Laura Rowland - The Iris Fan

“I didn’t stab my husband! You’re deluded!”

“Confess that Lord Ienobu conspired with you to kill the shogun. Yoshisato and Yanagisawa will put him to death.” Gripping Lady Nobuko’s arm, Reiko said, “They’ll pardon you because you did them a favor by getting rid of both the shogun and Lord Ienobu.”

“Take your filthy little hand off me!”

“Don’t protect Lord Ienobu. He’s already murdered the shogun’s daughter. He wouldn’t protect you. Betray him and save yourself!”

“No, no, no!” Lady Nobuko pounded her fists and heels on the bed like an elderly child having a tantrum.

“She must calm down or she’ll hurt herself,” the physician told Reiko. “Please go.”

Frustrated because she couldn’t even beat Lady Nobuko while the old woman was down, Reiko had no choice except to leave. And even if she could prove that Lord Ienobu was guilty, how much good would it do, when Yanagisawa and Yoshisato were set to seize power?

Yanagisawa and Yoshisato stood before a huge map of Japan that hung on the wall of Yanagisawa’s office. Black lines divided the country into provinces. Ocean, lakes, and rivers were colored blue, mountain ranges brown, farmlands green. Red highways connected cities labeled in purple ink.

“These are the daimyo that will take my side against Lord Ienobu.” Yanagisawa jabbed black pins into the map, in provinces ruled by those lords.

“That’s not many,” Yoshisato said, “and they’re not the ones with the largest armies. You’ve lost a lot of ground since I’ve been gone.”

The brat had no idea how hard Yanagisawa had worked to maintain even those few allies! Yanagisawa stifled a sharp retort rather than waste time on another argument. “Here are the daimyo in Ienobu’s camp.” He stuck red pins in the richest provinces. When he was done, the map looked as if it were infested with red ants.

“What about the daimyo in the unmarked provinces?”

“They’re neutral.”

“Meaning, they don’t like either you or Ienobu.”

“Here’s how to change that,” Yanagisawa said. “We strip Ienobu’s most powerful allies of their titles and confiscate their wealth and lands. We make you daimyo of those provinces.”

Yoshisato gazed at him in disbelief. “Can we do that?”

“You’re Acting Shogun. You have the Tokugawa army to back you up.” Yanagisawa pulled red pins out of the map, tossed them in a lacquer box, and replaced each with a black pin. “Once these provinces are under your control, the neutral lords won’t be able to hold out against you. Meanwhile, you’ll have purged Ienobu’s cronies from the government and replaced them with your supporters or turned them into your allies.”

“This will change the political map of Japan!”

“To your advantage. Shall we proceed with it?”

The atmosphere in the room felt as hazardous as the air during the Mount Fuji eruption. Yoshisato was the one person Yanagisawa couldn’t manipulate. Yanagisawa would never have the same degree of influence over Yoshisato that he had over the current shogun, but for now, putting Yoshisato in power was top priority, and there was more riding on Yoshisato’s decision besides a victory over Ienobu.

This plan was Yanagisawa’s gift to Yoshisato, a compensation for all the evils Yoshisato had suffered on account of being Yanagisawa’s pawn. He hoped that when he’d put Yoshisato securely at the head of the regime, they would be at peace.

“It’s the most audacious thing I ever heard.” But Yoshisato spoke with grudging, admiring acceptance.

Yanagisawa suppressed his smile. He didn’t want Yoshisato to think he was showing off his cleverness, gloating over how much Yoshisato needed his help. “Then let’s go mobilize the troops. Not all of Ienobu’s daimyo are in town, but we can start with the ones who are.” The law of alternate attendance required the daimyo to spend half of each year in Edo and the other half in their provinces, on staggered schedules. This prevented them from forming alliances and revolting, at least in theory.

Yoshisato hesitated. Yanagisawa said, “What are you waiting for? You know how the shogun is-he could easily change his mind about you. We have to act fast.”

“This won’t settle the matter of who stabbed the shogun,” Yoshisato said. “Unless the blame lands squarely on Ienobu, he’ll keep fighting us. And Sano will fight us no matter what.”

“Ienobu will go down for the attack on the shogun,” Yanagisawa said confidently. “Don’t worry about him, or about Sano.”

* * *

“This is where Sano lives?” Hirata gazed with dismay at the shabby little house behind the leafless, snow-frosted bamboo hedge.

Keep quiet , General Otani warned.

Hirata was shocked at how far Sano had fallen in the world. Guilt tormented him because he hadn’t been there to help Sano.

It’s his own fault for going against Lord Ienobu.

The thought of his wife and children, as well as Sano’s family, living in such reduced circumstances, deepened Hirata’s hatred for Lord Ienobu, General Otani, and himself. His foolishness had put him on Ienobu’s side against Sano. As he loitered in the cold, near Sano’s house, a woman came out of the gate. She wore a padded blue cotton cloak, a gray scarf over her head, and carried a large wicker basket. Hirata was shocked to recognize Midori. Her face, once plump and rosy, was thinner, mottled, and careworn. The hair above her brow was streaked with gray. But Hirata saw in her the pretty girl he’d married fifteen years ago. He wanted to run to Midori, catch her up in his arms, and weep.

General Otani’s will clamped down on him. Not here.

Midori walked right past Hirata without a glance. In his wicker hat and plain cotton garments, without his swords, and his hair cropped instead of shaved at the crown and tied in a topknot, he looked like a peasant. General Otani let him follow Midori to the Nihonbashi merchant district. Townspeople thronged shops where clerks ladled tofu and pickled vegetables from vats. Coins changed hands amid talk and laughter. Smoke that smelled of fish grilling and noodles boiling in miso broth wafted from outdoor food stalls. Seagulls, stray dogs, and beggar children snatched at scraps. Midori entered a grocer’s shop. Hirata watched her buy daikon and turnips. At another shop she bought eggs. The proprietor made some joking remark and she smiled. When she came out, Hirata accosted her. “Midori!”

Her smile froze then vanished as she heard his voice; she clutched the handle of her basket. “You,” she whispered.

Hirata pulled her into an alley where they could have some privacy. The alley extended between the back walls of shops. Laundry hung from balconies on the second stories. Hirata and Midori faced each other amid reeking garbage bins and vats of night soil.

“What are you doing here?” she asked in a tremulous voice.

Hirata felt a needle of pain inside his head, a warning from General Otani. Midori hated it when he lied to her, but he couldn’t tell her the truth. “I wanted to see you.”

She didn’t look glad to see him. She looked horrified. “Do you know that Sano- san reported you for treason? Do you know that the army is after you?”

“Yes. But I had to come.” Hirata saw her through a scrim of tears. “I’ve missed you so much!” He hadn’t realized how much until this moment. He remembered when they’d fallen in love and their families hadn’t wanted them to marry. He remembered waking in bed with Midori the day after their wedding. They’d laughed as they made love, happy that they could sleep together every night. He remembered when she’d put their first baby in his arms, and he’d looked into Taeko’s little face and seen himself and Midori there.