“The ’special occasion’ was the revolt, which would fail because Konoe was going to report it to the bakufu in time for the army to-”
“Head off the siege of Miyako. Then the bakufu would-”
“Reward Konoe by granting his request to shut down the Kodai Temple convent and force Kozeri to go back to him,” Reiko finished triumphantly.
Exhilarated by their shared reasoning, they laughed together. “I found the clue on our first day in Miyako, but 1 didn’t recognize its significance,” Sano said. "Now we just have to figure out where this place is.”
“Lofty, sacred heights,” Reiko mused. “Maybe Konoe was talking about a mountain, but if so, which one?”
“Spires could mean a temple,” Sano said, “though there must be as many of those as there are mountains in the Miyako area.”
“Drifting feathers and clear water?” Reiko shook her head.
“That part doesn’t make any sense to me.”
“I’ve read something like that before, in writings about Miyako…” Sano thought hard, but couldn’t grasp the memory. “My knowledge of the city is limited, but a local citizen might recognize the reference.”
He rushed out the door and found the innkeeper’s wife kneeling in the corridor, her ear to the wall. She gasped in alarm and said, “Hello, master.”
“Please come in,” Sano said, hurrying her into the room. He read her the passage from the letter. “Does that suggest anything to you?”
The woman smiled, obviously relieved because he didn’t scold her for eavesdropping. “Oh, of course. It means Kiyomizu Temple-the Clear-Water Temple on Sound-of-Feathers Mountain. A very beautiful place. You must see it while you’re in Miyako.”
“I expect I will. Many thanks for your help.”
Now Sano recalled what he’d read. Kiyomizu Temple, strategically situated on high ground, had been for centuries a favored spot for mobilizing troops and a secret rendezvous site of spies and rebels. He and Reiko exchanged jubilant smiles, but immediately sobered as their gazes moved to the window. It was nearly dusk.
There wasn’t much time to head off the rebels’ attack.
33
It was the last night of Obon. The time had come for the visiting souls of the dead to leave the world of the living. Throughout Miyako, people threw stones on roofs to drive the spirits away. As the pale pink sunset sky deepened to magenta, crowds converged upon the Kamo River. They launched small straw boats, each containing incense, a lantern to light the spirits’ way to the netherworld, food for the journey, and written prayers. The water became a sparkling stream of lights. Huge bonfires in the shape of auspicious characters burned on the hillsides, guiding the spirits back to the cemeteries.
Marching southeast from Nijō Castle, the Tokugawa army, two thousand strong, made slow progress through streets flocked with citizens. “Make way!” shouted the banner bearers at the head of the procession. “Take cover. Go home!”
Gunners, archers, and mounted troops pushed through the heedless crowds. Sano, clad in full armor, rode at the end with the commanders. He said to Marume and Fukida, “The rebels probably chose tonight to attack because they thought the entire militia would be busy participating in the Obon rites.”
“If not for the emperor’s decision to announce his plans, they might have succeeded in capturing Miyako,” said Marume.
“They might still cause mass destruction,” Fukida said, “if we don’t get to Kiyomizu Temple in time.”
The army crossed the Gojo Bridge. Below, tiny bright boats floated downstream. For Sano, the scene had the atmosphere of a nightmare. The long Tokugawa peace had lulled the samurai class into complacency; never had he imagined riding off to civil war, except in fantasy. But fantasy had become reality. Beneath his metal breastplate, Sano’s heart thudded like the urgent cadence of a war drum. He smelled the sharp odor of nerves and anticipation rising from his comrades. Would he fulfill the ultimate samurai destiny of dying in battle for his lord? Sano offered a silent prayer that he and Reiko would be safely reunited. She was in Nijō Manor, protected by her guards, and she’d promised that if the war reached the city, she wouldn’t join the fight. Sano hoped she would keep that promise.
Someone rode up beside him. “Are you ready, Sōsakan Sano?”
It was Chamberlain Yanagisawa, mounted on a black steed. He wore a magnificent suit of red-lacquered armor and a golden-horned helmet. Since learning the rebels’ plans, he’d applied his impressive organizing skills to the task of defending the regime. He’d marshaled the best fighters and gotten them under way in an impossibly short time, while leaving forces behind to guard the city. Sano had been amazed to discover that inside the corrupt chamberlain beat the heart of a samurai.
Now, as they rode through the eastern suburbs toward Kiyomizu Temple, Sano bowed to Yanagisawa, who looked the perfect general, ready to inspire his troops to victory. Never had Sano envisioned fighting under the command of the man who’d so often tried to destroy him. Yet the ancient mystique of great warriors like Tokugawa Ieyasu and Toyotomi Hideyoshi surrounded Yanagisawa like a magic spell. The warrior in Sano cleaved to it. He willingly placed his life in his enemy’s service.
“You understand your orders?” Yanagisawa said. The gaze he swept over Sano, Marume, and Fukida was clear of animosity, focused on larger concerns than personal strife.
“Yes, Honorable Chamberlain. We three will find the emperor and capture him alive,” Sano said.
“Good. I’m counting on you.”
As Yanagisawa moved on to confer with his other commanders, Sano felt strangely uplifted by the encounter. Surely all the men present would fight their best for Yanagisawa tonight.
The approach to Kiyomizu Temple led the army up a steep incline, along a narrow lane of shops where craftsmen had produced pottery for generations. High above loomed the temple gate, its square arch and flaring roof stark against a landscape of forested cliffs. The sky was the color of a fresh wound.
A murmur rippled through the ranks of the army: “Listen!”
From beyond the gate came the thunder of hoofbeats. Torches borne through the temple precinct by the approaching rebel army cast an eerie glow. Sano felt battle lust consuming him and his allies like invisible flames.
Chamberlain Yanagisawa called, “Ambush them at the top of the hill!”
The army surged forward, reaching the crest just as several thousand rebels stampeded through the gate and down broad stone stairs leading to a plaza. Some were samurai in elaborate armor, but many wore ragged peasant clothes. Gangsters sported leather tunics over bare, tattooed skin. White hoods cowled the shaved heads of priests in saffron robes. Banner bearers waved flags imprinted with the imperial crest. Foot soldiers carried bows, guns, and spears; mounted troops brandished swords and lances. Their torches illuminated shocked faces: They hadn’t expected such prompt opposition. Now they froze in ranks.
“You’re trapped!” Yanagisawa shouted from his position behind his troops. "Surrender!”
Instead, a defiant yell came from the rebel general, a mounted samurai clad in full armor: “Stand and fight!”
Simultaneously the archers and gunners of both armies dropped to their knees, aiming bows and arquebuses. A storm of arrows whirred across the plaza. Volleys of gunfire rocked the night. Amid gunpowder fumes and smoke, men fell dead and injured. Conch trumpets and war drums signaled troop movements. Then a maelstrom of swinging blades and rearing horses engulfed the plaza as the troops fought. Pressing forward through the melee, Sano felt arrows clatter against his armor. A rebel samurai galloped at him, waving a sword. Sano cut his opponent across the neck. The rebel’s horse galloped away, dragging a corpse. The glory of destruction horrified Sano, and thrilled him to the core of his samurai spirit.