‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘I would be most grateful if you could pay us a visit when you have news. We need to know when things have settled down in Edo. That would be of great service to us.’
Shinzaemon stopped in his tracks. He looked straight at her, his eyes straying across her face, her hair. He seemed to take in every part of her – her small nose, her rosy lips, her white skin, her green eyes.
With an effort Sachi broke the spell, lowering her gaze and biting her lips.
‘Of course,’ he said and bowed abruptly. ‘I shall.’
Then the door slid open and he stepped out into the night.
IV
At first Sachi and Taki listened hopefully for Aunt Sato or the maid to come pattering through the house to announce that Shinzaemon or Toranosuké was in the entrance. Whenever the doors slid open they looked up expectantly. But it was always simply to bring in their meal, lay out their bedding or invite them to the great hall for a chat.
Little by little they were becoming accustomed to their new life. Their splendid kimonos – all that remained to remind them of their life in the palace – lay bundled up, gathering dust. Sachi tried not to think of that other strange robe she had brought with her from the village. But when out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed the silk scarf that wrapped it, she seemed to see it glowing inside like an ember. It really was like an angel’s cloak. It was too beautiful. It frightened her, as if it was enchanted.
To fill her days, she taught Yuki poems from the New Collection of Ancient and Modern Poems. She taught in the way the princess had taught her, making the little girl recite each poem over and over again until she could do it without thinking. She was amazed at how quickly the child learned. Yuki particularly loved the poems of the monk Saigyo. ‘They’re so sad,’ she said. ‘They make me feel lonely.’
Sachi, also, as the princess had done, wrote out each poem in her best cursive-style calligraphy for the child to copy. In the palace she had learned not just hiragana, the syllabary that was all that women were supposed to need, but the Chinese characters that classical literature was written in. She started to teach Yuki these too, even though Aunt Sato protested that if the little girl was too highly educated no one would marry her.
‘Where is your husband?’ Yuki asked in her direct way as they sat together one day. ‘Has he gone away, like Papa?’
‘I don’t have a husband,’ said Sachi, taken by surprise.
‘Is that why you don’t have children?’ Yuki persisted.
It was true. It was outlandish for a grown woman like Sachi to be childless, let alone still unmarried. She was now eighteen. Like everyone else, she had added a year to her age at New Year.
‘I can’t marry,’ said Sachi gently. ‘I’m too far from home. When I go back to my family, my father will find a marriage broker.’
‘But you’ll be too old then,’ said Yuki. Sachi nodded. The words filled her with an indefinable unease.
For where was her home? In this world everyone belonged somewhere. But she and Taki were like weeds floating on a pond, cut off from their roots, or jealous ghosts, suspended between one world and the next. They needed to get back to the palace in Edo or, if not that, to their families. They couldn’t go on hiding away, living a half-life for ever, no matter how kind their hosts.
Every day, sometimes with Taki, sometimes alone, Sachi took a quilt and went out to the veranda. She sat and contemplated the garden, brooding on the strange fate that had brought her and Taki there and trying to imagine what their future might be.
V
Not long after the end of the New Year holiday, when the festive decorations were being taken down to be burned, the sky became grey and heavy. Great white flakes began to waft down, at first slowly, then faster and faster. When Sachi went out on to the veranda that afternoon, the trees and rocks and toppled stone lantern had turned into a mysterious landscape of ghostly white shapes, muffled beneath a thick mantle of snow. She wrapped a quilt around her and absorbed herself in the stillness.
Suddenly there was a noise. Sachi started. Surely it was the crack of the bamboos, bending under the weight of snow? Or perhaps it was an animal or a spirit. No one ever came to this side of the grounds. This was her secret place, hers and Taki’s.
‘My lady,’ hissed a voice. ‘Don’t be afraid.’
A figure emerged from the shadows at the side of the house, bundled so warmly that only the eyes were visible. He crunched across the snow towards her, leaving a trail of footprints marked with the weave of his straw boots. He followed along the wicker fence until he was so close she could see his breath like steam in the frosty air. She knew those piercing black eyes and that deep growl of a voice. It was Shinzaemon.
Sachi sat bolt upright, pulling her quilt tighter round her. ‘Sir. This is quite improper.’ She spoke in a low voice, looking hastily over her shoulder. Perhaps Taki was in the room behind her and could chaperone them. But the room was empty. She was not sure whether she was sorry or pleased that Taki was not there.
‘I need to see you alone,’ he muttered urgently. ‘There are ears everywhere.’
For a moment he stood awkwardly shifting from foot to foot, staring at the ground, his hand on his sword hilt. With no one else around he seemed less sure of himself. It was extraordinary for them to be alone together – a man and a woman, just the two of them. It simply never happened. Even when Sachi had lain with the shogun there had been ladies-in-waiting hovering in the background.
‘We are unendingly grateful to your family, sir,’ said Sachi, fumbling for words.
‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered. ‘It was wrong to bring you here. It was a mistake – a terrible mistake. I promised I would protect you but I’ve failed. I thought this place would be a haven. But I was wrong. It’s not safe for you, not safe for any of us. His lordship the daimyo . . .
‘We’re loyal retainers of the Tokugawas here. But the present daimyo . . .’ He lowered his voice still further, glancing around as if even in this walled garden, with snow drifting down in huge flakes, there might be spies. Sachi leaned forward, listening hard. They were so close she could feel the warmth of his body and see his breath rippling the scarf which muffled his face. As she breathed she caught a faint whiff of sweat, mingled with tobacco smoke and dust. There was something about the smell – so raw, so natural – that sent a prickle up her spine.
‘His present lordship is . . . a man without honour. He refused to send troops when the shogun asked for them. He’s been waiting to see which way the wind would blow. He wants to make sure he’s on the winning side. My cousin was . . . is one of his advisers. He’s been doing his best to persuade him to do the right thing, to support the shogun, but there are powerful men among his lordship’s counsellors who favour the south.’
His cousin . . . Could it be . . .
‘So that’s why you’re here, to help your cousin?’
‘It was stupid. We’re ronin. There are men here who would hunt us down if they could. But all three of us, Toranosuké and Tatsuemon too, we all agreed we had to come back.’
‘So that was where you were going . . .’
‘ . . . when we came across your palanquin.’ He nodded. ‘As servants of His Majesty it was our duty to protect you. But we also needed to get back here as fast as we could. We thought this would still be a safe haven for you. But . . .’
He stared at the ground, scowling. Beyond the overhanging eaves snow floated down.
‘Your cousin . . .’ gasped Sachi, feeling a sudden chill as the realization dawned. ‘You mean . . . Yuki’s father?’
With a pang she thought of the little girl’s bright hopeful face. She dared not ask any more.
Shinzaemon’s dark eyes narrowed.
‘We grew up together. He’s like a brother to me. He’s a good man, a man of honour.’
‘And now . . .’
‘He’s in prison.’ Sachi felt a jolt of horror. ‘His lordship chose to side with the south. My cousin’s been
condemned to death. I’ve been trying to get him out. Every day I check the prison gates. As far as I know there’s still a chance.’
‘It was because of us,’ said Sachi, wide-eyed with horror, ‘because of us you had to travel slowly and couldn’t get here in time.’
He shook his head.
‘It would have been too late anyway,’ he muttered. ‘His lordship has given the southerners free rein. There’s been a purge. Southern ronin have been cutting down anyone they suspect of supporting the north. A lot of people have been working out old grudges too. Many have been imprisoned or killed; whole families have been wiped out and their names struck off the register. So far my family have been left alone, but no one knows when the time will come.’
He paused as if to collect his thoughts.
‘As ladies of His Majesty’s court, you are in grave danger here. It was us that brought you and it’s our responsibility to keep you safe. On no account go outside the house. We’ll leave as soon as we can.’
Caught up in his words, Sachi stared at the only part of Shinzaemon she could see – his eyes. One burly hand rested on the hilt of his sword. Even here he was ready for anything. There was a dusting of snow on the back of his mantle. Behind him the garden glowed, white and eerie. The branches of the trees and the tall bamboos swayed and bent under the weight of snow.
There was a long silence.
‘I know nothing of you,’ he said. ‘It is not my place to enquire. I know only that you are a lady of the shogun’s household. When we were privileged to be of assistance to you, you were travelling in the imperial palanquin. As loyal servants of His Majesty it is our duty to protect you as best we can.’
Sachi nodded. She felt as if she were in a trance.
‘Once we leave here our fate is in our own hands,’ she said, remembering who and what she was. ‘You are under no obligation to help us. But we would appreciate it if you could advise us as to conditions on the road.’
‘I can’t let you leave alone,’ he said. ‘It’s too dangerous. We will escort you wherever you wish to go.’
His eyes had changed and Sachi could see that he was looking at her quite openly, smiling even. She should have been angry at his audacity, but instead she found herself melting under his gaze.
‘Your eyes,’ he murmured. ‘They’re narrow like bamboo leaves and . . . green. Dark green. Forgive me, I’m just a rough ronin. I never thought I would lay eyes on someone so . . . I never imagined I would meet anyone . . .’ He stared at the ground and scuffed the snow with the toe of his straw boot.
‘Forgive me,’ he muttered again. ‘It’s not my place to speak to someone like you in such a way. But here we are. It must be destiny. Destiny brought us together. Karma binds us.’
He frowned as if he knew he’d gone too far.
‘I have to go,’ he grunted, turning abruptly as if something was tugging him away against his will. ‘I will visit you here again.’
VI
It was nearing the bean-throwing festival, the celebration to mark the first day of spring, when Aunt Sato flung open the doors to their room. Sachi and Yuki were reading together and looked up, startled. Aunt Sato was out of breath and her hair was even more ruffled than usual.
‘Shinzaemon and Master Toranosuké are here, my ladies,’ she panted. ‘They want to see you. They say it’s urgent. I can take a message if you like, or be your chaperone.’
Sachi said firmly, ‘We’ll see them. Please chaperone us.’
The two men and young Tatsuemon were waiting in the entrance hall, their swords poking from under their thick winter mantles. Uncle Sato was with them. He was in crisp hakama trousers, with his round head immaculately shaved and his hair oiled into a rigid topknot like the fine upstanding samurai he was. Compared to him, the three ronin, with their unshaved pates and glossy ponytails tied with purple cord, looked like wild men.
They were frowning. But it was not just the usual samurai grimace. There was something flickering in their eyes that made Sachi uneasy.
Toranosuké stepped forward, bowing. Sachi had forgotten what a fine-featured, handsome man he was beneath the stubble.
‘What have you heard?’ she asked, cutting short the customary exchange of pleasantries. ‘How are things in Edo?’
‘Please excuse our rudeness,’ said Toranosuké slowly. ‘We have had reports but the news is confused. There may have been a battle south of Kyoto.’
‘Kyoto?’ repeated Sachi, catching her breath.
‘Near the towns of Toba and Fushimi. We don’t know much yet. We heard there was fighting for three days. Hundreds of men were killed and wounded. The northern battalions fought valiantly but . . . There may have been insubordination. Our men . . .’
Three days of fighting. And from his tone it sounded as if the northerners had been defeated.
Sachi glanced at Shinzaemon, fearful that he might make some gesture to betray their secret meeting. His scowl was growing deeper.
‘You want to know what we heard?’ he growled, butting in. He spoke in the rough language of men, in broad Kano dialect. It was strange – extraordinary – to have a glimpse into the world of men like this, to be present as they talked of war and politics, matters women would never usually hear anything about. For a moment Sachi felt a secret thrill, like a little girl listening in to adults’ talk.
‘I’ll tell you,’ he snapped. ‘On the third day our men retreated to Osaka Castle to regroup. They gathered in the great hall and begged Lord Yoshinobu to lead them personally into battle.’ Sachi knew Lord Yoshinobu had abdicated as shogun and was no longer ruler of the entire country. But he was still head of the House of Tokugawa and liege lord of the northern clansmen who were fighting to hold back the southern advance. ‘With him at the helm they knew they would be unbeatable,’ Shinzaemon continued. ‘Half of those clansmen were badly wounded. Some had had limbs hewn off. But they were all raring to get back on the battlefield and deal with the southern traitors once and for all.’
‘Enough, Shin,’ barked Toranosuké. ‘Remember where you are!’
‘Let me finish,’ snarled Shinzaemon. ‘Lord Yoshinobu swore he would be at the head of the army the next day. Then . . .’ He paused, his lip curling in contempt. ‘Then he sneaked off, him and some of his so-called advisers. Seems there was a secret passage to the harbour. They couldn’t even find their ship when they got there, so they hid on a barbarian battleship.’
His face was dark as if he was going to burst with rage and anger.
‘A barbarian ship?’ quavered Sachi.
‘An American ship. They sailed to Edo the next day.’
‘He ran away!’ said Sachi. It made a kind of dreadful sense. This was the man who had snatched the throne from her dear lord and master, who’d wanted it so badly he had not hesitated to have him poisoned. Was this what he had had in mind all along?
She thought she had said it to herself but in fact she had spoken aloud. Shinzaemon looked at her.
‘He ran away,’ he grunted, nodding. ‘The shame of it!’
‘Enough!’ bellowed Uncle Sato. His hand was on the hilt of his sword. ‘Have you no loyalty? This is all rumour. How dare you report it as fact!’
‘There may be an explanation,’ said Toranosuké, trying to calm them both. ‘They say Lord Yoshinobu is planning a last stand in Edo.’
‘He’s in Edo right now,’ said Shinzaemon with a sneer. ‘You know that, you’ve seen the reports – you too, Uncle Sato. Everyone’s laughing at him. “He came back in flight, afraid to fight, leaving his men behind.” ’
Uncle Sato looked as if he was about to explode. ‘And you believe those commoners? You dare to guess at Lord Yoshinobu’s intentions?’
‘He’s no friend to us either, Uncle Sato. You know that very well,’ said Shinzaemon. ‘But I will fight to the death for him. I know my duty.’
‘So the north has been defeated . . .’ said Sachi. She needed to be certain of it. Maybe if she said it enough times she would finally gra
sp what it meant.
‘That means the southerners hold Kyoto. And the whole of the south-west,’ said Shinzaemon.
There was a long silence.
‘And Edo . . . ?’ said Sachi slowly.
‘Total chaos,’ said Toranosuké. ‘There’s no one keeping order. There are thieves and bandits everywhere.’
‘Lord Yoshinobu’s troops are coming in by the shipload from Osaka, on the rampage because they haven’t been paid,’ Shinzaemon added.
‘The southerners have been distributing leaflets saying there’s going to be war and people should leave the city,’ said Toranosuké. ‘The citizens are on the streets day and night carting their belongings to the countryside.’
‘What of the castle?’ asked Sachi and Taki, almost in unison. An image of the palace and the women and the princess – her dear princess – flashed before Sachi’s eyes.
‘As far as we know, the occupants are safe.’
‘You have reports?’
‘To tell the truth, we have no reports. But if things were otherwise we would have heard.’
‘The southerners will be planning their advance,’ said Shinzaemon. ‘They’ve got good generals and English arms. If they take Edo they’ll have the country by the throat.’
‘And no one in Kano is going to prevent them,’ snarled Uncle Sato. ‘Not if his lordship has his way. The only thing for it is to ride north – try and hold back their advance.’
He glared at the women as if he had just realized they were there.
‘I know we’re only stupid women,’ said Aunt Sato, ‘but we can fight too. Don’t forget that.’
‘That Lord Yoshinobu is as slippery as a snake,’ growled Shinzaemon. ‘No one knows who he really supports or what he will do next.’
After the men had left, Taki stayed to talk to Aunt Sato. Messengers were arriving. The great hall was full of raised voices and angry discussion.
Sachi went back to their room, took a quilt and went out on the veranda. Clumps of dark moss and the outlines of stepping stones peeked through the melting snow. Snow still lay on the fallen stone lantern, marked with tiny footprints where birds had hopped across it. A crow cawed and landed heavily on a tree, sending showers of snow tumbling through the branches and crashing to the ground. Sachi sat studying the ghostly silhouettes of the trees while the sky darkened and the evening drew in.
The Last Concubine Page 18
