The Samurai's Daughter (44 page)

He frowned and gripped his rifle.

Her halberd was propped against the wall in the inner room.
She
jumped down the last steps and tried to slip past him but he grabbed her sleeve, pinioned her arms and clamped his hand over her mouth. She struggled, aware of the warmth of his body, his hard muscles holding her, feeling her resistance ebb away.

‘Let me deal with them,’ he hissed.

He pushed her up the stairs, putting his finger to his lips, and she backed into the shadows of the upper room, stumbling over the clothing and books and papers strewn across the floor, and crouched behind the open trunk, dagger in hand.

The ancient door rattled in its grooves and light flooded the lower floor as Nobu stepped outside.

‘Yoshida, 7th division,’ he barked. ‘On house-to-house search.’ His voice was sharp and fierce and he spoke in a rough Edo accent. Taka listened, her heart pounding. There was a note of authority she’d never heard before. She hardly knew him any more and it made her wonder if she ever had. An unfamiliar sensation, a knot of excitement, stirred in her belly, hearing him transformed into this stern warrior.

Shadows moved and boots crunched. ‘Sorry, sir. Didn’t know you were here.’ It was the voice of a young lad, barely old enough to be a man.

‘Bloody lieutenants, running around like ronin, making up their own rules,’ drawled an older voice. ‘Found a woman, have you? We all know what goes on round here.’

‘He’s keeping her well hidden!’ From the laughter Taka guessed there must be five or six of them. She held her breath.

‘Wish I was, my friend.’ Nobu’s commanding tone brooked no contradiction. ‘Private mission, General Nakamura’s orders. Checked half the houses on this street. Found a few old ladies but apart from that the place is a graveyard.’

‘General Nakamura, huh?’ She could almost see the men scraping and bowing.

‘Confidential. Found anything yourselves?’

‘Beggars, old women. Not a rebel in sight.’ There were a few
more
pleasantries, then Taka heaved a sigh of relief as the older man said, ‘We’ll leave you to it.’

Feet shuffled, heels clicked and there was a rustle of starch as the men saluted. The footsteps faded away and Nobu shut the door and slid the bolt into place.

A moment later he was at the top of the stairs. ‘That’s given us a bit more time.’

His face was lit by the late afternoon sun, filtering through the screens across the balcony. It was so open and guileless, she felt ashamed for ever having doubted him. She remembered the skinny boy who’d burst into their lives at the Black Peony, the mysterious youth she’d taught to read and who had shown her a new way of looking at the world, the young man she’d waited for and despaired of ever seeing or hearing from again. And now he was here, in this room smelling of mildewed tatami, with its faded walls and open trunk.

There was dark fuzz on his chin and cheeks and he was sunburnt and leaner, but that only made him handsomer. He’d taken his cap off and his hair was cut short. His presence filled the room. She took a deep breath, clenched her fists and stared fiercely at the tatami, at his thick foreign socks and her bare feet. But despite her resolve, despite everything, she couldn’t help herself. She raised her eyes to his.

‘I missed you so much.’ Tears welled up again. She stretched out her hand and suddenly, hardly knowing how she got there, she was in his arms. She closed her eyes and buried her face in his chest and clung to him as if she was drowning, smelling his familiar scent mingled with the starch of his uniform, feeling the beating of his heart, his slim young body against hers.

He bent his head and pressed his face to her hair. ‘I found you, my weaver princess,’ he murmured.

It felt right and safe to be with him, nestled like a little bird. She wanted more than anything to stay with him for ever, but she knew she couldn’t. It would be the purest treachery. It went against everything that mattered – especially now, with the army,
his
army, occupying their city. He’d come back to her after all this time, yet she had to send him away.

‘I wanted you so much, I waited so long, but I can’t be with you,’ she groaned. ‘I can’t … I can’t betray my father.’ She felt as if the words were being forced out of her against her will. She tried to push him away but he gripped her hand. She knew the feel of his palm, cool against hers. The last time they’d been together had been in her garden in Tokyo. Then she had been the mistress, he the servant; she had been rich, he poor. But now he held the power. He could do anything he wanted. She shuddered, realizing her own helplessness.

‘This is all the time we have,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Only this one day.’

She raised her face and before she knew what was happening he put his lips to hers, not a boy’s timid kiss but the firm kiss of a man, claiming what was his.

She tried to turn her head away but then didn’t want to resist any longer. She was filled with fury at the cruelty of fate. Just this one time she wanted to forget her scruples, taste the happiness she’d dreamed of and which she would have to toss away all too soon. It was the first time and it would also be the last.

She dropped to her knees, feeling the touch of his lips bringing her senses to life. Then everything disappeared – the war, the house, her family, all her fears and duties and regrets – and there were only the two of them in that small dusty room with the sun glimmering through the screens and flies buzzing.

He lifted her hair and brushed his fingers across her neck. His touch sent a shiver through her and she gasped for breath. She reached up and stroked his neck, his hair, the stubble on his chin, trying to imprint the feel of him on her fingers so she would never forget it. The familiar scent of him, dense and dark, drew her back to happier childhood days.

He fumbled under her kimono collar and felt for the soft skin of her shoulder, then drew back and looked at her as if asking permission, his dark eyes glowing.

‘You,’ he said as he kissed her throat.

She let her head fall back. Hesitantly he eased open the collar of her kimono and she felt the touch of his lips and tongue on the soft flesh between her breasts. Somehow her hair had come loose. She sank back on the tatami, fumbling at the cord of her obi. The stiff brocade loosened and her kimono fell open.

Somewhere in the distance there was a shout. It seemed to bring her to her senses. This was madness. She had to remember her duty, remember what was right. Gasping, she scrambled to her knees and pushed him away.

He drew back uncertainly but he was holding her hand still, so tightly she couldn’t escape. ‘This little hand, I pictured it so often. This soft skin, your hair.’ He gazed at her almost timidly. ‘We’re not enemies, you and I.’

‘How can you say that? You, in your uniform. And me, I’m my father’s daughter. Nothing can change that.’

The heat of the afternoon closed in around them. Flies buzzed, a cockroach scuttled along the skirting board, and a couple of cats yowled and chased each other along the alleyway outside. A flowerpot crashed over. Smells wafted in, old perfume mingled with dust and sewage.

Taka pulled her clothes together, her cheeks hot, and twisted her hair into a knot and knelt primly, facing him. She would be strong, she could face anything, she told herself. Despair washed over her like a wave, engulfing her. She swallowed hard, her lips trembling. Samurai don’t cry, she told herself fiercely, nor do geishas. She put her hands over her face. She would not cry now – and later, when the time came to part, she would not cry then either. Her shoulders bowed in pain. She tried to speak but couldn’t. She took a shuddering breath, then another.

‘I thought I’d never see you again.’ The words tumbled out. ‘I can’t bear it that you’re leaving, that we have to be apart and my city is to be burnt and there’ll be war.’

She felt Nobu’s arms around her.

‘You have to be brave. You are brave.’ His face was very
serious
. ‘Our fates are out of our hands. We just have to do the best we can.’ In the time they’d been apart he’d grown up. She gazed into his eyes, looking for hope, but she couldn’t see any.

‘I wish we could run away together, somewhere where no one could find us,’ she groaned.

‘We’d have to spend the rest of our lives in hiding.’ His voice was gentle. ‘The war will be over soon, and then we won’t be enemies any more. But before that there’ll be fighting.’

‘In this city?’

He nodded and held her tight. Then he said, ‘But why is it so empty? Where has everyone gone?’

‘They were afraid when they saw the warships. They said the army would kill everyone and burn the town down.’

‘Like the Satsuma did to the people of Aizu – my people.’ A shadow crossed his face and his eyes became dark hollows. She shuddered, wondering what terrible things he had seen that she would never be able even to imagine and hoped she would never have to see for herself. He looked at her sternly. ‘But His Imperial Majesty’s Army is different. We have to build fortifications to defend this place, we can’t let your father take it back, but we’ll behave with honour. We pride ourselves on that.’

‘You told me you feared for my safety.’

‘There are bad men too. It’s a big army and they conscript men who are not samurai, whom we know nothing about.’

She bowed her head. She had to trust him, to do whatever he wanted. ‘Everyone left, everyone except me. Some went to Sakurajima, some to the mountains.’

‘To Sakurajima? You mean the volcano?’

‘They grow oranges on the lower slopes, farmers live there. But my mother’s so stubborn. She wanted to find Madame Kitaoka.’

‘So that’s why …’

She nodded. ‘I refused to go. She went with Okatsu and her friend, Kiharu. They were going to find the Kitaoka house.’

‘Let me take you there now, to your mother.’

She laughed ruefully. ‘I was going to join the samurai women,
we
were going to form a halberd corps and fight, but when I went to find them they’d gone.’

‘I searched the samurai district for you. There are no samurai women there. You’re the only one that stayed. You’re the bravest of all.’

‘Or the most foolish.’ At least she would let him take her to her mother. It would give them another precious hour or two together. What else could she do? She had nowhere else to go.

34

READYING HIS RIFLE
, Nobu glanced up and down the narrow street. Faces drew back into the shadows behind the slatted bamboo blinds that shaded the upper floors. He wondered how many hidden watchers had noticed a soldier go into the house with no lantern outside, and a traditionally robed man come out.

He’d put on one of Eijiro’s gowns over his uniform, trying to make himself look unobtrusive. Luckily there was nothing strange these days about a man wearing boots under a belted robe and carrying a rifle.

A breeze rattled the blinds, sending them banging and flapping, and a bugle sounded in the distance. Nobu heard a faint rumble of marching boots, horses and cannons and shook his head in bewilderment, wondering what magic had him in its spell. He should get away from here before anyone suspected he’d been up to anything illicit, not risk everything on some crazy mission.

But then Taka stepped into the sunshine and his heart gave a lurch. He remembered her in her western dresses with their billowing skirts that rustled as she walked. How much more beautiful she was now in a plain kimono with the hem tucked up, baring her slender white calves, and a conical hat over her glossy black hair. It was hard to take his eyes off her.

She’d left behind even the few precious things she’d brought from Tokyo. All she had was her halberd and a wrapping cloth bulging with oranges and sweet potatoes. No one would ever
have
guessed that she’d once lived in a household full of servants and ridden about in a horse-drawn carriage.

She drew herself up and gripped her halberd, frowning. ‘Go back to your regiment. I can find my way by myself. There’s no need to put yourself at risk.’

He knew she was proud but he was equally stubborn. ‘I searched for you all this time. I’m not letting you go alone. I’ll see you to the Kitaoka house. We’d better get a move on.’

Taka hesitated, then bowed in acquiescence and set off. Nobu followed, covering his cropped army haircut with a travelling hat deep enough to hide his face and hitching up his robe so it didn’t tangle round his legs. Anyone watching would see his spats and the red stripe down his trouser leg but he hoped they would think it was the latest fashion.

It felt strange to be walking behind her; usually women kept a modest three paces behind a man. But perhaps it was for the best. People would think she was a samurai lady on her travels and he was her servant and bodyguard.

He watched her as she pattered ahead with little steps, her head gracefully bowed. He could hardly believe he’d found her. She was everything she’d ever been and, most extraordinary of all, she cared for him. He was in danger of forgetting the peril they were in, the need for speed and the chance he was taking just by being there. None of it mattered while he could walk behind her, see her smile and her dark long-lidded eyes, hear her soft, grave voice. He knew it was madness and that he would have to pull himself together soon enough but he wanted to treasure every moment, knowing how soon they must part.

At the small red-painted Inari shrine at the centre of the geisha district, she turned inland, away from the sparkling water of the bay and the great volcano spewing ash.

They were walking through the kind of neighbourhood where outcastes lived, people who did the jobs that members of the higher classes were prohibited from doing for fear of ritual pollution, like carrying out executions or working with dead
animals
. They were people so lowly they were outside the caste system altogether, considered to be untouchable and less than human.

There was a meaty, rancid smell, a sign that leatherwork and tanning and butchery took place here. Salt kilns like monstrous beehives rose out of the barren salt-covered fields, but instead of roaring flames and billowing smoke they were grey and silent. Seagulls wheeled and screamed. Nobu sensed people lurking behind closed doors, but there was nobody to be seen. They cut through a graveyard, Nobu walking cautiously, feeling horribly exposed among the tiers of black granite blocks. There was no incense smoke and no fresh flowers, no people clapping their hands and praying and cleaning the stones, only the dead.