One of Yanagisawa’s secretaries addressed the gate sentries: “The Honorable Chamberlain Yanagisawa wishes to call on the Honorable Lord Matsudaira.”

Soon attendants ushered Yanagisawa into a mansion that nearly equaled the palace in size and refined elegance. Behind his cool demeanor, his heart drummed fast, and he braced himself as he and his party entered an audience chamber.

There, upon the dais, sat Lord Matsudaira, first cousin to the shogun, head of the major Tokugawa branch clan, and daimyo of a province in the rich agricultural Kanto territory near Edo. Lord Matsudaira looked as the shogun would if a magic mirror broadened his aristocratic features, sparked intelligence in his eyes, enlarged and toughened his frail body. The man seemed a throwback to Ieyasu, the first Tokugawa shogun, who’d unified Japan almost a century ago. Only birthright had placed Tokugawa Tsunayoshi ahead of Lord Matsudaira in the bakufu.

Surrounded by guards who stood against the walls, Lord Matsudaira glared in open hostility at his guests. Yanagisawa knelt before the dais, his men ranged behind him. They exchanged bows, wary and distrustful, like rival generals meeting on a battleground to declare war. During the ritual sharing of refreshments, they behaved with an elaborate courtesy that was more insulting than outright rudeness.

Then Lord Matsudaira said, “I’ve been expecting you. What took you so long?”

Yanagisawa pretended to misunderstand Lord Matsudaira’s intimation that he knew Yanagisawa thought he was involved in the kidnapping and had come to accuse him. “I’m sorry if I’ve inconvenienced you,” he said. “Important affairs of state commanded my attention at the palace.”

His tone implied that his status as chamberlain put him at the heart of Tokugawa politics, while Lord Matsudaira hovered on the fringes despite his exalted heritage and Yanagisawa’s inferior birth. As Yanagisawa scored the first point in their battle, a flash of offense crossed Lord Matsudaira’s face. Yanagisawa knew the man would like to be shogun, thought he deserved the post more than did his cousin, and resented his secondary role in governing Japan.

“More likely they were affairs of the bedchamber that busied you,” Lord Matsudaira said with a sardonic smile.

He made no secret of the fact that he loathed Yanagisawa as a parasite who’d seduced his way to the top of the bakufu and usurped power from the Tokugawa clan. He seized every chance to condemn Yanagisawa’s ignoble deeds. A flame of anger leapt in Yanagisawa, but he raised an eyebrow in feigned amusement.

“Many men have learned the high price of wit like yours,” he said, reminding Lord Matsudaira that he’d used political sabotage, physical force, and assassination to keep himself on top and punish anyone who crossed him.

“Only an inferior official rules by coercion.” Disgust contorted Lord Matsudaira’s mouth. “A superior one rules by honest, fair management, in the ancient tradition of Confucius.”

Yanagisawa knew that Lord Matsudaira prided himself on his reputation for honor and integrity and had led crusades against corruption in the government. The self-righteous ass! His inherited position allowed him to scorn people like Yanagisawa, the son of a retainer to a minor daimyo, who’d struggled for the authority Lord Matsudaira took for granted.

“Might often triumphs over virtue,” Yanagisawa said in a casual tone edged with hostility.

Lord Matsudaira had repeatedly spoken against Yanagisawa to the shogun and courted the allegiance of his other enemies; but so far, his attempts to oust Yanagisawa had failed. Now Lord Matsudaira looked annoyed at the reminder, but he countered with a smug smile: “Not as often as you would like.”

He owned the loyalty of two men on the Council of Elders, and through them, he countered Yanagisawa’s policies. His influence with the Tokugawa branch clans had thwarted Yanagisawa’s wish to become a daimyo and ruler of his own province. Vexation goaded Yanagisawa into a malicious retort.

“By the way,” he said, “I must offer you my condolences on the recent death of your son.”

Lord Matsudaira stared, infuriated, then spoke with bitter acrimony: “That you would even mention my son while his clan still mourns him is an unforgivable insult.”

The son, Mitsuyoshi, murdered seven months ago, had been the shogun’s favorite and heir apparent. Had he lived, Lord Matsudaira would have gained even more influence in the bakufu. The murder had undermined Lord Matsudaira’s goal of eventual control over Japan via ruling through his son, and of ousting Yanagisawa once and for all. And Yanagisawa had benefited from Lord Matsudaira’s loss. The death of Mitsuyoshi gave Yanagisawa’s son a chance at the succession.

“May I remind you that the shogun is susceptible to evil influences, but also to pressure from his clan,” Lord Matsudaira said. “He shall not disinherit our legitimate kin in favor of a bastard with a drop of Tokugawa blood. You had better watch yourself, because your future is no more secure than mine.”

For now, they were at a stalemate, Yanagisawa grudgingly recognized. Yanagisawa had the shogun’s protection, many allies, a foothold on the ladder to the succession, and he controlled a third of the army. But Lord Matsudaira controlled as many troops and had as many allies. Each side was too powerful for the other to openly attack. But the kidnapping, and its consequences, could decide the victor.

“The abduction of Lady Keisho-in was a bold move on someone’s part,” Yanagisawa said.

Lord Matsudaira gave him a patronizing look that said he’d expected Yanagisawa to introduce the reason for his visit now, in this way. “What would be the motive behind such a bold move?” he said, adroitly sidestepping Yanagisawa’s implicit accusation.

“The shogun will do anything to get his mother back,” Yanagisawa said. “He might even sacrifice his top official.”

Sano thought the Black Lotus wanted revenge, and Senior Elder Makino thought the kidnapper wanted money; but Yanagisawa viewed the kidnapping as an attempt to alter the nation’s power hierarchy.

“So you predict that the ransom letter will order the shogun to expel you from the bakufu.” Lord Matsudaira chuckled at the hint that the motive fit him and the crime was his strike against Yanagisawa. “That’s an interesting theory. But before you publicize it, consider how foolish you’ll look if whoever you accuse was at home in Edo, surrounded by people, when Lady Keisho-in was taken.”

Yanagisawa greeted Lord Matsudaira’s alibi with disdain. “Whoever I accuse needn’t have risked a personal appearance at the crime scene.” He paused, then said in a tone heavy with insinuation: “I saw you drilling troops at the practice ground the other day. You have plenty of minions to do your bidding.”

“I could say the same of you.” Lord Matsudaira’s voice softened with menace. “Where were your troops during the abduction? What would you do to destroy me?”

The atmosphere seemed to crackle, as if heralding a thunderstorm. Yanagisawa could almost smell gunpowder in the air as he and Lord Matsudaira poised on the narrow divide between verbal sparring and overt strife. Their men waited motionless yet alert for a signal to attack. Yanagisawa felt currents of exhilaration and dread surge through him.

With a narrow, sarcastic smile, Lord Matsudaira said, “But of course I wouldn’t accuse you of murder and treason.”

A beat passed. “Nor would I accuse you,” Yanagisawa said.

Neither of them had evidence to incriminate the other. Neither dared turn the kidnapping into an occasion for warfare-yet. They bowed to each other in cautious farewell, backing away from a clash that could plunge Japan into civil war. Then Yanagisawa and his men rose and filed from the room. Yanagisawa’s expression was sternly tranquil, though his heart thundered and his body perspired from the close call. As they exited the gate and walked away down the path, he reexamined his theory in light of what had just occurred.