately down at her. “You’re not. I’m glad you’re here.”

Yet he seemed distracted. He’d slept poorly during the trip, Reiko knew, even with his men standing watch. Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s assassins had gotten past guards before, and what better time to attack than when Sano was on the road, where a murder could be blamed on bandits? And before leaving Edo, Sano had identified the spy in his house, a clerk who’d confessed to telling Yanagisawa about his plan to ambush the Lion. Reiko guessed that Sano feared more sabotage in Miyako.

Behind them, Detective Marume said, “Merciful gods, this heat is awful.” Reiko liked Marume, who was powerfully built and an excellent fighter. “Oh, well, suffering is good for the spirit.” Unfailing good cheer rang out in his hearty laugh. To his partner he said, “If I were as skinny as you, Fukida-san, the weather wouldn’t bother me so much.”

Reiko peered out the back window at Detective Fukida, who had brooding eyes beneath a brow creased by a seriousness far beyond his twenty-five years. Son of a minor Tokugawa vassal, the young samurai had a poetic bent. He recited

“Though the summer day burns my skin,

I shall cool myself by evening on the Sanjo Bridge.”

His allusion to a famous landmark over the Kamo River and the nearness of their destination revived Reiko’s excitement. They would reach Miyako in less than an hour; a messenger had been dispatched to announce their arrival. When the investigation began, she would prove herself an asset to Sano instead of a hindrance.

In the near distance, the road ended at the Great Rampart, an earthen wall that surrounded Miyako, rising like a gray fortress from amid tall bamboo stalks. High rooftops and the framework structures of firewatch towers reached above the top. The Great Rampart had been built one hundred years ago, Reiko recalled, by Toyotomi Hideyoshi, who had fought under General Oda Nobunaga, risen through the ranks of Oda’s army, and succeeded to power after his lord’s death, reigning supreme over Japan. As governor of Miyako, he’d rebuilt the war-ravaged capital into the city that existed today. Now, as the procession drew closer, Reiko saw the Rashōmon Gate, main portal of the Great Rampart. Its red pillars supported gable roofs with gold dolphin finials; a flight of stone steps led into Miyako. Reiko had always wanted to see the site of so many historic events. A shiver of delight rippled through her.

“How wonderful,” she murmured.

A quick smile from Sano told her he agreed.

Out the gate came a squadron of soldiers escorting two mounted samurai officials, one old, one young, wearing black ceremonial robes. This welcoming party crossed the arched stone bridge that spanned a wide moat. Sano’s procession met the Miyako contingent on an expanse of paved ground at the foot of the bridge, the two sides facing each other in parallel lines.

The banner bearers introduced Sano by calling out his name and rank. Two Miyako guard captains chorused, “The Honorable Lord Matsudaira Moronobu, deputy and cousin of His Excellency the shogun!”

The older local official exchanged bows with Sano. “Greetings,” he cried. "Welcome to the imperial capital!”

Shoshidai Matsudaira was an older version of the shogun, Reiko observed, with the same refined features and eager, subservient smile. He said to Sano, “I have heard much about you, and I regret that I’ve not had the honor of meeting you sooner, because I seldom leave Miyako. Why, it’s been-” He turned to the official beside him. “Dear me, how long has it been since I was last in Edo?”

“A year, my lord,” said the younger man. In his early thirties, he was tall and broad-shouldered, with an angular face that tapered from a square jaw to a sharply pointed chin. A wide, full mouth and heavy eyelids gave him a sensual masculine beauty. He had the confident poise of a good sword-fighter and a competent man on his way up the bakufu hierarchy.

The shoshidai regarded him with affection. “This is Yoriki Hoshina, senior police commander of Miyako and my chief aide.”

Reiko realized that Shoshidai Matsudaira resembled the shogun in more than just appearance: He, too, had a smarter, stronger second-in-command to think and act for him.

“Please allow me to introduce Detectives Marume and Fukida from my staff,” Sano said. The two men bowed. Sano didn’t introduce the rest of his party, and while Reiko understood that he was only following custom by relegating his wife to the anonymous ranks of his entourage, she hoped this exclusion wasn’t a sign of things to come.