Shinju by Laura Joh Rowland Page B

seeped into him, and he pacedbefore the guardhouses to keep warm. Finally, when he was beginning to think he would never gain admittance to the
yashiki
, the gate opened again.
    Another guard stood there. Bowing, he said, “Sir, Lord Niu is not presently in the city. But if you would be so obliging as to come with me, Lady Niu will see you.”
    Sano wasn’t surprised to find Lord Niu absent, or Lady Niu at home in Edo. According to the law of alternate attendance, the daimyo spent four months of each year in the capital, and the rest on their provincial estates. When they returned to their estates, the shogun made them leave their wives and families in Edo as hostages. The daimyo were divided into two groups, one of which was in Edo while the other was in the country. These restrictions, which greatly humiliated the proud daimyo, effectively kept them from plotting and staging a rebellion. They also had to maintain two establishments, thereby draining their wealth into nonmilitary expenditures. Peace came with a high price, and the daimyo had paid it with their money, their pride, and their freedom. Still, Sano hadn’t expected Lady Niu to receive him. Most ladies spent their days confined to the women’s quarters of their mansions while the daimyo’s retainers handled the households’ official business. They seldom received strangers of the opposite sex. Even more curious now—and increasingly unsure of how he should act once inside—Sano followed the guard through the gate.
    He saw immediately that the
yashiki
was laid out like a military camp, where soldiers’ tents were arranged around the general’s. Here the barracks bordered a vast courtyard where tens of samurai patrolled, protecting the estate’s center where the Niu family lived. Other samurai tinkered with weapons in the guardrooms, or sat idly. More barracks, larger and more elaborate residences for higher-ranking officers, formed an inner wall. A paved walk led Sano and his escort through them and into a formal garden. Beyond this lay the daimyo’s mansion, a large but deceptively simple-looking structure with half-timbered walls and a tile roof, setabove the ground on a granite podium. Sano knew that such mansions were rambling complexes of many buildings, connected by long corridors or intersecting roofs, that housed hundreds. Awe, combined with a sense of his own inferiority, weakened Sano’s resolve. Was he a fool, daring to confront such a rich and powerful family?
    Just outside the house stood an open shed containing several palanquins decorated with elaborate carved lacquerwork. Sano followed the guard beneath the covered porch and into the spacious entryway, where he removed his shoes and donned a pair of guest slippers. He placed his swords on a shelf that held a large collection of bows, swords, and spears; etiquette dictated that samurai must always enter a private home unarmed. Then he followed his guide into the house proper.
    The guard’s quick pace allowed him only a glimpse of a vast empty reception room with a coffered ceiling, murals of green islands in a swirling blue sea, and a large dais at the far end where the daimyo sat during formal ceremonies. A maid was opening windows to air the room; through them, Sano saw the outdoor stage where No dramas were performed in summer. Everything was elegant and luxurious, but not ostentatiously so. The Tokugawa sumptuary laws forbade lavish home decoration, and no daimyo would risk seizure of his property.
    A corridor led to another reception room. From it came the murmur of voices. When they entered, the guard knelt and bowed.
    â€œ
Yoriki
Sano Ichirō, from the Office of the North Magistrate,” he announced, rising to stand beside the door.
    Sano also knelt and bowed. When he raised his head, his eyes went immediately to the woman who knelt upon the dais, dominating the room and everyone in it.
    Against the painted backdrop of misty gray