The Samurai's Daughter (21 page)

The yells of the rickshaw drivers grew louder as the pounding of feet and clatter of wheels turned into a thunder. Then a voice shouted, ‘Here, idiot! I said, here! You got no brains at all?’

There was a creaking and thumping as shafts hit the ground, followed by a bang and a squawk of ‘Hey! Watch out!’ It sounded as if a second rickshaw had had to swerve to avoid running into the one in front. Nobu grimaced as he recognized the accent. Satsuma, for sure, and drunk. Eijiro’s friends, no doubt.

There was grunting and panting and a foot scraped on the earthen road.

‘What’re ya up to, Yamakawa?’ the second voice whined. ‘We nearly ran into you.’

Yamakawa. Nobu knew that name, one of Eijiro’s cronies. Nobu used to see him when he visited the Kitaoka house, a stocky pugnacious youth with a thick neck and jutting jaw who stuck
out
his chest like a fighting cock. He’d been all deference when Eijiro was around but treated the servants like dogs.

‘There was someone over there, by the wall.’ Yamakawa’s arrogant voice was familiar too, with its rough Satsuma inflections.

‘The sake’s affected your eyesight, my friend. Hurry up. Get back in your rickshaw or we’ll never make it to Daimonji Teahouse. It was one yen we wagered, remember?’

‘I tell you, I saw someone – or something.’

‘Next you’ll be saying it was a fox spirit. There’s no one here.’

‘Fox spirit? A thief more likely, one of those northern beggars. Kitaoka should keep the place better guarded. Get down and help me look around.’

Nobu held his breath as feet kicked the grass over his head, sending showers of soil on to his face. A small animal scampered along the bottom of the moat. The voices receded up the road. Mosquitoes buzzed and an owl hooted.

Jubei clenched his fists, bringing down another shower of dirt. ‘Bastards,’ he muttered. ‘There’s only two and they’re blind drunk. Let’s give them a scare. It’s too long since I bruised my fist on a Satsuma skull.’

He shifted as if he was about to climb out.

‘Hold it,’ Nobu muttered, slapping a mosquito that had settled on his arm. ‘There’ll be more on their way.’

Jubei gave a grunt of disbelief. ‘Since when did you baulk at a fight? Isn’t this the lad that was so eager to climb into the Kitaoka residence?’

‘Don’t be crazy. You haven’t even got a weapon,’ said Nobu, recalling his brothers’ stories of what a hothead Jubei was. ‘Remember your pride. We can’t go round brawling like thugs. Yasu would be furious.’

All the same, Jubei had a point. It made no sense to climb into the Kitaoka residence and then refuse to fight a couple of drunken youths. The problem was that they were Taka’s people and somehow that made them Nobu’s too. It was hard to share Jubei’s
blind
hatred of them any longer. He shook his head in bewilderment. The spell she had cast over him was taking away his fighting spirit and turning him into a weakling.

There was a belch and a hiccup. The voices were getting louder. The Satsuma men were on their way back.

‘What did I tell you? There’s no one around.’

‘Gi’s a moment.’

The footsteps were so close they could smell the sake on the men’s breath. Nobu cringed as he heard fumbling and the rustle of starchy clothing. There was a rushing sound like a waterfall and the stench of urine filled the air. He wrinkled his nose as splashes stung his face. At least the bastard hadn’t relieved himself right on top of them.

‘I tell you it’s driving me crazy, cooling my heels around here,’ said Yamakawa’s voice. ‘It’s all well and good hanging around the Yoshiwara, like those good-for-nothing northern thugs used to before we got rid of them. But it’s not a life for a man.’

‘We certainly showed them, though, didn’t we! Aizu Castle, remember that? Now that was a battle!’

There was a chortle. ‘The flames, yeah. Remember the boom when the gunpowder store blew? Like thunder! Some bonfire, that.’

‘That was a brilliant campaign. I didn’t put my sword back in its scabbard for a month. Rotting from all the blood, it was.’

‘Do you remember those cannons of ours?’

‘Fifty. What a noise.’

‘And the garrison marching out with their heads shaved, flying their flag of surrender?’

‘Pathetic crew, half-starved runts, the lot o’ them. Yeah, that was what I call men’s work. What I’d give to see action again!’

Nobu was exploding with fury. It was all he could do not to fling himself out and lay into the men. He could hear Jubei spluttering. Before Nobu could stop him, he sprang up, shouting, ‘You want action, you murderous bastards, you can have it!’

Nobu leapt out after him.

The two men stumbled back gawping, eyes like plates, mouths hanging open, as if they thought these creatures flying straight out of the ground were tengu demons or corpses rising from their graves. One was Yamakawa, sure enough. Nobu knew that thick neck and fighting dog scowl. They were in western-style jackets and trousers, like dandies, and he noticed straight away that neither had their swords. In the dark, Yamakawa gave no sign of recognizing Nobu. He’d been a scrawny teenager and a mere servant when their paths had last crossed, he hadn’t existed as far as Yamakawa was concerned.

The second man was slight with a pointed chin and tufty hair like a fox. He was shaking. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong. Leave me alone,’ he quavered.

Yamakawa had already recovered. ‘They’re peasants, you fool, not ghosts. It’s the riff-raff I saw climbing the wall.’

‘Peasant yourself!’ Jubei shouted. ‘Murderous bastard! Get back to your potato fields, yokel!’

‘Show some respect, dog. Bloody northerner, aren’t you? Too bad we didn’t cut you down sooner. I’ll make up for that right away.’

Scowling, Jubei bunched his fists and stepped forward threateningly, looming over the short southerner. He aimed a punch at Yamakawa. The man ducked under his fist and stepped crisply aside, his eyes gleaming. He didn’t look drunk at all. His hand flew to his belt.

‘Watch out!’ The words died on Nobu’s lips as Yamakawa raised a fleshy arm. There was a flash like lightning in the moonlight. The southerner had a dagger in his hand. He gave a war cry like a banshee’s shriek as he swung it up and before Nobu could move or even shout had driven it straight into Jubei’s belly. The big man breathed out hoarsely as if he’d been punched and staggered back, clutching his stomach.

‘Insolent peasant! That’ll teach you to tangle with your betters!’

As Yamakawa twisted the knife and jerked it out Jubei fell to his knees. Blood oozed black through his fingers and his face
slackened
and turned grey. The world seemed to stop. Nobu was aware of the moon, three-quarters full, the long grass whispering in the breeze and the wall stretching into the distance. From somewhere inside the grounds came the mournful cry of a fox. Frozen with horror, he saw Jubei’s cheeks grow hollow and his eyes sink in his head as his face became a death mask. The stench of butchery, of fresh blood and guts tumbling from the wound, made Nobu’s stomach turn. He gagged as if it was he, not Jubei, who had been struck.

Yamakawa was standing over Jubei, a mocking smile on his broad face. ‘Too bad,’ he said, sneering. ‘I wish I had my sword to test it on your neck.’

He raised his arm to strike again, lips pulled back in a snarl.

There was a bellow in the silence. It was Nobu’s own voice. Suddenly he was alive again. He leapt into Yamakawa’s path and stood over Jubei, legs apart, protecting him. His training took over. As the blade swung down he grabbed Yamakawa’s thick wrist and twisted with all his might, using the man’s own momentum to steer the dagger towards his chest. Yamakawa was burly and Nobu was slight but rage and grief gave him strength. They grappled for a moment before he felt the blade slide in.

As Yamakawa’s grip loosened and he reeled, Nobu wrenched the knife from his hand and hacked at him grimly, feeling the blade cut through bone and gristle and flesh. Blood spurted from the man’s face and chest and there was a hiss of air from a punctured lung as the southerner staggered and slumped to the ground, wheezing.

Somewhere behind Nobu there was a strangled scream. The second man was staring, wide-eyed. Footsteps ran towards them as other rickshaws approached.

‘Jubei!’ shouted Nobu. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

Jubei had crawled a little way away, then collapsed on to his side. He was lying in a pool of blood. Nobu slipped his arm under his shoulders and tried to pick him up but he was a dead weight.
He
tried again but Jubei was too heavy. His eyes were open. Nobu put his hand to his mouth. No breath, nothing.

He looked around frantically. To abandon Jubei now would be to betray him twice over, but he had no choice. If he hesitated he would be dead himself. Gasping convulsively, he turned and ran, his heart racing and his mouth dry. His breath came in great pants. Hardly aware of where he was or where he was going, he ran blindly until he was far away from the road, the featureless wall and the dreadful scene of death. Then he doubled up and fell to his knees, sobbing with horror.

Jubei was dead and it was all his fault. He had hurt, probably killed Yamakawa, but that meant nothing. He could think of nothing but Jubei, Jubei – dead. He took his hands from his face. They were torn and battered. He was soaked to the skin in sweat and blood.

It was the doing of the gods, he thought, those fierce old gods that protected the northern clans. He’d known he was committing an unforgivable crime, consorting with that Satsuma girl, but he’d carried on regardless. And now they’d taken away this good and loyal man, made him their sacrificial victim, to punish him, Nobu, for his treachery.

‘Not Jubei. Me! You should have taken me!’ he shouted wildly, careless of who might hear. A wind rose like an answer from the gods and shook the trees. He could hear the waves beating on the shores of Edo Bay.

He was outside Sengaku Temple. The outer gate with its steep tiled roof stood black against the sky. The forty-seven ronin entombed inside seemed to rise from their graves, hovering over him in stern reproof. He’d gone there with Taka only a few days earlier and been with her again this very night, held her, touched her. And now the gods had issued their terrible warning. He had no choice. He would have to give her up for ever. Jubei’s death had severed his forbidden passion as cleanly as an executioner’s sword.

Jubei, loyal Jubei, who had come unscathed through many
battles
, only to die in the gutter in a senseless quarrel. He would have to break the news to his brothers. He would tell them they had been on a foolish mission and been attacked by Satsuma. It was near enough the truth. They would go the next morning and retrieve Jubei’s body and he would take responsibility for his wife and parents and make sure they were provided for.

No one could ever know the full story. But it would be a lesson to him.

Looking up at the heavens, he made a vow to the gods. He would avenge Jubei. And though it wrenched his heart, he would never, he swore, never see Taka again.

15

TAKA WOKE WITH
a start. Moonlight glimmered through the paper screens, casting a wan light across the piles of rumpled bedding. Fujino’s thin cover was pushed back. She looked around sharply. One of the doors was open a crack and yellow light spilled through. Her mother was on her knees there, murmuring in the careful, controlled tones she used when some disaster had occurred.

Taka caught the words, ‘How badly hurt?’ but she couldn’t make out the answer. She sat bolt upright. Her heart skipped a beat and her hands flew to her mouth. With a shock of fear she wondered if it had anything to do with Nobu. The last she had seen of him he had been slipping away under the trees. She screwed her eyes tight shut and prayed with all her might that nothing terrible had happened to him.

Fujino was on her feet now, a large reassuring shadow, the same comforting presence who lay next to her every night, breathing softly, as she had done throughout her entire life. Taka and Haru and their mother had slept together in a row, with the maids curled up nearby; now Haru was married it was just the two of them.

If only she could confide in Fujino like she used to, Taka thought. Whenever Taka had taken her problems to her, she’d always known exactly what to do. It was only now that complicated matters like marriage had come up that her mother had stopped being her first port of call. You’re on your own now,
Taka
told herself. The thought made her feel horribly lonely.

She could see her mother’s shadow disappearing through the darkened rooms, the maids scurrying in front of her, lighting her way. Taka slipped a cotton jacket over her yukata and raced after them. As they neared the great entrance hall she heard agitated male voices, shouting above each other.

Men pushed in, crowding the earthen-floored vestibule. Taka recognized the guards who patrolled the estate in their jackets and baggy trousers, holding rifles, their faces like devil masks in the lantern light. Some of Eijiro’s friends were there too. She’d thought they’d gone to the Yoshiwara but they were back, their cheeks sake-flushed but their eyes serious, as if they’d been shocked sober.

They had a look about them that she hadn’t seen since the long-gone days in Kyoto, when there were battles in the streets – no longer spoilt rich boys with nothing to do but drink and complain and whore, but men, watchful, on edge, braced for attack. Some joshed with the guards, as if the social niceties had fallen by the wayside.

Lanterns swayed in the courtyard outside the circle of light. Shadowy figures moved and voices hissed, ‘Careful. Ease him out gently.’ ‘Stop. You’re jarring him.’ There was a sour stomach-turning meaty smell that was oddly familiar. It was a moment before Taka recognized it from those distant Kyoto days – fresh-spilt blood.

She was desperate to know what had happened. Only a few hours had passed since Nobu had climbed in to see her; but she dared not say a word. It was too much of a coincidence.

One of Eijiro’s friends stared around, wild-eyed. Taka had never liked him. He was an unappealing fellow who was always pestering Okatsu. Taka started as she saw what a state he was in. His face and hair were plastered with dirt and blood and his smart western waistcoat was torn. He fell to his knees in front of her mother and pressed his head to the ground.