Yanagisawa writhed and thrashed. “Chūgo! Are you mad? Untie me at once!”
A wave rocked the boat, and he rolled sideways, slamming his head against the bench. “Oh, no, the river… ” Panic blurred his voice. “Where are you taking me?”
Chūgo ignored him. Quickly he searched the cupboards, then went outside and examined the hold. A grim smile touched his lips when he found plenty of provisions. He could sail down the coast-a dangerous journey, but he could make it; he was invincible. After dumping Yanagisawa at sea, he would put ashore at some distant province, where he could lie low, disguised as a rōnin, until the manhunt died down and the bakufu realized that the chamberlain was no great loss. Then he would make his way across the country, finishing his work… Returning to the cabin, Chūgo closed his eyes, the better to anticipate his imminent victory.
From the floor, Yanagisawa spat a steady stream of threats: “Every soldier in the country will be looking for you, Chūgo. And when they find you, they’ll crucify you, then cut off your head. They’ll leave your remains on the execution ground to be gawked at by every lowly peasant who walks by!”
For Chūgo, the chamberlain’s voice had less meaning than the buzz of an insect. His surroundings blurred as imagination and desire transported him into the past…
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… to Oda Nobunaga’s encampment, where the great warlord sat in his curtained enclosure. Today he’d won the Battle of Nagashino, his greatest victory. He had finally vanquished the Takeda clan, his most powerful foes, and added their territory to that which he already ruled.
Chūgo’s spirit inhabited General Fujiwara’s body; he wore the general’s armor. Fierce pride ignited his blood as he knelt before Oda and spoke the words his ancestor must have spoken that night so long ago.
“Honorable Lord Oda, please accept these as my tribute to your supremacy, and proof of my loyalty and devotion.”
As Lord Oda surveyed the severed heads that Chūgo-General Fujiwara had brought him, his gaze lingered most fondly on those of the hatamoto, Kaibara Tōju; the rōnin, Tōzawa Jigori; and the priest, Endō Azumanaru: trophies from the present that had accompanied Chūgo into the glorious past.
“You’ve done well, Fujiwara-san,” Lord Oda said. “In recognition of your service, I shall reward you now.”
Chūgo’s spirit soared with his ancestor’s. Now he would experience the culmination of General Fujiwara’s career. He reached out to accept from Oda the two magnificent death’s-head swords-
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Suddenly a stabbing pain gripped Chūgo’s ankle. He shouted in angry protest as his fantasy ended. He was back in the boat’s cabin with the storm howling outside, and Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s teeth sunk into his flesh. With a vicious kick, Chūgo shook Yanagisawa loose. How dare this scum interrupt his vision?
“If you think you can escape disgrace by committing seppuku, you’re wrong, Chūgo,” Yanagisawa shouted. “You’ll die like a common criminal. You-owww!”
The chamberlain’s body jerked when Chūgo kicked his ribs. His voice rose in shrill panic. “How dare you hurt me? You’ll die for this, you will!”
Now Chūgo saw the man he’d always suspected lived behind the chamberlain’s suave façade: weak, frightened, and small. Yet the discovery evoked no sympathy in him. He kicked Yanagisawa again and again-in the stomach, thighs, and groin.
“Stop, I beg you,” Chamberlain Yanagisawa wailed. “Please don’t hurt me. I’ll do anything, give you anything-money, women, a higher rank-name it. Just let me go!”
Chūgo ignored Yanagisawa’s pleas and promises. His foot struck hard bone and soft tissue, eliciting screams from his victim. In the dark pleasure of venting his anger, he almost forgot the necessity of keeping Yanagisawa alive until they were far from Edo.
Desperately, Sano clung to his lifeline. The water swirled around him; the Sumida’s current threatened to drag him under. He gulped air between waves that doused his head. The storm continued unabated-if the river didn’t drown him, the rain would. With the boat ahead of him, he couldn’t see downriver. The landscape streamed past at a frightening speed, and he guessed they must be halfway to the Ryōgoku Bridge. He couldn’t see anyone following, either on land or ‘water. Where were Hirata, the police, the navy? And what had become of Chamberlain Yanagisawa? He must get aboard the boat!
Clenching his teeth with the effort, Sano climbed the rope, hand over hand, knees and ankles grasping the rough straw cable. The hull slammed his sore body. Hand over hand. Finally he swung free of the water. Hand over hand he climbed, thumping against the boat, until finally his head cleared the deck and he locked his fingers around the railing.
“Please don’t hurt me anymore!” Chamberlain Yanagisawa shrieked.
But Chūgo’s anger had tapped the reservoir of deep rage that learning his family secret had instilled in him. That rage drew him into the past, making him a witness to the abominable act that had inspired General Fujiwara’s blood score.
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A summer night, one hundred and eight years ago, at the Honno Temple. In the guest cottage, Oda Nobunaga awakened, sensing danger. He jumped to his feet, sword in hand.
“Enemy attack!” he shouted to his guards.
Too late. The door burst open. Arrows flew, slaying the guards. Akechi Mitsuhide’s army stormed into the cottage.
Oda lashed out at his attackers, downing two with one stroke of his sword. Spears slashed his arms and legs. Then, realizing he was doomed, he jumped out the window and fled, bleeding from his wounds. Akechi’s troops loosed upon him a round of gunfire. A bullet struck his arm.
“Now you’ll die for insulting me!” shouted the traitor Akechi. “Better men will rule in your place. I and Generals Araki and Endō have seen to that!”
Oda ran into the main hall to die by his own hand rather than suffer the disgrace of capture. Akechi and his troops set fire to the halclass="underline" a splendid funeral pyre for the greatest warlord who ever lived.
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Wild with fury at that ancient catastrophe, Chūgo ground his foot against the screaming, sobbing chamberlain’s face. The greatest sorrow of General Fujiwara’s life had been his inability to save Lord Oda. Akechi, Araki, and Endō, knowing his loyalty, had persuaded Oda to send him to help Hideyoshi fight the Mori. Now Chūgo experienced the full force of his ancestor’s grief and rage. He hauled the chamberlain to his feet and punched him square in the face.
The chamberlain flew backward, slamming up against the cabin door. “Please, Chūgo,” he begged. Crumpling to the floor, he twisted in a futile attempt to free his hands and feet. Blood and saliva spattered from his mouth as he pleaded, “I’ll make you a rich man. I’ll promote you to chief of defense. Anything. Just have mercy!”
But Yanagisawa’s status, power, and hostage value no longer mattered to Chūgo. Now he saw Yanagisawa as a symbol of all he hated-of today’s weak, corrupt samurai, so inferior to past heros. A kinsman who had failed to venerate their ancestor as he did. A representative of the Tokugawa, who’d reaped the benefits of treachery, and were therefore just as responsible for Oda’s murder as Akechi Mitsuhide, Araki Yojiemon, and Endō Munetsugu.
Chūgo backhanded a blow across Yanagisawa’s mouth. Then he hit on a truly fitting punishment for the chamberlain, who so deserved a taste of his own evil.
Chūgo threw Yanagisawa facedown on the floor. He lifted the chamberlain’s outer robes and yanked down his voluminous trousers. He tore away the loincloth whose band cleaved the naked buttocks. Then he hiked up his own kimono, loosened his loincloth, and rubbed his organ until it hardened. He straddled Yanagisawa and entered him with a brutal thrust.