“Killing my father was more difficult than you believe,” Yoshiko said.
Father Mateo gave Hiro an alarmed look, and the shinobi realized the priest had taken Yoshiko’s words for a confession. Hiro shook his head slightly and the priest relaxed, though he looked both nervous and confused.
“As I told you before, my father has killed
kunoichi,
” Yoshiko continued. “Not only the one who tried to assassinate the shogun but also another, sent to take my father’s life. It happened five years ago in the very teahouse where he died. My father disarmed her and killed her with her own poisoned dagger. He should have done the same to this assassin.
“Which leads me to believe that my father knew his killer.”
“Do you have evidence of that?” Hiro asked.
“Someone slit my father’s throat while he waited for Sayuri to return from the latrine,” Yoshiko said. “He would have heard the killer coming, yet he allowed that person to approach him from behind. He must have recognized the killer’s voice, or perhaps her gait.”
A strange gleam entered her eye as she looked at Hiro. “Surely you could recognize a woman’s gait?”
Hiro ignored the comment and the unexpected implication. “So you believe Nobuhide is correct, that Sayuri killed him?”
“If the woman didn’t do it she was involved. How else could a killer have entered his room, slain him, and left without being seen?”
“Do you agree?” Father Mateo asked Sato.
She smiled sadly. “I do not know who killed my husband, nor do I worry about the dead. I may go to him, but he will not return to me.”
“You know King David?” Father Mateo asked.
“Should I not? After all, I am a Christian.”
The Jesuit’s face broke into a smile of delight. “How did you become a Christian?”
Sato shook her head and looked at her hands, which lay folded in her lap. “I do not want to bore you with an elderly woman’s tales.”
“Please,” Father Mateo said, “I would like to hear it.”
Hiro did not want to hear it. He wanted to leave and prove his new theory correct, preferably after obtaining a few extra days to investigate.
He tried to catch the Jesuit’s eye, but the priest refused to look in his direction. Hiro realized with frustration that his friend was being deliberately obtuse.
“I married very young,” Sato said, “but for years I bore no children. It was embarrassing. A samurai wife has one duty—to provide her husband with an heir. Yoshi was patient and did not send me away, but I grew desperate. I prayed to Buddhist gods, Shinto
kami,
and every other spirit I could find. Mostly I prayed to Kannon, the goddess of mercy. I promised that if she gave me a child I would put a statue of her in my home and pray to it every day as long as I lived.”
“But Kannon did not help you,” Father Mateo said in his most understanding tone.
“No.” An impish grin came over Sato’s face. Her eyes glittered with delight at having fooled the foreign priest. “Kannon gave me a daughter, Yoshiko.”
Mother and daughter exchanged a smile. It was the first real emotion Hiro had seen on Yoshiko’s face, but the expression disappeared almost at once.
“Your husband must have been pleased,” Father Mateo said.
“Most men would prefer a son,” Sato said, “but Kannon helped there too. Yoshi loved Yoshiko from the moment she was born. He raised her as a samurai, exactly like a boy.” She paused. “I didn’t like that much at first, but they seemed so happy that in time I grew happy too. Now I am very glad it worked out this way.”
She glanced at Yoshiko like a child who reveals a family secret and doesn’t know what to do. Hiro wondered which part of the story Sato wished she hadn’t told.
Just before the silence grew awkward, Yoshiko prompted, “You were telling them about the foreign god.”
Sato nodded. “The year Yoshiko turned thirteen she had her
genpuku
.” She wrinkled her brow in concern and looked at the priest. “Do you know this word?”
“The ceremony when a samurai becomes a man.” Father Mateo glanced at Yoshiko and added, “That is, an adult, with the right to wear two swords.”
Sato nodded, pleased that she didn’t have to explain. “Yoshiko—her name was Chiko before
genpuku
—learned very fast. She had her ceremony at thirteen. Her father gave her a pair of heirloom swords.”
“So he didn’t mind that he had a daughter and no son.” Father Mateo said.
“He was satisfied,” Sato agreed, “but I felt like a failure. Just before the
genpuku
I heard that strangers from across the sea had brought a new god to Japan. I thought perhaps this foreign god might give me another child, so I asked Hideyoshi to take me to see the foreigners.
“He didn’t believe your God would hear me, or even speak Japanese, but he agreed because he wanted one of the foreign weapons for his collection.”
“Did you meet Francis Xavier?” Father Mateo asked.
“No, a foreigner called Pinto-san,” Sato said. “He was not a priest, though he said he intended to become one when he returned to his land across the sea. He was tall, with skin like a ghost and a nose the size of a rice bowl. I felt badly for him, because he smelled terrible and the stink made his big nose red and runny.”
Hiro suspected the running nose was red from alcohol rather than stink, but interrupting would only delay their departure even more.
“Pinto-san told me the Jesus god walked on earth like a man. That gave me hope. A god who had a mother might have pity on a woman who wanted a son. Pinto-san taught me a prayer and said I could ask this Jesus god for anything, but he also said that the Jesus god would only give me things if his father, the Almighty God, wanted me to have them. He said this many times, that Jesus could always hear me but only granted prayers when his father allowed him to.”
“Yes,” Father Mateo said. “That’s how it works with Jesus.”
“No different than our Japanese
kami,
” Sato said, “except that
kami
don’t even listen unless they want to.”
Hiro’s foot went to sleep. Ordinarily he would have suffered through the prickling irritation, but his patience with Sato’s story was at an end. He wiggled first his foot and then his leg, hoping the widow would notice and conclude her recitation.
Yoshiko gave him a look that hovered between disbelief and understanding. He raised his eyebrows a fraction in return. Yoshiko started to speak but Sato continued. “I promised your Jesus the same thing I promised Kannon. Within a month I was pregnant with Taromaru—that is, Nobuhide.” Sato smiled apologetically. “We called him Taromaru as a child.”
Yoshiko leaned back and frowned at her mother. Sato did not notice or did not care.
Hiro suspected the latter.
“When I became pregnant,” Sato continued, “I tried to have a statue made for God, but then I learned that He prefers to be worshipped as a cross.”
“Not exactly,” Father Mateo said. “The cross is a symbol to remind us of His sacrifice. We don’t worship the image itself.”
“Just like
kami,
” Sato agreed. “The god is in the tree, except that the
kami
is the tree and Jesus is not the cross.”
Hiro smothered a smile. He could see theology struggling with pragmatism in Father Mateo’s thoughts. Pragmatism won.
“I am glad you know Jesus,” the priest said. “I hope you continue to pray to Him.”
Sato looked offended. “I promised, didn’t I?”
Yoshiko stood up and bowed. “Thank you for your visit.”
“Thank you for listening to us,” Hiro said.
“Please tell Akechi-sama that we are sorry to have missed him,” Father Mateo added.
Hiro was just about to use that opening to ask for additional time when Yoshiko narrowed her eyes and said, “You may refer to my brother as Akechi-san, not -sama.”
“I apologize for my imperfect Japanese,” Father Mateo said. “I thought an heir was addressed with the highest honorific.”
“Your Japanese and your understanding are correct,” Sato said, “but Nobuhide is not my husband’s heir. Yoshiko is.”
Chapter 28
Hiro found it difficult to hide his surprise. “Yoshiko is the heir?”
“Yes,” Yoshiko said, “since before Nobuhide was born.”
“Does the law recognize a female heir?” Father Mateo asked.
“Only if the patriarch leaves a will that names her specifically,” Hiro said.
“Which my husband did,” Sato said. “He wrote it years ago.”
“Before Nobuhide’s birth?” Hiro asked.
“No,” Sato replied. “Fortunately he wrote it after that, so no one can claim an accident or omission.”
Hiro wanted to see that will, but needed a reason that wouldn’t sound suspicious. He glanced at Father Mateo and tilted his head slightly, hoping without real hope that the Jesuit would understand and find a reason to ask.
“How fascinating,” Father Mateo said. “I have never seen a Japanese will. I wonder if they differ much from the Portuguese tradition.”
Months of teaching the Jesuit to understand coded looks and unspoken signals finally paid off in earnest.
“Would you like to see it?” Yoshiko asked.
“I would be honored.”
“Please sit down,” Yoshiko said. “I will retrieve it for you.”
She left the room as the guests returned to their positions by the hearth. Sato accompanied them with a pleasant smile, though her forehead wrinkled with something that looked like sorrow.
Yoshiko returned, carrying a weathered but expensive bamboo case. She knelt by the hearth, opened the cap at the end of the case, and shook a parchment scroll from the bamboo cylinder. The scroll held its shape, expanding only a little when released.
Yoshiko extended the scroll to Father Mateo, using two hands. He accepted it the same way and unrolled it carefully.
“May I ask Hiro to translate?” he asked. “I do not read your language well enough to comprehend such an important document.”
“Of course.” Yoshiko dipped her head in consent.
Hiro took the scroll and read it quickly to himself. It was written in tiny characters composed of fine, narrow strokes. The calligraphy showed both native skill and years of careful study. Not a single misplaced brush mark marred the scroll.
Akechi Hideyoshi’s personal seal was stamped at the bottom in vermillion ink to verify the will. The pasty ink was glossy and slightly raised, as required for a documentary seal. Hiro saw no deficits in construction or execution.
He traced his finger down the page as he read the scroll aloud.
“‘I, Akechi Hideyoshi, set these words to parchment in the seventh year of the Shogunate of Ashikaga Yoshifuji.’” Hiro paused and looked at the priest. “Yoshifuji was the Shogun’s childhood name. He took the name Yoshiteru in adulthood.”
“Thank you.” Father Mateo gave a little laugh. “Does that explain when the will was written? I’m still not very good with the Japanese calendar.”
“It means this was written twelve years ago.” Hiro looked down and continued reading. “‘It is my will that upon my death, my daughter, Akechi Yoshiko, will inherit my entire estate, including all money, lands, and property owned by me or to which I am entitled. If my stipend continues beyond my death, it should transfer to her in its entirety.
“‘I wish for Yoshiko to provide financial support for her mother, Akechi Sato, and for my brother, Akechi Hidetaro, as long as they live. She should permit my son, Akechi Nobuhide, to continue to reside in the family home. In all matters affecting the clan, Yoshiko’s decision is final. I trust her judgment as though she were my son.
“‘Life is short and sorrowful. A wise samurai spends his life prepared to die. When I leave this life, know that I was prepared.’”
Hiro’s right finger grazed the seal. “Akechi Hideyoshi.”
He rubbed the finger against his thumb but felt no waxy transfer. The seal was not soft or wet.
“It is very well drafted,” Father Mateo said.
Yoshiko laughed. “I agree, but my brother did not think so.”
“Was he angry?” the priest asked.
“Extremely. Nobuhide expected the will would name him as our father’s heir.”
“Can he challenge it?” Father Mateo wondered.
“No,” Sato said. Her voice was firm. “That is my husband’s will. I knew when he wrote it and where he stored it, and I retrieved it after his death.”
Hiro explained. “A wife’s testimony is final if she saw the will and knew its contents before her husband died.”
Sato nodded. “I did, and that is Hideyoshi’s will.”
Hiro returned the scroll to Yoshiko. She rolled it tightly and returned it to its case. As she laid the bamboo cylinder on the tatami she asked, “Did you have any other questions?”
“We had hoped you might persuade Nobuhide to give us a few more days to find Hideyoshi’s killer.” Hiro answered Yoshiko but his eyes met Sato’s as he spoke. “It would be most unfortunate if an innocent woman died tomorrow just for lack of time.”