“Have you told anyone about the court’s proceedings?” he asked the judges.
“Certainly not,” Superintendent Ogiwara said. The other men shook their heads.
They all looked offended because Sano had suggested that they’d broken their rule of confidentiality. If they hadn’t, and if his theory that someone was trying to influence the verdict by murdering Magistrate Ueda was correct, then the pool of suspects was limited to himself, Yanagisawa, and the judges themselves. And Sano knew which suspect he still favored.
A messenger entered the guardhouse and said to Sano, “Excuse me, but the shogun wants to see you. Immediately.”
* * *
Sano and Hirata found the shogun in his bedchamber. He reclined on cushions, bundled in fur-lined silk robes, his bare feet in a bucket of hot water. A towel swathed his head. His teeth chattered violently; his complexion was ashen. Yoritomo hovered anxiously near him while a physician mixed a pungent medicinal tea.
“What’s wrong, Your Excellency?” Sano asked.
“I’ve just had the, ah, most terrible fright of my life!” The shogun panted. “I went for a walk along the wall, and-” The doctor held the cup of tea to his lips. He coughed as he drank.
Sano was surprised, because the shogun rarely went outside on cold days. “What was His Excellency doing out there?” he asked Yoritomo.
Yoritomo favored Sano with a hate-filled stare. “His Excellency has been wanting to know more about what goes on outside the castle. We were up in the guard tower near the main gate, looking out at the city, when we heard a commotion. We looked down and saw-”
“A mob trying to force its way into my castle!” the shogun exclaimed, sputtering tea. “I was so terrified that I almost fainted!”
“I saw you there.” Yoritomo spoke accusingly to Sano.
“It’s a civil war! I’m under invasion!” The shogun moaned. “My worst nightmare!”
“I advised His Excellency to send for you,” Yoritomo told Sano. “Make him understand that it isn’t a war and he’s not in any danger.” His hostility toward Sano equaled his concern for his lord’s health and his own welfare. “And while you’re at it, explain what that scene outside was about.”
“Sano-san doesn’t take orders from you,” Hirata said.
Sano gave Hirata a look that warned him not to start an argument with Yoritomo. He didn’t need any more problems from that quarter. He gave an edited version of what had happened: “There’s a lot of public interest in the forty-seven ronin case. People heard that the supreme court was leaving the castle, and they wanted a look at the judges. They got too eager and started pushing.”
“Not a war, then,” the shogun said, relieved.
“Weren’t a lot of people hurt?” Yoritomo asked. “I saw what looked like a stampede.”
“Some.” Sano admitted, “Minister Motoori fell.”
The shogun trembled with fresh anxiety. “Ah, my poor old friend. And what’s going to happen to me? Are those ruffians still out there?”
“No, Your Excellency,” Hirata said. “It’s over. You’re safe.”
“Well, then.” The shogun sighed and relaxed on his cushions. He waved the doctor away. “You can go. I feel so much better.”
“This happened because of the forty-seven ronin affair,” Yoritomo said. “There’s bound to be more trouble unless the affair is settled. And do you know why it’s not settled yet, Your Excellency?” He smiled a cruel, dazzling smile at Sano. He looked like a young incarnation of his father.
“Why not?” the shogun said cautiously.
“Because Sano-san is supposed to investigate the case for the supreme court, and he’s not making any progress,” Yoritomo said. “Therefore, the riot was his fault.”
Sano thought that Yanagisawa couldn’t have done a better job of casting blame on him. “The riot was nobody’s fault. It was an accident.”
“Sano-san chased the mob away,” Hirata said. “He protected Your Excellency.”
“If he’d done his duty, the riot wouldn’t have happened,” Yoritomo persisted. “While he drags his feet, there could be another riot. Next time the mob might break into the castle!”
“Merciful gods, no!” The shogun clutched Yoritomo’s sleeve. “What should I do?”
“You should get rid of Sano-san,” Yoritomo said promptly. “Don’t wait for a verdict on the forty-seven ronin. Send him away now.”
“Maybe I should.” The shogun spoke with unaccustomed firmness.
A peal of doom resonated through Sano. Had the day finally come when he couldn’t escape punishment? Was he soon never to see his family again? At the same time Sano was outraged. Fourteen years of loyal service to the shogun had brought him to this! Bushido had rarely been harder to stomach than it was now. Anger gave Sano the nerve to take a gamble instead of hurrying to placate the shogun.
“If you want me gone, it’s my duty to go,” Sano said. “I’ll leave before the day is done. Then you can find someone else to clean up the mess that the forty-seven ronin made and solve all the other problems that I usually solve for you.” He spoke slowly, giving the shogun time to visualize the consequences of banishing him. “And everyone will know that you punished me for something that Yoritomo-san says is my fault even though it isn’t.”
“Ahh. Well, ahh.” The shogun shrank into his robes, like a quail hiding in the grass from a hunter. Losing a man he’d always depended on was too much for the shogun, who didn’t like to think that he was being manipulated. “I guess that’s not, ahh, quite what I want.” He turned a baleful look on Yoritomo.
Sano breathed. Hirata hid a smile. Lacking his father’s talent for the quick comeback, Yoritomo spluttered. His face red with rage, he huffed out of the room.
“What’s wrong with him?” the shogun said.
“I don’t know.” Sano thought it best to beat a retreat before the shogun changed his mind about sparing him. “If Your Excellency doesn’t mind, we’ll be getting back to the investigation.”
“Very well,” the shogun said. As Sano and Hirata departed, he called, “If this, ahh, forty-seven ronin business isn’t resolved soon…”
They didn’t need to hear him complete his threat.
29
Yoritomo was waiting for Sano in the corridor, his hands on his hips, his legs spread wide, his chin out-thrust. Sano said to Hirata, “Meet me at home. We need to talk.”
He faced Yoritomo. The corridor was empty but for them. “You think you’re so smart.” Yoritomo’s voice trembled with rage. “I bet you’re laughing at me inside. Well, just wait until next time.” He jabbed his finger at Sano. “You won’t ever laugh at me again.”
Despite the fact that Yoritomo had worked hard to destroy him, Sano felt a compassion for the young man that was tinged by guilt. Yanagisawa had made Yoritomo a political pawn, and on him lay the blame for Yoritomo’s unhappy life. But it was Sano’s trick that had changed Yoritomo into a bitter, hate-consumed, obsessive man like his father.
“I’m not laughing,” Sano said. He fervently wished he could take back his trick, no matter that Yoritomo had deserved it, and not only because he was paying the price now. He deplored himself for killing what was good in a youth he’d liked and hadn’t wanted to hurt. He would also hate for anyone to treat Masahiro the way he’d treated Yoritomo. “And I don’t want there to be a next time. Can’t we call a truce?”
“After what you did to me? Never!”
“I’ve apologized,” Sano said. “I miss the friendship we once had. Don’t you remember how we used to talk and practice martial arts together?”
“Yes, when my father was exiled.” Rancor pervaded Yoritomo’s voice. “After he came back, he told me that you’d been pretending to like me, because you wanted to use me to get back at him.” Yoritomo chuckled at his own innocence. “My father was right. You were never my friend.”