“No. It can’t be.” Trembling and frantic, the shogun looked around the room. When nobody contradicted Sano, he wailed, “The poor, dear boy!” and burst into tears. “Ahh, how terribly he must have suffered!”
Even while distressed by the misery his words had caused and in fear for his life, Sano marveled at how Yoshisato’s death had affected the shogun.
“He was such a wonderful young man! That he should be cut down in the prime of his life! What a tragedy!” The shogun prostrated himself on the dais as he wept.
Sano had expected the shogun to be strictly concerned about himself, as he’d been after his daughter’s death. This time he lamented Yoshisato, not the disruption of his own world. Yoshisato had been, as Sano had begun to think, a truly special person.
“My son! I loved him so much!” The shogun sobbed so hard he gasped for breath. “I only had him for, ahh, such a short time. And now he’s gone!”
Sano had never known the shogun to love anybody. His sincere grief made Sano feel even guiltier. Yanagisawa watched it with perverse pleasure. The shogun raised himself on his elbows. Anger surfaced through his grief. His wet gaze raked Sano’s leather garments.
“Why didn’t you put out the fire? Why didn’t you save Yoshisato?”
“I tried.” Sano felt the hot roar of the flames blasting out the door. “It was too late.”
“He set the fire,” Yanagisawa said, his voice loud with indignation.
“Can this be true?” The shogun gaped at Sano. “You murdered my son?”
“No,” Sano said vehemently. “Chamberlain Yanagisawa is wrong.”
“He’s lying. Here’s the evidence he left.” Yanagisawa reached behind him and brought forth the smoking basket, the jar, and the rags.
“It’s not mine,” Sano said.
The shogun handled the ash-coated metal basket with finicky fingers, wrinkling his nose as he smelled the rags. “What are these?”
“The jar that Sano used to carry the kerosene to the heir’s residence,” Yanagisawa said. “He brought hot coals in the smoking basket. He lit the rags to start the fire.” Conviction rang in Yanagisawa’s voice. During the past few hours he’d become entrenched in his belief that Sano had murdered Yoshisato.
“I never saw them until after the fire was out,” Sano insisted, glancing at the elders. They eyed him dubiously. Either Yanagisawa had persuaded them that Sano was guilty or they were afraid not to go along with him. “I was investigating the fire. I found them under a bush.”
“You were sneaking them away, so that nobody else would find them. But I caught you.” Yanagisawa said to the shogun, “Sano didn’t want Yoshisato to inherit the dictatorship. He tried to discredit Yoshisato, but he failed. So he burned him to death.”
“No!” Sano shouted in desperation. “It’s not how it looks!”
“It looks to me as if you killed my son!” The shogun’s voice was shrill with hysteria. Clutching the metal basket, he clambered to his feet, fell off the dais, then staggered over to Sano. “Why? Why did you do it?”
The shogun had wrongly accused Sano of many evils but never something as serious as this. Sano spoke with urgent passion. “I did not set that fire. Your Excellency has known me for fourteen years. You know in your heart that I would never do such a heinous thing!”
“Don’t believe him!” Yanagisawa shouted. “Sano was envious of Yoshisato. He wants to rule Japan himself. Yoshisato was in the way. Sano got rid of him by killing him in cold blood!”
“Murderer! Traitor!” The shogun swung the basket at Sano. Its sharp metal corner gouged Sano’s temple. “A curse on you!” He struck Sano again and again.
Blows hit Sano’s cheekbones, nose, and mouth. Sano remembered striking Hirata, who’d stood there unresisting. Now Sano endured the abuse and pain while the shogun beat his back and chest. It was Sano’s duty to take the punishment, no matter how undeserved, without striking back. Through the blood that ran into his eyes Sano saw Yanagisawa watching him with avid glee. The Way of the Warrior demanded courage while under attack. Sano would not shame himself by pleading for mercy.
Finally the shogun backed away from Sano. He dropped the basket, crawled onto the dais, and sat, gasping and spent. Sano’s head throbbed. The skin on his face felt numb, stretched across the pain underneath, as if his whole face were one big blister. The elders’ alarmed faces were like mirrors that told him how bad he looked. Yanagisawa gloated over Sano’s injuries but seemed disappointed that the shogun had quit so soon.
The shogun flicked his hand at Sano. “Get this piece of, ahh, garbage out of my sight.”
Something broke inside Sano. It was the dam that held in his most private thoughts and feelings. Now they came pouring out in a poisonous black flood. He’d often been angry at the shogun’s foolishness, selfishness, unfairness, and weakness, but that anger paled beside the fury that Sano felt now. He’d often disliked the shogun for insulting, threatening, and mistreating him. But now his wounded body rebelled against all the punishments that his mind had forced him to accept for the sake of Bushido. All his compassion toward the shogun vanished as he was finally pushed beyond the point where he could endure the constant testing of his honor or justify the shogun’s violence toward him. A savage hatred fought to explode out of Sano, like a wild animal from a cage.
“I’ll take Sano to the execution ground.” Yanagisawa sounded exultant that after so many years he’d finally bested his enemy, yet regretful that there was nothing more he could do to Sano except deny him an honorable death by ritual suicide. He rose, beckoning to the troops. “I’ll have him decapitated and his head mounted by the Nihonbashi Bridge.”
Sano knew this was his last chance to defend himself, but he couldn’t. He was too consumed by his hatred of the shogun, which was magnitudes greater than what he felt toward Yanagisawa. Yanagisawa had mightily abused Sano but only gotten away with it because the shogun let him. If Sano spoke, he wouldn’t say something brilliant that would exonerate him. His mutinous body would seize control of the tongue that his mind had always managed to hold. He would say exactly what he thought of the shogun.
You limp little man, waving your limp little hand to condemn your innocent, loyal retainer and send other people to do your dirty work!
The troops started toward Sano. Their usually impassive faces twitched with excitement. They knew this was a historic event and were thrilled to take part in it. The shogun watched, his mouth open and eyes vacant. Sano knew what that look meant: The shogun suspected that something was amiss, but he didn’t want to deal with it and so decided not to understand. Sano gazed at him with bitter loathing.
You’re not really that stupid! You choose to be stupid! It’s easier than exerting yourself instead of letting Yanagisawa usurp your power!
“Wait,” said one of the elders. It was Kato Kinhide. He had a flat, leathery, masklike face, the eyes and mouth like slits cut in it. The troops paused. “Let’s not be too hasty.”
“How could we be too hasty to punish the criminal who killed the shogun’s heir?” Yanagisawa sounded outraged that his crony would try to postpone his victory over Sano.
“We need to be sure Sano-san is guilty,” Kato said.
“Merciful gods, I caught him with the evidence.”
Another elder spoke up. “Did anyone actually see him set the fire?”
“I know he did it,” Yanagisawa said angrily. “How dare you go against me?”
Sano knew he should jump at the chance of turning the elders into his allies, but his attention focused on the mute, seemingly oblivious shogun. Wake up, you lazy excuse for a dictator!
“We’re not going against you,” a third elder hurried to say. “We just think you should exercise a little caution.”
“‘Caution’?” Yanagisawa spoke as if it were a foreign, dirty word. “Why?”
“Later,” Kato said with a warning glance at the shogun.