The Samurai's Daughter (33 page)

Eijiro looked around, grimacing. It was too late now. The men were raring for a fight.

More shots rang out, sending up explosions of spray around the boat. The Satsuma men readied themselves, waiting for a return of fire, but none came. Expecting treachery, they grabbed poles and grappling irons. Some picked up rocks and bricks and started lobbing them towards the approaching boat. Most splashed into the water, pocking the sea with white. There was a yell from the launch as one made a direct hit.

Some sixth sense made Eijiro swing round. Where the quay disappeared into the shadows, other launches were scudding towards shore. One had already reached the dock and sailors were securing it with ropes while others climbed out.

‘This way, lads!’

Eijiro slung his rifle on his back and pounded along the wharf, Ito close behind him. Several of the sailors were already racing in his direction towards the arsenal. He charged at the first and caught a glimpse of the man’s shocked face and wide-open eyes as he slammed straight into him, sending him flying. There was a thud and a splash as Eijiro swung round and bore down on another. He let out a yell so piercing that the man stumbled, then picked him up bodily and hurled him into the icy water.

Another sailor was nearly on top of him, sword at the ready, so close that Eijiro barely had time to draw his own. As it slid from the scabbard he swung it in a half-circle, catching the man across the throat. Blood fountained into the air and the sailor’s head flopped back while his body stumbled on, then tottered and collapsed.

Drawing breath, Eijiro swung his rifle into place against his shoulder. A fourth sailor was approaching, a skinny youth with close-cropped hair and the pale undernourished face of a northerner. He took one look at Eijiro’s rifle, pointed straight towards him. For a moment he seemed to freeze, then turned tail and ran.

Ito had brought down a couple more of the enemy. Eijiro wiped his brow and grinned. All that training hadn’t been in vain. It was too long since he’d had a chance to wield a sword in earnest.

Feet pounded along the quay as other Satsuma men came up to join them. There were yells of derision as the sailors fled back to their launches and started rowing madly, throwing up sheets of spray. The rebels watched, rifles at the ready, until the last launch had disappeared into the darkness and the ship raised anchor, turned and steamed out of the bay.

25

THE SUN WAS
rising behind the volcano, casting it into deep shadow, as the men loaded the last crates of weapons. Convoys of men had been coming and going all night, taking away cartloads. They’d found packhorses to pull the carts and commandeered rickshaws and piled crates on to them. Some of the students loaded up boats and took away their captured arms to hide them in the huge Somuta arsenal deep in a valley behind the city.

Eijiro straightened up, wiped a grubby arm across his face and looked across the bay to the jagged black silhouette of the volcano, a plume of ash hanging lazily above it. His muscles ached, he was black from head to foot with dust and gunpowder, and volcanic grit had shredded his straw sandals, but he’d never been so happy in his life.

The students had sneaked along back alleys to get to the dock but they took the main road back, waving their captured rifles in the air and wheeling their carts of pilfered ammo. As they passed through the city, people came out of houses and shops, bundled against the bitter wind in padded jackets. They stared at the mob prancing by and began to laugh and cheer. More and more appeared, shouting encouragement, pressing back into the trees, peering out of the houses and shopfronts.

As the youths marched they joined up with bands of men from other schools. They too were laden with rifles and ammo and some wheeled cannons lifted from other government arms dumps.
The
numbers swelled until they filled the whole town, marching shoulder to shoulder.

Eijiro was in the middle of the crowd, mingling sweat with his comrades, yelling at the top of his voice, intoxicated with pride and glee. Then he felt a twinge of dread. He fell silent. In all the excitement he’d entirely forgotten. His father knew nothing of all this and would be far from pleased when he found out.

He punched his fist in the air and let out a yell, but the spring had gone out of his step. The thought would not go away. They’d loosed a monster. They’d set something in train that could not be undone.

Back at the stables the students had turned one of the buildings into an arsenal. They added their arms to the stack of weapons there. One of the men took an inventory: twenty-eight 5.28 mm powder mountain guns, two 15.84 mm powder field guns, thirty assorted mortars and 60,000 rounds of ammo. And that was only their arsenal. There were plenty of others. Each school had its own. It was enough for them to defend themselves for a long while.

Eijiro was ravenous and looking forward to breakfast. He was setting off across the practice ground when he glimpsed a group of men coming through the gates. He stopped dead. His fellow students dropped to their knees and pressed their noses to the grit. The same thought was in every mind.

He kept his head down as heavy footsteps approached. When he looked up he saw a pair of fierce black eyes staring down at him. He gulped. ‘Father.’

‘Earthquake, thunder, fire and Father – the most frightening things in the world; and the most frightening of all is Father.’ He remembered the saying and trembled as he looked down to avoid his father’s gaze. He had forgotten how huge he was. He dwarfed even Eijiro with his broad shoulders and vast bulk.

General Kitaoka didn’t bother to address Eijiro or even acknowledge him. He folded his arms and looked around at the
cowering
youths, then said very softly, almost to himself, ‘
Shimatta!
’ Eijiro wondered what he meant. Was it a simple exclamation, ‘Damn! That’s it!’ Or did it have the full force of the word: ‘We’ve well and truly had it!’

His father was with some of the Satsuma elders. He was wearing coarse leggings and several thick cotton robes under a padded haori jacket. Small wiry dogs, twelve or thirteen of them, ran around at his feet, tails wagging. He must have returned that same morning from his hunting trip and couldn’t have helped but hear the commotion as the youths marched through the city. Some of the imperial guards were behind him, forming a bodyguard. When Eijiro had seen them around the Tokyo mansion they’d always seemed a bit zealous for his taste, but now he’d spent time in Kagoshima he had a grudging respect for these dedicated soldiers.

There was someone else with the general too, tall, slender and handsome with a clear open face, the very embodiment of upright samurai youth. Eijiro gritted his teeth. He could guess who this was – his younger half-brother, Kazuo, his father’s son by his wife. He didn’t have to have met him to know that he thoroughly hated him.

The general’s voice was ominously quiet. ‘This has been a busy night. What a monstrous affair!’ Then his face blackened. ‘Fools!’

Eijiro nearly fell over. He’d never heard such a shout. It was louder than the most fearsome war cry, louder than the loudest belly shout his sword instructor could make. It shook the air and made his stomach churn. The other youths started, scuttling backwards like crabs. Someone would have to pay for the night’s work.

Eijiro straightened his back and frowned. As Kitaoka’s son he should take responsibility for their terrible deed. If need be he would commit ritual suicide to atone for their crime. He raised his head. ‘It was me, Father. It was my stupid idea. I take responsibility.’

Other youths shouted out. ‘No, sir, it was me.’ ‘No, me. I claim responsibility.’

‘I know we acted without orders, Father,’ Eijiro persisted. ‘I’m sorry.’ He bowed to the ground. ‘I will atone for my fault immediately by cutting my belly.’

There was silence. His father stared at him, then threw back his head and let out a roar of laughter. ‘There’s no need for that, dear boy. You’re a pleasure-loving fellow. I can assure you, there’d be no pleasure in that at all. In fact I’m afraid you’d find it rather painful.’

Eijiro scowled. He was about to protest that he was a samurai through and through when there was a shout.

‘Kitaoka-
don
.’ ‘-
don
’ was the affectionate abbreviation of the respectful title ‘-
dono
’ that everyone used to address their beloved general.

A group of uniformed men was hurrying into the grounds. At the head was the burly figure of Chief Inspector Makihara. For a moment his sharp brown eyes met Eijiro’s.

Eijiro’s heart sank. As the inspector bowed to his father, he studied his shaven pate and gleaming topknot, wondering nervously what he was going to say.

‘Grave news, sir. We captured the leader of the government agents. A man called Nakahara.’ Eijiro’s cheeks blazed. He’d almost forgotten the events of the previous night in the excitement of storming the arsenal. Perhaps the inspector would reveal his shame to his father in front of everyone. But he was a decent man; it would do him no good to make Eijiro lose face. He listened in an agony of suspense as the chief inspector continued. ‘He was a hard man to break, sir. It took all night to make him talk but we got a confession out of him in the end.’

‘He won’t be walking again for quite a while,’ said one of the other men, baring a mouthful of crooked teeth in a grin. ‘You can be sure of that.’

Eijiro breathed a sigh of relief. So they weren’t going to talk about how and where they had found Nakahara.

‘A lot of the new police recruits have turned out to be spies,’ said the chief inspector in clipped official tones. ‘They’ve
infiltrated
half the schools. We were suspicious of them from the start, then my men apprehended them sending messages. They were reporting on what we were doing here and receiving instructions back from Tokyo. One confessed that there was a government transport due to arrive this very night, camouflaged as a commercial vessel with a civilian crew. Their mission was to remove arms from the government arsenals. Luckily our men got there first.’

The general nodded. The chief inspector waited, head bowed respectfully, for him to speak.

‘And this Nakahara, what did he tell you?’

‘He made a written confession, sir. They were sent by the government to destroy our movement by any means possible. His orders were to assassinate you, sir, if that was what it took.’

Eijiro shuddered with horror. So that was why Nakahara had been so eager to befriend him, that was why he had taken such an interest in his father and where he was. He’d planned to use Eijiro to get close to him – close enough to stab a sword into him or shoot him. And Eijiro had been about to introduce him. He breathed out hard. He would kill Nakahara with his bare hands, given half a chance.

The young men had leapt to their feet, gripping their swords. They gazed at Eijiro’s father as if he was a god. Eijiro could see that any of them would happily die for him.

‘I’m not so attached to this body of mine,’ said General Kitaoka. ‘They can kill me if they want.’ He grimaced as he studied the document the inspector had handed him. ‘My old friend, Okubo,’ he said. ‘We grew up together, we fought side by side – and now he signs my death warrant.’

Eijiro noticed that he looked older, more careworn, than he had three years earlier when he saw him last. His jowls sagged a little and there were streaks of grey in his oiled hair.

‘We’ll execute these men forthwith, sir. We’re just waiting for your authorization.’

‘Execute policemen? They were just doing their jobs. Lock
them
up and leave them be. We have bigger things to think about. The real criminals are the politicians in Tokyo who are out to destroy us and our way of life and everything we stand for.’ He looked around at the youths. For a moment there was a slightly bemused look on his face. Then he frowned as if he’d reached a decision. ‘I built these schools, I encouraged you to train as warriors. And I will lead you now. The die is cast. There’s no turning back.’

26

THE ANCIENT STEPS
creaked as Taka picked up her skirts and raced up the steep staircase two at a time. She darted across the upper-floor room, sending dust smelling of rice straw puffing from the ancient tatami mats, pushed back the screens and leaned out over the rickety balcony.

Below her, geishas swished along the lamp-lit alley in elaborate festive kimonos, long sleeves swinging, trailing musky perfume and
bintsuke
oil, the pomade they slathered their hair with to keep it in place. They looked up and bowed and smiled, calling out greetings in bird-like coos, every bit as glamorous as the Kyoto geishas she’d known. Taka’s new geisha friend, sixteen-year-old Toshimi, with her perfect oval face and wide-eyed air of innocence, dipped her head as she passed, tossing the frilled skirts of her western gown. Boys pushed by balancing stacks of lacquered food boxes, their breath puffing out like steam in the icy air.

From behind closed doors and shuttered windows came the plucking of shamisens and women’s thin voices, plaintively singing. Smoke wafted out, heavy with the tang of grilling eel, roasting beef and stewing pork, and Taka thought of her father and how he used to enjoy tucking into his meat.

The chatter grew louder as the first customers started to arrive, handsome young samurai with swords thrust in their belts and ponytails or hair cropped short. There were shouts of welcome as
they
strutted through the crowds and disappeared into the teahouses. The geishas loved these gallant young men. The only ones who could afford the geishas’ fees were the merchants and money brokers and businessmen, and being down-to-earth working girls they made their living entertaining them. But they all took impoverished young samurai as their lovers. And now, with their men setting off for war the very next day, they wanted to be sure they had the best possible time before they left.

It was the third night of celebrations. The first battalions had marched out of town two days earlier, the second the following day and many of the men had spent the night in the geisha quarter before they left. The last would bring up the rear tomorrow.