“Therefore the plot had nothing to do with Konoe’s death,” Hoshina said.
“I just can’t accept that!” Yanagisawa restlessly paced the street.
“We can’t ignore the facts,” Hoshina said. “As soon as this complication is out of the way-” he gestured toward the battlefield “-we can go back to the palace and find out the truth about Konoe’s murder.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Yanagisawa slowed his steps; yet he couldn’t concede defeat. He devised a fresh theory around the conspiracy, like rebuilding a house to accommodate a giant piece of furniture that won’t fit. He said, “Before, the question was, ‘Who was the traitor Konoe had discovered?’ But what if we turn it around and ask, ‘Who knew Konoe was a traitor?’
“I don’t see where that leads,” Hoshina said, bewildered.
Instinct told Yanagisawa that he was heading in the right direction. “Suppose Konoe didn’t die because he had compromising knowledge about anyone. Could the murderer have killed Konoe because he-or she-knew about his treason?”
“Anyone who knew about the conspiracy could have destroyed the left minister by simply reporting it to the bakufu,” Hoshina pointed out. “There would have been no reason for murder.”
Yanagisawa recognized other flaws in his theory. He had no proof that Right Minister Ichijo or Lady Jokyōden had known about the plot. Emperor Tomohito had known, but as part of the conspiracy, he couldn’t have betrayed Konoe without getting himself in trouble. But Yanagisawa could guess who had known… and couldn’t have hoped to gain by reporting Left Minister Konoe’s crime to the bakufu.
In a leap of thought and logic too rapid to express in words, Yanagisawa whispered, “Prince Momozono is the killer!”
Hoshina laughed. “You’re joking.” Then, seeing that Yanagisawa was serious, he said, “Why do you think so?”
Yanagisawa suddenly saw the personal ramifications of his discovery. He ran uphill to the plaza. There, amid trampled corpses, some hundred rebels still fought valiantly. Yanagisawa scanned the ranks of his army. Mounted troops rode down the enemy; teams of swordsmen battled each priest, gangster, and outlaw samurai. Yanagisawa didn’t see Sano, who must have gone off in search of Emperor Tomohito. Sano hadn’t heard Hoshina’s story; he didn’t know what would happen if he tried to capture the emperor.
Now Yanagisawa saw his dearest wishes hovering on the horizon like a radiant constellation: Sano gone forever; the solution to the murder case in Yanagisawa’s hands, his victory over the rebels certain; a secure future in the shogun’s favor. All he had to do was absolutely nothing. Yanagisawa inhaled the scent of blood and gunpowder as he savored his triumph… but somehow it wasn’t as satisfying as he’d expected. With astonishment, he realized that something had changed inside him. Tonight he’d experienced the Way of the Warrior. The taste of honor had diminished his appetite for the feud with Sano. Deliberately letting one of his soldiers die seemed disgraceful behavior for a samurai general.
Yoriki Hoshina joined him. “What’s wrong?”
Yanagisawa stared at Hoshina. Now he understood that their reunion had also changed him, had altered his vision of the world. For two years Sano had been the bane of his existence; yet Sano had always acted out of duty to the shogun and dedication to his work, not out of a desire to injure Yanagisawa. Sano had saved his life, spared him punishment. And Yanagisawa had promised not to harm Sano. Could he repay the good fortune of his happiness by dishonoring their bargain and abandoning a comrade in danger?
Looking up at Kiyomizu, Yanagisawa guessed that Sano had gone into the temple to find Emperor Tomohito. When he did, he would also find Prince Momozono. Yanagisawa took a hesitant step forward. But habit prevailed; a sudden change of heart didn’t negate the goals of a lifetime. Yanagisawa backtracked two steps.
Should he let fate take its course, or rush to Sano’s rescue? Should he serve ambition and self-interest, or comradeship and honor?
35
Everything’s g-going to be all r-right, Your Majesty.”
Head tossing, body convulsing, Prince Momozono stumbled across the temple hall veranda toward his fallen, weeping cousin. Light from the ceiling lanterns splayed his ungainly shadow across the floor; his yelps punctuated the gunfire that boomed from the darkness down the hill. Knotted ropes circled his left ankle and wrist, the loose ends trailing; a cloth strip hung around his neck: The rebels must have bound and gagged him to keep him quiet.
Sano beheld the prince in amazement. Momozono looked as pitiful as ever, but he harbored the force of kiai, and Sano recognized the potentially lethal complications introduced by Momozono’s arrival. He scented the cold breath of danger; his mind raced.
“I’m glad to see you safe, Honorable Prince,” he improvised, anxious not to reveal that he knew Momozono was the killer. Getting the boys back to the city and Momozono into the custody of the bakufu seemed the best strategy. “Now that you’re here, I can take you and His Majesty home.”
“No! I can’t bear for everyone to see me in disgrace!” The emperor’s sobs dwindled to panicky gasps. “I never want to go home again!”
Prince Momozono lurched close to his cousin. He said, “We’re n-not g-going with you.”
The pair looked like frightened children defying a bully. Sano’s heart sank. “Neither of you has anything to fear,” he said, thinking fast. “Prince Momozono wasn’t party to the revolt, and Your Majesty will be spared the consequences of treason.”
Tomohito gazed uncertainly at Sano, betraying his need to give himself over to authority, but Momozono cried, “D-don’t believe him, Your Majesty. You must learn to beware of p-people who want to use you for th-their own purposes. Look at what happened because you trusted the l-left minister!”
Confusion disconcerted Sano. Did Momozono mean the right minister? Was Ichijo behind the conspiracy after all?
“The left minister was my friend,” Tomohito protested. “I wanted to rule Japan, and he helped me. He bought weapons with the money from selling imperial treasure. He raised an army to overthrow the Tokugawa for me. Before he died, he planned the siege of Miyako.”
Sano’s jaw dropped. “Do you mean that Left Minister Konoe was responsible for the revolt?”
Despite his astonishment, he saw that the revelation made perfect sense. The motives and means he’d attributed to Ichijo also fit the murder victim. Konoe, too, had been an ambitious man who’d wielded influence over the emperor. His position, like Ichijo’s, had allowed him the freedom to go about recruiting troops. And Konoe, as chief court noble, would have ruled from behind the throne if he’d lived and the coup had succeeded.
But his status as a metsuke agent had blinded Sano to these facts, and important clues. The notes from Konoe’s secret house must have been his plans for organizing the coup, not observations scribbled while spying on Lord Ibe’s estate. A man capable of murdering Kozeri’s husband, then pursuing her for fifteen years after she repudiated him, was mad enough to attack the Tokugawa. Now Sano recalled Ichijo saying, “Konoe… I should have guessed,” and understood that Ichijo had realized that Konoe was responsible for the plot. Emperor Tomohito had said he didn’t need Konoe anymore, meaning that because Konoe had already launched the revolt, he was no longer necessary for its success. Sano silently cursed his failure to see what now seemed obvious.
Prince Momozono bent over the emperor; while one arm flapped like a broken wing, the other clumsily embraced Tomohito’s shoulders. “It’s t-time to face the facts, Your Majesty. Day after d-day I listened to the left m-minister praising your ancestors who commanded power over Japan. I w-watched his h-hired martial arts experts teach you s-swordsmanship and convince you that you were a g-great warrior. He d-didn’t think I understood what he was d-doing. I heard him fill your h-head with dreams of glory until you agreed that you must lead an uprising against the b-bakufu.”