The Samurai's Daughter

by Lesley Downer

  Taka groaned. Her mother knew she was wrong but she just wouldn’t listen. ‘You don’t even know where her house is.’

  ‘Everyone knows your father, everyone loves him. Everyone will know the house. We just have to ask. We’re family. It’s right for us to join her.’

  ‘And if she’s left already?’

  ‘All the more reason to hurry,’ her mother said. ‘There’ll be a watchman to tell us where she’s gone. This is the last time I’m saying it, Taka. You can’t stay here on your own.’

  The two glared at each other. Taka’s mother lowered her eyes. There was a last clang and the bells stopped ringing as if even the bell-ringers had left their posts and fled. In the silence a bird chirruped and Taka heard the rush of the wind and the distant roar of the sea.

  Her mother was flushed and there were beads of sweat on her forehead. She was breathing heavily. She put her hand on the mats and heaved herself to her feet. ‘Very well, stay if you must. Okatsu will stay with you.’

  ‘Take Okatsu too. My father would want you to be properly attended.’

  ‘I can’t argue with you any longer, my girl. You’re even more stubborn than me.’

  Taka watched the three small figures set off along the road, tears filling her eyes. Everything had fallen apart and they were reduced to this, just three lone women walking away together.

  When they’d disappeared from view she hurried towards the harbour. A few gatekeepers and servants peeked nervously from the gates of some of the merchant houses. Most were closed up and sealed with the rain doors pulled across, turning them into fortresses. The massive whitewashed storehouses where the merchants kept their valuables were locked and bolted. Not a shop was open and the market stalls were deserted. Pieces of paper and scraps of cloth littered the ground and blew around in the gutters. It looked as if people had taken more than they could carry and had dropped things in their haste. Oranges and sweet potatoes rolled about. It was a city of ghosts, an empty husk, a shadow of the bustling place it had been just an hour before.

  There were people at the waterside still, anxiously waiting to see which would come first – a boat to take them away or the dreaded warships. They were poor, to judge by their clothes. Some had bundles, others carts loaded with furniture. The bay was full of boats, heading for the volcano or south towards the islands.

  Taka was watching the boats shuttling south when she saw a tiny puff of smoke where the dazzling sea met the paler blue of the sky. As she gazed, mesmerized, there was another puff, then another, as a sinister grey hull slid into view around the headland. She counted five ships still far in the distance, sails hoisted, growing larger by the moment. The crowds at the dock shouted in panic and piled into the last remaining boats, throwing in bundles and furniture until the boats looked ready to sink.

  As Taka fled back through the merchant district she heard shouts and crashes and pounding feet. She rounded a corner. Gangs of loinclothed youths were smashing doors and shutters, breaking into homes and storehouses, running off with sacks bulging with belongings. They were too busy looting to pay any attention to Taka. She raced home and bolted the door, trembling.

  She’d made a mistake, she realized now. She should have gone with her mother. She wished they hadn’t parted on such bad terms. In fact, her life had been a catalogue of mistakes. Perhaps she should have married Masuda-sama before all this blew up. He hadn’t been so bad and she’d be in Tokyo still. But it was too late for regrets. She’d just have to wait for the right moment before the army arrived to go and join Yuko and the others.

  It was eerie alone in the house with its faded tatami and creaking stairs. Now she’d seen the warships, the halberd leaning against the wall in the entryway looked as puny as a child’s plaything. She thought of her father and his fifteen thousand warriors. No matter how brave and well trained and determined they were, even if they were the best soldiers in the world, they couldn’t possibly stand up against such might.

  As she always did, she thought of Nobu. Was he in Tokyo still, at the Military Academy? Or had he been called up to fight? Perhaps he was in the mountains, fighting her father, or on one of those ships, steaming towards Kagoshima. It would be a strange and bitter twist of fate if he were on that fleet, coming here to her city to kill her people – and her.

  32

  ‘WE’LL TEACH THOSE damned Satsuma a lesson they won’t forget. Right, Sato?’ Sakurai’s growl rose above the rumble of engines, the creak and flap of the sails and the roar as the great ship surged through the water. The railing rang as he smashed his fleshy fist down, his ruddy cheeks mottled and his cropped hair bristling.

  ‘Right.’ His loyal sidekick, Sato, grunted laconically.

  Nobu groaned. It just wasn’t that simple. A lot of soldiers, including some of the men on this ship, were Satsuma, the brothers or sons or cousins of rebels who’d gone to fight in the mountains. He knew they were secretly relieved there were no samurai left in this city, so they wouldn’t have to fight their own kin. There were many of Nobu’s and Sato’s and Sakurai’s comrades among the rebels too, men who’d left the Military Academy last autumn to return to Satsuma. The three of them would be shooting down their fellow students – or being shot by them – if they ever came face to face. But Sakurai wasn’t one to worry about such details. He just wanted to make sure everyone knew he was raring for a fight.

  ‘Even Lieutenant Yoshida, even our Yoshida with his head stuffed full of French verbs and French history, even he might get a shot in – if he can aim his rifle straight.’ Sakurai guffawed.

  Nobu ignored him. The rugged cliffs and hills of the coastline veered towards them, mantled in foliage as thick as the wax on an ancient candle. Smells of leaves and blossom and shoots wafted on the breeze. Even on the balmiest spring day it was never this green in Aizu or Tokyo, never this warm and sultry. Insects buzzed, seagulls screamed and dipped and a cormorant flapped by, stretching its black wings. Boats laden with people and furniture sculled low in the water, keeping well away from the massive grey warships.

  Nobu tipped his head back until his starchy collar dug into the back of his neck, screwed up his eyes against the glare of the midmorning sun and stared up at the volcano filling the sky above them. A fist of ash and smoke punched out of the jagged mouth, writhing and curling like a dragon’s head. He smelt sulphur, saw steam seeping from clefts in the rocks.

  The cluster of houses huddled into the hillside grew larger and he reached for a telescope.

  Kagoshima, the famous Satsuma stronghold. He made out the castle, a line of fortifications along the hillside. Buildings sprawled around, larger squares surrounded with green near the castle, cramped streets of small houses further away, and along the bay a dockyard with imposing grey structures that might house the Satsuma armaments factories.

  He wondered if the city really was undefended. He half expected cannon fire suddenly to blaze out. The place looked unnervingly empty. There was no smoke rising from the houses, no figures moving about on the docks or streets, no signs of life at all. He wondered what was going on behind that blank façade, what scheme the inhabitants had dreamed up to fool the approaching army.

  ‘Looks like it was hit by the plague,’ grunted Sato.

  ‘They’re there, all right. Just keeping their heads down, readying their rifles to welcome us. We’ll show them, like we showed them at Kumamoto, won’t we, Yoshida?’

  Nobu barely heard him through the storm of thoughts that battered in his head. The moment was at hand – the moment of victory, of sweet revenge. He had the enemy in his sights, the bastion of the Satsuma, those killers who had burnt his city and trampled through his house and caused the deaths of his mother, his sisters and his grandmother, reduced his clan to penury and continued to oppress them to this day. Yet instead of hatred and joy and bloodlust, all he could think of was Taka.

  The boat smacked against the sea wall and rocked violently. It was a big flat-bottomed lighter, crammed with soldiers sitting crushed to
gether, hanging on to anything they could find. Nobu stood up, found his balance, waited for the wave to crest and jumped. Hands pulled as he scrambled up the stones. He took a few breaths, enjoying the feel of dry land under his feet, then looked around and his jaw dropped.

  The great brick warehouses that lined the wharf had been smashed open, rusty iron doors hung loose on their hinges and rice, sugar and yellow safflower spilled across the paving stones. Slabs of lumber and bolts of silk lay scattered around as if the looters had dropped half their booty as they fled. The Satsuma hadn’t waited for the army to come, they’d sacked their city themselves.

  Boats shuttled back and forth and soldiers climbed ashore, filling the quay with black caps and bristling rifles. The sun blazed down. Standing to attention in his greatcoat with his pack on his back and his sword at his side, Nobu heard the creak of new leather boots behind him and sent up a fervent prayer to the gods that there really would be no one here to fight. If there was, these men of his would have a real job to prove themselves. For all their splendid uniforms, half were raw recruits, conscripts sent south without even knowing how to load a rifle. The rest were former samurai – and, as everyone knew, samurai took orders from no one. As for Nobu, he was an unseasoned lieutenant with a head full of French verbs, as Sakurai had said, and a theoretical knowledge of tactics, but no practical experience at all.

  As the first units marched smartly away, boots thundering on the stony ground, there was a shot, echoing from the mountains and ringing out across the water. The conscripts shouted in panic, broke ranks and charged into the warehouses. Nobu looked around, his heart thundering. Snipers, an ambush. He raced over to a water barrel and crouched behind it, rifle raised.

  Cautiously scouring the empty quay, he noticed a lone conscript standing nervously, a hollow-cheeked youngster with the big hands of a peasant, his greatcoat hanging on him like a tent. Smoke curled from the barrel of his rifle. The other soldiers stumbled back into the sunlight, laughing sheepishly. Nobu broke into a grin.

  ‘I … I thought I saw a movement,’ the youth muttered, cheeks blazing. Cats peered nervously out of the shadows as the men resumed their march.

  Battalions of soldiers filled the narrow streets, sweeping towards the castle which spread along the foot of the hill, bristling with battlements, turrets and watchtowers. Nobu kept a wary eye open for snipers but if there were any they were keeping well out of sight.

  He’d been expecting a thriving town with shops and supplies but the place was entirely empty, except for scraps of paper and shreds of fabric and rotten fruit filling the gutters. He glanced around, convinced it must be a trap. There had to be people hidden inside the buildings, preparing to loose a hail of bullets on the intruders.

  But they marched on without incident. Battalion after battalion assembled in the parade ground in front of the castle while the advance units stormed across the moat into the grounds of the castle itself. Nobu listened for the roar of cannons and rattle of gunfire, but there was only the thunder of boots on baked earth.

  Then a uniformed figure appeared at the head of the bridge, waving his arms and shouting. There was no defending army, not even any occupants. The castle was deserted. There was even a barracks in the old stables which would house at least part of the occupying force. The soldiers raised a cheer.

  With the castle and barracks secured, the lieutenants ditched their greatcoats and packs and prepared to check every street and house in the town for snipers and nests of rebels.

  But Nobu had a mission of his own and nothing would stop him carrying it out. Tomorrow, once they were sure the town was theirs, they’d be busy from morning to night building defences, preparing for the attack that was bound to come when the rebels tried to retake their stronghold. But today, while they were prowling the city, nosing into every house and every back alley, he had a chance – his only chance – to find Taka. He had to find her quickly, before some brute like Sakurai did. He hadn’t forgotten what the Satsuma had done to the women of Aizu. The Imperial Army prided themselves on being more disciplined but every army contained thugs and Taka’s pale-skinned beauty, added to the fact she was Kitaoka’s daughter, made her an irresistible prize. The only problem was that he had a whole huge city to scour and no idea where to start.

  ‘Hey, Yoshida.’ There was a powerful stench of damp wool, gun oil and boot polish. It was Sakurai, massive and sweaty in his uniform, sporting a pistol as well as his rifle and sword. Sato tacked along behind him like a little launch behind a huge warship. ‘What do you say we scout out this godforsaken place together? Safety in numbers and all that.’

  ‘I’m fine on my own, thanks,’ Nobu said, quietly but firmly. The last thing he wanted was Sakurai on his tail.

  ‘So Yoshida wants to play the hero, flash his sword about like a samurai,’ said Sakurai. ‘Let’s see how you do without us, my man. We’ll come and rescue you if you don’t come back. Bet we root out more rebels than you do.’

  Nobu looked up and down the road. He knew how Sakurai’s mind worked.

  In front of the castle was a broad avenue. To the right, tall trees swayed above stone and stucco walls. It reminded Nobu of the area where Taka used to live in Tokyo, with high walls hiding palatial mansions inside.

  He made a big display of studying the area to the left, grunting and nodding, taking his time, making sure Sakurai didn’t suspect he was desperate to get on the move. ‘Nothing much down there but I suppose someone has to take a look. Why don’t I head over? You two can see what’s behind those big walls over there. Safety in numbers and all that.’ He jerked his chin towards the prosperous-looking road to the right.

  Sakurai stared at him, eyes narrowed. Nobu could almost hear the wheels in his brain grinding as he tried to work out what Nobu was plotting.

  ‘Safety in numbers?’ he snorted. Nobu smiled to himself and heaved a sigh of relief. He’d taken the bait. ‘You think we’re fools? You’re not having all the adventures to yourself. Come on, Sato, let’s flush out a few rebels.’

  They pounded off down the road to the left, dodging behind a tree, cautiously peering out, then racing to the next. Nobu heard a crash and the splinter of wood as Sakurai slammed his rifle butt into a gate. He waited, drumming his heel, till they’d disappeared inside the grounds, then turned and sprinted for the street that reminded him of Taka’s.

  The first gate he came to had been smashed in. Shards of wood hung from the frame and lay scattered across the ground. Looters had been at work in this part of town too. Nobu paused in his stride, his heart sinking, half wishing he’d taken up Sakurai’s offer. It was sheer stupidity to be wandering alone through enemy territory. The entire populace was probably lying in wait, preparing to loose a barrage of shots at the first enemy soldier they saw.

  He looked around, the back of his neck tingling, imagining eyes peering out through every crack in the walls, then pulled himself together and forced himself to concentrate. The first step was to locate the Kitaoka mansion. He looked for a nameplate and groaned in disappointment: ‘Nakamura’.

  There was an endless expanse of stone and stucco walls to race past before he came to another gate. The nameplate there was not ‘Kitaoka’ either, nor the one after, nor the one after that. Crows cawed and seagulls screeched and a sudden wind that smelt of the sea shook the branches of the trees that rose behind the walls. The place was eerily empty.

  He cursed and thumped his fist into his palm. The day was half over already and he’d found nothing. He wished there were someone around, anyone. It put his nerves on edge to be alone in this deserted place.

  He’d been running from street to street more and more desperately, checking nameplate after nameplate, no closer to finding anyone, let alone Taka, when he came to a particularly large, splendid gateway set deep in a wall, with a steep tiled roof and the latticed windows of a guardhouse alongside. It looked like the entrance to the residence of a powerful man, perhaps the sort who would know General Kitaoka. The place warranted
further investigation.

  Like the others, the gate had been staved in. Above the squawks of crows and honks of bullfrogs, Nobu heard a crack, like someone cocking a gun. It seemed to come from the guardhouse. He took a breath, fingered the trigger of his rifle, then pushed aside the splintered wood and stepped through.

  There was a crash. The door to the guardhouse burst open and a weaselly fellow lurched out, clutching a hefty staff. So the place wasn’t deserted after all. Nobu glared at the man but before he could even raise his rifle the gatekeeper dropped his staff and threw up his hands, his cheeks quivering, his eyes darting from side to side like a rabbit’s.

  Nobu stifled a grin. He’d never inspired fear in anyone in his life. It was the uniform and the rifle, not him, he knew that perfectly well. Far from being a skinny nineteen-year-old, in this fellow’s eyes he was a hulking representative of His Imperial Majesty’s Army, armed to the teeth.

  Nobu drew himself up with what he hoped was a ferocious scowl. ‘Imperial Army, 7th division, requisitioning this house,’ he growled.

  The gatekeeper backed away slowly, then turned and scuttled off through the grounds. Nobu allowed himself a triumphant grin. The tables had turned. The Aizu held their heads high again.

  Inside the walls the grounds were planted with cherry and pine trees, pink azalea bushes and purple rhododendrons. He crossed a stream and passed a waterfall, a carp pond and a lawn big enough for sparring. The house itself was large and sprawling, surrounded by verandas and raked gravel pathways, grander by far than the samurai houses of Aizu.

  He left his boots on so that he could trail dirt across the tatami, as the Satsuma had done in Aizu, and marched straight in through the grand main entrance. The house was full of servants packing up. The air shimmered with dust and there were doors and upended tatami mats propped against the pillars. The servants staggered back, dropping armfuls of kimonos, staring at Nobu wide-eyed, mouths gaping, faces pale as tofu. He felt another surge of triumph and reminded himself he needed to keep his wits about him. Once they realized there were no more soldiers outside waiting to swarm in, he’d be in trouble.