“These men are bound to me by our common history,” O-tama explained. “I know their motives as no one else can. Because they’re my cousins: Chūgo Gichin, Matsui Minoru, and Yanagisawa Yoshiyasu.” O-tama’s lilting voice danced over the names. “You’ve met them?”
“I have,” Sano said warily.
“You’re not surprised, so I believe you already suspect my cousins. How clever of you! But you’ve made no arrest. Does this mean you don’t have any evidence against them, and that’s why you came to me?”
The former yuna was intelligent as well as charming. Sano saw no use in denying the obvious, or pretending another reason for the call.
“Yes,” he conceded. After his experiences with Chūgo, Matsui, and Yanagisawa, he knew how little he could expect to gain from direct interrogation. All the suspects were on their guard now. With O-tama, he decided to let the conversation go where she led it and hope she betrayed some sign of guilt or innocence.
O-tama’s bubbly laugh evoked images of flowing water and sensuous frolic. “Then I’d be most delighted to give you at least part of the evidence you need to deliver the Bundori Killer to the execution ground. Shall I begin?”
Sano, awed by the contrast between her gaiety and the grim promise she offered, let his silence give his assent.
“The roots of the murders lie in events that took place more than one hundred years ago,” O-tama began.
At last, a confirmation of his theory, albeit from a questionable source-a onetime prostitute, Fujiwara descendant, and murder suspect. “You mean General Fujiwara’s attacks on the Araki and Endō clans,” he prompted.
But O-tama’s shadow shook its head. “No, sōsakan-sama. I’m speaking of Oda Nobunaga’s murder.”
Confused, Sano said, “I know the attacks occurred after Oda’s death. But there’s nothing in the archives to suggest that this was anything but a coincidence.”
O-tama laughed again. “Sōsakan-sama, a man of your intelligence must know that much of history is never recorded. What I tell you comes not from moldy old scrolls, but from this secret legend handed down from General Fujiwara through our family: The general attacked Araki and Endō because he sought revenge on them for their part in Oda Nobunaga’s murder.”
A sense of incredulity provoked Sano’s immediate protest. “But Araki and Endō didn’t kill Oda; Akechi Mitsuhide did. The facts are documented and undisputed.” Was this remarkable woman claiming that her family myths superseded the official historical record?
Evidently she was. “Our legend says that Akechi didn’t act alone. Araki and Endō conspired with him to murder Oda so that their lords, Tokugawa Ieyasu and Toyotomi Hideyoshi, could seize power.
“Ah, I sense your doubt, sōsakan-sama. But even in the records, there are facts that support the legend. Such as this: Why was Oda alone in a temple on the night he died, with only a handful of men?”
“His allies, Hideyoshi and Ieyasu, were away at the time,” Sano said impatiently, thinking this visit a waste of time. She wasn’t the Bundori Killer, she knew nothing of the murders or the motive behind them, and he hadn’t come to debate historical points with her. “There’s no evidence of their complicity. Ieyasu was on holiday at Sakai. Hideyoshi was fighting the Mori clan at Takamatsu Castle. He’d asked Oda for reinforcement troops, which Oda sent… ”
His voice trailed off as he saw the connection that the historians had missed, or ignored.
“Thereby reducing the number of men at hand for Oda’s protection,” O-tama finished for him. “But did Hideyoshi really need those troops? And why did Ieyasu take a holiday then? Was it a coincidence that Oda’s allies were both gone when he needed them? And what could Akechi have hoped to gain by killing the most powerful man in the country?”
Stunned by this new version of history, Sano repeated the standard answer, which now sounded ridiculous. “Revenge. Oda had sent Akechi’s mother-in-law to another clan as hostage for his good behavior. She died when he attacked them. And Oda ridiculed Akechi in front of their colleagues, banging on his bald head with an iron war fan as though it were a drum.”
“Oh, sōsakan-sama. Such silly reasons!” O-tama laughed merrily; Sano imagined her sporting naked in a bathtub with a client, amid clouds of steam. “And why did Akechi stay in Kyōto after the murder, instead of running for his life?”
“He wanted to win the support of Oda’s allies by distributing Oda’s treasure among them.” Having seen documents that proved Akechi had indeed tried this, Sano answered with more confidence.
O-tama countered, “Oh, no, sōsakan-sama. He was waiting for Generals Araki and Endō, who had arranged their lords’ absences so he could kill Oda. They’d promised him money and a higher rank. But they never came. And Hideyoshi avenged Oda’s death by killing Akechi.”
“If this story is true, then why didn’t Araki and Endō keep their promise?” Sano asked, striving to maintain his position, but only for objectivity’s sake. For he needed a motive for the crimes.
“Because Araki and Endō had acted without their lords’ consent. They didn’t want news of the conspiracy to make Oda’s retainers rise up against Hideyoshi and Ieyasu. Akechi was supposed to take the blame, alone. And he did; he was punished-but Araki and Endō weren’t. General Fujiwara learned of the conspiracy and vowed revenge, but failed. Now one of his descendants has taken up the task. Chūgo? Matsui? Maybe. But only Chamberlain Yanagisawa is a direct descendant of General Fujiwara’s eldest son. With him lies the main responsibility for fulfilling our ancestor’s wish.”
Sano’s earlier optimism drained away in a trickle of icy horror. The murder of a samurai’s lord was the ultimate offense-a blood score that could indeed transcend generations. O-tama’s story, supported by circumstantial historical evidence, explained General Fujiwara’s bizarre behavior, and the murders. And reaffirmed Yanagisawa as the prime suspect.
“There can’t be any truth to this legend!” Sano blurted in vehement denial.
“It doesn’t really matter if there is, does it, sōsakan-sama? All that matters is that someone-the killer-believes so.”
Sano couldn’t argue, but leapt to challenge O-tama’s credibility. “Why did you break the silence and tell me a secret that has been kept for so many years? Why have you given me evidence that endangers your cousins?”
Satin garments rustled as the shadowy figure behind the screen stirred. “You may find this shocking and disgusting, sōsakan-sama, but I have no love for my family.” Bitterness damped the lilt in O-tama’s voice. “Their problems are not mine. I care nothing for the samurai heritage that binds us. And I’ll tell you why.”
She recited the Fujiwara family history, and Sano learned of the rivalry that had divided the general’s sons after his death, the rises and declines in fortune experienced by the clan’s different branches. O-tama’s, he discovered, had fared worse than Matsui’s, Chūgo’s, or Yanagisawa’s.
“My grandfather mismanaged the estate entrusted to him by Tokugawa Ieyasu,” O-tama said. “He was demoted to the post of secretary. And my father, who inherited the post, was a drunk who lost it entirely. He became a wandering rōnin, hiring himself out as a guard to peasant villages. We ate millet and lived in huts. Money was scarce; my father couldn’t afford a dowry for my marriage. He turned me out when I was eighteen.”
O-tama leaned closer to the screen. Against the milky paper, Sano could just make out the oval of her face. “So I came to Edo, looking for work as a maid. But I couldn’t find a lady willing to hire a girl like me, who would tempt the house’s menfolk and make the women jealous. For even then I was beautiful.”