Laura Rowland - The Shogun's Daughter

This can’t be happening, Sano thought. He couldn’t believe what he, or the shogun, had just said. Now it was his turn to gape in shock.

Yanagisawa and Ienobu reacted with horror. “Don’t swallow that tripe Sano threw at you!” Yanagisawa said.

Ienobu said, “He’s trying to dupe you into sparing his life.”

“Quiet!” the shogun said with more force than Sano had ever heard. “I have to think for myself, instead of, ahh, being led by the nose.” Out of habit he lapsed into faltering speech, but recovered. “I must do what I, not other people, think is right.”

“Your Excellency,” Yanagisawa and Ienobu began.

The shogun waved, hushing them. “I always wanted to be my own man. But it was easier not to.” Shame lowered his voice. The spectators pressed closer to hear. “Being led by the nose became a habit. I thought it was too late to change.” A smile brightened his face. “But recently a wise young man told me that it’s never too late. He said, ‘As long as we’re alive, there’s a chance to do the things that are important.’”

Sano was amazed to hear his own words coming out of the shogun’s mouth. That was what he’d told Masahiro whenever Masahiro complained that he wanted to be good at many things but didn’t have enough time to practice them all. Masahiro must have talked to the shogun and passed on the sayings he’d heard at home. He was the shogun’s wise young man.

“He was right, too,” the shogun said. “I vow to change, starting today. I’m going to study the Way of the Warrior, and make my own decisions, and take my own actions. Even if other people don’t like it. Even if I make mistakes. ‘Mistakes are our best teachers.’”

Sano’s lips involuntarily formed these words he often said to both his children.

The shogun swelled with ardor. Color flooded back into his face. “I’m going to be like Tokugawa Ieyasu instead of a wax dummy.”

Sano saw the horror in Yanagisawa’s and Ienobu’s expressions worsen, and a lack of enthusiasm on the faces in the crowd. Nobody welcomed the shogun’s transformation. But Sano wanted to applaud the shogun. For the first time Sano had ever seen, the shogun was demonstrating humility. He sounded ready to make good on his vow. Sano forgave him fifteen years of maltreatment. His own forgiveness made Sano feel even calmer, lighter, and more at peace with the way he’d chosen to spend his last moments.

“I shall start by seeking justice for my daughter.” The shogun pointed to Lord Tsunanori. A tremor in his hand betrayed his fear of taking the first step, of opposing his subordinates, of confronting a murderer. “I order you to tell me: Did you kill Tsuruhime?”

Lord Tsunanori put his hand over his heart. He oozed sincerity. “I swear on my honor, I did not.”

Sano said, “You have no honor to swear on. I just talked to Namiji. She confessed that you asked her to infect Tsuruhime with smallpox. She betrayed you when she realized that she would take the whole blame for the murder and you would let her die rather than share the punishment. She’s under arrest.”

Lord Tsunanori’s loose mouth sagged. Terror enlarged his bold eyes. “That’s not true! I never asked Namiji to kill anybody! If she said I did, she’s lying.”

“No, you’re lying!” the shogun exclaimed. “I see your guilt written on your face. You’re responsible for my daughter’s death!” He looked frightened but determined to challenge the younger, stronger man instead of backing down. His cheeks reddened with anger. “Why?” he said. “Why did you do it?”

Lord Tsunanori hesitated, balanced between his tendency to do whatever he felt like, no matter how inappropriate, and his inkling that a wise man in his position would stand his ground. The shogun’s demands and his own impulsiveness tipped him over the edge.

“How would you like being married to a homely, vain, silly cow who constantly criticizes you?” he burst out. “How would you like to pay through the nose for the privilege, just because she’s your lord’s daughter? And she couldn’t even give me an heir. You of all people should know what a pain that is!”

The shogun frowned at the insult to Tsuruhime, the rudeness to himself. Lord Tsunanori went on, as if unable to stop. “Could you stand to be stuck with an ugly, barren, tiresome wife for the rest of your life? Well, I couldn’t. She kept pushing me and pushing me until she finally pushed me too far. And I couldn’t divorce her! So I told Namiji to give her smallpox. It was supposed to look natural, except that bitch Lady Nobuko got involved. She put Sano on to me. The way everything turned out, it’s all her fault.”

Sano had heard many self-justifying confessions but none as brazen. The shogun regarded Lord Tsunanori with loathing. He believed the confession.

Lord Tsunanori looked around at the spectators. He obviously realized he’d doomed himself. Tears blotched his face, but he smiled; his broad chest inflated his white robe. The man who stripped while playing hanetsuki enjoyed the attention. He said with pathetic triumph, “I’m not sorry I killed Tsuruhime. I’m just sorry I got caught.”

The audience beheld him with the vacant aspect of people who’d already used up their capacity for surprise.

“Uncle, you must-” Seeing the shogun glower at him, Ienobu said, “If I might make a suggestion-your law requires that since Lord Tsunanori is guilty of murder, he must commit seppuku. ”

“Thank you, Nephew, I wouldn’t have thought of that myself,” the shogun said with atypical sarcasm. He turned to Lord Tsunanori. “Because you’re a daimyo and you have much business to put in order, I give you, ahh, three days until your ritual suicide.” He signaled the soldiers with a firm hand. “Put him under house arrest at his estate.”

The soldiers moved away from Sano, toward Lord Tsunanori. Lord Tsunanori gazed at the shogun and Ienobu with sudden confusion and anger. “Hey, wait.”

The shogun shook his head. The soldiers kept coming. Lord Tsunanori backed away from them, his hands raised. “I’m not finished confessing.”

“I’ve heard enough from you,” the shogun said.

Sano was surprised that there could be more to the crime than he’d thought. “Please let him finish, Your Excellency.”

“I said, that’s enough!” Now that he’d decided to think for himself, the shogun was as touchy about taking direction from Sano as from everyone else.

Lord Tsunanori drew his sword. “If I have to go down, I’m not going alone!”

* * *

Tahara and Kitano hung in midair, higher than the treetops, their knees flexed, arms spread, swords in hand. They began to spin as they plummeted, like twin tornados. Wind from them buffeted Hirata and Deguchi. Staggering, Hirata beheld them with frightful awe. They seemed made of air, as if speed had dissolved their substance. Above them, tree branches tossed. Under them, columns of dust swirled. As they touched ground, invisible blades lashed out of the tornados. The tornados separated. Kitano’s circled Deguchi. Tahara’s assailed Hirata.

Hirata’s mind vaulted to a higher level of consciousness. Thought and emotion were jettisoned like obsolete cargo. Mind and body united on a plane where training and instinct melded seamlessly. Reflex commanded his muscles. Hirata dodged blades he couldn’t see. They whistled past his face. His sword, an extension of his arm, flashed in all directions, like a crazed lightning bolt. His blade parried Tahara’s with clangs that sounded like the heavens shattering. Booms caused by their fast motion rocked the hill. Collisions melted steel surfaces. The smell of vaporized metal laced the air. Hirata barely felt the impacts. Mystical forces within him carried their energy from his body like harmless gases.