A servant entered the room, knelt, and bowed. “Please excuse the interruption, master, but the shogun wants to see you right away.”
“What does His Excellency want?” Sano asked.
“The messenger didn’t say, except that it’s urgent.”
“At any rate, I have urgent business with him, too.” Rising, Sano saw concern on the faces of his wife and retainer.
“You’re planning to tell the shogun about Yanagisawa?” Hirata said.
“I can’t fight off his plots forever; he’ll get me eventually,” Sano said. “It’s time for open warfare.”
“The chamberlain will deny everything you say,” Reiko said. “He’ll hate you even more for reporting him to the shogun. It might only make things worse.”
“I’ll just have to take that chance,” Sano said, “because they won’t get better by themselves.”
He left the house and walked uphill through walled passages and security checkpoints to the shogun’s palace. Inside, guards admitted him to the formal audience chamber, a long room lit by metal lanterns suspended from the ceiling. All the windows and doors were shut, the heat and smoky atmosphere stifling. On the dais sat the shogun, dressed in dark robes and cylindrical black cap. Attendants awaited orders. In the place of honor at the shogun’s right, on the upper of two descending levels of the floor, knelt Chamberlain Yanagisawa. Both men silently watched Sano approach them. The shogun’s mild, aristocratic face wore a pensive frown. Veiled hostility shimmered in Yanagisawa’s dark, liquid gaze.
Frustration sharpened Sano’s anger at the chamberlain. By airing his grievances with Yanagisawa there to oppose him, he risked immediate defeat in the opening round of battle, but if he waited until he could get Tokugawa Tsunayoshi alone, Yanagisawa’s next attack might succeed first.
“Ahh, Sōsakan Sano.” The shogun beckoned with his fan. His voice was distant, unfriendly. “Come. Join us.”
“Thank you, Your Excellency.” As Sano knelt in his customary spot on the upper level at the shogun’s left and bowed to his lord, trepidation chilled him. Surely he was in trouble, and he thought he knew why. Bowing to Yanagisawa, he said, “Good evening, Honorable Chamberlain.”
“Good evening,” Yanagisawa said in a cold, polite tone.
“I’ve brought you here for two important reasons,” the shogun said to Sano. "First, I regret to say that I am most, ahh, disappointed in your failure to capture the Lion of the Kantō. I have just been informed that you and your men were drinking and smoking in a tobacco shop tonight, and, ahh, accidentally set it on fire, while unbeknown to you, the Lion was right across the street! Your gross ineptitude forced Chamberlain Yanagisawa to step in and capture the Lion himself. He has displayed the, ahh, wits and initiative that you lack.”
With horror, Sano saw his suspicions confirmed. Yanagisawa had twisted the truth to his own advantage, stealing credit for solving the case. The shogun, perhaps not the brightest dictator in the world, often misunderstood situations; he remained ignorant of the animosity between Sano and Yanagisawa. He was also too ready to believe whatever Yanagisawa told him. Although Bushido forbade Sano to contradict his lord, he had to amend this bizarre distortion of the facts.
“It wasn’t exactly like that,” he began cautiously.
Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s suave voice cut in: “Are you saying that His Excellency has made a mistake and presuming to correct him?”
Sano was indeed, but when he saw displeasure darken the shogun’s face, he said quickly, “No, of course not. I would just like to present my version of events.”
Tokugawa Tsunayoshi silenced him with a raised hand. “There is no need. The, ahh, truth is evident. You failed in your duty. My faith in you has been, ahh, sadly misplaced.”
The undeserved reproach wounded Sano. How unfair that one failure-which wasn’t his fault-should negate everything he’d done right in the past! Although furious at Yanagisawa for thwarting his attempt to defend himself, he realized that persisting would only worsen Tsunayoshi’s disapproval. He bowed his head. “My deepest apologies, Your Excellency.”
Shame and dread sickened him as he suffered the blow to his honor and faced the likelihood of losing his post, and probably his life.
“However,” the shogun said, “I have decided to give you a chance to ameliorate your, ahh, disgrace.”
The prospect of a reprieve gladdened Sano, as did the sudden anxiety he sensed behind Yanagisawa’s neutral expression. His defeat wasn’t sealed, as the chamberlain had obviously hoped.
“This brings me to my second reason for summoning you,” the shogun said.
He nodded to a servant, who left the room and immediately returned with a samurai clad in an armor tunic with red Tokugawa crests on the breastplate. The samurai knelt on the lower level and bowed.
“This is Captain Mori,” the shogun said. “He is an envoy from the office of my, ahh, shoshidai in Miyako.”
The old capital, unlike other cities, was governed not by a provincial daimyo-feudal lord-but by a special deputy. This shoshidai was always a Tokugawa relative whose rank and trustworthiness merited this important position.
After introducing Sano and Yanagisawa, the shogun continued, “The captain has just arrived with some disturbing news. Ahh…” Memory or words failed Tsunayoshi, and he gestured to the newcomer. “Repeat what you told me.”
Captain Mori said, “Sixteen days ago, Konoe Bokuden, the imperial minister of the left, died suddenly. He was only forty-eight, and in good health. The court officials who reported his death were vague about how it occurred. Foul play seems a possibility. The shoshidai has begun an inquiry, but under the circumstances, he thought it best to seek advice from Edo.”
Hope and apprehension rose in Sano as he realized that the shogun was going to send him to Miyako to investigate the death. A new case offered a welcome opportunity to reclaim his honor and reputation. Yet Sano didn’t want to go away, leaving Chamberlain Yanagisawa free to menace Reiko and undermine his influence with Tokugawa Tsunayoshi.
“Even if Left Minister Konoe’s death was murder, isn’t the shoshidai’s police force in charge of handling all crimes in Miyako?” Sano said, stalling to delay the order he couldn’t disobey. “May I ask why this matter concerns Your Excellency?”
Granted, the Imperial Court occupied a unique position in Japan. The emperor was revered by citizens as a descendant of the Shinto gods who had created the universe. He had the sole power to give official sanction to the nation’s government.
Eighty-eight years ago, Emperor Go-Yozei had named Tokugawa Ieyasu shogun, conferring divine legitimacy upon the regime. However, the current emperor had no role in governing Japan, or authority over the bakufu. Other than mundane duties associated with running the palace compound, court nobles such as Left Minister Konoe performed a strictly ceremonial function. They were mere symbols of the real power their ancestors had once wielded from behind the throne. Konoe’s death, however mysterious, should hold no personal interest for Tokugawa Tsunayoshi, who never went to Miyako, or the Edo bakufu, which delegated the administration of court affairs to its local representatives.
“There’s more to the, ahh, situation than one might think, Sōsakan Sano.” The shogun sighed unhappily. “Left Minister Konoe was a secret agent of the metsuke.”
The metsuke was the Tokugawa intelligence network. It gathered information from all over Japan, monitoring citizens whose activities might pose a threat to Tokugawa supremacy. Sano, though startled to learn that an imperial noble had been a spy, couldn’t miss the implications of this possible murder.
“Fifteen years ago, Left Minister Konoe killed a man,” Captain Mori said. “He would have been tried, convicted, and executed, but we had a better use for him.” Sano interpreted this to mean that the bakufu had hushed up the murder and recruited Konoe to inform on his associates. “Perhaps his death is related to that crime, or troubles within the Imperial Court.”