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 hear the howling of the dogs of Edo fading away on the wind that had brought it.
“Husband!” his wife cried out as she raised herself to watch him struggling to draw his sword from the scabbard beside him. “What’s the matter?”
Fully awake now, he shook his head and threw down the sword. “The dogs,” he muttered. “The damned dogs.”
“Go back to sleep,” she said, as a soothing smile came over her pretty round face. “You should be used to them by now.”
“I’ll never get used to them, or to anything else about this miserable place.”
“Only one more day,” she reminded him. “Then we’ll go home to Ako and our daughter.”
“One more day,” he repeated in a tone that was both forlorn and hopeful. “One more rotten day.”
He tried to go back to sleep but his heart was still pounding from his nightmare and his eyes would not close. He watched restlessly as the light of dawn slipped through the window shutters and crept across the tatami mats to his bed on the floor. Lord Asano sighed and rolled out of the heavy quilts to stand shivering for a moment in his underclothes, then put on a padded robe to slide open the paper-paneled door and step into the cold corridor beyond.
He walked with long steps over the slick wood, darkly polished by the passage of countless stockinged feet. At one side the corridor was lined by pillars of fragrant cedar separated by painted shoji panels; on the other side rain doors sheltered it from the garden outside, and Lord Asano shivered as they rattled in the wind and he imagined he heard again the dogs of his dreams.
He opened the sliding door to the kitchen and stepped in. It was a large room, floored with rough boards, with a clay-lined central fireplace sunk in the floor. Here, two topknotted samurai from his retinue sat warming themselves, and as he approached and muttered a greeting they scrambled to their knees and bowed low.
Kataoka, the younger of the two, wiry, with a face like a playful monkey, started to exchange a pleasantry with his master, but changed his mind when he saw his face. Lord Asano was tense by nature, but this morning he appeared more so than usual and Kataoka knew when to keep quiet. The other man, a fierce-looking warrior in his fifties named Hara, was sleepy eyed and not so perceptive; he merely followed Kataoka’s lead in sinking back into a cross-legged position by the fire as their master sat down.
“You needn’t have gotten up so early,” Lord Asano