The Last Concubine (36 page)

‘No,’ she muttered grimly, trying to push the man away. Terrified not for herself but for Shinzaemon, she glanced around to see what was happening to him and to Taki. She knew these
men had been looking for him the night they had burst into her parents’ house.

Her heart pounding, she shoved the man in the chest with all her might. He let go his hold and stumbled back.

‘Enough,’ muttered one of the other soldiers. ‘Let’s go. Gonna be in trouble.’

But the pockmarked man’s eyes were glittering. His hand was on his sword hilt.

‘Excuse us,’ Sachi said in Kiso dialect. ‘Inexcusable to cause you trouble. Please allow us to pass.’

For a long moment the soldiers hesitated. Sachi took a few more paces through the crowd, followed by Taki and Shinzaemon. Passers-by were gathering to watch, keeping a safe distance. Smoke rose from the roofs of the little shops that lined the road. The cherry trees were covered in pink buds. Everything was very clear and sharp, as if she was seeing it for the last time. Her mind was clear too. She was ready for whatever might happen.

One of the soldiers stepped up to her, blocking her path.

‘Hey. What you peasants doing with weapons like that?’ he barked. ‘It’s against the law. Hand them over and you can be on your way.’

Then the pockmarked man barked, ‘Wait.’

He was staring at Shinzaemon. ‘This man ‘ere. I’ve seen ’im before. Isn’t he the one that killed our comrades back in Kiso? That . . . that outlaw. And on his own? Let’s have a look at your shoulder, fellow!’

The soldiers turned to him, nodding. Shinzaemon had stopped in his tracks. He ran his eyes over them with a contemptuous curl of his lip. His eyebrows came together in a frown of concentration. Sachi could see he was working out the odds. Fifteen, maybe twenty, of them and one of him. But he had a couple of women to protect, so he couldn’t take risks. He had to stay alive, no matter what.

He’s lived all these years, she told herself. He’s not going to die yet and neither are we.

She had her halberd in her hand. She had been using it as a staff. In a moment she had slipped off the cover and the scabbard.
Dazzling shards of sunlight reflected off the blade. In her head she was back in the training hall at the palace. She could hear Lady Masa’s deep voice urging them not to think, to empty their minds, to let their bodies move. The halberd was heavy, heavier than a practice stick. When she swung it, it had a momentum of its own. It made her feel tall and strong and confident to have it in her hand.

She glanced at Taki. She had never seen her look so alive. Her eyes were gleaming. She too had unsheathed her halberd. They had never yet had a chance to fight with them. Now was the moment to put all those years of training to the test.

If they died, Sachi thought, they would die all three together. She drew herself up. She was ready.

Without warning a couple of soldiers drew their swords and lunged at Shinzaemon. But he was faster. With a yell he parried the blows. A hand flew into the air. The two men staggered back. One was still holding out his arm, blood spraying from the end.

Shinzaemon kept his eyes on the soldiers as he wiped the blood off his blade.

Several of the men drew their swords. Blades glinted in the sun, flashing like lightning. There was the scuffle of feet. Metal rang on metal with a deafening clang and clash. Then there were shrieks and groans. Men in black uniforms were staggering back, blood spurting. One had blood pouring from his arm; another’s jaw was hanging loose. One was clutching at his stomach where his guts were spilling out.

Shinzaemon was still standing. Taki rushed to his side, swinging her halberd.

Sachi was behind her. ‘These aren’t peasants,’ she heard one of the southerners say. She had known it would be obvious as soon as they took up their weapons. Only samurai women carried halberds or could fight with them. And they were not just samurai women but women of the shogun’s court, trained to fight well enough to defend the shogun himself.

The pockmarked man had seen his chance. Sword drawn, he stepped in front of her. Sachi raised her halberd.

‘Now don’t do anything silly,’ he jeered, his pitted face breaking into a grin. ‘You’ll only hurt yourself.’

He edged around, keeping a safe distance from her blade. She stood, poised, halberd pointing towards him. As he moved round, she moved too. She knew the halberd could outreach his sword. She needed to keep him at a distance. If they got close enough to spar, he was stronger than her. Her heart was pounding but she kept her mind focused and her breathing very calm.

‘Not gonna spoil your pretty face,’ he yelled above the scrape and clang of blades. ‘Just put down that silly weapon and you’ll be fine.’

Sachi said nothing. She was holding the halberd in both hands, keeping her eyes fixed on his every move. If he came within reach she would have him.

They danced forward and back. Grinning, he took a step towards her. She saw the sun glint as he raised his sword. With a yell she lunged forward and swung the halberd, slicing through his trouser and nicking the front of his calf. She raised her weapon and spun round, ready for the next blow. He leaped back with a yowl, his face twisted in pain. There was a wet stain growing larger on the black of his trouser leg.

‘Now I’m angry,’ he roared. His face blackened and swelled like a bullfrog’s as he bore down on her, swinging his sword with both hands. But the halberd was longer.

Sachi was poised, balanced, waiting. He raised his sword. She sprang forward and caught the blow on the blade of her halberd. There was an ear-splitting clang. The force of the blow sent her staggering back a few steps. She slipped and put her hand out to steady herself. As she looked up, she saw the sword flashing through the air towards her. Before she had time to breathe she had raised her halberd and parried the blow. She gave the blade a twist. She felt the rush of air, smelt the vile stale smell of the man as he stumbled clumsily forward, caught off balance by his own momentum.

She leaped to her feet and spun round on her toes, pointing the halberd at his chest. Her hair had come loose and fallen across her face. She felt no fear, only a sort of wild elation.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see Shinzaemon fighting
like a madman, striking, stabbing, parrying blows, thrusting his sword into men’s chests and slashing them about the face. Taki was at his side, lashing out with her halberd as the southerners’ bodies piled up in a bloody heap in front of them. But they were being driven inexorably back by the onslaught. She needed to finish this quickly and help them.

The man scrambled to his feet, roaring like a wounded beast. He charged towards her. She saw the hatred in his little black eyes. The sounds and noise of battle – the metallic clangs and crashes, Shinzaemon’s war cries, the yowls of pain – faded away. There was an eerie silence. In the whole world there were just the two of them. Her halberd had become a part of her, an extension of her body.

She focused on his eyes. He swung his sword. She leaped back as it crashed down on the blade of her halberd. Then she darted forward and dropped to one knee.

Very deliberately she swung the halberd, aiming for his throat. She could feel the heaviness of the blade, the momentum of it, and hear the hiss as it curved through the air.

Then suddenly the pockmarked head was spinning upwards. She looked at the halberd in amazement. The blade had passed through the man’s muscular neck as smoothly as a knife through water.

The headless body staggered on, blood spouting in a fountain from the neck, then lurched to one side and crumpled. The head rolled across the road and flopped into the gutter. The water divided around it, running red where it had landed.

She awoke as if from a trance and darted into the fray. She could see that Shinzaemon had been hurt. He was fighting lefthanded, with blood streaming from his right arm. And no matter how many southerners fell, more took up the attack.

Suddenly there was a bang, ear-shatteringly loud. Sachi started and looked around frantically. She knew the sound though she had never heard it so close to hand. Gunfire. Everyone froze. There was another shot.

Half the southerners were sprawled on the ground, groaning or screaming in pain. Some lay silent. Taki and Shinzaemon leaned on their weapons, wiping blood and sweat from their faces. Their
clothes were in tatters, their hair sticking out wildly, but apart from the wound on Shinzaemon’s arm they seemed to be all right.

Sachi ran up to him. ‘I’m fine,’ he said, grimacing as he tore off a piece of his kimono skirts to bind the wound. ‘Just another scar.’

Passers-by were standing at a safe distance to watch, blankfaced. At the sound of the shots everyone had gone deadly quiet. Then they started shrieking and running in every direction.

In the turmoil, no one had noticed some palanquins appearing accompanied by an escort of samurai. Two creatures leaped out and stormed into the crowd, holding guns above their heads. Smoke coiled from the barrels.

But were they men or ogres? They had two eyes, two ears and two hands, but they were huge and brawny, like giants. Their heads and shoulders poked above the crowd. Their faces were craggy, not smooth and round, and their noses jutted out, monstrously big. Could they be
tengu
, the long-nosed goblins that lived in the mountains? But
tengu
had red faces. These creatures were deathly pale like ghosts. One had hair the colour of rice stalks in autumn, while the other’s hair was the colour of earth. And they were wearing strange outlandish clothes like nothing Sachi had ever seen before.

The crowd surged back as the creatures burst through. Some fell to their knees and pressed their heads to the ground. Others stood transfixed, their mouths gaping in shock. Some of the women screamed and ran away.

The straw-headed one paid no attention. He marched straight into the middle of the battlefield, stepping across the groaning southern soldiers. A rank smell hung about him like fog. It was the smell of the outcastes, of those who dealt in butchery – the smell of meat, of dead flesh.

Of course. These were not
tengu
at all but something far more frightening and weird.
Tojin
– foreigners. Sachi had heard talk of the ‘stinking barbarians’ but she had never met anyone who had actually seen one. As far as she knew, they were restricted to a tiny village outside Edo called Yokohama, a port near Osaka and a handful of other ports. She had certainly seen the Yokohama prints that depicted these exotic creatures with their fearsome noses, strange costumes and extraordinary dwellings. There had
been plenty of these woodblock prints at the women’s palace. She had also heard – indeed, everyone seemed to know – that the original cause of the southerners’ uprising had been that none of the shoguns had been able to drive the barbarians out. That had been the pretext, at any rate, for their rebellion.

Now the foreigner opened his mouth and shouted. Sachi drew herself up and looked straight at him. She was not going to run away or shriek. She must never forget she was the Retired Lady Shoko-in, the concubine of His late Majesty. She gestured at his gun. What was he going to do? Did he mean to shoot them all?

He stared at her with his strange pale eyes. It made her feel uncomfortable. She wished she could conceal her face, but she had lost her hat and veil. He spoke again. His voice was so loud it made her start. To her amazement she realized she could understand him. He was speaking a stilted version of her language, though with an odd distorted accent.

‘No worry, madam. I shoot in the air only. Can I help you? Are you all right?’

He barked at the southerners, ‘What’s this? Attacking ladies? So many against one man? Shame on you.’

The few southerners still on their feet stared at the ground, scowling. They were panting, bruised, bloodied, their black uniforms ripped, their hair wild.

‘This man is an outlaw,’ snarled one, gesturing at Shinzaemon.

‘That’s not true,’ Sachi protested fiercely. She was thinking fast. ‘He’s my . . . bodyguard. He was protecting me and my maid – my friend.’

The southern soldiers were whispering to each other. Their swords were still unsheathed, their fingers twitching on the hilts.

‘Interfering barbarians!’ hissed one. ‘We’ll get you. Just you wait!’

‘I think you have forgotten the emperor’s proclamation,’ said the foreigner smoothly. His gun was still in his hand. It looked new and shiny, quite unlike the ancient matchlocks that people had in Kiso. ‘No more killing of foreigners. You southerners, you call yourselves the emperor’s men. Do you have no respect for His Grace’s decree?’

He turned back to Sachi.

‘Madam,’ he said. ‘You go to Edo? We too. We escort you – you, your friend and your bodyguard. Travel with us. Our guards protect you. No need to worry.’

Sachi stared at him in shock. Travel with wild, unpredictable creatures like these? She knew nothing of them. With ordinary people – people of her country – she could read their faces, understand their feelings beneath the forms and words that etiquette prescribed. But with barbarians like these, she had no idea what went on in their minds. It was the craziest notion she had ever heard.

Yet . . . it was wartime. The road was undoubtedly dangerous and Edo even more so. The barbarians had guns and a samurai escort bristling with swords and staves – though who those samurai were was another question. Which side were they on? Who did they report to? They were undoubtedly spies, delegated to keep an eye on the barbarians. If she and her companions travelled with them, they would have to guard their speech.

But though Shinzaemon could fight like a demon, there was only one of him. The most important thing now was to finish their journey, to get to Edo – to the princess, perhaps to her mother – before the southerners sealed the city off completely.

She glanced at Taki. Taki was wiping her halberd blade on her skirts. Her hair had come loose and stuck out in a great tangled bush. Her thin face was sticky with southerners’ blood but her big eyes shone with a mad triumphant gleam. She looked back at Sachi, raised her eyebrows and tilted her head to one side as if to say, ‘Do whatever you like. Things can’t get any worse.’