The Last Concubine Read online

  Everything was almost too luxurious, too splendid. Even the incense which suffused the air was a little too heavy.

  The Retired One was awaiting them in the innermost room, surrounded by attendants. Fuyu was among them, kneeling close beside the great lady. Beneath her cowl the Retired One was wearing a pale silk kimono with a design of wisteria, quite unbecoming for one who had taken holy orders. Her perfectly proportioned face was carefully arranged into the blandest, most innocent of smiles, as if there was nothing she could dream of that could give her greater pleasure than to see Sachi. Sachi bowed to the ground. She was trembling with nervousness.

  ‘So this is the new concubine,’ said the Retired One in her deep, vibrant tones, inclining her head graciously. ‘Welcome, my dear. The gods have smiled on you. You have found favour with my son. We all pray that you will bear him an heir.’

  Sachi had thought the all-powerful Retired One would ignore her and address her remarks to Lady Tsuguko or at the very least communicate through her chief lady-in-waiting. She had certainly not expected her to speak to her directly. She prostrated in silence. The Retired One’s smile was even more terrifying than her scowl and there was a distinct hint of malice in those unfathomable black eyes.

  ‘But I am afraid, Lady Tsuguko, that your protégée may not be comfortable here,’ the great lady went on smoothly. ‘Our life is rather poor. She is used to the far greater luxury of Her Imperial Highness’s quarters. I am sorry that I will have to deprive her of the comforts she enjoys there.’

  With a shock Sachi realized what she meant. As the shogun’s concubine, she was now officially the Retired One’s daughter-inlaw. It was a harsh enough fate to be the daughter-in-law of a peasant, let alone the daughter-in-law of such a woman. Not only that, she was a daughter-in-law of far lower status than the shogun’s wife, Princess Kazu. Would she really be required to live in the Retired One’s quarters and obey her every whim? She quailed. The attendants tittered sycophantically. Amongst the laughter she could pick out Fuyu’s mocking tones. The Retired One was playing with her, like a cat plays with a mouse.

  ‘This unworthy creature is very sensible of your kindness in recognizing her new status,’ said Lady Tsuguko dryly, ‘but she is, as you know, the property of Her Imperial Highness. I will not impose upon your generosity by forcing her upon you. We are unendingly grateful for your condescension.’

  Sachi did not relax until they had backed out of the last of the Retired One’s chambers, bowing profusely with every step.

  ‘Lady Tensho-in’s apartments are magnificent, are they not?’ said Lady Tsuguko with a curl of her aristocratic lip, once they were safely in the corridors again. ‘Almost excessively so, one might say. When Her Imperial Highness came as His Majesty’s bride, Lady Tensho-in refused to move to the widows’ quarters in the west citadel. She insisted on remaining in the apartments designated for His Majesty’s consort. Thanks to her machinations Her Highness was allocated servants’ quarters in which to live. Servants’ quarters! The shame of it! Can you imagine? That is why our rooms are so humiliatingly crowded and dark. Her Highness has two hundred and eighty ladies-in-waiting and each of us has staff and we are all expected to fit into one small wing. Now perhaps you begin to understand the bad blood between Lady Tensho-in and Her Highness.’

  Sachi had never heard her speak so fiercely before. They padded along in silence for a while.

  ‘If you have a child you will find the Retired One shows quite a different face,’ said Lady Tsuguko after some time. ‘But now we will visit the Dowager Lady Honju-in. She will wish to be your friend.’

  Lady Honju-in’s apartments were deep inside the palace where only the occasional ray of sunlight ever penetrated. When Sachi’s eyes became used to the gloom, she saw that they were passing through a labyrinth of rooms even more sumptuous than the Retired One’s. An army of aged ladies-in-waiting knelt in greeting. Finally they reached the innermost room where, in the midst of heaps of treasures, a tiny imperious figure knelt very upright on a dais with her elbow on an armrest. Her small white face peered out of the shadowy folds of her cowl, illuminated by the flicker of the lantern which burned beside her. Sachi had never seen anyone so old.

  ‘What a pretty face!’ Lady Honju-in wheezed, stretching out a small finger to brush Sachi’s cheek. Her skin was as fragile as a moth’s wing, like a membrane stretched across the bone. ‘Such a relief for us all that my grandson has taken a fancy to you. Such a difficult boy. We all hope and pray you will bear him a son.’

  At the mention of the shogun Sachi felt her face blazing as hot as if Lady Honju-in had discovered some terrible secret she had been keeping hidden. Horrified, she kept her head bowed. Why were these great ladies speaking to her directly and even deigning to touch her? If only all the politeness and ceremonial could be over. The old woman chuckled.

  ‘When I came to this palace I was a young girl, as young as you, my dear,’ she went on. Her voice crackled like autumn leaves crunching underfoot. ‘Do you know what I used to do? I used to help out in the altar room and the kitchens. I was pretty then. At that time Lord Ieyoshi – Toshi-sama, I used to call him – was the heir to the throne. His father, Lord Ienari, was shogun still – now that was a man! He knew how to make children. Fifty-three he had. Let me see now. There was Princess Toshi – that was long before my time; then a daughter – she lived three days . . .’

  She listed all fifty-three, one by one, counting them off on her fingers.

  ‘Then there was Princess Yasu. She was the last one. That was when the old man was nearly sixty. What a man! Women, men – even dogs, I heard. He bestowed his seed far and wide.

  ‘Anyway, one day Lord Ieyoshi saw me. The old man had his eye on me too, but he let Lord Ieyoshi have me. And that was it. The next thing I knew, I was a concubine. In those days there were plenty of us. Some had babies, some didn’t. But mostly the babies died. I was young and vigorous, like you. They tell me you’re a peasant, so you must be more vigorous even than I was!’

  She gave a wheezing cackle like ancient bellows opening and closing. Then she peered at Sachi, her black eyes glittering. Sachi started as the old woman clamped a withered hand on her arm.

  ‘It’s very hard to be a concubine, my dear,’ she said. ‘Look at you, so young, so glowing, those pretty eyes shining. Try and remember that you are only one of many – if not now, then soon enough. You are only a womb for hire. Never forget that. That is woman’s lot.’

  Sachi felt a shiver run down her spine.

  ‘You will never be a samurai but you can at least try to live like one. You must learn to hide your feelings, your happiness as well as your sadness – even from yourself. Learn to be strong. Few people in the great interior will ever have any idea how you feel. But I do. Come and see me when you feel sad.

  ‘The gods favoured me,’ she went on dreamily. ‘My boy, my first son, Masanosuké, lived. I was in my fifteenth year. My other sons died, everyone else’s sons died – but he lived. He was a darling boy, like a child his whole life. Everyone died and died, so many people died. Then Lord Ieyoshi died and Masa became shogun. Just think! My boy, my little son, became Lord Iesada, the thirteenth shogun! Then even darling Masa died. How I wept! It’s a terrible thing to attend the funeral of your own child.

  ‘I have been blessed. But now I’m tired. Too many terrible things have happened. Now I leave it to my daughter-in-law. She runs everything. She’s a strong woman. You can come to me if she makes you miserable. I haven’t forgotten what it’s like to be a daughter-in-law.’

  ‘Lady Honju-in is still a power in the palace,’ said Lady Tsuguko gravely when they were once more gliding along the corridor. ‘It’s good that you have her approval. If the gods are with you and you tread with care, your life may turn out like Lady Honju-in’s. To be the mother of the shogun’s heir and later of the young shogun himself – there is no position more powerful than that. I will make sure that everyone knows you are under her protection. You must be very caref
ul. There are many people who will be jealous of you.’

  There were many more visits still to make. Swishing grandly from room to room, Lady Tsuguko led the way to the apartments of Dowager Lady Jitsusei-in, the shogun’s mother. But instead of her usual frown the Old Crow’s sallow face, framed in its black cowl, was wreathed in smiles.

  Then they paid their respects to the three ladies – the chief elder, Lady Nakaoka, Lady Chiyo and the lady priest – who had watched over Sachi throughout her night with His Majesty. They thanked each of them for their help and kindness and presented them with lavish gifts. They also had to visit the other six elders, the lady priests and all the ladies of high enough rank to enter the presence of the shogun.

  The day was coming to an end by the time they turned wearily back towards the princess’s chambers. The last visits had been a blur – the warrens of rooms, the doors sweeping open, the bowing, the smiling faces, the choruses of greetings, the polite exchanges. Sachi’s legs were as heavy as if she had climbed several mountains. She had seen corners of the palace she had never even imagined existed. Her face was aching from smiling so much.

  ‘In days to come you will find that the most unlikely people want to be your friends,’ Lady Tsuguko told her. ‘Beware of those who conceal enmity behind a mask of kindness. Her Highness has always protected you, but now your fortunes have changed she may no longer be able to do so. If you are to survive you will have to understand the workings of the women’s palace. It is time for your education to begin in earnest.’

  Sachi had been hoping that the princess might summon her when they returned to her apartments. But Princess Kazu remained invisible behind her screens. Perhaps she was writing poetry or just looking blankly into the darkness as she sometimes did. Sachi wondered what she thought about at those times. Did she wish her life had turned out other than it had? She had given up everything to marry the shogun and now he was not even there. If only Sachi could bear a son for her, that might make her happier.

  Then Sachi remembered what old Lady Honju-in had said: ‘You are only a womb for hire.’ The words made her shudder.

  II

  Early next morning Haru’s round smiling face appeared at the door of the princess’s chambers.

  ‘Congratulations, my lady,’ she said to Sachi, bowing deeply. ‘How does it feel to be the new concubine?’ They retired to the usual corner where they had their lessons.

  ‘Oh, Big Sister,’ whispered Sachi, ‘it’s so hard to keep silent. My thoughts are not my own. Ever since that night with His Majesty, I have been floating about like a bit of pondweed. I’m counting the days till he comes back.’

  Haru covered her mouth with her sleeve and laughed until her eyes crinkled up and disappeared in the folds of her cheeks.

  ‘Sounds like someone gave you powder of dried lizard,’ she said. ‘Did you ever hear of that? They find two lizards, let them copulate, and just as their yin yang essences are about to spill they pull them apart. Then they put them in separate ovens and bake them. Their desire for each other is so strong that the smoke from one seeks out the smoke from the other, no matter how far apart the ovens are. Then they grind them into powder. It’s said to be unbeatable.’

  ‘Poor things,’ said Sachi, putting her hands over her mouth and giggling helplessly. It was a relief to be able to be herself, even if just for a moment. The ladies-in-waiting and their maids who filled the room, chattering and sewing, nudged each other and chuckled.

  ‘In my village there was an old man who sold baked vipers for that purpose,’ gasped Sachi, dabbing her eyes with her sleeve. ‘We called him Grandpa Viper. I can see him now. People said that if a woman nibbled even a small piece no man would be safe!’

  ‘These stories are all very well,’ said Haru, looking stern. ‘But don’t ever forget that that’s all these feelings are – just so much nonsense, exactly the same as if someone had given you lizard powder or dried viper. They’ll pass soon enough. You’re now His Majesty’s number-one concubine and his number-two wife. You’re bound to His Majesty by ties of fealty and obligation. That’s what’s important. You can enjoy these foolish feelings but don’t be taken in by them. Don’t let them take over your life.’

  Haru’s advice was always wise. But Sachi couldn’t help thinking that, as Haru had never even been with a man, how could she possibly know? It was best to change the subject. Besides, there was something else on Sachi’s mind.

  ‘Big Sister,’ she said, ‘supposing I am not with child. What will happen then?’

  ‘We will pray and make offerings,’ said Haru. ‘There is nothing more we can do. The gods will decide. Be careful,’ she added. ‘There are women here who may wish you ill.’

  ‘Big Sister, there’s so much I need to know,’ said Sachi. ‘Why . . . ?’

  She stopped. Even she knew better than to ask why anyone would want to harm her. She would have to be patient, to wait and watch.

  ‘Make sure you are never alone,’ said Haru, frowning and looking very serious. ‘Not for a moment. You must always be surrounded by your women. Never touch your food till it’s been tasted, and stay away from wells and high places. Too many concubines lose their lives. We all care for you and will help you, but there are others who may be eaten up by jealousy.’

  Sachi stared in disbelief. She’d never seen Haru so serious. Her words sent a shudder down her spine, but it was too soon for her to worry about herself. All she could think of was the gentle young shogun.

  ‘Many dreadful things have happened here, ever since the barbarians came and even before that,’ said Haru sternly. ‘People outside the palace know nothing about what goes on here. I’ll tell you a story. It took place right at the beginning of poor Lord Iesada’s reign, it must be ten or eleven years ago now.’

  Sachi leaned forward with her chin in her hands, resting her elbows on the low table between them, and tried her hardest to banish all thoughts of the shogun from her mind.

  ‘It was the year after Lord Ieyoshi died,’ said Haru. ‘He had twenty-seven children but only one son survived. That was Lord Iesada, the son of Lady Honju-in, that sweet old lady you visited yesterday; she was not so sweet then, that’s for sure. As for him, he was . . . How can I say?’

  She glanced around at the princess’s ladies. They were all busy at their sewing, chattering in their high-pitched Kyoto accents. She moved a little closer to Sachi and lowered her voice.

  ‘He was . . . how can I put it? Anyway, he was not interested in women, probably not in men either. He was like a little boy. His first two wives passed away before he even became shogun. The first was Lady Nobuko. She was the daughter of a court noble from Kyoto. She was twenty-five when she came down with smallpox and died. I remember her well. I was a little girl when she died. I had just arrived in the palace. She was a sweet lady and she played the hand drum beautifully. He used to sit and listen while she practised. He may even have been fond of her, though everyone knew they would never have children.

  ‘The next wife arrived the following year. She was a daughter of the Minister of the Left at the imperial palace in Kyoto. She was a shrunken little thing. When she climbed out of the imperial palanquin, she stood no higher than it did. One of her legs was shorter than the other. She used to hobble around the corridors. Behind our hands we all said she’d hopped aboard the jewelled palanquin. Not that Iesada cared. He carried on playing his games and paid no attention to her. She lasted a year, then she died too. People started to worry that there was a curse on His Highness. “If you want to die, marry Iesada,” that was what they said. And there was still no chance of an heir.

  ‘That didn’t matter so long as his father, Lord Ieyoshi, was still shogun. But then His Majesty passed away. It was very strange and sudden – a terrible thing. He didn’t die a natural death, we all knew that.’

  She stopped for a minute, then dabbed her eyes fiercely with her sleeve and went on.

  ‘So Lord Iesada became shogun. He had no wife, no concubines and no hei
r. When he came to the women’s palace, it was to see his mother, Lady Honju-in. He was a sickly boy – not a boy, he was a man then, he must have been in his thirtieth year; but he still seemed like a child. He was always ill. He had this thin pale face like a hungry ghost and big unfocused eyes. What he loved most of all was roasting beans, stirring them about in the pan with bamboo chopsticks. He had a gun a Dutch merchant had given him. He used to chase after his courtiers with it. It made him laugh to see them run. Or he would just sit and stare around him blankly.

  ‘So, you see, Lady Honju-in was the most powerful person in the inner palace – you could say the most powerful person in the realm. Whenever the chamberlains had a new law that needed to be signed, it was Honju-in who told His Majesty whether to put his stamp on it or not. Everyone was wooing her. There were bolts of brocaded silk, vases, tea bowls, lacquerware, sugar cakes, all sorts of beautiful things pouring into the castle. Gifts to her, gifts to her ladies . . . What a life she had!

  ‘One day the guards were making their morning rounds. They were checking the garages when they noticed blood dripping from one of the palanquins and an arm and a leg dangling out. The door had been shoved back and a woman stuffed inside, bundled up in a hanging. When they unrolled it she was stark naked and quite dead. We all rushed to look and ran away screaming. Everyone was in the most terrible panic.

  ‘It turned out to be a Lady Hitsu, one of the higher-ranking officers in the catering department. Of course, you can’t know everyone in a place like this. She had been stabbed. We all thought it must be jealousy. She had had relationships with several of the ladies. One, a Lady Shiga, had been mad about her apparently, so suspicion fell on her.

  ‘But then it came out that Lady Hitsu had become rather close to Lord Iesada. She had had access to the kitchens and used to bring him beans and sit with him, chatting to him while he stirred. There was a particular sort of dried fish he really liked and she used to bring that to him. Maybe she was planning to seduce him. If she had become the mother of his child, she would have ousted Lady Honju-in. She would have become the power behind the throne.