Just as he’d expected, Sano said, “I suggest that Shichisaburō be allowed to tell his version of the story.”
“Oh, very well,” the shogun said indulgently.
Soon Shichisaburō was kneeling before the dais at Yanagisawa’s side. Worry pinched his small face. He looked to Yanagisawa for reassurance, but the chamberlain refused to meet his lover’s gaze. He couldn’t wait to be rid of the despicable creature.
“Shichisaburō, I want you to tell us the truth,” Tokugawa Tsunayoshi said. “Did you, upon your own initiative, without, ahh, directions from anyone else, steal a letter written by my mother and hide it in Lady Harume’s room?”
Of course the boy would spill the whole story, Chamberlain Yanagisawa knew. But it was a humble actor’s word against his own, and he could easily make Shichisaburō look like a liar.
“Yes, Your Excellency, I did,” said Shichisaburō.
Yanagisawa stared at him, astonished. Excited mutters arose from Lady Keisho-in and Priest Ryuko; the shogun nodded. Sano said, “Your Excellency, I think that the present company is intimidating Shichisaburō. We’ll have a better chance of learning the truth if you and I speak to him privately.”
“No!” Shichisaburō’s cry rang out. Then his voice dropped. “I’m all right. And I-I am telling the truth.”
Confusion rendered Chamberlain Yanagisawa speechless. Was the actor crazy, or just stupid?
“Do you realize that you are admitting that you, ahh, tried to frame my mother for murder?” the shogun asked Shichisaburō. “Do you understand that this is treason?”
Trembling visibly, the boy whispered, “Yes, Your Excellency. I am a traitor.”
Tokugawa Tsunayoshi sighed. “Then I must condemn you to death.”
While guards chained Shichisaburō’s arms and legs for the trip to the execution ground, Tokugawa Tsunayoshi looked away from the distasteful sight. Lady Keisho-in burst into tears. Glaring at Yanagisawa, Priest Ryuko comforted her. Sano’s face mirrored dismay and resignation. Chamberlain Yanagisawa waited for the actor to plead for his life, to incriminate his master in an effort to save himself, to protest the betrayal. Yet Shichisaburō passively accepted his fate. As the soldiers led him to the door, he turned to Yanagisawa.
“I’d do anything for you.” Though his complexion had gone as white as ice, love blazed from his dark eyes; he spoke with reverence and joy. “Now it is my privilege to die for you.”
Then he was gone. The door slammed behind him.
“Well,” said Tokugawa Tsunayoshi, “I am glad that the, ahh, misunderstanding has been cleared up and this unpleasant business resolved. Sōsakan Sano, move over. Come and sit by me, Yanagisawa-san.”
But Chamberlain Yanagisawa, stunned by what had just happened, sat staring after Shichisaburō. For his sake, the actor had willingly made the ultimate sacrifice. Instead of relief, Yanagisawa experienced an agonizing onslaught of grief, regret, and horror. He realized that he’d just destroyed the only person in the world who truly cared for him. Too late, he perceived the value of Shichisaburō’s love, and the desolate void it left behind.
Come back! he wanted to shout.
Yet even as he considered admitting that he, not the actor, had instigated the plot, he knew he wouldn’t. Selfishness outweighed his capacity for doing what was right-and for love. Now he saw the ugly flaw in his character. He was as worthless as his parents had claimed. Surely this was why they’d withheld their affection from him.
“Yanagisawa-san?” The shogun’s peevish voice penetrated his misery. “I told you to come here.”
Yanagisawa obeyed. The howling emptiness inside him eroded his soul, growing deeper and darker, never to be filled. Ahead of him stretched a life populated with slaves and sycophants, political allies and enemies, superiors and rivals. But there was no one to nurture his starved heart, or mend his damaged spirit. Unloving and unloved, he was doomed.
“You look ill,” Tokugawa Tsunayoshi said. “Is something the matter?”
Seated opposite Yanagisawa in a hostile trio were Sōsakan Sano, Lady Keisho-in, and Priest Ryuko. He could tell that they knew the truth about Shichisaburō’s confession and his own role in the plot. They didn’t intend to let him get away with attacking them. This battle was over, but the war continued-with his rivals united against him.
“Everything’s fine,” Chamberlain Yanagisawa said.
Hirata walked through Edo Castle ’s herb garden, where he’d ordered Lady Ichiteru to meet him. A blanket of murky cloud covered the sky, with the sun a diffuse white glow above the palace rooftops. Soaring crows cawed. Frost had withered the beds of herbs, though their pungent scents lingered. Gardeners swept the paths; in a long shed, the castle pharmacist and his apprentices prepared remedies. Lady Ichiteru’s attendants waited at the gate. This time Hirata had deliberately arranged circumstances to preclude seduction, while providing enough privacy for what he intended to be their last conversation.
He found Ichiteru alone beside a pond in which lotus bloomed in summer. Standing with her back to him, she contemplated the tangled mat of foliage. She wore a gray cloak; a black veil covered her hair. Hirata could tell by the way her spine stiffened that she was aware of his presence, but she didn’t turn. So much the better: he could speak his mind without succumbing to her allure.
“It was you who gave Lady Harume the poison that made her sick last summer, wasn’t it?” Hirata said. “It was you she feared, and begged her father to rescue her from.”
“So what if it was me?” Indifference dulled Ichiteru’s husky voice. “You have no proof.”
She was right. Hirata had spent the past three days investigating the incident, and had eliminated the other palace residents as suspects. He knew Ichiteru was guilty, but he’d found no evidence against her, and since she was obviously not about to confess, there was nothing he could do. Ichiteru had gotten away with attempted murder, as well as making a fool of him. Angry humiliation stung Hirata.
“I know you did it,” he said. “Since you didn’t kill Harume, it’s the only explanation for how you treated me. You were afraid the sōsakan-sama would discover that you were responsible for the earlier poisoning, and you wanted Lady Keisho-in convicted of Harume’s murder. So you used me.”
Seething inside, Hirata continued, “I bet you’re pretty pleased with the way things turned out. But hear this: I know what you are-a murderess in spirit if not in fact. And I’m warning you: Cause trouble again, and I’ll come after you. Then you’ll get the punishment you deserve.”
“Punishment?” Lady Ichiteru gave a disdainful laugh. “What can you do to me that’s worse than the future that already lies ahead?”
She turned; her veil slipped. Hirata stared in shock. Ichiteru wore no makeup. Her eyes were red and puffy from weeping, her pale lips bloated. Her bare skin looked mottled and sallow, and she wore her hair in an untidy knot devoid of ornaments. Hirata barely recognized this plain figure as the woman who had captivated him.
“What happened to you?” he said.
“Tomorrow, fifteen new concubines arrive in the Large Interior. I was just informed that I am one of the women who will be dismissed to make room for them-three months short of my official retirement date!” Lady Ichiteru’s voice shook with fury. “I’ve lost my chance to bear the shogun an heir and become his consort. I shall return to Kyōto with nothing to show for thirteen years of degradation and pain. I’ll spend the rest of my life as an impoverished spinster, a despised symbol of the imperial family’s failed hopes for a restoration to glory.”
Sneering at Hirata, Lady Ichiteru said, “I apologize for what I did to you, but you’ll get over it. And whenever you think of me, you can laugh!”