The Samurai's Daughter (40 page)

But as the days and months passed she was more and more sure she’d never see either of them again.

So many things made her think of Nobu. One day after the snow had melted she went to the local temple to see the plum blossom. Looking at the tiny aubergine-coloured petals sprouting on the gnarled branches, smelling the delicate scent, she remembered the time in early spring when they’d walked in the woods in the grounds of the Tokyo mansion together. He’d been a lanky sixteen-year-old, she a gawky fourteen. She was the mistress, he the servant, but out in the woods he was the one who knew his way around.

He was scuffing through the grass when his face had lit up. He’d bent down and picked a strange little weed, a pale beige shoot no bigger than a newborn baby’s finger, and held it out to her as if it was the most precious thing he could possibly give her.

‘A horsetail shoot,’ he’d said, bursting with excitement. ‘I never knew they grew here.’ His black eyes were shining. ‘We eat them up north.’ He’d laughed as she sniffed the flimsy stem and screwed up her face. It had a peculiar mossy smell. ‘We eat everything up there – bee grubs, locusts, bear meat, the lot.’

She’d held her breath, hoping he’d tell her more. He hardly ever spoke about himself. But then his face had clouded as if he was angry at himself for saying too much and she’d sensed some painful memory that made him hunch his shoulders and clasp and unclasp his fingers and scuff his feet and kick at the stones. Anyone would have thought he was just a surly servant but she knew better.

As they went into the house he’d looked around with a haunted expression as if he was still in the grip of memory. Then he’d said, ‘There’s not even a halberd here.’ He was gazing at the lintel. There were two large hooks hidden in the shadows there, covered in dust and cobwebs.

‘Halberd hooks,’ he said. ‘There were always halberds at home. All the women knew how to use a halberd. You’ve got to be ready for anything, that’s what my father used to say.’ He’d looked at her as if he’d woken from a dream and his face softened. ‘But it’s different for you. You have such a rich, peaceful life. You’ll never have to defend this place. You don’t need to be ready for anything.’

Things had changed since then. Now Taka too needed to be ready for anything. She needed to be a warrior.

There and then she’d set off for the samurai section of town. She’d ended up in front of the formidable tiled gate of one of the mansions along the broad avenue facing the castle. She was plucking up courage to speak to the gatekeeper when a young woman came out.

Yuko and her elder sister Masako were the daughters of one of the senior commanders of the Satsuma army, a close colleague of Taka’s father. Their brothers, uncles and cousins had all gone to war and only the women and children were left. Like Taka and her mother, they were fiercely proud of their men and also desperately anxious for them though they kept a brave face.

The samurai women reminded Taka of the girls she’d known at school – wide-eyed and innocent yet also brave and fierce. She admired their spirit and felt strangely at home among them. Perhaps because it was wartime, perhaps because she was General Kitaoka’s daughter, they welcomed her. It didn’t seem to worry them that her mother was a geisha. They were happy to have any and all additions to their ranks. They needed every hand they could get. Everyone knew that they had to be on guard, ready to defend their town.

They were more than happy to teach her the halberd. She ended every day with bruises and aching muscles and soon realized it would be a long hard struggle. They teased her for being a soft city girl, but she was determined to prove she could fight every bit as well as they did. And little by little she started to get the hang of it, as if she was transforming herself into a warrior woman such as Nobu, such as her father, might approve of.

31

THE MORNING SUN
warmed Taka’s bare arms as she balanced her practice stick, feeling the weight of it in her hands. She heard the rushing of the stream as it flowed through the grounds and splashed into a pond of fat orange carp.

She’d been learning the halberd for a month now, joining the samurai women every day to practise morning to night. A month was not long; they’d all been training since they were children. But when her arms ached so badly she could hardly bear it, when she felt dispirited and thought she’d never improve, she’d think of her father and Nobu. She had to succeed, for them. And little by little she began to feel that the heavy halberd was part of her, an extension of her body.

Imagining a thickset samurai warrior charging towards her, she closed her eyes and reminded herself of the four targets – head, shin, neck and forearm. She took a breath, braced herself and prepared to lunge.

Suddenly there was a shout from somewhere outside the estate. It rang out above the crack of wood on wood, the women’s yells and the caws of the crows.

The sound broke Taka’s concentration. She hesitated and glanced at Yuko. But Yuko no longer had her eyes fixed on her.

There was another shout, then another. Footsteps pounded through the quiet streets. The women lowered their halberds, eyes and mouths wide. It was news of some sort – but what?

Then a white-haired servant came rushing through the trees and hobbled across the grass, stumbling and nearly tripping.

‘Ships, a whole fleet of them,’ he wheezed. ‘Coming this way.’

The colour drained from the women’s faces. The harbour was full of ships. Merchants transported goods to and from the city in ships and barges and people shuttled around the bay in flotillas of boats. The whole traffic of the city was maritime. But a fleet … That could only mean one thing: warships. That was a very different matter.

There was a long silence. Then someone uttered the dread syllables: ‘The army.’ The women nodded, whispering in tones of horror, ‘The army, the army’s coming.’

‘It can’t be,’ Taka said. ‘Why would they send the army here?’

A moment later a bell clanged, then another, confirming the servant’s words, first fire bells, high and tinny, then temple bells, a deep sonorous boom, until every bell in the city was ringing in a wild clamour that sounded inside Taka’s head, setting her heart pounding with fear. Crows rose with a great flapping of wings and seagulls swooped low, their shrieks drowned in the din.

Yuko’s sister Masako, tall and fearless in pleated hakama trousers, like a man, glared down at the quailing servant. ‘How many?’ she demanded above the noise of the bells. ‘How far away? Who saw them?’

‘A … a messenger came,’ the old man stuttered. ‘Lookouts sent … messages. Four ships, maybe five, on the other side of the peninsula, coming towards the headland. Maybe half a day away …’

Taka’s stomach knotted in panic. With the menfolk gone, there was no one here to defend them. Hemmed in on a narrow strip of land with the mountains on one side and the sea on the other, the city was hopelessly vulnerable. Even the castle had no defences, just a wall and a moat and a bridge which led straight into the grounds. The house she was in now, with its gardens and stream and carp pond, was just a few steps from the harbour.

Last time the army had come they’d looked the place over and
gone
away again. But this time no one could doubt their intentions. This time they’d come to make the city theirs.

‘But why?’ she croaked, her voice a tremulous squeak. ‘There’s no one here, just women and children and townsfolk. We’re no threat.’

Masako drew herself up. ‘What do you expect of those crooks in the government? They wait till our men are gone then send the army to attack us instead. They’re cowards, that’s what they are, cowards.’

Taka stared grimly at the ground. Masako was far too clever to really believe her own words. She was just trying to boost their spirits. It was far more likely that the army hugely outnumbered their brave Satsuma warriors. There were probably enough of them to have units in the mountains fighting her father, others on their way here and still others swarming across the island. Or perhaps their men had been defeated. Perhaps that was why the government had sent the army to take the city. She could see the same fear on every face, but nobody dared voice the thought; they were all afraid that if they put it into words it would make it real.

Yuko’s large eyes blazed. She for one didn’t need her spirits boosted. ‘We’ll form a women’s corps. There’s enough of us left. We’ll fight to the death.’

‘All we have is halberds. We can’t fight soldiers with guns, it would be suicide,’ snorted Fuchi, a big-boned woman from a neighbouring estate who swung her halberd rhythmically as if scything a rice field. Her husband and brothers too had left for the mountains, to fight alongside Taka’s father.

‘We must gather our belongings and run,’ gasped a thin-cheeked younger woman, her voice shaking.

The bells clanged loud and insistent, making it hard to think. The servants came running out to summon the women into the house. Taka took a breath. ‘You call yourselves samurai and you refuse to risk your lives? How can you talk of running away?’

The women stared back, anger in their eyes. She could see that
they
blamed her father, they thought he’d let them down. Perhaps he’d assumed the army would never attack Kagoshima, or never even considered it. It was too late now. As his daughter, the least she could do was stay and fight for this stricken city.

‘You’re a child,’ snapped the younger woman, her lips pale. ‘You don’t know what war is. Armies do dreadful things. It would be madness to be here when they arrive.’

‘We have a boat,’ said Fuchi. ‘We’ll take you all with us, as many as can fit in.’

Masako gripped her halberd. ‘Never. I’m staying.’

‘Me too,’ said Yuko.

The women were hurrying towards the house in a rustle of silk. Taka was about to pass her halberd to a servant but Yuko thrust it back into her hands. ‘Take it. We have plenty.’

Taka picked up her skirts and raced across the grounds and out through the gates. She needed to get to her mother. She’d soon left the samurai mansions with their stone and stucco walls and was back in the dust and noise and stench of the townsmen’s district. The narrow streets were jammed with people laden with bundles and clothes, so many she could hardly see where she was going. Once she missed her street and realized to her panic that she was running in the wrong direction. Boys elbowed through, yelling at the top of their voices, bent nearly double under rickshaws piled high with bedding, chests, cushions and tables, even doors and tatami mats. Above the hubbub the bells clanged wildly.

Taka was trying to see a way through the crowd, keeping her halberd upright, when a florid townswoman with a bouffant knot of hair gripped her elbow. ‘Hurry! Hurry!’ she shrilled. ‘The army’s coming. They’re going to rape us and kill us and burn the city down.’

It was Matsu, the wife of a wealthy merchant. She was wearing five or six silk kimonos, one on top of the other, and panting heavily. Gold linings glinted at cuff and collar. Her powdered cheeks were blotched with sweat.

‘Omatsu-
sama
, what’s happening? Where’s everyone going?’

‘The harbour. Someone saw a boat with the lord’s family crest on it, heading for Sakurajima. Even he’s fleeing. Where’s your mother? Quick! Run and fetch her.’

Matsu’s eyes fell on the halberd with its lacquered shaft and her mouth dropped open, revealing her blackened teeth. The crowd swept her on and she turned, gesturing frantically towards the harbour. The surly bathhouse-keeper, the ferret-faced barber and the tatami-maker’s bevy of hefty apprentices heaved into view, foreheads gleaming as they beat a path through the mob. Their eyes popped as they saw the halberd and they shouted to Taka to hurry up and leave.

The geisha quarter was ominously quiet. The shamisens had fallen silent and the leaves on the willow trees drooped forlornly. A couple of women staggered along under bundles so huge they could barely see over the top. They were heading in the opposite direction, away from the harbour.

‘We’ve got relatives in the mountains,’ they shouted. ‘Come with us.’

Taka wanted to ask them about her friend Toshimi but they’d hurried on before she had a chance.

She was panting by the time she reached the only house in the district that did not have a lantern outside to show whether it was open for business. As she slid open the door she heard her mother’s tones, ominously low. ‘I don’t care what you say. I know my duty.’

‘But you don’t even know where she lives.’ There was an edge of hysteria to Aunt Kiharu’s voice.

Taka caught her breath. She had a dreadful suspicion she knew what Fujino was talking about, though it was hard to believe even she could be so misguided.

She rushed inside. The shutters were pushed back and pale light filtered through the yellowing shoji screens. Aunt Kiharu was tying a wrapping cloth, her mouth pursed and her thin fingers
shaking
, while Okatsu sorted kimonos in their paper wrappers, her pretty round face composed in an expression of silent resignation. She glanced up at Taka, swivelled her eyes towards the two older women and raised an eyebrow a fraction.

Fujino was on her knees. Even in a kimono rather than a bulky western gown she filled the room. She smoothed her skirts. ‘Thank the gods you’re here, my girl. We have to leave immediately.’

Taka propped the halberd against the wall. Her father’s words echoed through her mind. ‘Take care of your mother,’ he’d said. She remembered how brave and stubborn her mother had been in Kyoto, blocking the door with her enormous bulk when enemy troops came looking for him. She was not just fearless, she was downright reckless.

Fujino gestured towards the halberd. ‘You’re not planning to defend yourself with that, are you? You and those samurai friends of yours. We’ve been wondering where on earth you were.’

‘I’m sorry, Mother. There’s no time to pack. Let’s just take what we can and go. We may have to wait for a boat.’

‘We’re not taking any boat,’ said Fujino. ‘We’re going to the Kitaoka house.’

‘The Kitaoka house?’ Taka stared at her in exasperation. She felt as if she was the grown-up one and Fujino the child. ‘The enemy are nearly here, Mother. We have to leave. Everyone’s heading for the harbour or the mountains.’