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Framed by the door stood Yanagisawa Yoshiyasu, once the shogun’s chamberlain and second-in-command, now a fugitive in hiding. His head was shaved bald; he wore the saffron robe and brocade stole of a priest. His handsome face shone with pleasure at seeing his son. He quickly let Yoritomo into the cottage and shut the door tight.
    “Did anyone follow you here?” Yanagisawa asked.
    “No, Father, I was careful,” Yoritomo said. “I disguised myself as a religious pilgrim.” He dropped his pack and stick. “I used a false name at the highway checkpoints. Nobody gave me a second look.”
    “Excellent.” Yanagisawa didn’t want the powers that were to notice Yoritomo’s frequent visits to the temple; he didn’t want them to know he was here. Better for them to think he was still out of the picture.
    After defeating his army and ousting him from the regime almost six years ago, Lord Matsudaira had banished Yanagisawa to Hachijo Island. Yanagisawa had immediately begun plotting his return to the political career he’d built on his intimate relationship with the shogun.
    As a young man of great beauty and allure, Yanagisawa had seduced the shogun and become his closest companion and principal adviser. Yanagisawa had thus gained huge authority over the government. For years he’d gotten away with corruption and murder while the shogun remained oblivious. Many people had hated him, but no one had been able to take him down… except Lord Matsudaira.
    Lord Matsudaira also had great influence over the shogun. Furthermore, he had the advantage of Tokugawa blood, which lent him a stature that Yanagisawa could never achieve. When Lord Matsudaira had defeated Yanagisawa, the only thing that had saved Yanagisawa was his emotional hold over the shogun. The shogun had knuckled under to Lord Matsudaira’s wish to get rid of Yanagisawa, but he’d refused to let Lord Matsudaira execute Yanagisawa and had insisted on exile instead. He still cared about Yanagisawa; he’d obviously hoped his dearest friend would someday return.
    Heaven forbid the shogun should be disappointed.
    After four years on Hachijo Island, Yanagisawa had stolen a ship and escaped. He’d found refuge at various temples, where he had friends. Yanagisawa had lived to fight another day, and now he was back with a vengeance.
    “You’ve learned subterfuge well,” Yanagisawa told Yoritomo.
    The young man blushed with happiness at the praise. “I’ve had a good teacher.”
    Yanagisawa hid the tenderness he felt toward Yoritomo. He had four sons and a daughter, all by different mothers, but Yoritomo was his favorite. Yoritomo represented his second chance at gaining permanent power over Japan. He was the illegitimate product of an affair between Yanagisawa and a lady related to the shogun. His Tokugawa blood made him eligible for the succession-although he was low on the list of contenders-and Yanagisawa meant for his son to inherit the dictatorship and to rule Japan through him someday. For now, Yoritomo was his foothold in the regime, his best spy at court, his secret weapon. But Yanagisawa’s attachment to Yoritomo went deeper than politics. Yoritomo was the youthful image of himself, the only person in the world to whom he felt a blood connection.
    He and Yoritomo sat in the small room, which was simply furnished with a tatami floor, a wooden pallet for his bed, a cabinet for his few possessions, and the writing desk where he formulated his schemes. “What brings you here tonight?” Yanagisawa asked as he warmed sake on a charcoal brazier. “We weren’t due to meet for another three days.”
    “I have news for you,” Yoritomo answered.
    “Good news, I hope?”
    A shadow crossed Yoritomo’s face, but it might have been due to the light shifting as a draft flickered the lantern. “I think you’ll be pleased.”
    “Well, don’t keep me in suspense any longer.”
    “Lords Gamo and Kuroda have pledged their support to you,” Yoritomo