The Samurai's Daughter (37 page)

Taka gazed at him, full of pride. His eyes were blazing.

‘We are the samurai of Satsuma, the nation’s finest.’ There was a cheer, followed by thuds as clumps of snow crashed from the branches of the tall trees in the castle grounds. ‘We have trained day and night. We have fought many battles and won …’ – another huge cheer drowned his words – ‘… and we will win this time too. Two divisions have already left and are marching north. There are fifteen thousand of us – seven battalions of infantry plus artillery and support troops. And thousands more will join us on our march to Tokyo. Our packhorse drivers are all volunteers. Even our women and children beg to come along.

‘Our cause is righteous and our force is overwhelming. And if we die our deaths will be glorious. Better to die with honour than live with shame!’

The men shouted and cheered and stamped their feet and rifle butts on the ground. The roar was deafening. Tears pricked Taka’s eyes and she shouted too, thrilled to be part of such a glorious throng, proud to be the daughter of such a leader.

As the clamour died down Taka stepped forward. Women were making their way through the ranks, pushing handkerchiefs and amulets into the men’s hands, wishing them luck. The guards had gathered protectively round General Kitaoka. Black eyes glinted from behind their scarves as they looked her up and down.

‘Father!’

He was standing by his horse, running his fingers through its thick black mane. To Taka it looked a monstrous beast, huge and powerful with muscles rippling under its glossy coat. It tossed its head and snorted impatiently, puffing out a cloud of white steam. He whispered a word to it and turned.

Taka had been afraid he might be angry that she’d come, unannounced and uninvited, to interrupt him at such an important time. But he laughed when he saw her and folded her in his arms. She breathed out in relief. She always forgot that he was not like other fathers, not cold and stern. Standing in his shadow she felt protected from everything. Even the cold wind no longer chilled her.

‘My little girl.’ She looked around for the young samurai, his son, and was relieved to see he was not there. One of the dogs licked her hand with its raspy tongue.

‘I wanted to see you so badly one last time,’ she began, her words tailing off. He looked so splendid in his uniform she was tongue-tied. ‘Is Eijiro here? Is he …?’ She didn’t want to voice her doubts about her brother.

Her father smiled as he read her mind. ‘He’s doing well, very well. I’m proud to call him my son. He left two days ago. He’s with the advance guard, in the first infantry division.’

‘I wish you didn’t have to go.’ She drew herself up and tried to speak with dignity as befitted the daughter of General Kitaoka. ‘Do your best. Be careful.’ She swallowed hard and added in a whisper, ‘Mother misses you. We all miss you so much. Come back soon. Please come back soon.’

There was a silence. She ran her eyes across his jowly face, his bushy eyebrows and piercing eyes, shiny like black diamonds. She had a dreadful premonition that this was the last time she’d see him. He looked at her gently, his forehead creased. There was a bemused expression on his face, as if he had set something in train that he didn’t fully understand and could no longer control, as if events had taken on a momentum of their own and he couldn’t stop them.

‘In the end all we can do is hold on to what we think is right,’ he said softly. ‘We have to follow our ideals, otherwise we’re no better than our enemies. As for our fate, that is in the hands of the gods and our ancestors.’ He smiled at her. ‘You look so like your mother. I see her in you. Take care of her for me.’

She felt tears running down her face and turned away quickly.

When she turned back the general was heaving himself on to his horse. He settled in the saddle, thrust his shoulders back and looked down at her, all trace of doubt gone. On his face was the proud steadfast scowl of a warrior about to lead his army on a glorious crusade.

‘You’re a Kitaoka too,’ he said. ‘Never forget that.’

She dabbed her eyes with her sleeve and bowed.

It was then that she saw Kuninosuké, standing among the bodyguards, laughing and talking. He must have noticed her with the general and had turned away but his scarf had slipped. As she recognized him he pushed it back further, as if wondering if the general’s daughter would acknowledge him, a mere foot soldier.

In daylight he looked younger, more vulnerable than she’d imagined, not intimidating or even particularly good-looking, rather ordinary, in fact. After all that had happened the previous night she wanted at least to wish him good luck. She took a breath and stepped towards him.

He drew himself up. ‘Madam. You are here to say goodbye to your father.’

‘And to you.’

He smiled. He had crooked teeth and his face was gaunt but he had the same pale unfathomable eyes. ‘Like your father said, we’re the forty-seven ronin – except there’s more of us, a lot more!’ He laughed, a careless, boyish laugh. ‘With the gods on our side, we can’t lose. We’ll crush our enemies and be back before you’ve even noticed we’ve gone. This isn’t the last you’ll see of me!’ His face softened. ‘I should beg your forgiveness for my behaviour last night but I’m not sure I’m sorry.’

‘I’ll think of you,’ she said. ‘I won’t forget you. Please take care of yourself and come back safely.’

‘Does my life matter so much to you?’

She didn’t know herself what she felt. She didn’t want to give him an answer that wasn’t true. She blushed and lowered her eyes and fumbled in her sleeve. ‘I’d like to give you something …’

Usually she carried all manner of things in her capacious sleeves – a fan, a purse, a handkerchief, a tobacco pouch. But today she’d rushed out with nothing. All she had was the amulet Nobu had bought for her at Sengaku Temple, a small brocade pouch, red embroidered with gold, containing a prayer for good fortune. It was old now and had lost its potency; amulets always lost their power at the end of the year. But she carried it still in memory of him.

She couldn’t bear to give away something so precious. But then she thought of Sengaku Temple where the forty-seven ronin were buried. She pictured their graves, in four neat rows, with incense burning in front of each. Kuninosuké was a man in their mould. He was about to risk his life for the Satsuma cause. How could she begrudge him anything? It was only right that she should give him the amulet.

She took it from her sleeve. ‘This is from Sengaku Temple. It’s a bit old, I’m afraid, but it might still have a little power to protect you.’ As she pressed it into his hand she felt the touch of his fingers. He knotted it carefully on to his sash. Their eyes met. His were like
dark
hollows through which for a moment she thought she could see into his soul.

‘I’ll keep it with me always and think of you.’

‘I’ll think of you too – all of you. I’ll offer prayers and incense for your success.’ She stepped back, bowing, conscious of the other guards watching.

‘Good luck,’ she added formally. ‘Be careful.’

Drums were beating and people cheering and in one of the neighbouring houses shamisens played. General Kitaoka put on his plumed hat and set off on his horse, surrounded by his bodyguards, at the head of his troops. The men marched in formation, battalion after battalion, filling the broad avenue. Snow glistened on the dark blue jackets, on the weapons, on the horses’ backs. Banners flapped noisily in the wind as the straw sandals tramped inexorably away.

Snow was falling again, more and more heavily.

Taka watched until the huge figure dwindled to a black dot against the glistening hillside, then disappeared. She watched the line of men marching proudly into the mist and snow, into the high mountains, into the unknown, until the last soldier was gone, followed by the packhorses laden with ammunition and the baggage train and finally the women, straggling along behind. It was impossible to imagine that any army could resist such a mighty force.

She watched and watched till her feet were like ice and the last figures in the distance had faded and dissolved into the blizzard. She almost wished she could have gone too.

She turned to go home. The city was frighteningly empty. There was no one left – only women and children, the old and infirm. Even the geishas had gone. Under the make-up and perfume and exquisite kimonos, they were tough working girls, and many had bundled themselves up in thick jackets to follow their men. It was going to be lonely.

PART V

Across a Magpie Bridge

29

Third month, year of the ox, the tenth year of the Meiji era (April 1877)

‘OI, YOSHIDA. NOSE
in your book again?’ The taunt rang out above the din of engines, the creak of the paddle wheel and the sailors’ shouts. Bells clanged amidships and footsteps pounded across the metal deck above Nobu’s head.

Sweat trickled down the back of his neck and his clothes stuck to his damp skin. He heaved a sigh and hugged his manual of French infantry tactics to his chest. He knew that sarcastic twang – Sakurai, a thuggish third-year man from one of the minor clans who delighted in tormenting the junior cadets. He and his classmates had been eager to beat Nobu down to size when he joined up and had discovered to their surprise that, studious though he was, he was well able to take care of himself. They had treated him with grudging respect ever since.

Nobu was sitting with his knees pressed to his chin in the four-man cabin he shared with ten other officer cadets, holding his book under the shaft of light that shone through the porthole. His fellow cadets were squashed in around him in their shirtsleeves, some sleeping, some reading, wearily fanning themselves. Caps and overcoats hung on hooks on the wall and there were clothes
draped
anywhere they could find a place for them. It was as hot and moist as a bathhouse.

But at least he was in the officers’ quarters. He’d been sent on an errand to the bowels of the ship once and plunged down the narrow steps to the dungeon-like hold where the conscripts were billeted. He felt the heat and smelt the coal fumes and the stench of sweat and vomit before he even got there. The hold was right above the engine room and he could hear the roar of the furnace and feel the floor judder as the pistons drove the mighty ship. There were men everywhere, the lucky ones in hammocks strung one above the other, the rest side by side on the floor, never seeing daylight, eating where they slept while their fellow soldiers threw up around them. He’d picked his way through them, steering clear of the overflowing latrines, thanking his lucky stars he wasn’t down there with them.

It had been two months earlier, in late February, that rumours had begun to spread that the Satsuma had risen. The principal had called the college together and told the assembled men that the Satsuma had invaded the neighbouring prefecture, Kumamoto, and that imperial orders had been issued to put them down.

The First Infantry Regiment of the Imperial Guard had left for the south straight away, followed by several contingents of soldiers. Everyone knew that the Satsuma were battle-hardened veterans, some of the finest soldiers in the land. But there were other fine soldiers too, who had excellent reasons to hate the Satsuma, and soon unemployed ex-samurai from the northern clans were queuing up to go to the front.

Nobu knew that for his fellow northerners, the details of what they were fighting for or why were irrelevant. In the new Japan, all the good jobs had been monopolized by men of the winning clans – the Choshu, Satsuma, Hizen and Tosa. A few northerners, like Nobu, had been lucky enough to get into the army. For a man of warrior stock, a samurai, it was a chance – virtually the only chance – to keep his head up, maintain his pride and make a decent life by working his way up through the ranks. Above all it
was
a job, one of the few jobs available to a northerner. It was not a matter of ideology but survival.

But most northern samurai, like Nobu’s brothers, were living in poverty, reduced to scraping around to survive. And now it had been thrust into their laps – the chance to take revenge on their old enemy, the cause of all their misfortunes. They wouldn’t have to break any laws or be punished, all they had to do was join the army or police force to kill Satsuma – legitimately. They’d even get paid for it. Their positions had been reversed. It had been the Aizu who had been ground under the heel of the other clans, and now it was the turn of the Satsuma. It was a gift from the gods. They’d finally given the Aizu their chance to make the enemy pay – to avenge themselves on the Satsuma for the terrible suffering and humiliation they had meted out to them.

Nobu should have been overjoyed. It was the best news any Aizu man could ever have imagined, the government declaring war on the potato samurai. But his joy was soured by the fact that the enemy they were fighting was Taka’s people, led by her father, General Kitaoka. He dreaded coming face to face on the battlefield with his old nemesis, her brother, Eijiro, or being ordered to attack her beloved father; and worst of all he was full of fear that she herself might be in danger. He couldn’t celebrate wholeheartedly as a loyal Aizu man should, as his brothers and clansmen were doing.