The Last Concubine Read online

  Then she saw them. From end to end and edge to edge, the valley they had just come from was filled with men. From the riverbank to the forest that bordered the road were men, marching. She had never seen so many, even when the princess’s grand procession passed through. They swarmed along, as relentless as an invasion of cockroaches or a great tidal wave sweeping through the valley.

  Soldiers. Southerners. She could even make out horses hauling cannons.

  ‘Into the woods,’ hissed Toranosuké. ‘They’ll be up here in no time. Better let them pass. They’re animals. Women and boys don’t stand a chance.’

  The other travellers were already melting into the trees. In a moment the road was empty. Sachi, Taki, Yuki and the three men scrambled into the undergrowth, stumbling over stones, rocks and tracts of unmelted snow until they were a good distance from the road. Then they crouched down and waited. The sounds of marching and singing grew faint for a while as the soldiers entered the lea of the mountain, then louder and louder until the ground was shaking.

  The tramp of feet and hooves, the wild whinnying of horses and the rumbling of cannon went on for hours. Through the trees they caught the occasional glimpse of banners and pennants fluttering in the breeze. A great drum boomed out a barbaric beat. The soldiers’ song had a ferocious ring, utterly unlike the plangent melodies that women plucked out on the shamisen and the koto or the boisterous ditties that merrymakers danced to at festivals. After a while Sachi began to pick up the words:

  ‘Miya-sama, miya-sama . . .

  Majesty, majesty, before your august horse

  What is it that flutters so proudly?

  Toko ton’yare, ton’yare na!

  ‘Don’t you know that it’s the brocade banner

  Signifying punishment for the enemies of the court?

  Toko tonyare, tonyare na!’

  ‘Punishment for the enemies of the court . . .’ How dared they threaten any such thing? Here were she and Taki, members of the true court, forced to hide in the bushes while these rough southern hoodlums strode along with the joyous tramp of conquerors, proclaiming themselves the masters. The humiliation was too much to bear.

  Shinzaemon was quivering with rage and hatred. ‘Enough,’ he muttered under his breath. There was such a commotion that no one could have heard him anyway. ‘We’re cowering like women. Just let me get at those southerners. I’ll rip their throats out.’

  ‘Don’t be a fool, Shin,’ hissed Toranosuké. ‘You want to die in the road like a dog? We’ve got bigger battles to fight. Save your dying for Edo.’

  The sun was low in the sky and the clouds were tinged the colour of blood before the road finally became quiet. One by one, travellers began to emerge from the trees. Sachi was hungry and dirty, scratched and stiff from crouching without moving for so long. Yet she knew that this could only be the vanguard. There would be more troops on their way soon.

  At the checkpoint at Shinchaya they were told that the next detachment was due the following day. The little party scurried along, keeping their heads bowed and their eyes lowered. The road was trampled and rutted, the paving stones broken. The doors of some of the inns had been smashed. There was no food. The soldiers had taken everything. In the end they found one inn that still had some tea. They were grateful to drink that.

  The next day they set out well before dawn. They wanted to cover as many ri as they could before the next division of soldiers came along. The women walked in front followed by the porters carrying the trunks. The men brought up the rear so that anyone they met would think they were servants.

  They were on a deserted section of the highway, deep in the forest, when they saw a line of men straddling the road. Branches rustled and straw sandals crunched as more stepped out from the trees. There must have been twenty or thirty of them in grimy uniforms with wild bristly hair and broad, flat faces. Some had swords, some rifles. Others brandished staves and clubs.

  Southerners! thought Sachi. Ronin!

  Fear knotted in her belly and tingled up and down her spine. Her heart was thumping. Her breath came in shallow gasps. She groped for the dagger tucked in her sash and pulled her scarf close around her face. She knew that Shinzaemon and Toranosuké and probably even young Tatsuemon were expert swordsmen. She had seen how easily they had rescued her in her palanquin. But this time they had only short swords and they were hugely outnumbered.

  The men closed ranks till they were blocking the road completely. One stepped towards Sachi, leering. He brought his face up to hers and grinned, revealing a mouthful of crooked teeth. He had a strange leathery odour, this southerner. She recoiled, staring at him in disgust. He was so close she could see his little close-set eyes, the tufts of coarse hair sprouting from his upper lip and the black pores on his flat nose. He said something in an accent so thick that she couldn’t understand a word.

  He moved closer still, breathing heavily. Five or six others gathered around her menacingly. She closed her hand on her dagger, feeling the cords that bound the hilt. She had never had to use a real blade before. She had only ever fought with women and with practice sticks. She tried to focus her mind and remember her training, but her blood was thundering in her ears so loudly she could hardly think.

  The man clamped his hand on her arm. She felt his fingers tightening like a vice. Hardly aware of what she was doing, she ripped her dagger from her sash and plunged it into his chest as hard as she could. She was expecting to meet some resistance, but the blade glided in as easily as a knife through tofu. As she pulled it out, hot blood spurted on to her kimono. The man’s grip relaxed. His jaw sagged. He gaped at her in an expression of astonishment. Blood foamed at the corners of his mouth and his eyes glazed. He made a noise like a sigh then staggered back. His knees folded and he crumpled to the ground.

  Sachi was panting hard. It had all happened so quickly. She looked around. She was no longer panic-stricken but deadly calm, poised, ready for anything. The other soldiers were closing in on her.

  The next moment Shinzaemon was beside her. There was a swish as he brought down two with a single sweep of his sword. He turned and looked hard at Sachi, as if to make sure she was unharmed. His eyes were blazing.

  He had thrown off the right sleeve of his kimono to free his sword arm. He had a tattoo, a design of cherry blossom, covering his shoulder and the top of his arm. For a moment it caught Sachi’s eye. Porters and litter bearers and gangsters had tattoos; but a samurai . . . ? But there was no time to be puzzled. Toranosuké and Tatsuemon too had thrown off the upper parts of their kimonos and were naked to the waist. They backed protectively around the women, holding their swords aloft in both hands, their muscles rippling.

  Taki’s eyes narrowed. She had her dagger out. Yuki looked up at Sachi calmly. She too was clutching her dagger in her small hand. Her big eyes were round with excitement.

  With a roar like a pack of wild beasts, the soldiers hurled themselves on the group. Shinzaemon sprang forward, lashing out with his short sword. He swung it with lightning speed, far more quickly than the soldiers could react with their longer, more unwieldy weapons. There was a clang and the scrape of steel on steel as he parried a blow then caught his assailant’s wrist and brought his sword down on the man’s neck. The head flew off and the body crumpled. A sword descended behind him. He spun round, caught the blow on his blade and with a swift movement sliced open the soldier’s throat. Toranosuké and Tatsuemon too were parrying, striking, thrusting and slicing. The noise was deafening. Dazzling shards of light flashed from the flying blades. One of the soldiers staggered back with half his jaw missing, his tongue hanging loose, pouring blood. Another’s arm was dangling, half the sinews cut through. The injured southerners were screaming and yowling.

  One of the soldiers raised his rifle. Sachi couldn’t throw her dagger or she would be weaponless. Instead she pulled out her iron hairpin and, as her hair tumbled around her face, took aim and flung. It curved through the air. She felt a blaze of satisfaction as the soldier dro
pped his rifle and staggered back, clutching his face, blood oozing through his fingers.

  There was a rush of wind as a soldier raced towards her, his sword raised. She pivoted around, caught the blow on her dagger and stabbed him in the neck.

  The road was soaked with blood and strewn with broken bodies and ripped and torn limbs. The rest of the southerners turned and fled. Toranosuké raised his sword and flung it. It hit one of them in the back. The soldier seemed to hesitate then crashed forward with a thud. The three ronin raced after them, yelling, leaping on the slowest and slashing at them. They seized their swords and rifles. As Toranosuké wrenched his sword from the fallen man’s back, blood gushed in a black fountain into the air. The three ronin went around methodically cutting the head off any bodies that were still twitching.

  ‘The southern army will be here soon,’ muttered Shinzaemon. ‘Don’t want to leave anyone alive to talk.’

  Heads rolled about. A stubby finger lay on the ground. There was a vile odour, the reek of flesh and blood and sweat and human excrement: the smell of butchery.

  Other travellers were cowering in the trees, watching in horror.

  ‘Hot-headed idiots!’ snarled one. ‘We’re in for it now.’

  ‘You want to be ruled by those southern bastards?’ demanded another. ‘We’re with you,’ he shouted to the group.

  Sachi wiped her dagger on her blood-soaked kimono. Her hands were shaking. Taki found a fresh overkimono in a bundle and helped her into it. The three men were cleaning their swords and slipping their kimonos back into place. As Sachi wiped her face and tried to tidy her hair, she felt Shinzaemon’s eyes on her.

  ‘I got one, Uncle Shin!’ piped Yuki. ‘Right in the stomach.’

  ‘You did well. You avenged your father,’ said Shinzaemon.

  ‘I haven’t finished yet,’ said Yuki.

  ‘So those are southerners,’ said Sachi. ‘They’re a rabble.’

  ‘Looked like peasants to me,’ said Shinzaemon with a scornful curl of his lip. ‘Barely trained. Violent thugs but not good swordsmen. Wait till the real army comes along, then we’ll have some fun.’

  His voice softened.

  ‘You’re a warrior woman,’ he said quietly.

  Sachi felt herself flush with pride. ‘I’ve never killed anyone before,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know I’d ever have to.’

  She had proved herself, proved she could wield whatever weapon was to hand as skilfully and calmly as any samurai. She looked around at the scene of carnage. The first time she had seen corpses strewn about had been when Taki had opened the door of her palanquin, the first time she had met the three ronin. That time she had felt nauseated and horrified. Now she felt nothing but weariness and a quiet satisfaction. After all, they were the enemy. She glanced at Taki, who was smoothing her hair as if nothing special had happened.

  ‘We should move on fast,’ said Toranosuké. ‘We’ll get you to the village and then we must go. We have a job to do.’

  From then on they kept well off the main highway. They took paths through the woods and along the cliffs and scrambled up and down precipices on rickety iron ladders while the River Kiso rolled by far below. They never saw the southerners again but they heard the thunder of southern feet echoing along the valley and the rough strains of their victory song.

  Taki and Yuki struggled along, their hands torn and bleeding. Even the men had trouble following the narrow paths and clambering across waterfalls. But to Sachi it felt natural to be roaming in the woods, finding small paths through what appeared to be impenetrable forest, making a noise to scare away wild boars and bears. The forest was full of sounds – the cracking of twigs and snapping of branches and roars and snarls that emerged from the darkness. But she was not afraid. The porters followed, as agile as monkeys with their heavy loads, at home among the mountains.

  When night fell they found a hermit’s hut in the woods. It was empty and crumbling but at least it was dry and safe and far from the marching soldiers. They brushed aside the mouldering yellow leaves, built a fire then curled up in their travelling clothes on the wooden floor. It was the lowest Sachi had sunk since she had left the palace. She woke up cramped, stiff and dirty, her muscles aching from the previous day’s exertions.

  They were following the edge of the river when it began to look familiar.

  ‘I know where we are,’ said Sachi. ‘I used to play here when I was a child.’

  She felt a wrench at her heart. The little party had become her family and she knew that once they separated they would never meet again.

  Ever since the encounter with the soldiers something had changed. There was some unspoken understanding among them. Shinzaemon and she walked together, well ahead of the rest. Yet they spoke little.

  Then they came to a small stream tumbling down between moss-covered rocks. Sachi hesitated, pretending to be afraid. Shinzaemon took her hand. After he had helped her across he did not remove it.

  They sat together on the hillside. Below them the road wound into the shadow of the mountainside. Snow lay unmelted in heaps. Dogs were barking. Where the road turned a corner she glimpsed a few familiar roofs covered in rough grey shingles weighted down with stones. The smell of woodsmoke wafted up. It was her village.

  Shinzaemon ran his fingers down her cheek and across her hair. His touch was light, the touch of a swordsman.

  ‘I’ve been fighting ever since I was a child,’ he said softly. ‘That’s all I’ve ever known. I used to practise every day, all day long. All I wanted was to be a great swordsman, to become one with my sword. But now the world looks different. Larger. I was determined to die in the service of my lord, no matter what. You’ve made me want to live.’

  He was looking at her. ‘This face. I shall remember it for ever,’ he said. ‘When I fight you’ll be there at my side, as you were yesterday. And when I die.’

  ‘I shall pray with all my might for you to live,’ she said. ‘When the war is over, come and find me.’

  He took her hands.

  ‘What will you do?’ he asked. ‘Will you stay here with your family?’

  She was shocked by his words. She realized she didn’t know the answer herself. She shook her head.

  ‘How can they be my family when we have been apart for so many years?’ she whispered. ‘I am not the person I was when I left. In the end I know I have to go back to Edo Castle. That’s where I belong.’

  He looked at her from under his thick brows. He was frowning a little.

  ‘There’s still a chance to make it to Edo,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you come with us? The southern army will be here any day now. It’s very dangerous for you to stay.’

  ‘I’m so near,’ she said, ‘I have to see my parents. It’s the only chance I’ll ever have.’

  It hurt to say the words, when he was about to leave and she would never see him again. But it was what she had to do. She held her sleeve to her eyes. It would never do for her – a warrior woman – to weep.

  The rest of their party were approaching with the porters. He held her hands tight.

  ‘You are a being from another realm,’ he said. ‘It’s only because of the war that I’ve been able to meet a creature like you. I promised I’d protect you and I will. I won’t let you stay here alone. Toranosuké and Taatsuemon can do as they like. I’ll stay with you at least until the southern army has passed. I can catch up with them in Edo in a few days.’

  She looked up at him in amazement.

  ‘You mean . . .’ She couldn’t believe he had really said it. He was looking at her with his slanting eyes. She smiled shakily. There were tears running down her cheeks but she didn’t care.

  As Shinzaemon explained his decision to Toranosuké, Sachi was watching Taki’s face. It was impassive as was proper for a woman of her station. Nevertheless her large eyes were on Toranosuké as if she was hoping he might stay too. But he raised his eyebrows uncomprehendingly, as if to show he was way above such foolish impulses.

  �
��We’re at war!’ he said. ‘Have you forgotten? You, of all people, Shin. You’re the last person I ever thought would go soft like this. I was right. You’ve been hanging out with women for too long.’

  ‘Give me two days,’ said Shinzaemon. ‘Maybe three. I’ll see you in Edo.’

  Toranosuké laughed and slapped Shinzaemon on the shoulder.

  ‘Don’t do anything rash, Shin!’ he said. ‘No single-handed heroics, right?’

  Sachi realized sadly that he was entirely unaware of Taki or her interest in him. But even her sadness for Taki couldn’t stop joy surging through her.

  Then everyone was bowing and expressing formal thanks and wishing each other good luck. Sachi, Taki and Yuki watched, bowing again and again, as Toranosuké and Tatsuemon mounted horses and galloped away towards Edo. Shinzaemon was grinning and waving.

  The three women linked hands and Sachi led the way down the slope towards the village.

  7

  A Wisp Of Smoke

  I

  At the bend where the road dipped, Sachi turned for a moment and looked back. She gasped. The long highway stretching to the distant forest, fringed with pine trees, the mountains surrounding the valley like the walls of a fortress – it was the very place where she had stood with her friends, little Mitsu, long-limbed Genzaburo and her little brother, Chobei, watching for the princess’s procession to appear. She remembered hearing the first shouts drifting across the valley, no more than a whisper in the wind – ‘Shita ni iyo, shita ni iyo! Down on your knees, down on your knees!’ – and seeing banners poking through the trees.

  She was standing entranced when Taki raised a thin finger. There was a noise in the distance, a muffled roar not so different from the one she had heard all those years ago. It sounded like the Kiso rushing along in full flood, swollen with melted snow, but she knew it wasn’t. A moment later the sounds became distinct – the boom of great drums, men’s voices shouting out a barbaric victory song, the thud and thunder of feet, the crunching of hundreds of straw sandals. The dreaded pacification army. Yet more regiments of boorish southerners marching up from Kyoto, heading for the village.