He frequently joined Eijiro for a quick pipe. Like Eijiro, he was not afraid to express doubts about what they were doing – in private, of course, where no one could overhear them. It was a long time since Eijiro had had a real friend and very soon he felt as if he’d known him since he was a boy.
One morning, about a month after Nakahara had arrived, the wake-up call sounded as usual, well before dawn. Eijiro had been dreaming of the pleasure quarters; he could almost smell Tsukasa’s perfume. It was a shock to find himself back in the freezing hall, surrounded by sweaty male bodies. As the men climbed over each other in the darkness, groping for their over-kimonos and hakama, he groaned and pulled his quilts over his head. He was the last to roll up his futons and stumble out to the practice ground.
Outside, the drill sergeants were already lined up, standing smartly to attention, as the first streaks of light coloured the sky. The hillside rose steeply behind, a tangle of bamboos and skeletal trees etched in frost, eerily silent. After roll call, men picked up rifles or heavy packs and headed off around Mount Shiroyama at a good clip; some sprinted down to the ocean for a bracing winter dip. Eijiro volunteered for kitchen duty. The others probably took a dim view of such skiving but he was the son of Kitaoka, he told himself. He could do as he pleased.
After breakfast there were classes in the Confucian classics and foreign languages, English, French or German. In the breaks most of the men were out in the practice ground, sparring, and in the afternoon they headed to the firing range for musket training. The infantry had Snider-Enfield rifles, carbines and pistols and there were two artillery units equipped with field guns and mortars. At the end of the day local Kagoshima lads arrived from the city to join the students for more study and military drill and in the evening there was to be a debate. War hung over the city like a dark cloud and everyone wanted to be sure that when it came they’d be good and ready.
Late in the afternoon, Eijiro and Nakahara wrapped themselves in padded haori jackets and sneaked off into the woods behind the school. They’d found a place in the lea of the hill, protected from the fierce winds. At least the cold kept the vipers at bay. They settled themselves side by side against an old tree trunk, brought out flagons of shochu, the fiery local brew, and lit their pipes. Sharp yells and the smack of wood on wood echoed from the practice ground on the other side of the stables.
Eijiro drew in a lungful of smoke, savouring the fragrance, then let it out bit by bit, watching it dissolve into the mountain air. This was his favourite time of the day, smelling earth and moss and mouldering leaves, feeling the twigs crack under his feet and hearing startled birds squawk and flap away through the trees.
Nakahara was staring into the distance, twirling his pipe in his fingers. He put his flagon to his lips, took a swig and shook his head, frowning. ‘Doesn’t look good,’ he grunted. Eijiro took another puff on his pipe. He glanced at him and raised an eyebrow. Usually they exchanged ribald stories about geishas and courtesans they’d known, before getting down to the serious stuff – what they really thought about what was going on. But today Nakahara seemed to want to plunge straight in. ‘There’ve been manoeuvres in Tokyo, in Hibiya Parade Ground – a big show of strength. To reassure the populace, they say.’
That was easy to counter. ‘Nothing to worry about. They’re commoners, an army of commoners!’ Eijiro spat out the word. ‘My granddad used to test his swords on their necks; that’s all they’re good for. Do you think commoners know how to swing a sword or fire a rifle straight? They don’t even want to be in the army in the first place. Blood tax, they call it. There’s some newfangled word for it – “conscription”. They’re “conscripts”. I’ve never heard anything like it! Forbidding samurai to wear swords and handing out weapons to commoners! The world’s turned upside down. If those commoners think there’s a rat’s chance of getting hurt, they’ll run. It’d be a massacre to send them down here against our boys.’
Nakahara tapped out his pipe and took a plug of tobacco from his tobacco box. ‘Yeah, but look at the numbers. There are six garrisons, you know: Tokyo, Sendai, Nagoya, Osaka, Hiroshima, Kumamoto.’ He counted them off on his fingers. ‘Six garrisons, say thirty thousand in each. That makes nearly two hundred thousand men. That’s a lot more than us. And Kumamoto’s – what? – a couple of days’ march away at most. They could have troops down here in no time to sort us out.’
‘Cowards and weaklings, the lot of them. Look at it this way. Our boys are samurai born and bred, the toughest men in the country. Most have seen action and they’ve all taken an oath to die for our cause and our leader. One of ours is worth ten of theirs!’
There was a pause. Deep in the woods an owl hooted, long and low. The last slanting rays of sunlight penetrated the trees.
‘They’ve got arsenals too – four right here in Kagoshima, for a start,’ said Nakahara, his voice low and grim. ‘Our weapons are outmoded and we’ve not got much ammo, don’t forget that. They’ll slaughter us, I tell you. Things have changed. We should come to terms with the Tokyo government and hope they go easy on us. They’re not as bad as you think. They’ll make concessions. You’re Kitaoka’s son. The men respect you, Eiji; they’ll listen to you. Hammer some sense into them. Tell them not to be foolhardy. There’s no point going to our deaths for nothing.’
Eijiro couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The blood thundered in his ears and he clenched his fists so hard he nearly snapped the stem of his pipe. Nakahara’s cynicism had been amusing to begin with, but this was going too far. He was beginning to sound like a coward – or a traitor.
‘Not as bad as you think?’ he spluttered, exploding with rage. ‘They sent hired killers after me. They had my best friend killed. And you call yourself a samurai? Have you lost your nerve or what? Whose side are you on, anyway?’
Nakahara took another mouthful of shochu. ‘I’m a Kagoshima man, same as you. You’ve got to be realistic.’
Eijiro took a breath. Nakahara really was a Kagoshima man whereas, as Eijiro knew very well, he wasn’t. He didn’t fit in at all. He was more at home in the fleshpots of Tokyo. But he was his father’s son and that was that. He scowled.
‘Anyway, we never even see the great leader, that famous father of yours,’ said Nakahara. So he was back to Eijiro’s father again. He was always asking about his father. ‘He ought to be around more to fire us up. I haven’t set eyes on him once myself. I doubt if he even exists.’
In truth, Eijiro hadn’t seen his father himself for more than three years. He’d been out of town in his country place in Hinatayama when Eijiro arrived and then had gone on a hunting expedition. Eijiro wasn’t even sure he’d be glad to see this dissolute bastard son of his.
‘It’s not your business what my father does.’
‘So where is he, Eiji? When’s he coming back?’
Eijiro sighed. It was good that the fellow recognized his superior status. Nakahara talked too much and he asked too many questions. But he was a policeman and policemen were always poking their noses into other people’s affairs; that was their job. And for all his outrageous opinions, he was his friend. This time at least he’d go easy on him. ‘He’s hunting,’ he said. ‘You can meet him when he gets back. I’ll introduce you.’
He took a long last draw on his pipe. ‘Better get moving before someone notices we’ve gone. It’s nearly dark.’
Eijiro stood up, stretched and knocked out his pipe on a tree, sending sparks showering into the darkness. The moon was rising, a sliver of light in the black sky.
Bats flittered and a monkey shrieked. A branch snapped, then another – deer, probably; there couldn’t be any bears in this part of the country. But surely, Eijiro thought, there shouldn’t be any animals around at all at this time of year, even in the warm south. Then he noticed something glittering in the trees. Eyes. He started. There were people there, lurking. They’d crept up without him even noticing.
He jerked to attention, cursing. Then there was a rush and a trampling of
branches. Shadowy figures leapt from the darkness and charged across the frozen ground, brandishing sticks.
‘Over here,’ shouted a voice. ‘We got them.’
‘Don’t move!’
A heavy body landed on him and he crashed to the ground, his face smashing up against a pile of stones. He tasted blood and earth in his mouth. He twisted his head, struggling fiercely. A knee rammed into his back and his arms were wrenched behind him.
‘Bastard!’ A foot slammed into his side. He thanked the gods his attacker was wearing straw sandals. If it had been a hard leather boot it would have broken his ribs.
‘Traitors, bloody traitors!’ Another foot hit him.
Traitors? Gasping with shock, he realized that he recognized the voices. These were their own men, some from their school. Dazed, he tried to pull his thoughts together. He needed to work out what was going on and how he was going to get out of this – and quickly.
Footsteps crunched and lights flickered. More men had arrived.
‘Got a couple here, sir. Can’t see if it’s him or not.’
Rough hands dragged Eijiro to his knees. His shock was rapidly being replaced by fury.
‘Don’t you know who I am?’ he spluttered. There was a beam of light and a smell of tallow as a lantern swung in front of his face. He jerked his head away and blinked, dazzled. The men sucked their breath through their teeth.
‘Kitaoka-dono,’ said one, using the title of greatest respect, reserved for those of the highest rank. ‘Ah. Sorry, sorry.’
His captors relaxed their hold but continued to restrain him, firmly but gently, as if he was a valuable wild animal they’d captured.
‘How dare you treat me like this! Just for sneaking off for a smoke. You got nothing better to do than spy on your fellow students?’
No one was paying the slightest attention to him. Nakahara was a little way away, on his knees, men pinioning his arms. Shadows moved as lanterns swayed close to his face. Eyes glared accusingly in the yellow light.
‘It’s him, for sure.’
‘You wormed your way in, you bastard,’ shouted one of the men, leaning close to Nakahara and yelling in his ear. ‘You lied to us. You thought you could fool us.’
‘Confess, you bastard. Who are you working for? What are you up to?’
‘Yes, what are you up to?’
Then they were all shouting at once, their Kagoshima dialect so thick that Eijiro had to listen hard to make out what they were saying. He took a breath and shouted above the uproar. ‘What’s going on? Wait till my father hears about this! You’ll pay, I tell you. You’ll pay!’
There was a sudden silence. ‘That’s right,’ jeered a lone voice. ‘Just wait till your father hears!’
Eijiro struggled to free himself as the men laid into Nakahara, kicking and punching him and beating him with their sticks. ‘Confess, confess. What are you up to? Why are you so keen on Kitaoka-dono?’
Nakahara grimaced but made not a sound. Eijiro smiled to himself. At least his friend knew how a samurai ought to behave, unlike these bullies.
A scrawny fifteen-year-old whom Eijiro worked with in the kitchens drew his fist back, eyes narrowed and mouth twisted with venom, and punched Nakahara full in the ear. The blow knocked him sideways. The men pulled him back to his knees. Eijiro gasped as he caught a glimpse of his friend’s face in the lantern light. His nose and mouth were bloody and one of his teeth was missing. He spat out a mouthful of blood and shook himself, scowling defiantly. He straightened his back.
‘Find someone else to bully, I’ve done nothing wrong,’ he growled.
‘Tough guy, huh?’ A man was standing in the shadows, brawny arms folded. Eijiro recognized his broad shoulders and rugged face – Chief Inspector Makihara, the police chief. He turned cold. They were really in trouble, though he still couldn’t for the life of him work out what it was all about. ‘You’re coming with us, Nakahara,’ said the inspector. ‘You can tell us what you’re up to or we can make you talk. It’s up to you.’
‘He’s not done anything wrong.’ Eijiro had decided it was time to speak up. ‘He’s a loyal soldier. I can vouch for him.’
‘With respect, Kitaoka-dono, this man has been deceiving you. He’s a traitor. He’s a government agent. We have to find out exactly what he’s been up to.’
‘You’re making a mistake,’ muttered Nakahara, gritting his teeth as another foot hit him in the ribs. ‘I got nothing to hide.’
‘Is that so? What have you got to say, Taniguchi?’
A man stepped into the circle of light. Eijiro had seen him round town, a surly-looking fellow with the flattened nose and leathery skin of a countryman. Nakahara started when he saw him and his cheeks turned the colour of tallow but his face was fiercely impassive. You had to admire the man’s guts, Eijiro thought.
Taniguchi stared at the ground, then at the police inspector as the other men gathered round. His eyes shifted; he was trying to avoid Nakahara’s gaze. Then he looked straight at him.
‘That’s him, all right, sir,’ he grunted. ‘Told me everything, he did. Everything. “Come on, Taniguchi,” he says. “You’re a country samurai, same as me. You know these nose-in-the-air city samurai despise us rustic types. What’re you licking their arses for? Look around you. They got no equipment, no ammo. They don’t have a chance. It’s crazy to stand up against the government. It’s suicide, that’s what. Tell you what – do some good for yourself. Work for your country. What do you want to fight against the emperor for? Join me, help me persuade these idiots to give up. You’ll do well out of it.” “You’re kidding,” I says. “I’m no traitor.” “You can trust me. We’re old mates,” he says. “I got friends in high places. You’ll be well rewarded, I’ll see to that.” ’
Eijiro had a sick feeling in his stomach. ‘No equipment, no ammo.’ It was exactly what Nakahara had been saying to him. But something else bothered him even more. Why had Nakahara taken such an interest in his father? Why had he been so keen to meet him? What plan had he been cooking up?
‘I don’t know this man,’ Nakahara protested. For all his bravado there was an edge to his voice. ‘He’s a troublemaker. Why believe him and not me?’
He glanced at Eijiro, as if pleading with him to intercede. Suddenly Eijiro was overcome with such fury he hardly knew where he was.
‘Bastard!’ he yelled. ‘You made a fool of me.’
He jumped to his feet, shaking off the restraining hands, lunged towards Nakahara and hit him with all his might. Blood sprayed out and soaked his fist and arm as the man’s nose crumpled under the blow. He raised his hand to hit him again, then let it fall.
‘Do your job, Inspector.’ He could hear his voice cracking.
No one tried to stop him as he turned away, his face burning, and stumbled blindly towards the school buildings huddled at the foot of the hill. He clenched his fists and cursed aloud. He’d brought shame on himself but worse, much worse, he’d brought shame on his family and his father. He’d been tested and found wanting. The only thing left now was to cut open his own belly – or find some other way to redeem himself.
24
EIJIRO PUSHED HIS way through the woods. The last place he wanted to show his face was the school. But all too soon the branches thinned and he clambered down into the practice ground, rage and shame buzzing so loud in his ears he couldn’t think of anything else.
The ground was full of men, pressed together so close Eijiro could hardly make out the shadowy walls of the buildings around them. They were dressed like warriors preparing for battle, sleeves tied back, hakama hitched up and headbands knotted in place. Lantern light glittered off pistols, rifles, axes and crowbars; voices muttered, low and intense. As always, Eijiro stood a good head above the rest. He glanced around the faces, wondering if the gathering had anything to do with Nakahara and his treachery. At least it wasn’t the men on the hill. They were still up there with Nakahara. No one here knew of his disgrace – not yet.
A head poke
d out of the crowd and launched into an impassioned rant. Eijiro was still too full of his own humiliation to pay attention to what the man was saying or even notice whether he knew the voice. There were shouts of anger and yells of agreement, then someone bawled, ‘To Iso! To the factories, to the docks!’ Fists and rifles waved in the air as the men took up the chant: ‘The factories! The docks!’
They surged forward, hundreds of straw sandals crunching over the icy ground. Swept up in the crush, Eijiro stumbled along with them.
‘Here.’ Someone thrust a rifle into his hand and a pair of sharp eyes peered at him in the lantern light. It was Ito, a wiry young fellow with hair sticking up in tufts above his white headband. ‘Oh. It’s you, Kitaoka-sama. Got better things to do, I’m sure, than muck in with us rank and file.’
Eijiro felt the blood hot in his cheeks. He knew he had a reputation for keeping clear of the action but tonight he wanted to make sure everyone knew he was as committed as the rest of them.
‘I’m with you.’ He gripped the rifle as the men quenched the lanterns, marched out of the grounds and headed through the sleeping city. Feet crunched and breath rose in the cold air as they broke into a run and swept like a divine wind out of the samurai district and into one of the townsmen’s quarters, darting along narrow alleys, between houses and shuttered shops, past shrines and temples, thickets and trees. They pounded across a bridge and up and down a rocky hillside covered in a tangle of trees. Eijiro cursed as he stumbled on a stone, sending it clattering into the darkness. It was good to have nothing more to think about than keeping quiet.
At the seafront they broke into twos and threes and darted from wall to wall, moving like cats, keeping to the shadows. Water rippled, black and oily, and ships bobbed gently at anchor. The great volcano filled the sky, its plume of ash blotting out the stars.
The Samurai's Daughter Page 24