“Before the second murder, you received a message that I would be in the palace that night,” Sano said.

“Yes.” Ichijo tapped his cane on a paving stone. He scrutinized Sano with shrewd calculation.

“But you did nothing about it?”

Ichijo gave Sano a sour smile. “I disdain anonymous communications and therefore ignored this one. I’ve been informed that similar messages were delivered to Lady Jokyōden, Prince Momozono, and the emperor. I spoke with them this morning and learned that they, too, ignored the messages.”

“I see.” Sano felt vexed at Ichijo, who had surely advised the other suspects to claim they’d disregarded the opportunity to attack him, thereby protecting themselves and obstructing his investigation.

“If you’ve finished, I shall be going,” Ichijo said.

“Not just yet.” Hastened into blunt speech, Sano said, “Your daughter has been exonerated, but you’re still a suspect. You and Left Minister Konoe were rivals for the post of prime minister. My arresting Lady Asagao gave you reason to want me dead, and killing me while she was imprisoned would clear her.”

Anger bared Ichijo’s blackened teeth; his thin hand gripped the gold handle of his cane. In a cutting voice he said, “Even if you disregard my alibi, do you really think I have the power to kill with a scream?”

“Perhaps we should talk about that in private,” Sano said, “along with some other matters that you might not care to discuss out here.”

He saw a flash of apprehension in Ichijo’s eyes: Whether guilty of murder or not, Ichijo had something to hide. Then, with a martyred expression, the right minister led Sano into the mansion and to his office.

“Now that we’re alone,” he said, “what did you wish to discuss with me?”

Sano reminded himself that Yanagisawa had picked Ichijo as his prime suspect. With all Sano’s fighting skill, he was defenseless against the power of kiai. If Ichijo had that ability, Sano courted death during every moment spent with the right minister. A current of fear ran through Sano as he circled the room, examining the paintings on the walls. The first panel showed a garden where wisteria vines draped an arbor, under which stood two men, both wearing the costumes of a thousand years ago.

“Nakatomi Kamatari,” Sano said, pointing to the older man in the painting. “Your ancestor. And the young man is Naka-no-Oye, an imperial prince and disgruntled member of the Soga clan, which once dominated the court. The two plotted to oust the Soga and seize power. When they succeeded, the prince became emperor. Kamatari took the new name Fujiwara-wisteria-in memory of the garden where they conspired. As the emperor’s mentor, he won great power for his clan. For some five hundred years afterward, the Fujiwara ruled Japan from behind the throne.”

“I am impressed by your knowledge of my heritage,” Ichijo said with chill asperity, “but surely it cannot be the reason for your interest in me.”

“On the contrary.” Sano moved to the next panel. It showed the Purple Dragon Hall of the Imperial Palace. On the veranda, a courtier stood beside a boy dressed in the tall black hat and elaborate robes of the emperor. Pointing to the courtier, Sano said, “This must be Fujiwara Yoshifusa, regent for the young Emperor Seiwa, who reigned seven centuries ago. Yoshifusa established the tradition of marrying Fujiwara daughters to emperors. A father-in-law can exert much influence over a young sovereign, yes?”

Ichijo compressed his mouth in annoyance at this allusion to his relationship with Emperor Tomohito.

“But the zenith of Fujiwara glory was the great Michinaga,” Sano said. “His daughters were consorts to four emperors; two other emperors were his nephews, and three his grandsons. He ruled supreme for thirty-two years.” Sano contemplated the last painting, a view of a temple at night. In the sky floated a huge, round moon. "Michinaga founded this monastery at Hojo Temple. He wrote a poem boasting that he was a master of his world, ‘like the flawless full moon riding the skies.’

“That is true,” Ichijo said impatiently, “but I fail to see what relevance it has to your investigation.”

“After Michinaga’s death, the Fujiwara fortunes declined. Power shifted to the samurai class.” Sano faced Ichijo. “Don’t you regret the passing of those glorious days?”

Disdain shaded Ichijo’s face. “Even if I did, that gives me no reason for wanting Left Minister Konoe dead. The post of prime minister confers no power outside the Imperial Palace. Killing my rival would not have reestablished Fujiwara control over Japan.”

But perhaps Konoe had discovered that Ichijo was planning to restore imperial rule and Fujiwara supremacy by mounting a revolt against the Tokugawa, Sano speculated. Ichijo was in a unique position to influence Emperor Tomohito, both as chief adviser and as father of the imperial consort. If a coup succeeded, Ichijo would dominate the throne and the nation-as his ancestors had. Therefore, Ichijo was a prime candidate for instigator of the rebel conspiracy.

“Do you know Lord Ibe Masanobu?” Sano asked.

Ichijo raised his eyebrows, although Sano couldn’t tell whether he was surprised by the apparent non sequitur or if the name had significance to him. “The daimyo of Echizen Province? We have never met.”

“Have you ever been to his house in the cloth dyers’ district?”

“It is my understanding that the daimyo are forbidden to have estates in Miyako, and since I’m not acquainted with Lord Ibe, there would be no reason for me to visit him. Really, I do not see the point of these questions.”

“Have you any contact with priests at the local monasteries?”

“Of course. They perform ceremonies here at the palace.” Folding his arms, Ichijo said, “I get the impression that you are accusing me of something besides the murders. At least be specific so that I may defend myself.”

If Ichijo knew about the activities at Lord Ibe’s estate, he was doing an excellent job of pretending he didn’t. However, this veteran of court politics would have mastered the art of dissembling, and Ichijo’s clan had masterminded secret plots for centuries. But Sano wasn’t ready to make an open accusation yet.

“Even ii you aren’t acquainted with Lord Ibe, I believe your family has close ties with other daimyo clans,” he said. “The Kuroda and the Mitsu, in particular.”

“Many of us have married into those families,” Ichijo said stiffly. This was a common practice by which the samurai gained prestige via connections with the Imperial Court, while the nobles shared in the daimyo families’ wealth.

“Then you’ve had the opportunity to study the martial arts with them?”

“The opportunity, yes; the desire, no,” Ichijo said with a moue of distaste. “We in the court are glad to give the benefit of our learning to the samurai class. But with all due respect, we prefer to maintain the integrity of our culture by not absorbing yours.”

However, Sano knew that cultural influence flowed both ways. As men of the daimyo clans studied art and music with their imperial in-laws, so might nobles practice Bushido under the direction of samurai relatives. Sano perceived the strong will hidden behind Ichijo’s refined countenance, and will was the foundation for the power of kiai, the perfect weapon for a courtier who wanted a means of self-defense-or murder.

“Unless you have something else to discuss,” said Ichijo, “I really must go. My daughter needs me.”

“Just one more thing,” Sano said.

The right minister’s look of aggrieved impatience did not change, but alarm radiated from Ichijo. Sano wondered what he was hiding. He also wondered whether there was something that Yanagisawa had neglected to tell him about Ichijo.

“I need to speak with His Majesty the Emperor, Lady Jokyōden, and Prince Momozono,” Sano said. “I would prefer to see them alone, without giving them advance notice.”