“Far be it from me to disturb my honorable uncle.”
Yanagisawa knew Ienobu was lying through his big teeth. “You’ll be glad to know the problem has been solved.”
Ienobu feigned mild curiosity. “Oh? How?” Air whistled through his nostrils as alarm quickened his breathing. He feared that Yanagisawa had arrested his henchmen who’d been telling the shogun that Yoshisato wasn’t really his son and they’d confessed that Ienobu had put them up to it.
“Let’s just say I’ve put a stop to the chatter,” Yanagisawa said.
“Good.” Ienobu tried to sound enthusiastic, but his voice was flat.
Yanagisawa smiled. “I’m glad we had this talk. If the chatter should start again, your uncle and I know who not to blame.” His warning gaze told Ienobu that if he tried any more funny business, there were worse fates than being dismissed from court. Even the shogun’s nephew could have a fatal “accident.”
Ienobu shifted position, scrambling for a rejoinder. “I just thought of a problem I’d like to bring to your attention. Would you like to guess what it is?”
Apprehension stiffened Yanagisawa’s smile. “I doubt that I’ll have to guess.” But he already had. “Because you’re going to tell me anyway.”
“My sources say the shogun’s daughter was murdered. Did you have anything to do with that?”
“Of course not.” Yanagisawa spoke in an amused, disdainful tone, but his heartbeat skipped. He’d hoped that even if Lady Nobuko and Sano had gotten the idea that Tsuruhime’s death was murder, nobody else would, especially not Ienobu. “Your sources are blowing smoke up your bony rear end. Tsuruhime died of smallpox.”
Ienobu grinned; he knew he had the upper hand. “Not all cases of smallpox are natural. A sheet stained with blood and pus was found in Tsuruhime’s room before she took ill. It came from the bed of another smallpox victim.”
Yanagisawa’s heart sank. There was evidence that Tsuruhime had been deliberately infected. Ienobu’s spies had heard about it; Yanagisawa’s own hadn’t.
“You can’t really believe that story,” Yanagisawa scoffed. “You’ve been putting your ear to the rumor mill so hard, you must have ground it off.” He leaned from side to side, pretending to check on whether Ienobu had both ears.
“I’m not the only one who thinks it’s true,” Ienobu said smugly. “Your friend Sano-san does, or he wouldn’t be investigating Tsuruhime’s death.”
Yanagisawa was all the more disturbed to hear that Ienobu knew about Sano’s investigation. “Then where is the sheet?” Yanagisawa had to get hold of it and destroy it before it could be used against him.
“If you don’t think it exists, then why should you care where it is? What I’d also like to know is, how did the sheet get into Tsuruhime’s room?” Ienobu’s eyes were bright with suspicion and malice. “Perhaps you can tell me?”
“Perhaps you can tell me. You’re so convinced that Tsuruhime was murdered; it’s probably because you killed her yourself.”
“Not I,” Ienobu said with pious conviction. “Tsuruhime’s death doesn’t help me. You’re the one who wants Yoshisato to be the next shogun. If Tsuruhime had lived to bear a son whose pedigree was indisputable, she could have knocked Yoshisato out of the succession.” Ienobu pretended to have a sudden, bright idea. “But wait-you’re not the only one with a motive. Yoshisato’s is stronger. After all, the dictatorship is his to lose.”
If Yoshisato were implicated in the murder of the shogun’s daughter, he could lose more than his right to rule Japan. He could be put to death. Yanagisawa was more worried about Yoshisato’s safety than his own. His love for Yoshisato made him vulnerable. Losing one son had almost destroyed him. He couldn’t lose another. But Ienobu didn’t seem to have anyone he cared about more than his repulsive self.
“You’re speaking of the shogun’s heir. Be careful,” Yanagisawa said, his voice hushed with menace. “Or you could find yourself brought up on charges of treason.”
“No, you’re the one who should be careful. You’re playing a dangerous game, passing your son off as the shogun’s. I’m offering you a chance to get out of it with your head still attached to your body. Tell the shogun the astrologer made a mistake: Yoshisato isn’t his son.”
“You’d like that,” Yanagisawa said, astounded by Ienobu’s nerve. “That would put you back in line to inherit the regime. But if you think I’ll do it, you’re insane.”
“If you don’t, I’ll help Sano prove that you and Yoshisato murdered Tsuruhime. My uncle will put you both to death for treason. And I’ll be the next shogun.”
Although upset by the idea of Ienobu and Sano joining forces, Yanagisawa said, “Go ahead, make friends with Sano. It will make things more convenient for me: I can destroy you both at once.”
“I have to give you credit,” Ienobu said with mocking admiration. “No one else bluffs as well as you. You should really take my advice, though. If you don’t, we’ll just see which one of us comes out on top. And I have a bet with myself that it will be me.”
“That’s a wise bet,” Yanagisawa retorted. “When you lose, you can still collect from yourself.”
Ienobu smirked, as if he saw the anxiety Yanagisawa was trying to hide. “Here are my troops to escort you out. They’ve timed it just right. Our conversation is finished.”
Furious because he’d been intimidated by Ienobu, then rudely dismissed, Yanagisawa rose. Coming here had been a mistake. Instead of subduing Ienobu, he’d escalated the strife between them. Ienobu was an even craftier and more ruthless adversary than he’d thought. Ienobu was trouble that wouldn’t go away even if Yanagisawa managed to avoid being blamed for Tsuruhime’s murder.
Ienobu uttered a dry laugh, like cicada wings rubbing together. As Yanagisawa walked out of the room, he called, “I’m so glad we had this talk.”
17
Masahiro stepped into the teahouse. The proprietor and peasants bowed. Jinnosuke ignored him. The young samurai slouched morosely over the table that held his sake cup. Masahiro walked over, knelt opposite Jinnosuke, and said, “Hello. Do you remember me?”
“No. Should I?”
“I was at Lord Tsunanori’s estate yesterday. My name is Masahiro. I helped you pick up the tiles.”
“Oh. Yes. Thanks.” Recognition glimmered in Jinnosuke’s bleary eyes. He was drunk, Masahiro realized. He motioned to the proprietor. “A drink for my friend, and another for me.”
The proprietor set a cup in front of Masahiro. Masahiro bravely downed the sake. He’d only had a few drinks in his life. This time he managed not to cough; the liquor was watery, cheap. He sought to start a conversation about Tsuruhime’s murder.
“Those men you were working with yesterday,” he began.
“Those bullies! They’re always picking on me!” Jinnosuke burst out. “They don’t understand what it’s like to lose someone you love.” His voice broke. He gulped his sake.
“Who did you love and lose?” Masahiro prompted.
Jinnosuke shook his head, pressed his trembling lips together.
“Was it Lord Tsunanori’s wife?”
“Shh!” Jinnosuke glanced nervously at the other customers. He asked in a low voice, “How did you know?”
“I guessed,” Masahiro said, “from what the bullies said.”
“They won’t keep their mouths shut. I’m going to get in trouble for sure.” Jinnosuke dropped his head in his hands and groaned. “I never meant to fall in love with Tsuruhime! When she was alive, I didn’t care what happened to me. She was all that mattered. But now that she’s gone-” His thin shoulders heaved with a sob.
“How did it happen?” Masahiro thought that falling in love with his master’s wife was a stupid thing for a samurai to do.
“I was one of her bodyguards.” Jinnosuke wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “Whenever she went out, I rode alongside her palanquin and we talked about the weather, the things we saw, anything to pass the time. One day there was a beautiful cloud in the sky. It was shaped like a swan. I made up a poem about it and recited it to her. We discovered that we both liked poetry. We started writing poems and passing them to each other at home. It was fun, a secret game.