His insistence upon the right minister’s innocence disturbed Sano. Finally he had the testimony needed to convict Ichijo, but what if Ichijo really wasn’t the instigator of the revolt? Did that mean he hadn’t killed Left Minister Konoe or Aisu either?
Reluctantly, Sano entertained the possibility that the revolt and the murders were not connected, or else were connected in a way he’d never guessed. He began arranging facts into a new theory. Emperor Tomohito was the heart of the Imperial Court as well as the center of the revolt. The interests of everyone at the palace were linked to his. Therefore, someone other than the traitor could have killed to protect Tomohito from the punishment he would suffer if Konoe reported the conspiracy, then later tried to kill Sano and halt his investigation for the same reason. If the traitor and the killer weren’t the same person…
A flash of enlightenment seared Sano’s mind. The suspect he’d dismissed as incapable of mounting an insurrection fit this new logic as well as did the more likely culprits. Prince Momozono was the emperor’s confidant, and must also be privy to the secrets of many other people who didn’t bother hiding their business from an idiot. He could have known about the plot, and that Left Minister Konoe was a metsuke spy. Sano tallied other reasons that pointed to Momozono’s guilt. Stricken by the certainty that this new theory was right, he marveled at the unexpected turn the case had taken.
Then, from the east side of the hall, Sano heard hooting sounds, followed by slow, stumbling footsteps. He recalled Ichijo saying that Prince Momozono must have run away with Emperor Tomohito.
“Help me, Momo-chan!” the emperor cried.
The killer was coming.
34
From astride his horse, Chamberlain Yanagisawa surveyed the battle. Gun muzzles spewed thunder; arrows flew. Swordsmen clashed, their blades glinting in the light of fallen torches and a tree that had caught fire. Hundreds of bodies lay strewn across the plaza and the steps leading to Kiyomizu Temple; riderless horses galloped free; blood stained the ground. Yanagisawa’s army had suffered many casualties, but the Tokugawa forces now far outnumbered the rebels. Victory was near.
Yanagisawa rode back and forth along the perimeter of the battlefield. Waving his war fan, he shouted orders to the commanders, who conveyed them to the troops with conch-shell trumpet, war drums, and flags. His throat was sore and his voice hoarse, his ears deafened by the noise. Smoke and gunpowder fumes filled his lungs. He ached from the impact of bullets against his armor. The barbaric violence sickened him, yet he gloried in it. Battle had fully roused the samurai spirit that had awakened within him during the investigation.
Now his political feuds seemed like trivial substitutes for real war. When a mounted rebel soldier charged him, Yanagisawa swung his sword, slashing the man’s throat. A soaring exhilaration lifted him above himself, to a rarefied plane where he could fulfill his true purpose in life: to lead his lord’s army to victory, or die in the effort.
A pair of outlaw priests broke away from the combat zone. Clutching spears, tattered saffron robes flying, they sprinted down the sloping road toward the city.
“Stop them!” Yanagisawa called.
Before his troops could respond, a figure bounded up the dark street and waylaid the rebels. It was a samurai dressed in ordinary kimono. Wielding his long sword in his right hand and his short one in his left, he fought the priests.
Yanagisawa watched in puzzlement. Who had belatedly joined the defense? Then the newcomer cut down one of his opponents. As he drove the other up toward the plaza, he emerged into the light. Yanagisawa recognized familiar broad shoulders and a distinctive grace of motion. He blinked.
“It can’t be!” he muttered.
The samurai finished off the second priest and loped up the hill, looking around him. It was Yoriki Hoshina. Suddenly he caught sight of Yanagisawa. He paused, a sword in each hand, as he and Yanagisawa looked at each other. The noisy chaos of battle faded from Yanagisawa’s consciousness.
Then Hoshina advanced hesitantly up the road. Brimming with wonder, hardly aware of what he was doing, Yanagisawa dismounted and walked toward Hoshina. Had desire conjured up an apparition to haunt him? As they came together in the shadows beside a building, Yanagisawa’s legs felt unsteady.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
Hoshina stopped several paces away. On his cheeks were bruises Yanagisawa had inflicted during their fight-he was real, not a ghost. He said, “I’ve come back.”
“Why?” Rage and pain erupted in Yanagisawa. “To play me for a fool again? To kill me for humiliating you in front of your police comrades?”
Hoshina wordlessly shook his head while Yanagisawa brandished his sword, then dropped his weapons and spread his arms in a gesture of surrender. “Because I had to see you again,” he said, as though it were the most obvious reason in the world.
Increasingly baffled, Yanagisawa said, “But I condemned you to death. I could kill you now.”
“I don’t care.” Breathing hard, glistening with sweat, Hoshina stood proudly. “To be with you makes death worthwhile.”
The words filled Yanagisawa with an amazement that he hid behind scorn. “Well, if you’re so eager to die, then why did you run away?”
“It was my only hope of proving that I’m not the villain you think I am. It was the only way to convince you that all I wanted was to help you.” How Yanagisawa wanted to believe the yoriki! But he couldn’t bear to be hurt again. “This is another trick,” he said. “You think you can escape death by worming your way into my affections again. You’re too much of a coward to accept your fate and die like a samurai!”
With a rueful smile, Hoshina said, “If I were a coward, I wouldn’t have come back. If I were still the schemer that I’ve been all my life, I would know better than to try a ploy that had already failed, on a man who recognized me for what I was. I want to atone for betraying your trust and prove my love for you.” Hoshina took another step toward Yanagisawa. “Then I’ll die gladly.”
“You’re a liar!” Even as Yanagisawa’s spirit trembled at the ardent declaration, he pointed his sword at Hoshina, keeping the length of steel between them. “I’ll kill you!”
“I don’t think you will.” Instead of picking up his fallen weapons, Hoshina moved closer to Yanagisawa. From the battlefield, sporadic explosions of gunfire continued. Hoshina’s steady gaze transfixed Yanagisawa; the sword trembled in Yanagisawa’s hand as he backed away. “You could have killed me yesterday,” Hoshina said, “but you didn’t even draw your sword. That’s why I’m willing to gamble my life now. But even if I lose the bet, at least I’ll have brought you evidence to help you solve the case and made amends for betraying you to the sōsakan-sama.”
“What evidence? What are you talking about?”
“When I escaped, I took cover in the underworld of Miyako,” Hoshina said. “I tracked down police informants and asked questions. What I learned will help your investigation.”
“I don’t want to hear it!” Yanagisawa took another step backward, clutching the extended sword. Hoshina advanced. He dipped his hand into the cloth pouch at his waist. Fearing a hidden weapon, Yanagisawa cried, “Stop. Don’t move!”
Hoshina removed a small object from the pouch and offered it to Yanagisawa on his outstretched palm. “Do you remember this?”
It was a fern-leaf coin from Left Minister Konoe’s office. Uncomprehending, Yanagisawa nodded.
“I’ve found out what it is,” Hoshina said. When Yanagisawa didn’t respond, anxiety sharpened his face. “I understand why you’re suspicious, but please, just listen to what I have to say. Then decide if you can forgive me for the harm I’ve done.”