going to bring it to his master’s attention when he returned.
As yet his own class had not felt the economic pinch—the samurai were paid out of funds that came from selling the rice grown on their lords’ fiefs at the going high prices—but their lives had been affected by the Shogun’s edict in other ways.
There was no more archery practice or competition, because they could not pluck goosefeathers for their arrows. There was no more falconry because all the birds had been set at liberty and even the Shogun’s Master of Hawks had been discharged. Horsemanship was becoming a lost art because the horses’ hooves could not be pared or their manes clipped under penalty of banishment. But worst of all, in Oishi’s mind, was the general laxity of morals that was spreading from the Shogun’s capital down into the provinces.
As the son of a samurai, Oishi had spent his childhood in the study of Confucian ethics as part of the necessary training of a soldier who must learn loyalty as well as fierceness on the field of battle. Because of this, he was shocked at reports that the dancing and play-acting that overran Shogun Tsunayoshi’s capital at Edo (Tokyo) was beginning to have a softening effect on the samurai quartered there. He had even heard rumors that samurai had been seen in the Kabuki theaters of Kyoto, the city of pleasure as well as of temples, but these he found hard to believe.
Such things had been going on for some time, but Oishi had not been aware of just how bad things had gotten in town until today. He began to compose in his mind the report he would make to Lord Asano, and as he thought of her father he turned toward the little girl riding beside him. She smiled at him but then her expression became more serious. She, too, had noticed a change in the countryside.
“Uncle,” she asked him, “why are all the farms so messy looking? They’re none of them kept up well at all. Don’t you think you ought to report the farmers to my father for not properly doing their jobs?”
Oishi laughed heartily and she was reassured before he spoke that things were not as bad as they seemed. “Let’s not blame the farmers until we know their side of it, too, shall we?”
“But what excuse could they have for neglecting their fields so?”
“It’s not because they want to neglect them, little daughter. It’s the animals they’re forbidden to kill by the Life Preservation Laws that are ruining the land.”
“But why are we forbidden to kill the animals—especially those that annoy us so?”
“Because the Shogun has said it is wrong to take the life of an animal and because we are loyal to our master, your father, and would not think of bringing shame on him by disobeying the orders of his lord, the Shogun.”
“But why did he make this hard law in the first place?”
Oishi sighed. As much as the law hurt, he could understand Tsunayoshi’s reasons for promulgating it.
“Because more than anything else in the world he wants a child. A sweet, pretty child like you. He lost one you know—a little boy four years old who died. And his priest has told him that in order to have another, he must atone for some sin committed in a previous life—one in which he most likely wantonly destroyed some living thing. You’ve seen that we don’t use dogs in our tournaments any more—that’s because our Shogun was born in the Year of the Dog and to kill a dog is now punishable by death.”
“Even if one should attack you?”
Oishi mused for a moment. “In that case it might be all right—but it would be a good idea to have witnesses that the dog took the first bite.”
He smiled at her and the little girl smiled back, but she was not sure whether he was joking or not. She decided she would ask her father about it when he got home from Edo.
With a shout she kicked her little feet into her horse’s flanks and lurched into a gallop. “I’ll race you home,” she cried, already ten lengths ahead, her long hair flying.
Oishi gave the fierce cry of the attacking warrior and galloped after her. He maintained the distance between them, and together they moved over the winding road and up the final hill. At the top they came in sight of the castle, far below in the middle of a large plain, strategically located so that invaders could not approach unseen. It was always a spectacular sight with its high stone walls and white tile-topped towers, but on this occasion neither of them paused to appreciate the view.
The sinking sun was throwing long clutching shadows behind them as they raced down the hill toward the gate. It crossed Oishi’s mind that when the same sun rose again in the morning it would be the beginning of Lord Asano’s last day in Edo. He hoped all was going well at the ceremonies in the Shogun’s capital where the etiquette was so unfamiliar and demanding. Lord Asano was not noted for his patience and the less he had to participate, the better. Anyway, he would soon know the whole story. As the little girl entered the gate, well ahead of him as always, and he followed to receive the salutes of the sentries, the thought came again: tomorrow would be the last day.
Chapter Two
Dawn broke coldly over Edo, the capital city of old Japan. It was to be a bleak, sunless day. The chill wind that rolled down from the high snow-covered mountains rattled the rain doors of the farmhouses on the outskirts, then lifted a billow of dust along the post road from the southwest as it entered the city.
On its way it picked up the stench of human excreta from the rice fields, the incenselike odor of smoke from the charcoal fires in the kitchens of early-rising housewives, and finally the saltiness of the briny sea off the flat waters of Edo Bay.
At ground level the wind lost its force in the narrow alleyways that twisted through the maze of flimsy wooden structures that were both homes and places of business to nearly seven hundred thousand merchants and artisans. Above the tile-topped roofs it continued gustily on toward the higher ground in the center of the city, dipped to cross a rock-lined moat, and became random among the watchtowers and palaces of Edo Castle where the Shogun Tsunayoshi, the supreme ruler of the land, held his court.
As it moved pungently, invisibly along, the wind also acquired a sound. Sweeping through a graveyard and the public execution grounds, it startled a mongrel cur and set him howling, which in turn set off others around him until in no time the air was filled with the dismal wailing of a thousand stray dogs. The sound swelled and became more menacing as it forced its way into the hovels of beggars and the mansions of the nobility, to enter the sleeping ears of poor and rich alike. . . .
Lord Asano, daimyo of the province of Ako, still boyishly good-looking at thirty-five, was riding with his chief retainer Oishi through a misty landscape, running down a deadly wild boar that was menacing the farmers. As they moved into the ever thickening fog, an eerie hum began to throb in Lord Asano’s ears and his horse reacted nervously. Behind him, Oishi pulled up to a prudent halt, but Lord Asano impatiently spurred his own mount forward and disappeared from sight.
“My Lord Asano!” Oishi called in sudden anxiety. “Come back, come back!”
But Lord Asano’s stubborn pride would not let him turn back and he pressed on through the dense vacuum of the fog until the unearthly sound became a screech and then a deafening howl. He felt a stab of terror as he was sucked into the sound and lost all sense of direction. In the dazzling white of the fog he was sightless and felt himself lose his balance and start to fall. The howling grew louder and he knew he must fight for his life to escape the demons that were waiting to devour him. He cried out for help and in that instant he woke in his villa near the Shogun’s castle to
