Lord Matsudaira gulped his sake and said, “That I could fall into such a wretched state, a prisoner in my own home, with the threat of death hanging over me!” His voice quavered and broke. “When all my life I believed I was destined for greatness!”
His men eyed him with awe and dismay: He wasn’t the man they knew, but his shrunken, enfeebled shadow. They clearly hated to witness his deterioration.
“All my life I tried to live up to my destiny,” Lord Matsudaira said. “I excelled at everything I did.” A weak pride inflated his spirit. He heard in his own voice an echo of his despised cousin the shogun. “Even when I was young, other men lined up behind me and followed me wherever I led them. I ruled my province with wisdom and benevolence. Everyone admired me as well as obeyed me. I knew myself to be a good samurai, a decent man. But somewhere I went wrong.
“I began to think I should rule Japan. And why not? I had far more wits and courage than my cousin.” He tasted his scorn, bitter and vile. “My cousin would wipe his rear end on Japan and throw it away! I only wanted to save it from his foolishness!”
He’d never confided these treasonous thoughts to anyone, but the drink and his need to justify himself had loosened his tongue. “But I was forced to bow down to my cousin while he rubbed my face in the fact that he was shogun and I could never be. The time came when I could no longer bear it. I recruited allies who were also eager to be out from under his weak thumb. I began my campaign to seize power.”
Lord Matsudaira swelled with the memory of those glorious days. “I eliminated my first obstacle. I sent that scoundrel Yanagisawa into exile.” Then his shoulders sagged. “How was I to know that his partisans would keep fighting me?” His voice rose in a whine. “How could I have known that Sano Ichiro would challenge me for control over Japan? Now everything I’ve worked so hard for has crumbled into dust. My allies have deserted me in favor of my cousin.” He shook with impotent anger, swayed with drunkenness. “What will become of me?”
The bodyguards exchanged glances, each loath to answer. One said cautiously, “Bear up, master. The trouble will pass. Things will be all right.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Even as a sob wracked Lord Matsudaira, he tried to recover his confidence. “I’ll get through this, I swear.”
He heard footsteps in the corridor and looked up as his chief retainer entered the room, looking dire.
“What is it?” Lord Matsudaira demanded.
“I’m sorry to say that your assassins attempted to kill Chamberlain Sano’s wife and children last night and failed. One of the assassins is dead.”
“Well, the others will just have to keep trying,” Lord Matsudaira said impatiently.
“I’m afraid that’s not all that’s happened,” the chief retainer said. “Chamberlain Sano has taken Yoritomo to the execution ground.”
“Then he really intends to go through with his farce of putting the boy to death for treason. Good riddance. So what?” Lord Matsudaira retorted.
“Maybe he doesn’t. Have you thought of what else Sano might be up to?”
Lord Matsudaira hadn’t, but now he did. Suddenly, in one of those moments of pure, astounding clarity that sometimes strike drunken men, he understood what was going on, what Sano meant to accomplish. The breath gushed out of him as he also understood the ramifications for himself. The hardest blow had fallen at the wrong time. He sank to his knees and groaned.
“I could take down one or the other,” he said, “but not both at once.” His bodyguards stared; they didn’t know that he’d just figured out who was really behind his troubles, that he’d made a critical error in concentrating his animosity on Sano. But he saw that they sensed the defeat that hissed under his skin.
“There’ll be no coming back, it’s over for me,” he lamented. “All is truly lost.”
The men regarded him with fear for their own fate as well as his. His chief retainer said, “What shall you do?”
Lord Matsudaira gazed inward at scenes of his life that flickered through his mind. He remembered its challenges and satisfactions and woes. The scenes halted at the black impasse that was now. He laughed, a bleak, mournful chuckle.
“There’s only one thing I can do. If I’m going down, I’ll go on my own terms.”
Sano felt the fast rhythm of hooves before he heard the sound. It grew louder. The horsemen galloped onto the field, more than a hundred strong. Some wore armor, some tattered cotton clothes; some were armed with spears or with bows and arrows; all wore swords. The audience cheered the ragtag army’s arrival. The lead rider shouted at Sano, “Free your prisoner!”
His tall figure was regal despite his mismatched armor. The visor of his battered metal helmet covered his face, but Sano recognized him instantly. He expelled his breath in satisfaction.
The newcomers ranged themselves against Sano and his troops, on the opposite side of Yoritomo. Sano said, “Greetings, Yanagisawa-san. We meet again.”
Gasps rose from the daimyo and officials, none of whom had expected Yanagisawa to reappear now, or ever. The shogun squinted and said, “Yanagisawa-san? Is that really you?”
Yanagisawa removed his helmet. Everyone who knew him, including Sano, stared in astonishment: His head was shaved bald. But his face was as handsome as ever, his expression as malevolent and cunning.
“How did you get here?” the shogun cried, so excited that he jumped off the roof of his palanquin. Sano saw that he was overjoyed to see his old friend; he must have been hoping all along that Yanagisawa would come back to him someday.
“By ship, by foot, and by horseback,” Yanagisawa answered the shogun, but watched Sano. “It’s a long story. Perhaps we could discuss it later.” He looked down at Yoritomo, and his expression turned anxious. “Son? Are you all right?”
Yoritomo didn’t speak. Yanagisawa demanded, “What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s been drugged so he won’t suffer any pain,” Sano said. “You should thank me for my mercy.”
Yanagisawa’s glare said he would rather kill Sano.
“Why didn’t you return to me earlier?” the shogun said plaintively. “Why come as such a, ahh, surprise now?”
“I’ve come to rescue my son.”
“That’s no surprise,” Sano said, “but I was beginning to wonder if you would show up in time.”
Disgust tinged Yanagisawa’s smile. “So this is a trap. I suspected as much. Yoritomo’s trial was a farce, and so is this execution. Don’t think you tricked me.”
Sano was glad that his measure of the bond between father and son had proved correct. Danger to Yoritomo was the only bait that could have lured Yanagisawa out of hiding. “Don’t think I wouldn’t have killed Yoritomo if you hadn’t come. Don’t think I still won’t.”
“Why should you?” Yanagisawa said. “It’s me that you want. Leave my son alone.”
“He’s a traitor,” Sano said, “and he deserves to die even though he’s just your accomplice in your conspiracy to regain power.”
Shock appeared on the faces of the men around Sano as they realized the true nature of Yoritomo’s crimes and the fact that Yanagisawa had been busy mounting his comeback.
“You won’t kill him.” Yanagisawa’s controlled manner didn’t hide his anxiety. He said to the executioner’s assistants, “Dig him up.”
“Proceed with the nokogiri-biki,” Sano countermanded.
The executioner stepped forward. While the assistants held Yoritomo’s head and the executioner brandished the saw, the townspeople whispered excitedly. Sano saw spines stiffen and throat muscles clench among his samurai companions, and naked horror on Yanagisawa’s face.
“Don’t!”
Yanagisawa spurred his horse forward, between Yoritomo and the executioner. His men moved after him. Sano, Marume, and Fukida advanced with their troops. Sano said, “Back off. You’re outnumbered. If you try to take Yoritomo, you’ll both be killed in the battle.”