The Last Concubine (64 page)

‘Hiro,’ barked a voice. She didn’t know if it was her brother or her uncle who was speaking. ‘Hiro. Prepare to meet your death. Do you have any last words?’

Sachi thought frantically. If only she could make him follow the proper execution procedure he would have to release her. She would kneel on the ground while he raised his sword with both hands and swung it down. There would be a fraction of a second when she had a chance to escape. It had been her mother’s plan, she knew that. It hadn’t worked that time – but this time it would.

‘Do it,’ she croaked, her mouth dry. ‘Do . . . what you have to do. But . . . do it right. You’re a samurai, not a murderer. Let me die like a samurai, not a common criminal.’ She took a breath and spoke as clearly as she could. ‘Give me the privilege of a samurai’s death.’

She was ready to twist clear the moment he released her. But he gripped even tighter.

‘You won’t escape this time,’ he hissed. ‘I cut you from your neck to your belly. I saw your blood spurt. I saw you dead. But you keep coming back again and again. You’re cunning like a fox. I’ll do it again, a hundred times if I have to, till you’re well and truly dead. Till I can have some peace. Till I can have some peace.’

Slowly, deliberately, he pulled her head back. She saw the tall white clumps of plume grass swaying at the edge of the pit. A buzzard dipped and swooped. She felt quite calm. So this was it, the last thing she would ever see. She felt the bones of Lord Mizuno’s thin chest pressed into her back, his arm wrapped around her face. His hand was shaking. There was a sting as the blade scratched her skin. A drop of something warm trickled from her throat, growing cold as it ran down to her chest. She closed her eyes.

In the silence there was a rustle above them, the clatter of pebbles falling into the pit. Sachi felt Lord Mizuno stiffen. His head jerked up. His grip relaxed a little and the pressure of the blade on her throat lessened.

Sachi opened her eyes as a shadow fell across the pit. There was a figure silhouetted against the dull grey sky, a plump woman with a sweet round face and slanted eyes. Ringed with light, for a moment she seemed more like a heavenly presence than a human being – a bodhisattva come to take Sachi to the Western Paradise.

‘Haru.’ As Sachi breathed the name she was not her mother any more. She was herself. She felt such a surge of relief she thought she would faint.

For a moment Haru’s mouth was open and her eyes round with shock. Then her face twisted into a reproving frown.

‘Older Brother,’ she said sharply, as if she was talking to a naughty child. ‘Tadanaka. It’s me, Haru. What are you doing down there?’

Sachi felt Lord Mizuno’s chest heave as he gave a juddering gasp.

‘Haru!’ he croaked.

‘Put down that knife, Older Brother,’ barked Haru. ‘Let go of her. Don’t be so foolish. What’s come over you? Do you think you’ve seen a ghost?’

For a moment Lord Mizuno’s grasp loosened.

‘But . . . But, Haru,’ he stuttered weakly. ‘What are you doing here? Why aren’t you in the palace?’

Haru slithered into the pit, bringing a small avalanche of earth tumbling down with her. She tugged her kimono skirts into place, glaring at Mizuno, holding him with her eyes.

Sachi stared at her helplessly, imagining how she must look – wide terrified eyes, her face and clothes covered in dirt, blood on her throat, in the grip of this crazy black skeleton of a man. Her hair was hanging wild and loose like a ghost’s – like the ghost of her mother.

Haru edged towards them, one step at a time. She was holding out her hand, open, with the palm up.

‘Give me that knife,’ she said.

Sachi fixed her eyes on Haru’s soft, plump hand. She felt as if she was drowning and the hand was stretched out to save her.

‘Ohiro is dead. Dead,’ said Haru. ‘You had to punish my lady for her crime. You did your duty – for the family, for honour. You did the right thing. But it’s all over now, over long ago. This is not her. Show me where she’s buried and we’ll pray for her together. We’ll put her spirit to rest, then she won’t haunt you any more.’

As Haru came closer, Lord Mizuno’s arm tightened around Sachi’s face like an iron band.

‘Don’t interfere with me,’ he snarled. ‘You women – you’re foxes, nothing but trouble. Get back where you came from.’

‘No one blames you,’ said Haru quietly, persuasively. ‘Let her go. Give me the dagger.’

‘She disgraced the family, this mistress of yours,’ rasped Mizuno in a hoarse growl, his voice shaking. ‘I have to execute her now, before the palace finds out. If I don’t, the shogun’s police will. You want them smashing down the doors, ordering my father and my brothers to cut their bellies – all because of some worthless woman?’

‘That used to be the way,’ said a deep voice. Sachi recognized the Edo accent overlaid with an Osaka twang and gasped with relief. A burly, broad-shouldered figure had appeared on the rim of the pit. It was Daisuké. He jumped down, keeping his eyes fixed on Lord Mizuno as intently as if he was stalking a deer. ‘But not any more,’ he said firmly. ‘Things have changed. The shogun’s gone. There is no palace, no shogun, no shogun’s police. You have nothing to fear.’

He was so close Sachi could smell the scent of tobacco mixed with the faint odour of southern spices he always carried with
him. She looked at his broad, handsome face, slightly saggy around the eyes and jowly around the chin. She could see the pores on his nose, the thick black hairs of his eyebrows, the hair bristling on his upper lip. If only she didn’t take her eyes off this face she would be safe.

There was another scent too. Shinzaemon was there, hidden just behind Mizuno. She was so close to freedom, so close to safety.

‘Who are you?’ demanded Mizuno, his voice shrill with suspicion. His grip tightened and Sachi felt the blade pressing into her throat. ‘Who are you, interfering with my family? This is a private matter. Who are you, poking your nose into our family business?’

‘This is not Ohiro,’ said Daisuké in firm, clear tones. ‘This is not your sister. Your sister died a long time ago.’

‘Who are you?’ screeched Lord Mizuno again.

Daisuké’s face hardened. ‘Let her go,’ he snapped. ‘This is your sister’s child. Your niece. You have no reason to hurt her.’

‘You’re lying,’ shouted Lord Mizuno. ‘I know my own sister.’ ‘It’s true,’ barked Daisuké. ‘She’s my daughter. My daughter. I’m her father.’

Lord Mizuno gave a hoarse gasp. Suddenly the arm gripping Sachi was gone. He shoved her aside and she staggered forward and fell.

She heard Lord Mizuno screech, ‘You!’ It was more like the savage yowl of an animal than a human voice.

Then there was a scuffling of feet. Sachi looked up, dazed. She caught a glimpse of an arm raised and a blade flashing. The dagger was descending towards Daisuké’s throat when Haru lunged between them, snatching at Mizuno’s arm. The blow hit her full in the chest, just below her left shoulder. As she fell back, Mizuno wrenched the dagger out. Blood spurted from the wound. Sachi felt the hot drops sting her face.

‘Haru!’ she shrieked.

There was a noise from above them. Shinzaemon was on the rim of the pit, directly above Mizuno. Edwards was beside him, his golden hair gleaming in the sun, Taki’s thin frightened face peeking from behind. There was a click as Shinzaemon cocked his pistol.

‘Shin, no!’ yelled Daisuké.

Mizuno had lowered his arm. He was staring at Haru, his eyes wide and his mouth open, panting noisily, gasping for breath.

Blood was pumping from the wound in Haru’s chest. Sachi sprang to her side. She had forgotten her ordeal, forgotten the mud and filth that covered her, forgotten everything except Haru. She knelt beside her, took her hands and rubbed them, cradled her head in her lap.

‘Haru, Haru!’ she said. Haru was wheezing painfully. Sachi could see her life draining away. ‘Haru, don’t die, you mustn’t die. I need you.’

Mizuno fell to his knees. The wild gleam had gone from his eyes. He looked bewildered, as if he’d woken from a nightmare. Then, his face to the ground, he crumpled up, his bony shoulders heaving.

‘My lady,’ breathed Haru. Her voice was no more than a whisper. Each word seemed to emerge painfully. ‘My lady Ohiro. Tell us . . . Where is she? Please . . . tell us, and I can die in peace.’

Lord Mizuno looked up. Tears ran down his face, cutting pale furrows across his dirt-encrusted cheeks. He swabbed at his face with his hand.

‘The big old plum tree in the grounds,’ he said, ‘where we used to play hide-and-seek when we first went to Edo. She’s there. I buried her there.’

Haru moved her lips. Her face was turning blue. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. There was silence, only the rustling of the grass and the cawing of the birds and Haru’s wheezing as she gasped for breath.

Daisuké took Haru’s hand and Sachi saw her face change. The years seemed to fall away. It was the face of a young woman, her mother’s faithful and devoted maid, who had been a friend and mentor – almost a mother – to her too. Haru’s eyes were fixed on Daisuké. Sachi realized with a pang how much he had meant to her all these years. He was bent over with his face close to hers, holding her hand in both of his.

‘We’re going back to Edo, Haru,’ he whispered. ‘We’re going to find your mistress, Lady Ohiro – you and I.’

Sachi stroked Haru’s forehead, trying to hold back her own
tears. Haru looked peaceful. Her eyes flickered towards Sachi. Sachi knew that when she looked at her she saw her mother. Sachi’s face was the last thing Haru saw as her eyes closed.

They all knelt, stunned into silence. Taki was on her knees weeping at the edge of the pit. Shinzaemon and Edwards were next to her. Lord Mizuno was bowed over with his face to the ground. Everyone was frozen, mourning.

Daisuké shook his head. ‘She did it for me,’ he muttered. ‘That blow was meant for me.’

He turned to Lord Mizuno.

‘Enough killing,’ he said. His voice was dull. ‘Let’s go back to Edo and pray at your sister’s grave.’

Mizuno raised his head and sat up slowly and deliberately.

‘There’s one job left,’ he muttered. He raised his dagger. For a moment Sachi thought he was going to cut open his own belly. But he turned towards Daisuké.

‘Adulterer!’ he hissed. ‘It was you – you that caused all the trouble. You destroyed our family. You killed my sister.’

Sachi stared at him, realizing, too late, that he had no choice. He had to do his duty. According to the laws of the old world of which Lord Mizuno was a part, Daisuké was a criminal. Adultery was a crime punishable by death.

Daisuké drew back, his eyes widening. Sachi looked at him. There was a luminous look on his face. His eyes were strangely bright. She could see that he was thinking of her mother. He had found the answer to the question which had tormented him his whole life. He knew now where she was, knew she was dead. Without her, for him the world was an empty place and he was happy to join her. There was a faint smile on his lips. He didn’t move or fight or try to escape, he simply waited.

The two of them watched, mesmerized, as the knife flashed down.

But before the blade could reach Daisuké’s throat there was an explosion so loud that Sachi started and fell back. A cloud of choking smoke hung over the pit, permeated with a strange acrid smell. She knew the smell. Gunpowder. For a moment she was dazed by the noise. Her ears ringing, she looked around. Lord
Mizuno had fallen back against the wall of the pit. His dark pockmarked face was as fearsome as ever and he seemed to be staring blankly towards her, but his head was lolling. The dagger had fallen from his hand. Blood bubbled at his lips and spurted from his scrawny sunburned chest.

‘Forgive me,’ said Shinzaemon. He looked like a giant, looming above them at the edge of the pit. His pistol was in his hand and smoke coiled from the barrel. ‘I only meant to wound him. But he was too close to you. I couldn’t risk it.’

Daisuké looked up. His broad handsome face was drained of colour.

‘I thought my life was going to end. But it didn’t. Not today. That wasn’t my destiny. I’m indebted to you.’ He bowed his head.

Sachi tried to stand up and realized she was trembling so much she couldn’t. She was vaguely aware of Shinzaemon jumping into the pit, picking her up very gently and lifting her out. As she let her head rest on his shoulder, she realized she was safe at last.

Epilogue: The Last Secret

Tokyo, 14 October 1872

‘Today everything has to be perfect,’ said Taki, sliding open the drawers of the cosmetic box and laying out brushes, tweezers, combs and jars of make-up on a square of silk on the floor. The box was one of the few things Sachi had managed to bring with her from the palace. Even the handle of the slenderest brush was of finest lacquerware, marked with a tiny Tokugawa crest in gold. Every item was imbued with the faint but unmistakable fragrance of those far-off days.

Taki slipped out of the room with a swish of her kimono skirts and returned with the small iron kettle of tooth-dyeing liquid. The bitter smell of iron, vinegar and sumac-leaf gall suffused the room. She knelt in front of Sachi.

Sachi looked at her thin pale face, her big, rather startled eyes and pointed chin. Taki was still as sharp-boned and prickly as ever, a samurai through and through. Sometimes when she thought Sachi wasn’t around the placid expression she worked so hard to maintain would fade. Sachi suspected she thought of Toranosuké.