V
Early one morning Sachi was sitting with the women who had moved with her to the Shimizu mansion. Some of them were sewing, some completing their toilette. Sachi was trying to read, waiting for the moment when everyone would be absorbed in their tasks and she could slip away to her favourite place on the parapet.
Suddenly there was a boom like thunder breaking right overhead. Everyone flinched.
Then came another, then another – massive explosions that shook the walls and rattled the paper screens in their frames. The air quivered with the noise. The women looked at each other, all with the same expression of calm, luminous exhilaration, almost relief. They were warrior women, all of them; they knew what the booms were and what they meant. Cannon fire. The city was at war. The tedious waiting was over.
It was the fifteenth day of the fifth month. They had been in seclusion for more than two months.
Sachi leaped to her feet and darted outside. Rain was coming down in sheets. Taki raced after her, struggling to keep the umbrella over her head. They splashed across the grounds to the wall and scrambled up blindly, feeling their way in the murky light. Sachi’s small hands were covered in mud and her sodden kimono skirts clung to her ankles.
Low cloud hung over the city. Through the mist and driving rain Sachi could see flashes lighting up the hills. Plumes of smoke, whiter than the clouds, rolled above the trees. The booms and bangs and thuds were deafening.
‘What’s going on, Taki?’ she demanded.
There were other people on the parapet peering anxiously into the rain, their faces ghastly. Some were women she recognized, others men. They looked like servants and retainers who had moved there from the palace or worked for the Shimizu family.
They bowed when they saw Sachi. Among them was the wizened old man who had let them into the palace grounds, a lifetime ago. He started to get down on his hands and knees in the mud. Sachi gestured impatiently.
‘Old man, what’s happening?’
‘There’s a lot of our fellows over there, my lady,’ he said. ‘Wish I was too. But I’m too old. I’d be no use to them.’
‘Our men?’
‘Palace guards. They made off before the castle was taken over. A lot went to bolster the militia. The rest went north to join the army up there.’
‘So it’s the militia over there on the hill,’ Sachi said, trying to stop the quiver of excitement and fear in her voice.
‘We’re doing well,’ said the old man. ‘Them southerners talk big but they got their backs against the wall. Our men have had command of the city. Helps that the townsfolk are on our side. We been out there skirmishing, ambushing their patrols, cutting down southerners every day. We even launched a full-out assault on their barracks. It’s a regular uprising. Anyway, seems the southerners’ve had enough. There’s been a lot of talk these last few days that they are going to send in an army, wipe out the militia once and for all. There’s been leaflets all over the city telling us townsfolk to keep away.’
He took a tattered piece of paper out of his sleeve. Raindrops pounded it, blurring the ink. Sachi stared at it, trying to concentrate, but her heart was beating so hard she could barely make sense of the words: ‘. . . assassinating the soldiers of the government . . . rebels against the state . . . It has been found unavoidable to use force against them.’
So that was it, an offensive against the militia. Well, they would fight back. Those southern cowards would find out what the northerners were made of. The northern forces would send them fleeing from Edo back to their miserable southern holdouts.
‘Our men will stand firm, of course,’ she said.
The old man sucked his breath through his teeth with a long hiss.
‘Well,’ he grunted, shaking his head. ‘I’ll be honest, my lady. It doesn’t look good. The southerners have a huge army, maybe ten for every one of our men. I heard they got arms from the English, too – big cannons, modern ones, and fancy rifles. We got guns but not as good and not as many. But our men have spirit. They’ll fight to the death, that’s for sure. For the honour of His Majesty the shogun. You can depend on that, my lady. They’ll die good deaths.’
Cannons, rifles. Of course. The southerners had to hide behind fancy foreign armaments. They would have no chance in honourable man-to-man combat. They were out to destroy the militia, to kill every one of them.
Fine swordsman though Shinzaemon was, his swords would be no use against weapons like that. Sachi could hear his voice: ‘I look forward to the honour of dying in battle for my lord.’ Every day she had wondered whether he was alive or dead. She bowed her head, praying to the gods. Like a proud samurai woman she prayed for victory, but she added a secret prayer of her own. Gods of the Tokugawa clan, please protect him. Protect Shinzaemon. Please keep him safe.
The booms seemed to be coming from the smaller of the two hills. Through the mist and scudding cloud Sachi could see white flashes, blindingly bright, and hear the whoosh of shells. Explosions splintered the sky. She watched as the shells plummeted to earth, sending timber and tiles and bodies spinning into the air. Fires were breaking out among the densely packed roofs in the valley between the two hills. Here and there tongues of flame licked the red temple buildings on Ueno Hill.
Then came a barrage of flashes at the base of Ueno Hill itself and crackling filled the air. The flashes and cracks were like a gigantic never-ending fireworks display. Mesmerized, Sachi stood listening and watching, staring as hard as she could. Despite Taki’s umbrella she was soaked from head to toe. Through the roar of the rain she could hear the boom of war drums, the wail of conch-shell trumpets, the distant clang of steel striking steel. The southerners were trying to take the hill. In the distance she could make out figures, men fighting, tiny and far away but clear as day. Sachi ached to have her halberd in her hands, to be fighting alongside them. Instead here she was, trapped, with nothing to do but stand and watch helplessly. She looked down towards the gate and the bridge, thinking hard. There had to be some way she could help them.
On the other side of the moat mobs of people had appeared from nowhere. They filled the streets, motionless and silent, staring towards the noise and smoke.
All day long the battle went on. The plumes of smoke grew until the hillside was enveloped in a thick white pall, though Sachi could still see flashes like lightning bursting through the clouds. Then late in the afternoon the guns fell silent. There was a terrible hush. Even the cicadas had stopped their ear-piercing noise.
Then flames shot up. The wind fanned the blaze, sending sparks leaping like will-o’-the-wisps, setting roofs afire. The temples on the hillside and the flimsy wooden houses in the valley below were ablaze.
There was a roar as if a dragon had opened his mouth and sent a fiery blast to consume them. From the parapet Sachi could see flames racing towards them as heat seared her face and smoke tickled her nostrils and filled her lungs. The people crowded up there were tumbling down the steps, coughing and choking, tears pouring from their eyes, handkerchiefs clamped to their mouths and noses. The whole city seemed to be on fire.
Taki grabbed at her, trying to drag her away, but Sachi shook her off. The wall of flame swept as far as the river then leaped across to the Goji-in Field. But the broad empty spaces of the field acted as a firebreak and the flames dwindled, leaving sparks dancing like fireflies on a smouldering sea of ash and rubble.
Sachi knew she had to get to the battlefield, had to find out what had happened, which way the battle had gone. There must be wounded there who needed help. And dead there, many dead. Above all she needed to look for Shinzaemon.
She stared down at the smouldering city. She would put on plain clothes, like a townswoman or an ordinary samurai. She wouldn’t take anything with her, not even the brocade. Just some money, something to sell.
The old man was standing next to her. Everyone else had gone. Only Taki was there, her thin face haggard and pale, her eyes wide.
‘My lady,’ the old man said. H
is face was expressionless, but there was a hint of something – sympathy, perhaps understanding – in his eyes. ‘I’m on guard duty tomorrow.’
Sachi glanced at him, startled. She couldn’t believe she had heard him correctly.
‘Tomorrow? You?’
‘Every southerner in the city is out there, fighting,’ he said. ‘They left us in charge.’
‘You mean . . . there are no southern guards?’
‘No. Of course a fine lady like you wouldn’t be interested in such matters. You wouldn’t even be outside the women’s quarters, I shouldn’t think. But if some unknown lady or two happened to slip by, well, I probably wouldn’t even notice. My eyesight’s no good these days. My ears aren’t too good either.’
VI
Sachi waited for the first glimmer of light to pierce the shutters then slipped quietly from beneath her bedclothes. She coiled her hair into a clumsy knot and put on a plain indigo-blue summer kimono. It was the first time in years she had had to do her own hair and dress herself. She had almost forgotten how. She took out Shinzaemon’s toggle, which she had hidden under a corner of her bedding. The monkey’s carved wooden face looked up at her knowingly as if it agreed that it was time to go. She tucked it into her obi then gathered up a few belongings and wrapped them in a bundle.
She looked sadly at her halberd. It was too long and awkward. She would have to leave it behind. But she made sure she had hairpins in her hair and her dagger in her obi.
She had meant to sneak out alone, but she should have guessed that no matter how early she got up Taki would wake up too (though she was vexed that she was not early enough to help Sachi dress). Not just that, but Haru also seemed to sense something was afoot. In no time the three of them were outside the gates, hurrying across the bridge, looking for all the world like nondescript townswomen.
At the end of the bridge they paused. A broad road led along the edge of the moat. Another disappeared down the hill in front of them. The walls that edged them were grimy with soot, the tiles scorched and broken. Huge charred trees filled the sky. Here and there were blackened ruins, unrecognizable as places where human beings could ever have lived.
Sachi turned to her companions. She hadn’t dared speak while they were in the grounds of the mansion for fear of drawing attention.
‘Go back,’ she said quietly to Taki and Haru. ‘I release you from my service. I don’t need you. I can’t be responsible for you. You’re better off staying behind. This . . .’
She gestured towards the desolate scene before them, as the sour smell of wet ashes pricked her nostrils. The rain had stopped, for the time being at least. The sun had barely risen but already it was so hot that she was sticky with sweat. The water that puddled the road was quickly evaporating, steaming in the heat. The incessant shrilling of the cicadas split the air.
‘It’s my choice, my lady,’ said Taki, meeting her eye. ‘I’m coming with you. You must have known I would.’ Her small mouth was set in a stubborn frown. She had scrambled into her clothes so quickly that the knot of her obi was askew.
Sachi shook her head and stared at the ground.
‘I’m not “my lady” any longer,’ she said. ‘Can’t you understand that? I’m not the Retired Lady Shoko-in. I’m Sachi, just plain Sachi.’
Haru was staring around wide-eyed, biting her lips. Bundled in a simple summer kimono, she looked afraid, excited and apprehensive all at the same time, like a little girl who has run away from home or a prisoner who has escaped a death sentence. It was the first time she had left the castle in eighteen years.
‘I’m bound to you for ever, my lady,’ she said quietly. ‘You’re the closest to family I’ve ever had. If you’re going to Ueno Hill, I’m going too. I’m not losing you now. Anyway, there might be men there that need help. I brought some fabric to wrap up wounds.’
Sachi sighed and shook her head. Nothing made any difference any more. She knew what she had to do and she would do it. If they wanted to come along, they could. She had a feeling there would be a lot of work to be done. If they were with her . . . she had to admit, it would be a comfort.
‘Hurry,’ she said. It wouldn’t be long before someone noticed her absence. She would not be safe until she had disappeared into the bowels of the city.
Outside the high walls of the mansion she felt small and vulnerable, and at first she was careful to keep her face hidden. But soon the horror of the scene overwhelmed her and all she could think of was getting to the hill.
So many times, standing on the parapet, Sachi had imagined herself crossing the moat and setting off along the road. She had worked out that if she kept the moat behind her and the sun on her right she would be heading in the right direction. But now she was outside, with the fire-scarred walls of daimyos’ estates all around her, blocking her view, it was hard to keep her bearings. The road led down one hill and up another, running beside great silent estates until it emerged on the bank of a river. On the other side was a wasteland of blackened rubble, the aftermath of the fire, and behind that the hill Sachi had gazed at so longingly.
The rain had stopped the fire from spreading too far. Nevertheless whole sections of the town had vanished, swept up by flames or dismantled by firemen. A few stout clay-walled storehouses still stood, like healthy teeth in a gaping mouth. People were out sweeping away the ash and clearing the rubble. Here and there corpses had been laid in pitiful rows, so badly charred they had shrunk to the size of dolls. They were more like burned logs of wood than human beings.
Tucking the hems of their kimono skirts into their obis, the women picked their way through piles of ash and fallen timbers. In no time their legs were black and their robes spattered. Every now and then Sachi caught a glimpse of the hill across a pile of rubble or through a gap where a row of houses had disappeared. But they were soon shuffling along in a crowd so dense that even if they had wanted to go somewhere else, they couldn’t.
Young women and old people with babies tied to their backs wandered like sleepwalkers, blank-eyed. Sometimes a baby yowled. Street hawkers yelled out their wares, selling food to the crowds, taking advantage of the catastrophe to turn a profit. But for the most part the crowd moved in eerie silence.
As Sachi, Taki and Haru got nearer the hill they heard the rhythmic toll of handbells being struck again and again – the sound of prayers spiralling to heaven. A nauseous stench began to fill the air, faint at first but growing stronger. People raised their sleeves to their mouths while others took out handkerchiefs and pressed them to their noses or tied them round their faces. Some stopped in their tracks or turned, pale and ghastly, and fled. It was the smell of the slaughterhouse – sweat, blood, excrement, decomposing flesh; the all-pervading smell of death.
Gagging, Sachi grabbed her handkerchief and clamped it across her nose and mouth. For a moment she wanted only to flee. She had never imagined it would be like this.
Swarthy-faced soldiers stood guard, toting rifles. They were wearing the black uniforms and tall conical helmets of southerners. They were holding the crowds back, turning them away.
‘Stop!’ they barked. ‘No entry. Out of bounds.’
People surged against the cordon, trying to break through. In the shadow of the hill Sachi could see that the ground was heaped with slumped shapes. Even from a distance she could make out the black of their hair, the white of their faces and the glint of their pale blue haori jackets.
A stream trickled across the foot of the hill. Bodies filled the water and dangled from the three small footbridges. Beyond that, a cleft lined with steep rocky walls cut into the hillside and disappeared around a corner towards the temple compound. A palisade stood across it, barring the way. The famous Black Gate. The great double gates hung crazily on their hinges, the posts and crossbeams smashed and pocked with bullet holes. Soldiers in black uniforms strode about, shovelling bodies out of the way as if they were bundles of wood. A couple emerged with a comrade slung over their shoulders. Here and there were women, movi
ng about silently.
The crowd began to grumble. ‘Hey! There are women over there. Let us in too.’
An old man, thin and bent with white hairs straggling from his chin, was pleading with the soldiers.
‘You’ve won. We can see that. At least let us take away our dead.’
‘Those traitors stay right there,’ barked one of the guards. ‘Think you can rebel against the government, huh? They’re traitors to the emperor.’
‘Government!’ sneered someone in the crowd. ‘Ragtag impostors more like.’
But the old man was trying to mollify the soldiers. ‘You have a father, young man,’ he croaked. ‘How would he feel if it was you there? At least let me see if my son is here.’
The soldiers were discussing the matter. One relented.
‘All right. You and you and you. Helping those criminals is punishable by death, mind. Don’t forget that.’
Sachi, Taki and Haru slipped through along with the old man and a few others before the soldiers closed ranks again.
Beyond the cordon the ground was littered with corpses and the smell was overwhelming. At first Sachi couldn’t bear to look. When she forced herself, she saw that some of the bodies were blasted apart, not even visibly human any more but reduced to chunks of meat. Others had committed suicide and lay with their bellies ripped open. Intestines coiled out of gaping wounds. Some of the dead men looked no more than fifteen or sixteen. Gangly legs were bent at impossible angles, skinny arms twisted or broken. Some were no more than bloody stumps. Scrawny youths who hadn’t even finished growing lay frozen in death.
Horrified and sickened, Sachi stepped over men lying where they’d fallen, with their heads or bellies ripped apart. Some clasped their hands pathetically over gaping wounds where great chunks of flesh were hanging out, as if they had been trying to hold themselves together, to staunch the bleeding, when death struck. Others looked as if they had turned to flee and had been struck down from behind. But most lay on their backs. They had been facing the enemy till the last.
The Last Concubine Page 36
