‘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 careful. 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 heir. 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.
‘There was no investigation, of course. No one ever found out who had hated Lady Hitsu enough to kill her, whether it was jealousy or because she tried to reach above her station. No one dared suggest it was anything to do with Lady Honju-in; and even if it was, she was far too powerful for anyone to do anything about it.’
Sachi shuddered with horror. Her hands were clasped so tight her palms were clammy with sweat. She glanced around at the ladies-in-waiting, imagining she saw them exchanging glances, plotting against her. She knew very well that beneath its placid surface the women’s palace was seething with rivalries and hatreds. But she had always assumed such enmities would never affect a lowly person like herself. Now her position had changed. Everyone must be waiting to see if she would be the mother of the shogun’s heir. She would have to be very careful indeed.
Suddenly she thought of the Retired One. She must have been still in her teens – not much older than Sachi was now – when she entered the palace to be Lord Iesada’s third bride. And she had won. She had outlived him and taken old Lady Honju-in’s place. But all the same, to have shared a bed with such a lord . . . In this world no man could choose the path his life took and women even less so, even someone as brilliant, fiery and beautiful as the Retired One. And then, at the end of it all, to be a widow, washed up on the shore of life not long after her twentieth year. Sachi tried to imagine what sadness and disappointment lurked behind her steely exterior. It was something that previously would never have entered her mind. But now, with the memory of His Majesty still so fresh, the world looked different.
‘What happened to Lord Ieyoshi?’ she asked uneasily. ‘And to Lord Iesada?’
Haru scowled and shook her head. ‘Another day,’ she said grimly.
III
Sachi was so distracted she was sure she would not be able to concentrate on her studies. But as she copied out poems, trying to make her brush dance across the paper with the same fluidity and grace as Haru’s, she felt her mind becoming calm like the surface of a pond after the wind has died down. She was way behind the other junior ladies in practically everything – calligraphy, poetry writing, tea ceremony, incense guessing and all the other courtly arts that women had to know – but she was determined to catch up as quickly as she could.
In the afternoon she went to the training hall. Her maids followed behind her, bearing her costume. Taki carried her halberd.
Several junior women were already there, dressed in the uniform of palace guards. Sachi too changed into stiff black divided skirts and a black jacket of coarsely woven silk with the crest of the House of Tokugawa – three hollyhock leaves – appliquéd on the back. The fabric felt rough against her skin. She put on a stiff black cap and tied it firmly in place with a white band wrapped tightly around her head.
It was the first time she had seen the others since her promotion. They gazed at her curiously. They were still children, with thick black eyebrows and white teeth. She alone had the shaved eyebrows and blackened teeth of a married woman, one who has known a man. She kept her face lowered. Her cheeks were blazing with self-consciousness but she also felt a quiet sense of pride.