The Samurai's Daughter Read Free

wrong to be observing New Year rituals and enjoying New Year dishes at the height of winter, rather than when the plum blossoms were coming into bud. In previous years the children had gone out to play battledore and shuttlecock and watch the strolling players but that year it was far too cold.
    Taka’s father had been there when the calendar changed. His work often took him away but she loved it when he was at home. She was a little in awe of him. He was huge, as big and tall as a sumo wrestler, and round like a bear – like Fujino, he was larger than life.
    He had written a poem to mark the change of calendar and took her on his large knee and gave it to her:
    Since times long gone this has been the day we greet the New Year
.
    How will the western calendar reach the distant mountain villages?
    The snow announces the coming of a fruitful year and families treasure their elderly
.
    How joyful are the shouts of the village children
.
    ***
    ‘So Oharu’s getting married and you’ll be a grandmother soon,’ Aunt Kiharu was saying with a high-pitched laugh. Haru’s cheeks turned bright red and she stared fixedly at the glistening meat in her bowl.
    ‘And next we have to get Taka off our hands,’ boomed Fujino.
    It was Taka’s turn to cringe. If only her mother didn’t have to speak quite so loudly, she thought, valiantly struggling with another piece of meat. It was horribly chewy but she refused to admit defeat.
    Then suddenly she noticed that something had changed. The voices and clatter of chopsticks, the rustle of sleeves and patter of feet in the next room had stopped. There was utter silence, as if everyone was holding their breath, then a terrifying bellow followed by crashes as the diners scrambled to their feet and rushed for the door.
    There was another sound too – footsteps, padding towards their private room. Taka felt a shock of fear. She stared around. They were trapped, there was no other way out. She rushed to the back of the room, knocking against a table as she ran. Fortunately it was big and heavy and didn’t fall over. If the glowing charcoal had spilt it would have set the whole place alight. She tried to hide behind Haru and the maids, crouching so close against the wall that she felt the sandy grain of the plaster pressing into her skin.
    Her mother’s three chairs crashed over. Fujino was on her feet, her dagger flashing in the candlelight. Now that she was the mistress of one of the country’s leading samurai, she’d taken to carrying a dagger, as samurai women did. Aunt Kiharu was beside her and she too had a dagger in her hand.
    Breathing hard, Taka watched as the door slid open and a face appeared in the dim light of the hallway, swathed in a scarf like a brigand. Black eyes glinted from between the folds of cloth. It was a man, big and burly, in shabby leggings, the wide sleeves of his jacket tied back ready for a fight. He had a sword in one hand.
    Taka knew exactly what he was – a ronin, a lordless samurai, impoverished and embittered, accountable to no one. When she was little, the streets had swarmed with men like him, swaggering about, looking for trouble. Memories flooded back, memories she’d done her best to suppress – of shouts echoing down the streets, fists pounding at the door, her mother confronting angry intruders. She remembered peeking through the shutters and seeing bodies right outside their house.
    Fujino stepped in front of him. Taka had often wished her mother were more like her schoolfriends’ mothers – wispy, tight-lipped, nervous, not so huge and flamboyant. But now her heart swelled with pride.
    ‘What a commotion,’ Fujino said softly. It was her geisha voice, the icy tones she had used when men grew unruly from too much drink, when a glance from her narrowed eyes could make them tremble like children. ‘And all for one man!’ She drew out the syllables with scorn. ‘I’d put that sword away if I were you. Money, is that what you’re