22

An incongruous sight greeted Sano and Right Minister Ichijo at the emperor’s residence. Two armies of banner bearers, archers, gunners, spearmen, and mounted swordsmen faced off across the courtyard. The troops wore armor in the style of four centuries before, featuring huge arm flaps, long tunics, and intricate lacing. Sunlight glinted off polished helmets; a war drum boomed across a battle scene straight out of history.

Then, as Sano drew nearer, the illusion dissolved. The weapons were wooden; the horses were painted papier-mache heads mounted on sticks. None of the soldiers was more than sixteen years old. Most wore only bits of tattered armor, as though the imperial treasure-house hadn’t supplied enough equipment for everyone. These were young courtiers at play, not samurai at war. Waiting for a signal to begin fighting, they giggled and pushed one another.

Suddenly a loud whoop rang out. At the rear of one army, Emperor Tomohito, clad in a complete, splendid suit of armor, raised a war fan bearing the gold imperial chrysanthemum crest. Straddling his toy horse, he ran up the side of the battlefield. So much for the rule forbidding the emperor’s feet to touch the ground, Sano thought.

“His Majesty enjoys war games,” Ichijo said, then bowed and departed.

The archers let blunt-tipped arrows fly. Gunners aimed toy arquebuses, shouting, “Bang! Bang!” Wooden swords and spears made a racket as foot soldiers and horsemen clashed. Some boys on the emperor’s side wore the insignia of northern and western samurai clans; others sported the white cowls of warrior priests. The other side wore armor with the red lacing associated with the Minamoto regime that had once ruled Japan. Recognizing the battle, Sano wondered why Emperor Tomohito had chosen to re-enact it.

Then he heard hoots coming from the sidelines. Near a collection of spare weapons stood Prince Momozono. He wore a plain cotton kimono and a helmet much too big for him. His arms and head jerked.

Approaching, Sano greeted the prince.

Momozono’s hoots turned to squeals of alarm. As he lurched around to face Sano, his leg buckled, and he fell. Fear glazed his rolling eyes as he struggled to rise.

“I’m sorry I startled you,” Sano said, again feeling instinctive disgust. He warned himself that the prince was still a suspect, and one he hadn’t had a chance to investigate thoroughly. He couldn’t assume that Momozono was harmless. Hiding his distaste, Sano reached out to the fallen prince. “Let me help you up.”

“N-no, thank you, that’s all right.” Hoot, puff, gasp. Twitching all over, Momozono somehow managed to stand.

Pity moved Sano. He spoke gently, as if to a child: “Well, this is certainly an exciting battle. Are you the captain of the arsenal?”

“I’m not much good at anything, but H-his Majesty is kind enough to give me a p-part in his games.”

More noises accompanied Momozono’s answer, but Sano couldn’t mistake the emphasis on the last word. Momozono was no childlike cripple, but a mature man who understood the difference between make-believe and the terrible reality of his own existence.

“You’re fond of the emperor, then?” Sano asked, watching Tomohito gallop across the battlefield.

“Yes.” Momozono made barking sounds, like a dog.

“I understand that His Majesty treated you kindly and gave you a place at court when no one else wanted you around.”

“He did m-more than that.” Momozono gripped his arms, forcing them to hold still. “If not for him, I would be dead.” Unpleasant memory clouded his straining face.

“Tell me what happened,” Sano said.

Prince Momozono hesitated: He obviously knew the danger a murder suspect courted by confiding in the shogun’s sōsakan. Yet Sano sensed in him an impulse that opposed caution. How often did anyone bother talking to him? How much he must yearn for communication! Finally, Momozono spoke.

“W-when I was young, I lived in the imperial children’s palace with the other p-princes and princesses. Then, in the s-spring when I was eight, my affliction started. I w-was scolded and beaten, but I couldn’t control myself. The d-doctors couldn’t discover what was wrong with me. They forced m-medicines down my throat and gave me purges and enemas.” Through the grunts that punctuated the words echoed the anguish of a child who didn’t understand what was happening to him. "Priests s-said I was possessed by a demon. They lit fires around me and ch-chanted spells to drive it out.

“B-but nothing worked. I got worse. Finally I was l-locked in a storehouse. Every day a s-servant opened the door and put food inside. I was allowed to come out only wh-when the storehouse was c-cleaned. The s-servant would throw b-buckets of water inside and sweep out the filth. Then he stripped me and threw water on m-me. There was only one w-window in the storehouse. All I could s-see was the sky through the b-branches of a cherry tree. For a whole y-year I lived there.”

Sano imagined the young Momozono hooting and convulsing in his prison, watching the cherry blossoms bloom then drift to the ground, the leaves unfurl then drop, until snow covered the boughs. Empathy had no place in a murder investigation, but the prince’s story affected Sano deeply.

“Then one night, s-some men came. They wrapped me up in qu-quilts so I couldn’t m-move, and tied a gag over my mouth. They c-carried me away in a palanquin. They didn’t t-tell me where they were taking me, but I h-heard them talking about how I was going to live in exile. I was glad because I thought Exile was the n-name of a place where children like m-me could be happy. I didn’t know any better.”

His voice broke on a sob; his eyes teared. Grimacing and puffing, he said, “We traveled for a l-long time. At last we stopped at a m-mountain village. It was d-dark and snowing and very c-cold. The men set me down outside the v-village and untied my gag. Then they picked up the palanquin and left.” Momozono sniffled; he tried to wipe his nose, but his hand flew upward, and he used the other to pull it down. “I was terrified. I didn’t know what to do, so I sat and w-waited.

“F-finally it began getting light. The v-villagers came. They d-didn’t want me any more than the Imperial Court did.” The prince gulped and blinked. “I sat alone for t-two days, freezing and h-hungry and scared.” Ragged sobs choked him. "P-please excuse me.”

Filled with pity, Sano imagined what had happened when the villagers found Momozono. Probably they’d taunted him and stoned him before leaving him to die.

“Then I b-began to feel sleepy and warm,” Momozono said. “I stopped caring what h-happened to me. I was on the verge of d-death. But then the m-men returned. They took me back to the palace. I was washed and fed and given a r-room in the emperor’s residence. His M-majesty came in. He s-said he’d dreamed about a demon who threatened to cause a terrible p-plague unless h-he rescued me and made me his c-companion. L-later I heard people saying he’d invented the whole story and b-brought me back to spite everyone. But I was too g-grateful to care why he’d saved me.”

His face twisted with tics and emotion, Momozono gazed at Emperor Tomohito, who was beating his sword on the helmet of another soldier. Boyish cries arose as the battle raged on. “Because of His M-majesty, I’m allowed to live here.” He added softly, “I’ve done my b-best to repay His Majesty.”

By giving him a false alibi? Sano wondered. Whatever the emperor’s motive for saving Momozono, he’d won the devotion of his cousin. Sano caught himself falling into the assumption that Momozono’s affliction rendered him incapable of any worse crime than lying to protect the emperor. Momozono had revealed himself as a man of intelligence. To have survived his ordeals, he must be stronger than he looked.