The Samurai's Daughter (39 page)

Bunkichi looked puzzled for a moment as if he was trying to take all this in. He scratched his head, then a grin spread across his face. ‘Well, that’s a relief.’ He was his cocky self again. He looked at Zenkichi. ‘Kagoshima. Wasn’t there something …’

‘Yes, to do with …’ said Zenkichi.

Bunkichi scratched his toe on the deck then looked at Nobu with big frog eyes. ‘That lady came,’ he said.

Nobu stared at him, wondering what he was talking about. One of Oshige’s friends, he guessed; what had that got to do with him? Bunkichi glanced at him knowingly.

‘The maid from the big house,’ he added.

Okatsu! Taka’s maid. Nobu started. He felt a surge of hope and excitement that set his heart racing. Shocked and angry at himself, he tried to rein in his joy. This wasn’t what he was supposed to feel. He’d put all that behind him. Guiltily he wondered how much Bunkichi knew about his meetings with Taka. It was hard to keep secrets in Tokyo, least of all in Mori’s house; he should have remembered that. At this point consorting with the enemy could almost be seen as treason.

‘Remember Oshige?’ said Bunkichi.

Nobu nodded, picturing Mori’s thick-lipped, good-natured mistress and her cloud of powder.

‘The lady had brought a letter for you. She wanted Oshige to pass it on.’

Nobu swallowed. The last thing he’d expected when he saw Bunkichi and Zenkichi was news of Taka. It was all he could do to keep up a pretence of indifference.

‘Oshige didn’t know where you were,’ said Zenkichi. ‘I don’t think she wanted to get involved.’ The two grooms exchanged glances.

‘So what happened to the letter?’ Nobu tried to speak casually, as if he didn’t care, but he couldn’t iron out the tremor of excitement in his voice.

‘Oshige wouldn’t take it.’

‘You mean there was no message, nothing?’ He’d let his hopes rise too high. Now they came crashing back to earth. Bunkichi looked at Zenkichi.

‘It was the tenth month she came, a long time ago, and we only heard about it from Oshige. I think she said they were leaving
Tokyo
. Had to go rather suddenly. When you mentioned Kagoshima, I remembered. It seemed a strange place to be going but now we’re all going there. Kagoshima. That was where they were going. Kagoshima.’

Bunkichi and Zenkichi went back below decks and Nobu returned to his cabin. It seemed smaller and more cramped than ever; if anything the temperature had risen even higher. His fellow cadets were sprawled around, fanning themselves. He could smell the sweat in the air. He climbed over them, reached for his kitbag and dug around in it. There were books, changes of clothing, a jumble of underwear, pens, towels. His fingers closed around a folded sheet of paper – the letter his brother Kenjiro had sent him.

He went up to the deck and found a corner where he’d be left undisturbed. He needed to sort out his thoughts, get some perspective. He unfolded the letter and gazed at the beautifully brushed characters. He’d read it so many times he knew it off by heart.

It was dated 25 March by the new calendar.

Greetings. The wanderer of the eastern seas is on his feet again. I have recovered my health and am no longer pressing my nose into books. An end to indolence! Sword in hand I am departing Tokyo with all haste to join the government forces in Kyushu. Our time has come and we must seize this chance to take revenge on the Satsuma, or how can we face the spirits of those who lie beneath the soil in Aizu? We will meet on the battlefield or on the day of victory or in whatever place we find ourselves after we depart this life. Your brother, Kenjiro.

Nobu could barely see the words through the tears that filled his eyes. The last time he’d seen Kenjiro, he’d been on his sickbed, yellow with jaundice, feebly trying to raise himself on one elbow. Time and time again he’d been ill but he was not a man to let poor
health
stop him fighting alongside his clansmen. In fact he seemed to need war to restore him to health. Nobu remembered how he’d pulled himself to his feet in their home in Aizu and stumbled out of the door to take part in the defence of the castle nearly nine years earlier.

Still he didn’t know how his delicate brother would cope with the hardship. Hopefully he was alive and healthy, on the front line somewhere in Kyushu with a rifle in his hand, probably sleeping out on hillsides in rain and wind. Nobu’s eldest brother, Yasu, had also gone south at the first opportunity despite his injured leg, while Gosaburo, the third, had left their father in Aizu and joined the police force so he could go too.

The government was well aware of the hatred of the northerners for the Satsuma and soon after hostilities began had set about recruiting northern samurai to fight. Soldiers returning from the front were full of tales of the extraordinary courage of the Aizu warriors. Men who’d seen them in action spoke with awe of the savagery with which they fought with rifles, swords, whatever came to hand, battling at closer quarters than anyone else dared, hacking their way through the Satsuma ranks, cutting down rebel after rebel until they were killed themselves.

They were shining examples of the old adage that Nobu had learned as a child growing up in Aizu: ‘In battle there’s no samurai code and no mercy. If you lose your sword, grab a rock. If you have no rock, use your hands. Lose your life but make the enemy pay.’

For the men of Aizu, their time had come at last.

30

TAKA TOOK A
breath, let out a piercing yell straight from the belly then lunged forward and swung her staff down with all her strength towards the demure young woman opposite her. Yuko, her opponent, didn’t flinch. She kept her eyes firmly fixed on Taka’s. She had a solemn round face like a child’s but her staff spun like the wind. In less than a heartbeat she’d parried Taka’s blow then twisted round, skirts whirling, and brought her practice stick slicing straight towards Taka’s head. Taka leapt aside, tried to dodge the blow, stumbled and nearly fell and with a gargantuan effort thrust her own stick up just in time to deflect it.

The white oak staffs were light but long and, for Taka at least, fearsomely unwieldy. Moving with crisp steps like a dancer, yelling at the top of her voice, Yuko struck again and again. Taka’s knees quivered and she staggered under the impact, parrying blow after blow. Wood cracked down on wood as they circled, walls, trees and bushes revolving in a blur behind them.

Taka was dressed for war, her sleeves tied back with cords, the hem of her kimono tucked into her obi to free her legs and a white headband round her hair. The trampled grass felt soft and moist under her bare feet and the air smelt of earth and flowers. The last of the cherry blossom had fallen and pink and purple azalea and rhododendron bushes filled the grounds. Around her, women sparred with steely concentration, their yells punctuated by the hoarse cawing of crows.

It was a perfect morning. Fluffy clouds floated across a dazzling
blue
sky, stained with the ever-present veil of black ash that drifted from Sakurajima’s mouth. To the east the volcano’s dark hulk rose above the compound walls, a fresh ball of ash already ballooning out. It had turned hot far earlier in the year than it ever did in Tokyo. It was going to be a scorching summer.

Yuko gave a shout and charged, whirling the blade so fast Taka could hardly see it. As it sliced through the air, she made a feint, swung round and dropped to one knee, her staff pointing straight at Taka’s throat. Had they been using real blades, it would have been the death blow.

Taka bowed in submission. She was panting hard and her arms and wrists and shoulders felt like lead. Yuko hadn’t even broken sweat.

‘Let’s practise with real blades.’ She handed Taka one of the halberds which were resting on a stand. It was a beautiful weapon with an elegant lacquered shaft, as long as the wooden practice staffs but heavier by far and much more difficult to handle. Holding it with care, Taka slid off the sheath. The curved blade had an edge sharp enough to cut a man in half and a channel along the blunt side to drain away the blood and there was a spade-shaped butt at the other end which was almost as lethal. Among samurai the halberd was the women’s weapon, lighter than a sword and much longer. A skilled fighter could keep a man at bay and slice open his shins or wrists, where he least expected attack, before he could get anywhere near her with his sword.

‘Watch. This is the returning wave attack,’ said Yuko, lifting out another halberd.

She took her stance, legs apart and knees bent. With her implacable glare and the white headband wrapped around her glossy hair, she looked like a warrior woman in one of the old sagas. She let out a war cry so loud it made Taka jump and leapt forward, then drew back and in the same breath swept the blade upwards, slicing open the chest of her imaginary foe. She twirled on her toes, whirled the shaft and slammed the butt towards the
enemy’s
face, jabbing his eyes, scything his legs and aiming a slashing blow at his shins.

She swung the heavy weapon as easily as if it were a dainty fan. Taka watched in awe. She couldn’t imagine ever being able to wield it with such ease and confidence. She wished she’d learned to fight when she was a child, but only samurai women were trained to fight. She’d grown up in the geisha district, then, in Tokyo, she’d lived the life of a modern young woman, worn a fashionable gown and shoes, driven in a carriage along streets of brick houses and taken not the slightest interest in the warrior arts.

It had been more than two months since Taka’s father had marched out of the city at the head of his army, more than two long months since she’d watched the last figures dwindle into ant-like specks until they were swallowed up in the vast white expanses of the hillside.

The city had become a husk from which all life had fled. As she’d made her way home along the broad avenues of the samurai district, between the shops and warehouses of the merchants’ section of town and into the narrow streets of the geisha quarter, her father’s last words to her had echoed in her mind. ‘You’re a Kitaoka too,’ he had told her in his deep voice. ‘Never forget that.’ She could still see him on his horse, in his uniform, with his broad shoulders, gleaming eyes and thick black eyebrows.

It was so obvious it should hardly have needed saying, yet she’d never thought about it before. She was not just a geisha’s daughter. She was a samurai’s daughter, the daughter of the greatest samurai of all. But what did that mean? What was she supposed to do? She’d have to work it out.

As the dreary days went by, her mother, Aunt Kiharu and Okatsu tried to keep up the pretence that nothing had changed. They dusted, polished, sewed, chatted, cooked and visited the few geishas who had not left town with the army. Everyone started eating less to save supplies for their men. The townsfolk filled
storehouses
with barrels of shochu, the fiery local liquor, and huge sacks of rice, preserved vegetables and millet, to be sent on packhorses through the mountains when messengers arrived requesting supplies. They kept nothing for themselves but sweet potatoes.

Whenever they asked what was happening, the messengers told them, ‘We’re winning! We’re winning!’ At first they were overjoyed but after a while they began to wish they had a few more hard facts.

To begin with there was plenty of news. The tramp through the snow around the bay and up into the forests and mountains had been tough but the men had made it and been greeted like conquering heroes. For the first few days in every town people had lined the streets, cheering and drumming and strumming shamisens. It had taken seven days of hard marching to reach the great city of Kumamoto. Along the way the rearguard had met up with the other battalions that had left earlier, and the whole great army advanced together on Kumamoto’s formidable castle.

General Kitaoka had written to the general in command of the castle requesting free passage. The soldiers there were Kyushu men and their general was a personal friend of General Kitaoka, so they would most likely welcome them and join them on their long march to Tokyo. Even if they chose to side with the government, most were mere peasant conscripts, raw recruits who wouldn’t have a chance against the well-trained battle-hardened Satsuma.

But strangely – or so it seemed to the women waiting anxiously at home – the general did not grant free passage and General Kitaoka and his massive army settled in to besiege the castle. It was obvious the garrison there couldn’t hold out for long. Then news began to dry up. There were rumours that the Satsuma had taken the castle and were on their way again, but then the following day there’d be another rumour that no, they were still outside the castle. Soon all the messengers would do was grunt, ‘Don’t worry! We’re winning!’

One worrying thing had happened right at home in Kagoshima. Some twenty days after General Kitaoka and his men left, three sinister grey warships had appeared in the harbour. With all the samurai gone, the city was defenceless. For a few days black-uniformed government soldiers patrolled the streets then, equally suddenly, they left. The townsfolk gathered at the waterside to watch them steam away. Then news had spread that they had arrested the governor of the city, Governor Oyama, General Kitaoka’s loyal ally who had refused to abolish samurai stipends, and taken him with them. They had also emptied the arsenals, taken all the powder and arms and spiked the guns.

There was nothing left to do but pray.

Every day Taka and her mother, Aunt Kiharu and Okatsu burnt incense at the family shrine for Taka’s father and Eijiro, camped out in front of the great castle. And every day Taka silently added a prayer for Nobu, wherever he might be, that he might be safe too.

She seldom thought of Kuninosuké. She’d always known he could never take Nobu’s place in her heart. Too much bound them together. Kuninosuké was a good man, she knew that, but with him it had been no more than a hug, a warm goodbye to a soldier going to the front. And then the next day she’d given him her amulet. Now she almost wished she hadn’t. It was the only thing she’d had to remind her of Nobu and now she had nothing.