The Last Concubine (61 page)

‘That’s how it would have been,’ he muttered. ‘In the old days. When men fought with swords, not rifles. When you could see the face of the man you killed or the man who killed you. When you fought man to man and the best man won.’

He scowled. The women sat mesmerized, waiting for him to carry on.

‘It’s finished.’ He spat out the words. ‘It’s not just that the north lost and the south won. The old ways are over.’ He shook his head. ‘Honour, duty, the way of the sword, everything that means anything – finished. Over.’

‘But . . . what happened?’ Sachi whispered. He spoke with such passion she was afraid.

‘By the twenty-first day of the ninth month they had us by the throat. It was a month since the beginning of the siege and we were nearly out of food and ammunition. They bombarded us all day long. We fought back, picked them off – you could see them falling. A lot of our men fell too. The place reeked of corpses; there were too many to bury. The end was coming, staring us in the face.

‘We all knew what would happen next. There’d be brushwood piled inside the main citadel; we would hold the enemy off until his lordship cut his belly. Then whoever was still alive would set the castle alight and the gunpowder store would blow. Alive or dead, we’d have done our duty. We’d have lived or died with honour.’

Taki had put down her sewing. Shinzaemon was still scowling, staring into the fire as if he saw Wakamatsu burning there.

‘That night anyone still on their feet partied. We made bonfires and sang and danced. Some of the men were fine performers of the Noh dances. We were going to go out in a blaze of glory. Toranosuké did “Atsumori”. He’s always been a good dancer.’

Caught up in his words again, Sachi saw the faces glowing red in the light of the bonfires and torches. She heard the chanting, saw the measured pace of the Noh dances, the slow waving of the fans. Every movement was deliberate and perfect, as it always had been through the ages: warriors celebrating before their glorious last stand.

So Toranosuké, with his handsome face and noble demeanour, had performed ‘Atsumori’ – the tale of a beautiful young warrior who is killed in battle. Afterwards his slayer finds a bamboo flute lying next to his body and realizes that this was the young man whose music had wafted across from the enemy camp the previous night. It was the most poignant of dramas, expressing the glory, romance and exquisite sadness of a warrior’s death – a perfect
drama for samurai expecting to go into battle the following day. Sachi imagined Toranosuké, his face as immobile as a Noh mask, sweeping his fan as he danced and intoning in his deep voice:

‘But on the night of the sixth day of the second month
My father Tsunemori gathered us together.
“Tomorrow,” he said, “we shall fight our last fight.
Tonight is all that is left us.”
We sang songs together and danced.’

She glanced at Taki. Taki’s expression had not changed but there was a soft light in her big eyes. She was murmuring the same lines.

But even as Sachi pictured the scene it was beginning to fade, like a painting on gold in which the gold was beginning to tarnish. Now that she’d seen the glittering rifles and the rows of corpses and heard the roar of cannons, seen the great ships in Edo Harbour and heard about the iron monsters, the scene Shinzaemon was describing sounded no more real than a pageant. The age of the warrior had been a glorious time – but what he said was true, it was over. There was no place for a samurai in the new world that was dawning.

‘We were all waiting for the order the next day. We knew what it would be. “No surrender. To the death.” ’

He bowed his head. ‘But that wasn’t the order. It was . . . “We’ve surrendered. Lay down your arms.” ’

So that was it. Their men, the northern warriors, had surrendered. Like weaklings, like women. As if they cared more for their skin than honour. Even if the war was over, even if it would have achieved nothing, in the past they would have fought to the death – for the samurai code, for honour. That was what the north had always stood for. The northerners warriors were men who would die for their country, their liege lord or their family, without a thought for themselves. Without their honour it was hard to know what they were fighting for. Taki and Haru shifted uncomfortably, struck dumb with the shame of it.

‘All the while we’d been fighting and dying, his lordship had been negotiating behind our backs. We had to shave our heads,
all of us, the whole garrison.’ Shinzaemon grimaced and plucked at his shorn hair. ‘A retainer came out with a banner inscribed with two characters: “
Ko-fuku
”. “Surrender”. His lordship followed. He’d shaved his head and was dressed in ceremonial robes. This was the man our comrades had given their lives for; this was the man we’d been prepared to kill and die for. He hadn’t even been man enough to kill himself.

‘Then we were told that the castle was to be handed over. We were all supposed to file out and give ourselves up. The dead were so thick on the ground we were treading on the bodies of our comrades.

‘That was when I realized it had all been for nothing. Some of the men took out their swords and cut their bellies right there. The rest of us were stumbling around like we didn’t know where we were. Everyone was throwing down their weapons and piling out through the main gate. We looked at each other, me and Toranosuké and Tatsuemon. “I can’t do this,” I said. “Me neither,” said Toranosuké. We hung on to our swords and grabbed every rifle we could lay our hands on. Then we sneaked out through a back gate. Somehow we managed to slip around the southern troops, although we met up with a couple of patrols and had a skirmish or two. Then we were out in the fields.

‘Toranosuké and Tatsu wanted to head for Sendai, to try and get there before the Tokugawa fleet left. They were determined to head north, carry on the battle up there. But for me it was finished. There was nothing left to fight for. I just started walking.’

Sachi wanted to reach out and put her hand on his arm, to let him know that she understood how ashamed and betrayed he felt, but instead she sat staring into the fire. Because he had lived and she was glad of that. He had fought and fought; he had done all he could and she was proud of him. And now, instead of lying rotting in some northern field, he was back with them. Back with her.

He looked round at her and Taki and Haru and grinned as if he’d shaken off something heavy that had been resting on his shoulders.

‘I kept my head covered until my hair started to grow again,’
he said, ‘and pretended I was a Buddhist monk. I came by back roads and got completely lost. Then one night I ended up in a village in the foothills of Mount Akagi. It was like a town of ghosts. People seemed afraid. No one would talk to me. I thought I recognized the crest outside the mansion at the end of the village, but I couldn’t think what it was. Half a day later I came out at the River Toné, at the place where we crossed it in the spring. When I heard you talking to your father this morning I thought it might have been the Oguri crest. Perhaps when we saw him Lord Oguri had been fleeing Edo, heading for home.’

The women were silent. A chance sighting of Lord Oguri’s crest didn’t sound like much of a lead.

II

The next morning they set off along the Inner Mountain Road as it wound grandly through the city, passing alongside the long wall that edged the vast estate of the Maeda lords. Ueno Hill rose dark and silent in the distance.

Daisuké had decided they would travel in a convoy of palanquins as far as they could. Sachi leaned back on the cushions in her little box and braced herself for a long journey. The wooden walls creaked and rattled. The palanquin swung violently as they rounded a bend and she reached for the carrying rope to steady herself. She tossed from side to side as the bearers jogged along, grunting rhythmically in unison with their steps. She could hear the crunch of their straw sandals pounding the earthen road and the occasional groan or curse as they toiled up a hill.

Uncomfortable though it was, it was good to be on the move again after so many months hidden away in the mansion, waiting and watching for the war to end, wondering if it ever would. When the box stopped rocking for a moment she leaned forward and pushed aside the slats of the bamboo blind. The city was coming back to life. Houses had sprung up again where the fire had swept them away. Shops were open again and the streets were bustling with people.

By the hour of the horse, when the sun was reaching the middle of the sky, they reached the checkpoint at Itabashi. The last time
Sachi was there it had been swarming with soldiers. Now the guards waved them through without even stopping them.

Then they were out of the city, swinging along between groves of mulberry trees. Withered leaves rustled on the branches. There was the occasional whiff of animal dung and human waste spread on paddies and vegetable fields to fertilize them. From time to time they overtook slower traffic. Sachi heard the clop of hooves or the heavy tread of oxen laden with rice, silk, fish manure, salt or tobacco. Then the sounds and smells faded behind her as the bearers sped on.

She tried not to think about what was ahead. She was glad Daisuké and Shinzaemon were with her, and Edwards too. It was a relief to let them take charge. She had begun a new life; she was no longer on her own.

In the middle of the second day they reached the River Toné. The bearers’ feet crunched across the gravel, then they lowered the palanquin to the ground and she climbed out stiffly, straightening her legs. Edwards had already leaped off his horse and was at the door, offering his hand to help her out. She laughed and brushed it aside, then smoothed her skirts, glad to be on solid ground. It was good to breathe the autumn air and hear the cries of birds and the whisper of water lapping the shore. The last leaves were floating down, clouds scudded across the sky and a couple of herons flapped by with a flash of white wings.

Shinzaemon was tying up the horses and instructing the porters as Taki, Haru and Daisuké clambered out of their palanquins. Edwards was ready with a hand for Taki and Haru too. Haru was the last to emerge. Her face was drawn and pale.

Sachi remembered Haru’s words again. She was the only one who knew Lord Mizuno. She looked more than uneasy – she looked afraid.

Lord Oguri and Lord Mizuno had crossed the river here, heading towards the mountains, Sachi knew. But then they had disappeared as completely as if the earth had opened up and swallowed them. She shivered and pulled her kimonos closer around her.

On the far side of the river the Inner Mountain Road wound
around the lea of the hill. She could see people like specks in the distance and rows of inns, then the road disappeared into a cluster of steep thatched roofs. Behind the hills the sky was the colour of an ancient indigo robe, washed and washed until there was no colour left. Paddy fields were carved into niches in the river bank. Tattered sheaves of rice stood tied into cones, their straggly stalks flapping in the wind.

Shinzaemon was frowning, staring across the river as if he was searching the recesses of his memory. His swords bristled at his side and Sachi saw that he had a pistol tucked into his belt. He turned to Daisuké.

‘It was over there,’ he said. ‘I think that was Lord Oguri’s village.’

Daisuké nodded slowly. ‘I did some research of my own,’ he said. ‘Lord Oguri’s family is from somewhere round here. You’re right: if we can find his village we might be able to find him. And perhaps he can tell us where Lord Mizuno is.’

‘It was six months ago,’ whispered Taki. ‘We could be heading in entirely the wrong direction. And Lord Oguri and Lord Mizuno were on the losing side. They’ll be in hiding.’

‘It’s the only lead we’ve got,’ said Daisuké sternly. He turned to Shinzaemon. ‘Can you remember how to get to the village?’

‘It wasn’t on the Inner Mountain Road. We need to follow that track there, into the woods,’ he said, pointing.

The river rolled sluggishly, as grey as the sky. A rickety ferry was zigzagging slowly towards them. They filed on board, leaving the palanquins to be stored and the horses to be stabled in the village till their return. The ancient ferryman,
happi
coat tucked around his thighs, leaned on his pole so hard he nearly fell into the water as the ferry creaked away from the bank.

Once on the other side, they climbed through shadowy forests of dark-leaved pines and towering cedars. Pine needles crackled underfoot and pale sunlight trickled through the leaves, dappling the path.

Edwards was walking ahead with Daisuké, talking in his loud voice and waving his big hands around. It sounded as if they were discussing the structure of the new government and how to win over the people of Edo. After all, Edwards was a diplomat and
representative of the country that had armed the rebels, and Daisuké an official of the new government formed by those same rebels. No doubt they had a lot to talk about. Nevertheless it made Sachi apprehensive. She wondered if Edwards’s real aim was to impress her father; perhaps he intended to ask for her hand in marriage. After all he had said that day when he took her hand in the garden, he wouldn’t easily give up his pursuit of her; and he probably didn’t realize there was anything between her and Shinzaemon. Why should he? Just as she had trouble interpreting his foreign ways, no doubt he had trouble interpreting hers.

She peeped at this huge person clomping along in front of her in his animal-skin boots, beating down the weeds and long grass with his riding crop, his gold hair gleaming in the sun. How could she have encouraged his advances even for a moment? He was so outlandish! It was extraordinary how he treated women. For all his size he behaved not like a man but a servant, helping them as solicitously as if they were ill, and not just her but Taki and Haru too. It would be unprecedented for her father to take such an alien being as his adopted son; yet he was such a modern man that he might want to make an alliance with the English.

By the time they reached the top of the ridge they were all breathing hard. They stopped for a while to catch their breath and get their bearings. Sachi gazed at the tree-covered hills rolling into the distance. Mountains floated beyond them, pale as ghosts, wild and craggy.