The Last Concubine (18 page)

IV

Sachi had no idea how long they had been travelling when there was a commotion. She heard the scuffle of feet, then shouts and yells. She edged the slats of the blind apart a fraction and peeked out cautiously.

They were in a narrow alley between high walls. She caught a
glimpse of a menacing figure lurking in the shadows, then another and another. They were clad in thick layers of wadded clothing. She could see two swords, one long and one short, poking from under their garments. Two swords – so they were of the samurai class. But they were not dressed like samurai. Their faces were swathed in scarves, hiding everything except the glitter of their eyes. They were
ronin
, probably from the south. The alley was full of them.

One leaped forward. There was an ear-piercing guttural wail, a blue flash, then what sounded very much like a blade slicing through flesh.

Sachi gasped and lurched forward as the palanquin came to an abrupt halt. She heard the screech of swords ripping from their scabbards and the clang of blade striking blade. The swishing of swords, the clash and clink of steel on steel, the yells and shouts grew closer and closer until they were deafeningly loud, right outside the palanquin wall. Clutching her dagger, Sachi sat helplessly in her frail conveyance, willing herself not to think, only to be ready. The blood was thudding so loudly in her ears she could hardly hear. The palanquin rocked, jolted crazily, tilted to one side then crashed to the ground. She ended up winded and bruised, sprawled on the floor. Feet pounded away into the distance.

Gruff voices shouted in a sing-song dialect. Sachi could not make out the words but she recognized the accent. It was a rough male version of the lilting southern burr she heard when the Retired One’s ladies spoke among themselves. So she was right: they were southerners.

Panting, Sachi picked herself up. She sat up very straight, brushed her skirts off, adjusted her collar and pulled her cowl into place, then gripped the hilt of her dagger. This was it. The moment had come. She would have to submit to the humiliation of capture. But she would fight before she was taken; at least no one could stop her doing that.

She sat utterly still, trying not to move or breathe. In the silence a hand rattled the door of the palanquin.

Then she heard something unexpected – the thunder of hooves, approaching from behind. It could only be more of the southern
hoodlums. There was an explosion so loud her ears were ringing with it. She knew the sound. She had heard it reverberating outside the castle walls, but never so close before – musket fire. There was another volley, then another. She heard grunts and yells, the screech of steel biting into bone and thuds like bodies hitting the ground. An unearthly silence followed. A lone bird twittered and a chill wind blew.

She took a deep breath. Her heart was beating so hard she couldn’t believe the men outside could not hear it. She drew herself up proudly, hand on her dagger. She would show them that a seventeen-year-old girl – and a peasant, did they but know it – could be as brave as any samurai, or braver.

There was a man’s voice. He was very close, just outside the thin wooden walls of the palanquin. It was an educated voice with only a slight rural burr. He spoke so clearly and politely that she could understand most of what he was saying. He gave his name – Toranosuké of the Matsunobé family – and his domain, Kano. He seemed to be asking her to make herself known.

Kano! Sachi froze. Kano was near Kyoto and her village. But she had no idea of its allegiance, whether these men were with the north or the south. No matter what, she had to convince them that she was the princess. What would the princess do in this situation? Would she speak? Would she open the door of the palanquin? Surely not. She would never make herself known to any man.

The silence stretched interminably. Then she heard a voice – a woman’s voice, thin and high-pitched, like a mouse’s squeak.

‘Step away, sir!’

Sachi nearly shrieked with shock and disbelief. Taki! What on earth was she doing here? But her relief was quickly replaced by horror. Even if it meant breaking her word to the princess she would jump out of the palanquin and fight alongside her. She would do anything at all, whatever it took, to make sure Taki was not hurt.

‘I am Lady Takiko of the imperial household, handmaiden to the shogun and escort to the lady who travels in this palanquin,’ squeaked the voice in loud clear tones. ‘If you wish to address her, you may do so through me.’

The next minute Taki’s big eyes appeared on the other side of the blind.

‘Are you all right?’ she whispered.

‘Taki, I’m so glad to see you. How did you get here?’

‘I’ll tell you later. We were attacked by southerners. These other fellows turned up and beat them off. The southerners must have gone for reinforcements.’

‘But who are they? Who are these men?’

‘I’m not sure. I’m going to speak to them.’

Sachi heard Taki’s clear tones and the male voice speaking in reply. Then Taki was back at the window.

‘They’re from Kano. They say they’re with us. They say we have to go with them – for our safety.’

‘So they’re kidnapping us.’

‘They say they can’t risk the princess falling into southern hands, and if they leave us here that’s what will happen. Anyway, you can’t abandon your mission and go back to the palace.’

‘But how do we know they are what they say they are?’

‘We have to trust them. We have no choice. Our guards have been killed and our bearers and attendants have run away.’

‘Run away!’ snorted Sachi in disgust.

‘There was a plot of some sort and we were betrayed. There are southern hoodlums all over the place. We have to carry on with the pretence. If the southerners think the princess is fleeing for the mountains, they’ll follow us instead of heading for the palace. That’s our duty. These men have a baggage train, they have bearers.’

‘But who are these men?’ Sachi persisted.

‘
Ronin
.’

Ronin
. Sachi had never before come face to face with such creatures. Men like that were reckless, dangerous characters, not answerable to anyone. They probably changed sides depending on which way the wind was blowing. But Sachi and Taki were in their hands. They had no choice but to accept their word.

‘They want to see you,’ said Taki. ‘They want to make sure there isn’t a man in there. I’m going to open the door. Don’t say anything. Just bow. Then I’ll close it again.’

Sachi hastily tossed her cowl around her face as the door slid
back. Daylight flooded in, dazzlingly bright. Drawing herself up with as much dignity as she could muster, she nodded curtly, as she had seen the princess doing. Silhouetted outside were three figures. Two were on horseback, the other on foot, holding the reins. The tops of their heads were bristly and unshaven. They did not even have topknots. One had hair sticking out like a bush and the other two had rough ponytails. She had never before seen such wild-looking men.

Beyond them she could see palanquins collapsed on their sides. Bodies were heaped here and there, blood still gushing from their torsos. Some twitched and writhed. The soil was so wet it looked as if it had been raining; but the puddles were an ugly shade of dark red, already congealing at the edges. There were strange rock-like objects lying around. Sachi stifled a gasp as she realized they had hair and ears and faces. A foul odour filled the air, the mingled stench of blood and flesh and human excrement. As it swirled into the palanquin, she retched and pulled her cowl tighter about her face.

Then the door slid shut.

Sachi tried not to think about what she had witnessed but the image was imprinted on her mind. Again and again she pictured that hideous scene and the noises she had heard, the dreadful groans and gasps. She shuddered with the horror of it. Those men had died like samurai – some trying to seize her, others to protect her. Some must have been the guards and bearers who had ridden alongside. Yet in death they were all the same.

But at least Taki was there. Knowing that she was close by, Sachi was no longer prepared to die. Next time she was called upon to give her life she would fight, and fight hard.

Maybe they could escape. But where could they go? The women’s palace was gone, reduced to ashes. There was only one safe place – the village. For a moment Sachi imagined herself back in the tile-roofed house with the river rushing below and the mountain soaring overhead. It was something to hang on to, something real in the middle of all this madness. If she survived, if she got out of this box alive, she would find some way to get there.

Somewhere in the distance there was a hubbub. Suddenly all Sachi’s senses were alert. She was listening with all her might. The southerners . . . But the noise was in front of them, not behind. Besides, if the southerners attacked, they would creep up on them silently.

Chimes and gongs were jangling, whistles tootled and drums pounded feverishly. She peeked through the slats of the bamboo blind. They had left the broad avenues of daimyo mansions and were threading their way through alleys lined with ramshackle houses and shops. A stream of people hurried in the same direction, stooped under huge bundles tied on their backs.

The noise grew louder. At first she could not catch the words. Then she began to pick them up. The singers were chanting, ‘
Ee ja nai ka? Ee ja nai ka?
Who gives a damn? Who gives a damn?’

Then came some verses that made no sense at all, something about ‘butterflies flying from the west’. The tune was so catchy she found herself humming along. Despite everything she had to smile. She had not heard language like that since she left the village.

The convoy came to a halt. The street ahead of them was overflowing with people, crammed so tightly it was impossible to pass. The mob drew back for a moment as if startled by the intrusion of the imperial palanquin, then closed in around it. There were people dressed in flaming red with red lanterns on their heads, men capering about in women’s kimonos and women in
happi
coats and leggings like men. Some of the men, and women, too, had thrown off their clothes and were cavorting half naked, their leathery skin shiny with sweat. They barged up against Sachi’s palanquin, squinting through the blind.

‘Hey, lady! Come and dance,’ they bawled. ‘Come and dance! Who gives a damn? Who gives a damn?’

Some had bowls of sake and pieces of fish and rice cakes and thrust them up against the blind. Sachi shrank away, wrinkling her nose at the stench of sweat and food and sake and the staring eyes. There had been plenty of festivals in the village, and in the palace, too, they had performed the summer dances to welcome the spirits of the dead. But there was a crazed desperation to this dancing she had never seen before. Scraps of paper, like the lucky
charms that temples sold, blew about in the wind. People chased after them, grabbing at them.

‘Hurry up, get a move on,’ barked the
ronin
riding alongside.

‘Clear the way,’ yelled the guards, shoving their way through. The crowd danced on, waving their arms in the air and swaying in unison, singing at the tops of their voices.

When the convoy reached the border post that marked the edge of the city, the gates were wide open. The guards let them pass without even bothering to bow. The whole world seemed to have gone mad.

Gradually the smells and uproar of the city faded behind them. The sky arched overhead, dazzlingly blue. Clumps of trees cast long shadows. Parched brown fields stretched to the horizon, merging into the mountains that shimmered in the pale light of the winter sun. Sachi was beginning to relax. Out here among the fields there was nowhere to hide. If the southerners came after them they would see them. She breathed the air, savouring the coldness and freshness.

‘Who gives a damn? Who gives a damn?’ she hummed to herself. It was oddly comforting.

It was not until they were well away from the city that the palanquin stopped. Taki was at the door to help Sachi out. Sachi gazed at her small, thin, determined face, her pointed chin and large fierce eyes. There was something new about her, as if she too had come alive, as if she was enjoying being outside in the great world. Taki had saved her life. If it hadn’t been for her Sachi might be dead. Impulsively she threw her arms round her.

‘I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you!’ she said, tears springing to her eyes. ‘You risked everything to come with me.’

Taki hugged her back.

‘I’m your maid,’ she laughed, shrugging. ‘I was just doing my duty.’

They were at a small roadside inn, not at all the kind of place a princess would visit. There was no sign of the
ronin
or anyone else, so it seemed that at least they had some respect for her position.

A small bent woman with a round, smiling face ushered them,
bowing profusely, into a shabby room. It was years since Sachi had been in such a place. She glanced at the rough walls, the worn matting spread on the bare wooden floor and the patches on the paper of the doors. The smells of woodsmoke and tobacco and food cooking reminded her of home – of the village. She sat with Taki while the woman served them steaming bowls of buckwheat noodles. A few hours back, Sachi had thought she would never eat again. Now she was starving.

‘How could you bear it, Taki?’ she said. ‘You saw all that. You were in the middle of it. Weren’t you afraid?’

Taki looked puzzled. Then she smiled proudly.

‘You’re teasing,’ she said. ‘They were our enemies. I was pleased they were dead. I’d love to see their heads nailed to the castle gates.’

Sachi drained the last mouthfuls of soup. It was strange to hear Taki say such things. But she was a samurai. Sachi had to learn to be like her, calm and composed even when battle was raging. Now they were on their own, away from the castle, it was all the more urgent.

‘Well,’ she said finally, ‘at least we’re safe, so far.’

‘Not quite,’ said Taki.

‘That’s true,’ said Sachi. ‘Anyway, we’ve outrun the southerners, for the time being. Trouble is, we don’t know what’s ahead. And these men – who are they? How do we know they’re on our side? They don’t even have a lord to answer to. How do we know they’re not taking us as hostages?’