Laura Rowland: Shinjū

The shogun fixed him with a stern look. “Did you try to prevent Sano Ichirō from investigating the murders of Niu Yukiko and Noriyoshi?”

“Why-why, no, Your Excellency,” Ogyu stammered, obviously too befuddled to lie with conviction. The shogun exchanged glances with Chamberlain Yanagisawa, who frowned. “Are you aware that Lady Niu ordered the murders for the purpose of protecting her son?” Tokugawa Tsunayoshi demanded. “If Sano Ichirō had not persisted in investigating them-against your orders-Lord Niu would have succeeded in his attempt to assassinate me tonight.”

“No. Oh, no,” Ogyu moaned. Body quaking, he prostrated himself before the shogun. Sano could almost see the waves of terror rising from him. “Your Excellency, please understand. I assure you that if I had known, I never would have-”

“Enough!” The shogun’s command cut off his pleas. “For your gross negligence of your duty and your treasonous endangerment of my life, I relieve you of your duties as north magistrate of Edo and sentence you to permanent exile on Hachijo Island. You will be held at Edo Jail until the ship sails in three months.” He nodded at the guards. “Take him away.”

“No!” Ogyu screamed.”‘Please, Your Excellency, have mercy!”

The guards seized him. He kicked and fought, but they bore him swiftly from the room. Sano could hear his hysterical sobs echoing down the corridor. He lowered his own head, shaken by the sudden fall of a once formidable adversary. A spurt of horror and pity diluted his satisfaction at seeing Magistrate Ogyu punished.

When the room was silent once again, one of the elders said, “What shall we do about this sorry state of affairs?”

Chamberlain Yanagisawa spoke before the shogun could. “One thing is certain,” he said. “As few people as possible must be allowed to know that His Excellency was almost killed tonight, or that a slipup in our security ever occurred. I will tell you why this is so and how we can accomplish that which must be done.”

The elders and Tokugawa Tsunayoshi listened with respect. Sano could tell that the handsome Yanagisawa wielded much of the shogun’s authority, just as the other yoriki had implied during that long-ago breakfast in the barracks.

“We cannot afford to have the daimyo think that the shogun is vulnerable to attack,” Yanagisawa explained. “Not only would the Tokugawa clan lose face, but a large-scale insurrection might result.”

There were murmurs of agreement.

“Therefore I propose that we disseminate the following story, which will also be entered into the official records: One band of outlaws attacked a rival band in Yoshiwara tonight. During the ensuing riot, many innocent bystanders, who rushed to the aid of the police, were killed. Young Lord Niu and twenty of his friends numbered among them. All the outlaws not killed on the spot were taken into custody by the police and later executed.”

There was silence while everyone considered this. The shogun nodded, and the elders exchanged glances. Sano, although appalled by this distortion of the truth, could nevertheless see the advantages of the chamberlain’s plan.

Then the senior elder said hesitantly, “It will work, yes. Besides us, very few people know that His Excellency was in Yoshiwara tonight-just his bodyguards, his family, and his most trusted servants. Young Lord Niu and all the members of the Conspiracy of Twenty-One are dead. My assistants have visited the Niu estate and have confirmed that Lady Niu and her manservant Eii- chan are also dead. We can use… methods”-his tone implied “threats and bribes”- “‘to ensure that the witnesses do not spread rumors. And no one associated with the Niu or other daimyo clans will admit to being a party to treason. But the law states that relatives of traitors must be punished. Should we not comply?”

Sano’s heart sank as he imagined Midori and her sisters, Lord Niu Masamune and his sons and grandchildren, the families of the other conspirators-hundreds of innocent people-being led to the execution ground to pay for a crime they hadn’t committed. Relief overwhelmed him when the chamberlain spoke.

“As you have pointed out, the guilty parties are all dead,” Yanagisawa said. “Further punishment… ” He spread his hands in an eloquent gesture, his meaning obvious. Further punishment would satisfy the law, but not the government’s need for secrecy or the country’s need for order and peace.

Sano’s poultices had numbed his pain; the drugged tea was making him drowsy. His eyelids drooped as the shogun and the elders agreed to Yanagisawa’s plan and discussed the particulars of carrying it out. He snapped awake when the shogun spoke his name.

“Sano- san , forgive us for keeping you so long. You are tired. But it will only take a moment more to settle the matter of your reward.”

With difficulty, Sano roused himself.

“In return for the valuable service you have rendered me, I will grant you a favor of your choosing,” Tokugawa Tsunayoshi said.

Sano was overwhelmed by the enormity of this unexpected gift. “Thank you, Your Excellency,” he stammered. But how to make the right choice? Finally he settled on the one that would eliminate his most recent source of guilt. “I ask that the courtesan Wisteria be freed from the pleasure quarter and given enough money to live as an independent citizen.”

The shogun leaned forward, a thoughtful frown on his face. “Very well. But surely this is too trivial a favor. Ask another.”

Emboldened, Sano said, “I ask that a monument commemorating the death of my secretary, Hamada Tsunehiko, in the line of duty, be erected in his family burial plot.” The shogun’s recognition would go far toward comforting the boy’s family, and some way toward fulfilling his own need to make reparation to them. “And that Niu Midori be released from the nunnery at the Temple of Kannon and brought home to Edo.”

“He asks nothing for himself,” the shogun said to the others in surprised admiration. “Only for others.” Turning to Sano, he said, “The things you ask will be done. But in recognition of your selfless generosity, I shall further reward you as I see fit.”

Now Sano entered the gate to his neighborhood. As he crossed the canal, he looked at the splendid black steed that Tokugawa Tsunayoshi had given him to replace Wada- san ’s dead one. Its saddlebags bulged with New Year gifts-fine lacquerware and ceramics and silver, beautifully wrapped parcels of mochi and tangerines-for his family and friends. He looked down at himself. The rich padded cloak and silk robes he wore came from the shogun’s own wardrobe; all bore the Tokugawa crest. He touched the magnificent swords his grateful benefactor had given him: the finest work of the master swordmaker, Yoshimitsu. He felt the weight of the pouch containing ten gold pieces-an advance on the real reward that he would collect after his visit home. All the finery seemed as if it belonged to someone else, that stranger he’d become. And he couldn’t bear to think of the real reward just yet.

In front of his parents’ house, Sano dismounted. He’d no sooner led the horse through the gate when the door opened. There stood his father, frail and stooping and looking more ill than ever. With one hand he supported himself against the door frame; in the other, he held the letter Sano had sent by way of the priest. His sunken eyes reflected a mixture of hope, uncertainty, suspicion, fear, and helpless love.

Guilt tore at Sano’s heart. Whatever he’d accomplished last night, he would never forgive himself for inflicting such pain on his father. He started to speak, but his throat closed. Tears of shame stung his eyes.

“Ichirō.” His father extended the hand that held the letter, then dropped it as if unsure whether to invite Sano inside or bar the door. A cough wracked his body. Recovering, he said, “Are you home to stay?” The tentative query encompassed myriad other unspoken ones.