Kitaro crouched beside him. ‘You saw him at Sendai Castle, didn’t you?’
Yozo nodded. ‘The council of war.’ He took another mouthful of rum and swilled it around his mouth, savouring the taste, as he thought back to the massive granite walls and towering battlements of the castle, the brilliant orange, red and yellow of the maple leaves in the grounds and the labyrinth of huge icy chambers and sunless passages. It had been some forty days earlier and the banner of the Northern Alliance, a five-pointed star, white on a black field, had fluttered over the citadel. Yozo had been there as Enomoto’s right-hand man, instructed to listen but not to speak.
The vast audience hall had been dark and cold. Tall candles burned, throwing a yellow light on the tatami mats and gold screens that lined the walls, and smoke hung above the hearth and rose from the men’s long-stemmed pipes. Officials of the shogun’s former government were in attendance along with senior councillors representing the thirty-one warlords of the Northern Alliance, all in starched ceremonial dress. The commander of the northern armies, General Otori, and other military men, in uniform, took their places too. At first they had all – officials, councillors and military men – knelt formally in order of rank, but as their voices rose, echoing around the great hall, they forgot about precedence.
They wrangled for hours. Some of the senior councillors favoured giving up and pledging allegiance to the new government. They were well and truly beaten, they said. The southerners were advancing north, laying waste to their castles one after the other. It was madness to carry on. They should concede defeat.
Yozo listened in silent disgust to their complaints. Then Enomoto spoke up. ‘We’re not finished yet,’ he argued. ‘Winter’s coming. Our men are hardy and used to hostile conditions and the southerners are weaklings, they don’t know what our northern winter’s like. We’ll freeze them out. They’ll never dare pursue us up north and if they do, they’ll die.’ His quiet, intense voice swelled until it filled the dusty corners of the great hall and made the cobwebs tremble. ‘Don’t forget, we have the toughest men in the land. Not only do we have the army, we have the Kyoto militia too.’
‘What’s left of them anyway,’ grumbled a jowly florid-faced elder. ‘The southerners have been hunting them down like dogs. Commander Yamaguchi’s the only one of their leaders who’s still got his head.’
‘I agree with Admiral Enomoto,’ barked General Otori, a short fiery man with a bullet head. ‘If we consolidate all our forces we’ll be unbeatable.’
‘The Commander is with us right now,’ Enomoto declared. ‘Let’s hear what he has to say.’
Yozo remembered the murmur that had run through the gathering and the stir as the legendary fighter strode in. He was quite tall, Yozo recalled, with strikingly pale skin, a handsome man in his greatcoat and breeches with his two swords bristling from his belt. He looked, Yozo thought, like someone who spent his time inside darkened rooms, plotting intrigue, not on the streets of Kyoto cutting down the enemy, though it was said he had killed hundreds. His long hair, black and shiny like lacquer, was pushed carelessly back from his face, and he stared insolently at the elders.
‘The moment the Commander opened his mouth you could hear he was no samurai,’ Yozo said to Kitaro. ‘A peasant from Kano is what people say. He spoke out loud and clear. “I’ll accept the joint command of the confederate troops.” Then he stops and looks around, stares at all those great lords crouching there, huffing and puffing on their pipes.
‘ “But there’s one condition,” he says. You could have heard a feather drop. “My orders must be strictly obeyed. If any man defies orders, even a senior councillor of one of the great domains, I’ll kill him myself.” Those were his very words. They all looked at each other, those senior councillors. You could see what they were thinking. Who did he think he was, threatening them like that? And the way he said it, the menace in his voice. He had this look in his eye like he’d do exactly as he pleased.’
‘When a man is stubborn enough and convinced he’s right, there’s no stopping him,’ observed Kitaro. ‘Put three stubborn men together and there’s no knowing what may happem.’
Yozo nodded. Between them Otori, Enomoto and the Commander controlled the army, the navy and the Kyoto militia. They were all three loyal to the death to the shogun. And all three had that spark of madness in their eyes.
At dawn next morning Yozo was up on deck. The snow was still falling, so dense he could hardly see the coast, and icicles hung from the rigging and yardarms. When the weather cleared a little he made out a line of rocky outcrops and a few isolated shacks in the lee of snow-covered hills. The roiling sea was the colour of lead. In front of them, waves broke on the rocks, sending up a wall of water. It was going to be a treacherous landing in Washinoki Bay.
Around him, men stood hugging themselves. The unlucky ones had nothing but cotton uniforms; others had found straw raincoats, bear skins or dog skins and draped them around their shoulders. Yozo was wrapped in everything he could find but the cold still cut straight through.
A contingent of seamen uncovered the first launch, loaded it up and hooked it up to the yardarm. They pivoted the yardarm, tightening the ropes on one side and loosening them on the other, and lowered the launch. The coxswain, bosun and twelve rowers scrambled down and gingerly stepped in as the launch pitched and tossed and smacked against the side of the ship, sending up sheets of freezing spray twice the height of a man. The soldiers lined up on deck, bent under their heavy packs, rifles slung over their shoulders. The first peered over the side at the narrow steps protruding from the ship’s hull, running straight down to the black water rolling far below. He hesitated, drawing a breath between his teeth with a hiss, then looked up and straightened as heavy footsteps approached.
Commander Yamaguchi’s face was still pale from seasickness but he carried himself with the same awesome arrogance, his shoulders thrust back and his head held high. Frowning impatiently, he swung over the side and climbed down the steps in front of his troops, holding on to ropes at each side.
They followed, and as the last man stepped in and the launch tilted and nearly tipped, some of the soldiers yelped. The Commander’s lip curled in disdain.
Yozo gripped his telescope and peered through the blizzard as the little boat tossed up and down on the waves. From time to time it teetered on a crest as if it was about to capsize. A second launch had already set out as the first came back.
Yozo and Kitaro joined the third group. The ship pitched as they stepped down into the launch. The rowers set about their oars and the wind sent the boat flying straight towards shore. When they were still a few yards out, Yozo jumped into the sea, gasping at the shock of icy water on his legs. Together with the oarsmen he gripped the launch and held it steady while the soldiers climbed ashore, wading to the beach, making a human chain to pass the boxes of equipment and supplies along.
The snow had stopped, the sky was clearing and from the shore Yozo could see the vast expanse of the ocean stretching grey to the horizon and the fleet of eight ships well out to sea, their masts bristling. Launches shuttled back and forth, conveying men from the ships to the shore. Then, as Yozo watched, one of the launches disappeared. When it bobbed back into sight the keel was in the air, tossing like driftwood. Tiny figures thrashed in the leaden water. Yozo headed for the shallows but Kitaro grabbed his arm.
‘Don’t be crazy. They’re too far out,’ he shouted above the roaring of the waves.
The troops were sombre as they picked up their kit. Some fine men lost, and not even in battle. But any death in the service of the shogun was glorious. Or was it, Yozo wondered, as he and Kitaro joined the others on the long hike through the pass towards the Star Fort and the city of Hakodate.
5
‘Are you all right?’
Hana started as a finger prodded her arm. A woman was staring down at her. She had a scarf wrapped around her head, casting her face into shadow, but through the thick wool her voice sounded yo
ung.
‘What are you doing here?’ She spoke in a rapid high-pitched downtown patter. All Hana could see of her was a pair of black eyes, fixed on her.
‘I was looking for the Chikuzenya. I was told they’d take care of me,’ Hana whispered, her voice shaking. She was numb with cold.
The woman shook her head. ‘It closed months ago. Everyone’s left – everyone that could afford it, that is. They’ve all gone to Osaka. A nicely spoken girl like you shouldn’t be out on the street alone like this. It’s dangerous.’
Panic-stricken, Hana stared up and down the long empty street, suddenly realizing where she was. Rough shouts rang out not far away and she remembered the gang of youths she’d seen with their clenched fists and swords and threatening faces. A cold wind rattled the rain doors looming in a dark wall along the street and she gasped as the full horror of her situation struck her – her parents and parents-in-law dead, her husband long since gone to war. The last she had heard, he had been on his way to Sendai. She had no idea where that was but it sounded unimaginably far away.
The woman reached into her sleeve, took out a pipe and a tobacco box, filled the pipe and held it out. ‘Here,’ she said, adding with a bow, ‘I’m Fuyu.’
Slowly Hana unwound her scarf and smiled gratefully at her new-found companion.
There was a sudden whiff of cheap powder and hair oil as Fuyu squatted beside her. She loosened her own scarf and Hana saw that she was indeed young, not much older than she was, with a round face covered in thick make-up and an upturned nose and shapely mouth. She had a down-to-earth quality about her that Hana found rather appealing. She struck a flint and pushed her face so close to Hana’s that Hana could see the pores on her nose and the pits on her cheeks.
Hana took a long slow puff of the pipe, enjoying the taste and smell of the tobacco.
‘You did well to get this far,’ Fuyu observed. ‘The place is swarming with riff-raff and out-of-work samurai.’
‘I got completely lost,’ said Hana, shaking her head. ‘I was so sure I’d find someone at the Chikuzenya who’d take me in.’
‘Your husband’s a samurai, isn’t he?’ Fuyu was scrutinizing Hana’s face in a way that made her uncomfortable. ‘I expect he’s gone to war and left you on your own. War is tough for women, isn’t it?’
‘Do you have a husband at the front?’ Hana asked doubtfully. Fuyu certainly didn’t look like a samurai’s wife, or behave like one either.
But Fuyu didn’t answer. They sat in silence as the raucous shouts from the youths Hana had seen earlier came closer.
‘You need somewhere to stay, don’t you?’ said Fuyu suddenly. ‘Somewhere warm and safe. I know the very place.’
‘You do?’ Hana said, surprised that this woman who had appeared so unexpectedly seemed to want to help her.
‘No problem with business there,’ said Fuyu. ‘And it’s guarded. Southern soldiers aren’t allowed in, so you won’t get any trouble from them. It’s the best place to go if you want to steer clear of them.’ Fuyu paused, her eyes still on Hana, and spread her lips in an ingratiating smile. ‘They have jobs there too. You can sew, can’t you? You could be a seamstress or a maid or an entertainer. You can read and write too, I expect. They’re always looking for people like you.’
‘But … where is this place?’ Hana asked, beginning to feel uneasy.
‘You only have to spend the night there; you won’t have to stay any longer if you don’t want to.’
Hana shook her head. ‘Thank you, but I’m fine. I’ll find somewhere myself.’ But even as she spoke she knew she had nowhere to go.
Fuyu’s face hardened. ‘Do as you please,’ she said, her mouth twisting in an ugly way. ‘But I can tell you now, you’ll end up selling yourself at the city gates if you don’t follow my advice.’ Hana closed her eyes, feeling panic well up as she pictured the women she had seen there.
Fuyu grabbed her hand. ‘Come on. Let’s go, before it gets dark.’
‘But … but where is this place you’re taking me?’ Hana stammered.
‘You’ve heard of the Five Streets, haven’t you?’ snapped Fuyu. ‘You can make a good living there, the best there is.’
The Five Streets. Hana gasped. Everyone knew what that was – a colourful, noisy, raucous place where the lights never dimmed, full of brightly painted women, where men congregated in search of pleasure. Her husband had often bragged of how popular he was among the women there. It was said to be the worst of the Bad Places, a city in its own right a good hour’s walk outside the walls of Edo, far enough away that decent folk would not be polluted by whatever went on in there. It was certainly not a place for someone like her.
‘No, no,’ she gasped. ‘Wait, I have to think.’
‘You can think on the way,’ said Fuyu, pulling Hana to her feet.
*
The moon had risen and the road ahead unrolled long and straight, lined with slender lacquer trees with a few leaves still clinging to the skeletal branches, glinting like gold coins. Hana could see her small shadow stretching out in front of her along the frozen earth of the causeway. Far below them, on each side of the embankment, marshland patched with paddy disappeared into the blackness. Every now and then men pounded past, sometimes on horseback, sometimes on foot. Bearers raced by carrying palanquins and a heron swooped overhead.
They had long since left the low streets and drab slate-coloured roofs of Edo. Hana could feel Fuyu’s hand on her elbow, propelling her along. She could easily have pulled away and run off in another direction, but where else was there for a lone woman to go? She knew they were going to a place of pleasure for men, but it was a whole city too, that was what people said. There must be plenty of other jobs to be found.
‘There!’ shrilled Fuyu, her voice high and excited. ‘Look. Over there! Hurry, they’ve lit the lanterns already.’
In the distance, lighting up the blackness below the dyke, was a shimmer like a haze of glow-worms on a summer’s night. The whisper of voices and laughter and faint scents of woodsmoke, grilling fish, incense and sewage drifted along on the breeze. The fabled Yoshiwara lay before them. Only it was not a fable, it was real, and Hana would soon be there. She stared into the darkness, her heart thumping.
Because, for all her qualms, the Yoshiwara pulled her and tugged at her and made her feet move faster. It almost made her forget the empty house, the banging on the door, the threatening figures pursuing her across the wasteland. The sounds and smells and glimmering lights drew her, promising an exotic new life which she could not yet even imagine.
Hana shivered in the icy wind and pulled her scarf closer around her face. Her legs were aching, stones dug into her feet and her straw sandals chafed with every step she took. But the lights ahead were growing brighter and brighter, and soon she began to make out the twang of shamisens and the sound of singing.
It was quite dark when they came to a solitary willow tree. Its leafless branches swayed and creaked in the wind.
‘The Looking Back Willow!’ said Fuyu.
Hana had read all about it. It was where men stopped for a last look at the walled city of the Yoshiwara before they set off for home in the morning. Below them the Five Streets spread, a square of light and colour in the darkness of the marshland.
Hana stared at the dyke stretching behind her towards Edo and her old life. She was about to enter a new world and she knew that when she left it – if she ever did – the dyke and the moon and the stars might still be the same, but she would not be.
6
Hana followed Fuyu as she hurried down the slope towards the walled city, past stalls crammed side by side and teahouses where waitresses lurked, grabbing at men as they passed, trying to drag them in, until finally they came to a bridge and crossed the murky waters of a moat. A huge gate loomed before them. On the other side were milling crowds and bright lights and all the roar and bustle of the city.
Hana stopped, trembling, as a guard stepped out and barred their path. His neck was
like a tree trunk and his nose was squashed flat as if he’d walked into a wall, and in one enormous hand he had an iron staff with a hook on it.
He glowered down at them, but Fuyu smiled up at him coquettishly, waved a paper in his face and slipped a couple of coins into his hand. He opened his big mouth in a grin, revealing a jumble of missing and rotten teeth.
‘On your way, ladies,’ he grunted with a wink. ‘Enjoy yourselves!’
And so they entered the Yoshiwara. At first Hana pattered along, keeping her eyes lowered, as people pushed past her, trailing fragrances sweeter and more subtle than any she’d ever smelt before. Silky garments brushed her hands. Kimono skirts swirled by with tiny feet in satin-thonged sandals peeking out from underneath, and wooden sandals clattered past bearing big feet with splayed toes sprouting black hairs. Men’s voices chattered and shouted and women cooed and twittered like birds.
Then Hana recognized the enticing aroma of roasting sparrows and octopus and couldn’t contain her curiosity any longer. She raised her eyes and gasped. People – so many it was almost impossible to move! She stared about her, wide-eyed. Merchants in silks and brocades strutted alongside samurai with shiny oiled topknots, tradesmen jostled by, servants darted about and squat, brown-skinned men peered around uncertainly as if they were on their first visit and didn’t know how to behave. Old women crouched beside doorways, their wizened faces pressed together, gossiping; burly young men ran by, balancing trays of food piled one on top of the other; and little girls with white-painted faces and brilliant red lips walked solemnly by, carrying letters or holding hands.
Edo had been a ruined, fearful city, but the Yoshiwara was crammed with people looking for pleasure. Hana gazed around, enchanted by the smells and sights and sounds. But apprehension still gnawed at her belly. This was not a place for her.
The Courtesan and the Samurai Page 4