“Just to talk,” Sano said.
“Why don’t we talk while we have a match?” Yoshisato said with a challenging smile.
“Are you serious?” It wasn’t a good idea for two men to spar when they were on opposite sides of a feud. Sano had seen fights like that end in death.
“It’s our only chance for a private conversation.”
Sano glanced at the audience. Men craned their necks, trying to eavesdrop. A samurai didn’t refuse a challenge unless he wanted to look like a coward. “All right.”
Someone tossed Sano a wooden sword. As he inspected it, he hoped he wasn’t making a mistake. He’d won many real fights, but he was almost thirty years older than Yoshisato, and although he was adept at controlling his weapon during practice matches, so as not to hurt his opponent, an accident was always possible.
Yoshisato walked confidently to the center of the field. Sano followed. They faced each other, swords in hand. The audience rumbled with anticipation. Yoshisato lifted an eyebrow, waiting for Sano to speak or move first.
He was so like Yanagisawa, in his mannerisms if not his looks.
“I’m investigating the murder of the shogun’s daughter,” Sano said.
“I know. You think somebody infected her with smallpox.”
“Who told you? Your father?”
Yoshisato smiled briefly, letting Sano know that he knew Sano didn’t mean the shogun. “My adoptive father.”
Sano bowed, ceding their first round to Yoshisato while formally opening the match. Yoshisato bowed to Sano. They flexed their knees in combat stance, raised their swords. The cheers from the men in the audience had a rawer edge of excitement than was usual during tournaments. They knew this was a match between real enemies. They expected to see blood.
“I’ve been told that you went to visit Tsuruhime shortly before she got smallpox,” Sano said as he and Yoshisato circled each other. His muscles felt stiff, rusty. Since the earthquake he’d not had much time for martial arts practice. “Is it true?”
“Yes.” Maybe Yoshisato realized there was no use lying; maybe he felt he had nothing to hide. He lunged, slicing at Sano.
Sano easily dodged. He could tell that Yoshisato was testing his skill, not attacking him in earnest yet. “Why did you visit her?” Sano wielded his blade, carving the air near Yoshisato. A few mocking cheers rose from the audience.
Yoshisato deflected each cut with a grace that hid the effort. His supporters roared. “She was my half sister.” He wasn’t even winded from his previous match. But Sano knew, with the instinct of a veteran fighter, that Yoshisato had never fought a real battle. “I wanted to meet her and pay my respects to her.”
“How did you like her?” Sano asked as he and Yoshisato charged, slashed, and parried. He was breathing faster.
“I didn’t.” Yoshisato was having the harder time concentrating on both the fight and the conversation. “She was an awful braggart. ‘This is the most expensive tea.’ ‘My cook made these cakes. He’s the best in Edo.’ ‘This kimono I’m wearing is made of the finest Chinese silk. It was a present from our father. He’s the most important man in Japan, and he thinks nothing is too good for his daughter.’ All the while, she flirted with me, giggling and batting her eyelashes behind her fan,” Yoshisato said in disgust. “As if she thought I would be impressed by her beauty and her charm. But she didn’t have any.”
This jibed with Lord Tsunanori’s description of his wife, Sano thought. “You brought her a chest of gifts. What was in it?”
“Boxes of sweets, some vases, and a bolt of silk.” Yoshisato ducked as Sano’s sword whistled over his head. “Not a smallpox-contaminated bedsheet. I’ll save you the trouble of asking me if I killed her. I didn’t.”
He charged and lashed at Sano. When Sano parried, Yoshisato’s sword hit his with a resounding clack that rattled his arm bones. The audience cheered louder.
“You were in her room,” Sano said. “You could have had the sheet tucked inside the silk.” He feinted at Yoshisato’s left side. While Yoshisato moved to block the cut, Sano made another that whacked Yoshisato’s right hip. “You could have sneaked it in among her things.”
Boos from the audience drowned out the cheers. Yoshisato looked alarmed: The cut would have been fatal if Sano’s blade were steel. “How could I? She was there the whole time. She’d have seen. I suppose I could have said, ‘Excuse me while I put this sheet with your underwear and give you smallpox.’”
His voice dripped with sarcasm, like Yanagisawa’s. He launched a series of cuts that Sano had to work hard to fend off. One rapped his thigh. Sano tried not to gasp with pain. “I didn’t. Have anything. To do. With Tsuruhime’s death.” Yoshisato punctuated each phrase with a slash of his sword.
Sano was rapidly tiring. “You admit you didn’t like her.”
“I felt sorry for her.” Compassion softened Yoshisato’s voice while his blade relentlessly battered Sano’s. “She didn’t know our father at all. Her presents were sent by his secretary. He couldn’t have cared less about her.” Yoshisato attacked Sano with increased vigor. “She wasn’t nice, but she didn’t deserve to die.”
Sano’s heartbeat was speeding; he could hardly talk and breathe at the same time. “She could have interfered with your becoming the next shogun, if she’d lived to bear the shogun a grandson.”
“For the last time, I didn’t kill her.” Yoshisato whacked viciously at Sano, who shook the dripping sweat out of his eyes as he defended himself. “If I had to resort to murder to be the next shogun, then I would rather not be the next shogun at all.”
His words were spoken with such ardent sincerity that shock froze Sano. Had this been a real fight, Sano would be a dead man.
The crowd shouted for Yoshisato to finish him off. Instead, Yoshisato retreated and began circling Sano, giving Sano time to recover. Confusion rippled through the audience. “You misjudge me,” Yoshisato said. “You think I’m like Yanagisawa-san. But I’m not.”
“I’m beginning to see that,” Sano said.
“You’ve been having this feud with Yanagisawa-san for almost as long as I’ve been alive. Well, I want none of it.” His breaths came faster now as he and Sano resumed fighting. “I want you and me to be allies, not enemies.”
Shock upon shock stunned Sano. He almost missed parrying a blow to his ribs. “If this is a joke, it’s not funny.”
“It’s no joke.” Not a glimpse of humor, or malice, showed on Yoshisato’s solemn face. “Why do you think you’re still alive? Yanagisawa-san wanted you killed. If not for me, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“You protected me?” At last Sano knew the reason he’d been spared. “Why?”
“Because you’re an honorable samurai. I want to build a coalition within the regime, and I want you to be part of it because you try to do what’s right rather than what’s in your own selfish interest.”
Astonished and skeptical, Sano lashed his sword at Yoshisato’s feet. “How do you know that about me? This is the first time we’ve met.”
“I’ve talked to lots of people.” Yoshisato jumped Sano’s blade. “Your friends, and even some of your enemies, have good things to say about you.”
Sano was impressed that Yoshisato hadn’t blindly accepted Yanagisawa’s judgment. “Why do you want this coalition?”
“Because I hate all the corruption, and incompetence, and political warfare I’ve seen since I’ve been at court! I want to bring people together, so that there can be peace, and progress, when I’m shogun. But I can’t do it alone. I need men like you to help.”
They were both fighting in order to continue their conversation rather than to win. Now Sano realized that Yoshisato was genuine. He was decent, idealistic, and touchingly naïve, the exact opposite of Yanagisawa. His dream of a harmonious rule had a strong appeal for Sano, who gained a new respect for him. That such a young man, from such a background, should have the vision to create a better world without the strife his elders considered normal!