Right Minister Ichijo knelt before the throne and bowed; Sano and Yoriki Hoshina followed suit. “Your Majesty, I present Sano Ichirō, Most Honorable Investigator to His Excellency the Shogun,” Ichijo said, then turned to Sano. “I am privileged to introduce to you Supreme Emperor Tomohito, One Hundred and Thirteenth Imperial Sovereign of Japan.”
As he and his first murder suspect faced each other, Sano hid his surprise. He’d known the emperor was only sixteen and had ascended the throne upon his father’s abdication four years ago; therefore, Tomohito’s extreme youth didn’t shock Sano. However, the emperor seated within the pavilion looked nothing like his elegant formal portraits. Big for his age, Tomohito wore a purple robe stamped with gold imperial chrysanthemum crests and a tall black cap. He had a solid, muscular build, but his face was childishly round, with full, rosy cheeks and mouth, smooth brow, and bright eyes. He regarded Sano with the insolence of a misbehaving youngster who is too big for anyone to punish.
Right Minister Ichijo said, “Sōsakan Sano is investigating the death of Left Minister Konoe, and he would like to ask you some questions, Your Majesty.”
“Oh?” Tomohito asked truculently. “Well, that’s too bad, because it is I who shall ask questions of him.”
Sano was shocked by this rudeness, even though he’d been prepared for it. During the ride to the palace, he’d asked Yoriki Hoshina to brief him on the suspects. Regarding the emperor, Hoshina had said, “He’s been overindulged his whole life. A crown prince’s training usually teaches manners and discipline, but it didn’t work on Tomohito. He thinks he can do whatever he likes. Hardly anyone in the palace dares to criticize him because of his temper; he threatens to bring down the wrath of the heavens on the country when he’s in a bad mood.”
Now an uncomfortable silence hung over the Purple Dragon Hall as everyone waited to see how Sano reacted to the emperor’s contrariness. Although Sano feared offending the emperor and straining relations between the bakufu and the Imperial Court, he needed to establish control over the interview.
“I’ll answer your questions on one condition,” Sano said. “You have to answer mine.”
Tomohito scowled, as if ready to refuse. “Oh, all right,” he said grudgingly. Then, with a naughty gleam in his eye, he said, “Is it true that there are places where girls sit in window cages and men can buy them for the night?”
So the great emperor had the same prurient interests as ordinary boys. “Yes,” said Sano, “in the licensed pleasure quarters.”
“Have you ever been there?” An insinuating grin quirked Tomohito’s mouth.
“Your Majesty, I advise you to confine your questions to subjects of a less personal nature,” Right Minister Ichijo said. “You don’t want to insult the sōsakan-sama.” Or the shogun by implication, said the warning note in his voice.
“He has to answer,” Tomohito said. “That was the deal.”
“But it’s my turn to question you now,” Sano told him. “What was your opinion of Left Minister Konoe?”
Tomohito’s eyes widened in surprise. Sano deduced that few people ever held him to his word or changed the subject of a conversation without his permission. Then he frowned. “I heard Konoe was murdered. Do you think I had something to do with it?”
Holding up a hand, Sano shook his head. “Remember our agreement.”
The emperor gaped. He looked around for help, but when no one intervened, he said sullenly, “The left minister was my adviser since I was a little boy. He taught me how to perform sacred rituals and court ceremonies. He listened to me recite my lessons and made sure I understood everything.” Tomohito shrugged. “He was a good teacher.”
Sano considered what he knew of the emperor. “There’s only a few people he’ll listen to,” Yoriki Hoshina had said. “His mother, Lady Asagao, and Ichijo. Left Minister Konoe also had influence over him, but now that Konoe is dead, Tomohito is worse than ever-acting as if he owns the world, always trying to see what he can get away with.” Had the emperor resented Konoe for checking his unruly behavior?
“Now it’s my turn to ask something,” Tomohito said. “Is it true that there is a very long road from Miyako to Edo that passes through many cities?”
“There are fifty-three village post stations,” Sano said, “and the trip takes about fifteen days.”
“Fifty-three villages? Fifteen days?” Obviously disconcerted, Tomohito said, “I didn’t know Edo was so far. How long would it take to travel across the whole country?”
“Around three months, depending on the weather.”
Chewing his lip, the emperor brooded on this fact, then said in a chastened voice, “I didn’t know that.”
Tomohito’s ignorance about his nation was understandable, because emperors ventured outside the palace only when natural disasters necessitated the court’s evacuation. Tomohito saw few people from outside his court and remained cloistered for good reasons.
First came physical safety. Japan’s sacred sovereign must be protected from accidents, attacks, and diseases. Second, his spiritual well-being required isolation from impure things, places, people, or ideas that might pollute his soul. Therefore his education was limited to court tradition and the arts. However, the most important reason was political. The bakufu feared that dangerous elements of society might persuade an impressionable sovereign to act against the shogun’s regime by establishing a rival government, raising armies, commandeering the loyalty of the populace, and weakening Tokugawa rule. Young Emperor Tomohito was a storm center around which the winds of insurrection could coalesce. Better that he remained secluded and ignorant than be free to realize his inherent power.
“You had lessons and practiced rituals and ceremonies with Left Minister Konoe, and received his advice,” Sano reiterated. “He would have criticized your performance, corrected your mistakes. Perhaps he sometimes shamed you?”
Jolted out of his preoccupation with the size of Japan, Tomohito shook his head. “It was for my own good. The left minister wanted me to be the best possible ruler and fulfill my great destiny. I was thankful for his attention.”
“Weren’t there ever times when you would rather have been amusing yourself than working?” Sano suggested gently. “Did you ever get angry at him for disciplining you, when he was a mere subordinate and you his lord?”
The emperor’s face flushed; his eyes turned stormy. “The left minister never made me do anything I didn’t want to do,” he said defiantly. “He never chastised me. He couldn’t even touch me. I obeyed him because I chose to.”
“I see.”
However, Sano knew that cutting remarks from an older man could wound a tender young ego, and Tomohito’s unbidden reference to chastisement suggested that his relationship with Left Minister Konoe had included this element.
“If you think I killed him, you’re crazy!” Emperor Tomohito burst out. He leapt off his seat and stood. Fists clenched, he glared at Sano. His eyes darted, as if looking for something to throw. “How dare you accuse me?”
“Is it really necessary to provoke him, Sōsakan-sama?” murmured Right Minister Ichijo.
“The forces of the cosmos are mine to command. Insult me, and you’ll be sorry!” the emperor shouted.
“Please accept my apologies,” Sano said hastily, shocked by this sudden fit of temper, which offered disturbing proof of the emperor’s volatile nature. Perhaps Tomohito had argued with Left Minister Konoe in the garden. Did he really have deadly mystical powers, as his threat implied?
“Do you regret the loss of the left minister?” Sano asked Tomohito.
The emperor flung himself stomach-down inside his pavilion, his temper spent and his expression merely sullen now. “I miss him. But I don’t need him anymore.”
“What do you mean?” Sano said, intrigued by this odd remark.