Laura Rowland - The Perfumed Sleeve

“My apologies for interrupting your business, Honorable Father.” Yoritomo’s voice was a faint, immature echo of Yanagisawa’s. “But I thought I should tell you that the shogun has just sent for me.”

“Excellent,” Yanagisawa said. “That’s the fifth time this month. The shogun’s fondness for you is growing.”

And every moment the shogun spent with Yoritomo was one he didn’t spend with Daiemon, the rumored heir apparent. When the shogun named an official successor, Yanagisawa wanted it to be his son, not Lord Matsudaira’s nephew.

“You’ve done a brilliant job attaching yourself to our lord,” Yanagisawa said.

Yoritomo blushed with pleasure at the compliment. Yanagisawa recalled visits he’d made to the isolated country villa where he’d kept the boy and his mother. Yoritomo wasn’t the only child that Yanagisawa maintained in this fashion-he had five sons, all by different women, living in separate households. He regularly visited them all, establishing himself as a figure of authority and watching them for signs of usefulness. But Yoritomo was not only the one most likely to attract the shogun; he was, from his infancy, the one most attached to his father.

Whenever Yanagisawa had come to call, the little boy had toddled to Yanagisawa and flung out his arms. Later, Yoritomo had recited his school lessons and demonstrated his martial arts skills for his father. He’d always excelled at both, but afterward he stood tense with fear, awaiting Yanagisawa’s judgment. If Yanagisawa criticized his performance, he fought tears; if Yanagisawa praised him, he shone as though blessed by a god. His eagerness to please Yanagisawa continued to this very day. It moved Yanagisawa, as well as confirmed Yoritomo as his best chance of placing a son at the head of the next regime and ruling Japan through him.

Now Yoritomo said humbly, “I’m grateful for your praise, Honorable Father, but I don’t deserve it. Your teaching is responsible for any success I’ve had with the shogun.”

Several years ago, Yanagisawa had hired one of Edo ’s best male prostitutes to instruct Yoritomo in the art of manly love. Although Yoritomo had no inherent taste for it, he’d dutifully cooperated and learned the techniques the shogun most enjoyed. When Yanagisawa had introduced Yoritomo to the shogun last year and secretly watched them together in the bedchamber, Yoritomo had performed with an expertise that ravished the shogun.

“We mustn’t keep His Excellency waiting,” Yanagisawa said now. “You’d better hurry to him.”

“Yes, Honorable Father.” Yoritomo obediently rose.

But Yanagisawa perceived a hint of reluctance in Yoritomo’s manner. He felt the qualm that had struck a repeated, dissonant chord in him since he’d first pandered his own son to his lord. He knew from experience that the shogun’s weak, aging body afforded little pleasure even to a partner who enjoyed manly love. Sex with the shogun could give only disgust to Yoritomo. Recalling too well that his own father had used him in similar fashion with the aim of advancing the family fortunes, Yanagisawa felt guilt, shame, and pity toward his son.

He hastened to intercept Yoritomo at the door, then put his hands on his son’s shoulders and looked into the clear, guileless eyes that gazed back at him.

“You do understand why it’s necessary that you please the shogun?” Yanagisawa asked.

“Yes, Honorable Father,” Yoritomo said. “I must supplant Lord Matsudaira’s nephew as the heir apparent. When the shogun dies, I must succeed him as dictator of the next regime.”

Yanagisawa had drilled this lesson into Yoritomo during the five years since he’d chosen the boy as the best candidate to fulfill his political ambitions. “And why must you?” Yanagisawa said, anxious to make sure Yoritomo remembered the whole lesson.

“So that I can rule Japan with your help, Honorable Father,” Yoritomo said dutifully. “So that together we will command supreme power over everyone else.”

“What will happen if the shogun dies and you don’t succeed him?” Yanagisawa said.

“We’ll lose His Excellency’s protection and your control over the bakufu,” Yoritomo said. “We’ll be vulnerable to our enemies. For me to become the next dictator is the only way to ensure that we survive a change in regime.”

Conviction rang in his voice. He stood tall with his determination to achieve the goal Yanagisawa had set. Yanagisawa told himself that survival justified schooling Yoritomo to be a whore. Lord Matsudaira would have done the same with Daiemon, except Daiemon willingly prostituted himself. Daiemon, a rake experienced with both men and women, had no need of lessons on how to pleasure the shogun. Still, Yanagisawa’s guilt toward Yoritomo persisted.

“Do you understand that what we’re doing pains me as much as you?” he said urgently. “Do you understand that if there were any other way, I wouldn’t ask so much of you?”

“Yes, Honorable Father, I understand,” Yoritomo said with perfect, ardent sincerity. “I’ll gladly do whatever you ask, because you know what’s best for us both.”

“I thank you, Son. I hope that someday you’ll thank me.” Humbled by Yoritomo’s attitude, overcome by love, Yanagisawa squeezed his shoulders, then released him.

Yoritomo spread his arms, as if to embrace his father. Yanagisawa had a sudden memory of a little boy running to greet him. Then Yoritomo apparently recalled that he was no longer a child. He dropped his arms, bowed, and exited the room. Anguish and doubts plagued Yanagisawa. If he should be implicated in Senior Elder Makino’s murder, and if he should lose the battle against Lord Matsudaira, then his sole hope for the future rested upon Yoritomo.

Lady Yanagisawa and Kikuko peered in through the door of the chamberlain’s office. Inside, he’d seated himself at his desk. His hand plied a writing brush, inking a page with his elegant script. Lady Yanagisawa’s heart beat fast with the excitement she always felt when near him.

Without looking up, the chamberlain said to her, “Don’t just stand out there, come in.”

Lady Yanagisawa crept into the room. Its air was charged with the erotic energy that her husband radiated. He glanced up and saw Kikuko trailing her. His face darkened.

“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want to see her?” he said.

Lady Yanagisawa knew he didn’t like to be reminded that he’d sired an idiot, even though he blamed his wife for Kikuko’s defects. But Lady Yanagisawa hoped he’d come to appreciate how pretty and sweet Kikuko was. His treatment of their daughter caused Lady Yanagisawa terrible anguish, but not even this could diminish her love or need for him.

“I’m sorry,” she said humbly, and turned to Kikuko. “Go to your room, dearest.”

Kikuko, normally docile and obedient, clutched Lady Yanagisawa’s sleeve. Her sunny expression turned plaintive. “Me stay with you.”

Lady Yanagisawa realized that her daughter was jealous of her new relationship with the chamberlain. Kikuko had grown tired of being shunted aside in favor of a man who was a hostile stranger to her; she didn’t understand why she must share her mother with him. But although Lady Yanagisawa hated to hurt Kikuko, she couldn’t let her daughter come between her husband and herself.

“You must go,” she said, pushing Kikuko toward the door.

“Me no want go!” Kikuko cried. She burst into sobs. She fell to the floor, pounding her fists, kicking, and shrieking.

“Get her out of here!” the chamberlain shouted, enraged.

Desperate to preserve her foothold in his life, Lady Yanagisawa carried the hysterical Kikuko out of the office and thrust her into the arms of a maid passing along the corridor.