Yoshisato had also inherited her wits, sharp tongue, and impertinence, Yanagisawa regretted. While Yoshisato would never forgive Yanagisawa for ignoring him most of his life, Lady Someko would never forgive Yanagisawa for stealing her from the husband she’d loved and making her his concubine. She’d nursed a grudge against him for more than eighteen years.
“You were eavesdropping,” Yanagisawa accused.
Lady Someko shrugged. “I’m borrowing a page from your book: Spy on your enemies, so you’ll know what they’re up to.”
Yanagisawa’s anger at Yoshisato expanded to include her. “Don’t ever do it again.”
“If you don’t like having me here, let me go home,” Lady Someko retorted. She and Yoshisato had once lived in their own villa and, after the earthquake, had shared a house with Yanagisawa’s three other sons and their mothers. “Oh, but you can’t let me go, can you? You have to keep me under control so I don’t do anything to spoil your plans.”
She was the only person who knew for sure that she’d never slept with the shogun, the only person who knew Yoshisato was really Yanagisawa’s son.
“You shouldn’t be too eager to spoil my plans for your son to be the next shogun,” Yanagisawa said. “Keep your mouth shut, and you’ll be secure for the rest of your life. Talk, and you’ll be put to death for fraud. So will Yoshisato.”
“And so will you.” Her tone and expression were vicious. “I would almost be willing to sacrifice myself and Yoshisato, just to spite you.”
“Almost,” Yanagisawa said. That was his hold on her-the fact that if she compromised him, the son she dearly loved would suffer. “Don’t be difficult. I’ve positioned Yoshisato to rule Japan. You should thank me.”
Lady Someko gave an unladylike snort. “Oh, and I should thank you for making my son a target for everyone who hates you.” She paced around him; her fiery skirts swirled. “Every day I hear rumors that you’ve finally gone too far. Do you know what I think? That you can’t pull off this plot. That Sano or Ienobu or one of your other enemies is going to bring you down.”
Her voice had the ominous resonance of a curse. “Shut up!” Yanagisawa ordered. “Never say that!”
“You can shut me up but not change what I think.”
Yanagisawa felt the same sensation of his self-control slipping, his temper consuming him, as during his confrontations with Sano and Ienobu. “Let’s see what you think about this.” He grabbed her wrist.
Fear widened her eyes as she laughed. “What are you going to do?” Her wrist felt small and delicate in his grasp. “Beat me?”
Yanagisawa wanted to pummel her face into a pulp so she couldn’t speak and he wouldn’t have to see the mockery in her eyes. “I hate you!” He wanted to vent his anger on her. But a sudden rush of desire flushed heat through his body. He jerked Lady Someko close to him.
“Hah!” she exclaimed. “You hate me, but you want me!” A triumphant grin bared her sharp teeth. “Doesn’t that make you feel like a fool?”
He was a fool, enslaved by her power to arouse him; yet he savored the urgency of his arousal. When he’d first made Lady Someko his concubine, he’d tolerated her viciousness because it added excitement to the sex, like an aphrodisiac poison. Recently they’d come together again. In the interim Yanagisawa had had so many lovers that he’d lost count. Women, men, pubescent boys and girls-his desire respected few boundaries, except that he usually preferred his lovers to be young. But when Lady Someko goaded him into such a fever as this, he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anyone else.
Yanagisawa locked his arm around Lady Someko’s waist. He pressed his erection against her. She laughed scornfully.
“Is that as big and hard as you can get? You’re pitiful!” She rubbed herself against him. Her lips shone with saliva.
She wanted him as badly as he wanted her. The aphrodisiac worked both ways. Yanagisawa squeezed her breasts. Her nipples were hard under her smooth silk garments. He dragged her down onto the floor, threw himself on top of her. She kicked and screamed. He pulled her skirts above her waist. One of Lady Someko’s hands tore open his robes, jerked at the loincloth wound around his crotch. The other punched his head. He fended off her blows while he pried her legs apart with his knees. Her legs were slender and smooth. Her pubis was shaved, in the fashion of prostitutes. Yanagisawa had never asked why; he didn’t care. It whetted his excitement. As she freed his penis, he thought he would climax before he could take her. She jerked it so savagely that he cried out in pain. He reached down and tore her hand off him. He shoved his fingers between her legs.
She moaned. She was wet, ready. He plunged into her. The pleasure was almost unbearable. As he began thrusting, Lady Someko clawed at his face. He grabbed her hand before she could scratch his eyes. Her fingernails raked his cheek. This was part of her allure-that if he let down his guard, she would hurt him. She arched her back to meet his thrusts. She dug her nails into his back, leaving sore gouges on scars from their previous couplings. Yanagisawa pinned her arms alongside her head. She bucked frantically, then stiffened and wailed as she climaxed.
Yanagisawa thrust faster, pounding her against the floor. He climaxed in a burst of ecstasy that seemed to launch him out of his body, into some black, dreadful void. He yelled while he emptied himself into Lady Someko. His body shuddered with its release.
Lady Someko collapsed under him. Their ragged breaths mingled as his body calmed and his wits returned. Now Yanagisawa couldn’t stand being close to Lady Someko. Drenched with sweat, he rolled off her, covering his limp penis with his kimono. He reclined, propped on his elbows. He heard silk rustle as she pulled down her skirts, then a whimper.
He looked at her lying beside him. Her hair was disheveled; gold ornaments had scattered across the floor. She turned her head away from him. He saw a glistening trail on her cheek. She was crying.
“Damn you,” she whispered.
She was ashamed of her desire for him, Yanagisawa knew. She felt defeated every time she succumbed to the pleasure he gave her. She sat up, rearranged her hair, collected the ornaments, and reinserted them with trembling fingers. Her makeup was tear-streaked, but she had dignity even as she rose on unsteady legs. She smoothed the brown folds of her kimono, which glinted with their fiery sheen.
Hobbling out of the room, she called over her shoulder, “You should do as Yoshisato says. Placate your enemies. Get them on your side. Or you’ll be sorry.”
18
In the laundry tent at Lord Tsunanori’s estate, Taeko pushed a hot iron along a damp kimono spread on a board. The air was steamy from the water in the tubs. Her arm ached from lifting the heavy iron off the charcoal brazier. Her fingers were blistered with burns. The other women chattered gaily as they worked, but she was homesick and miserable.
“Hey, you,” said Kiku, the sullen girl who’d wakened her that morning. “Help me carry these quilts to the house.”
Eager to escape the hot tent, anxious to look for a witness, Taeko set down the iron. Carrying quilts, she followed Kiku into the mansion, through the women’s quarters. Lord Tsunanori’s concubines, female relatives, and their attendants sat in their chambers. Their high voices filled the air, which was stale with perfumed hair oil and tobacco smoke. A loud shriek pierced the din.
Taeko paused to look inside the room from which it had come. Kiku went on without her. A maid in a blue kimono and white head kerchief knelt, a comb in her hand, behind a sour-faced, richly dressed woman. The woman shouted, “You pulled my hair again!”
“I’m sorry.” The maid cringed. She was perhaps ten or eleven years old.
The woman snatched up a hairbrush, hit the girl on her face, and yelled, “Get out!”
The girl hurried from the room, her hand over her left eye. She ran down the corridor past Taeko. Taeko was horrified by the woman’s cruelty. Her parents, and Masahiro’s, didn’t let anybody hit the servants. Taeko went after the girl, followed her outside to the garden. Ladies sat in a pavilion, feeding carp in a pond. The girl ran to a bent willow tree and ducked under its hanging boughs. When Taeko caught up with her, she saw the girl curled in the green, sun-dappled shade, sobbing.