‘Wake up.’
Nakahara, his hands tied behind him with rope, coughed and spluttered as ice-cold water startled him back to consciousness.
Kono, a student in his middle years, stood breathing hard with the now empty bucket in his hands.
Nakahara hung his head in hopeless acceptance.
Disgust shot through Keiichirō, disgust with both himself and his fellow samurai. Nobody had seen what should have been obvious in their fellow team member.
Now it seemed the fact that Nakahara often wrote letters should have aroused suspicions. He must have been reporting back detailed facts about the Satsuma samurai to his superiors in Tokyo, the eastern capital.
But although Keiichirō hated this, what he hated even more was that there was no fight in the spy, not a single spark. As Nakahara Hisao looked at him with meek acquiescence, all Keiichirō could see before him was a detestable coward.
It was almost morning when the screams stopped. Kono’s knuckles were bloody and he had tried every trick he knew to make their captive speak.
So far Nakahara Hisao had confessed that, as they had already surmised, the imperial navy had come to take the Satsuma weapons to Osaka, a city nine hundred kilometres away. But he refused to be drawn on what the purpose of this manoeuvre might be, or whether it was the start of an offensive designed to cripple the samurai’s power further.
Kono emerged from the house, squinting as though he had never encountered sunlight before. Dried droplets of blood lay browning on his kimono.
‘Any news, Kono-san?’ Keiichirō straightened from the beam he’d been leaning against.
‘It looks as if there are many more spies in the school. Maybe as many as fifty,’ said Kono.
‘Fifty!’ exclaimed Keiichirō. How would they find out who they were?
‘He’ll talk.’ Kono flexed his fingers, and stared at the drying blood, flakes of rust-red fluttering to the ground. ‘He will speak.’
Another scream from behind Kono made Keiichirō want to flinch, but he made himself stand strong. ‘I must tell Beppu-san what’s happened here.’
Beppu Shinsuke was a close friend of Saigō-sama. Sharp-faced with a goatee, he radiated power.
After Keiichirō’s report, he burst into the prison where they kept the spies and knelt by Nakahara. His voice was gentle. ‘Tell us why you were here. What you want. If you do, I’ll tend to your wounds.’
Keiichirō, looking from the doorway, forced himself not to look away. The place stank of sweat and blood. Nakahara sat slumped, hair hanging over his face. The ropes around his wrists were dyed with old blood, his face bruised, tear tracks running through the dirt on his cheeks.
Beppu-san’s soft-spoken words were more threatening than those of his torturers. Nakahara began to sob like a child, his body shaking. It was uncomfortable to watch, like beholding something ugly, naked, too intimate and shaming. Finally, Nakahara whispered, ‘We were sent to assassinate Saigō Takamori.’
This was bolder and more shocking than anyone had expected. The words struck Keiichirō like a slap. Beppu-san’s shoulders tensed. Keiichirō wondered if he might strike the young man, or perhaps unsheathe his katana sword and behead him.
‘I see.’ The older samurai gained his feet. ‘You have infiltrated our community, spied on our people, and insulted us to the vilest degree.’
Keiichirō realised the full implication of Nakahara’s dreadful confession, and it wasn’t good in any way. His stomach roiled to know that innocently he had spent many, many days alongside spies in the shi-gakkō, the academies Saigō-sama had built to give the young samurai something to do, something to live for.
Now, however, it was clear that not only did the new government despise Satsuma being independent and want to crush their spirit, but they wanted Saigō-sama dead, and all his followers. Everything Saigō-sama had done, supporting and fighting for the emperor and helping to bring him to power, was not enough. All his honourable actions had done was to convince the emperor that he, and all that he stood for, must be eradicated. Permanently.
It was an insult of the highest degree, Keiichirō thought. The imperial army wanted the last of the samurai dead and gone, starting with their great leader.
‘Maeda, fetch the foreigner,’ said Beppu-san.
It was as if Beppu-san had stolen Keiichirō’s very worst thought. With the reality of spies being in their midst, Isla was now in the gravest danger.
Beppu-san’s words made Keiichirō go cold, but as a dutiful samurai he had to obey.
Feeling a traitor, he found Isla on top of the hill, dozing propped against a tree. She was waiting for him just as he had told her to do.
Keiichirō told her quickly the events of the night, and Nakahara’s claims, and that Beppu-san had demanded to see her.
Isla looked at him, and he could see she’d grasped the precarious situation she was in. And then she rose to her feet, exhaustion tightening her face, and with shoulders squared she followed him without a word. Keiichirō felt a rush of pride.
Keiichirō took her to Beppu-san in the interrogation chamber. The older man grabbed her by the arm, making her gasp. A sharp intake of breath escaped Keiichirō at Beppu-san’s roughness, and Beppu-san and Isla both looked at him. Keiichirō wilted beneath Beppu-san’s glare, and bowed his head in apology. He hated himself for doing so, but this was what the code of the samurai demanded.
‘Do you know this woman?’ Beppu-san asked, thrusting Isla before Nakahara.
Nakahara lifted a bloody head, and Keiichirō saw Isla wince at the sight of his wounds. ‘It’s the foreign girl who came to Satsuma,’ said the spy, his voice croaky.
‘Did she help you deliver letters? Is she a fellow spy?’
Silence. Then Nakahara grunted a no.
‘Tell the truth. We’ll find out if you don’t.’
‘I don’t know her!’ Nakahara shouted, and he struggled against his bonds. ‘We are a league of police officers from Tokyo. Kagoshima is my hometown, that’s why I was chosen. That foreign woman has nothing to do with it. As far as I know – I never heard mention of her. Why would the emperor use a gaijin? And a woman? It makes no sense.’
Beppu-san stepped close to Nakahara, dragging Isla with him, and spent a long time looking intently from Nakahara to Isla and back again.
At last, Beppu-san released Isla’s arm and pushed her roughly away in dismissal.
Rubbing her wrist, she ran past Keiichirō and out of the interrogation chamber. Keiichirō released a slow breath.
He had been sure that Isla was not a spy or an enemy of Satsuma. After all, it was she who had alerted him to the advancing army. If it weren’t for her, they would have lost many more weapons in the fight.
But this wouldn’t have mattered if Beppu-san had believed she was, and Keiichirō hated to think of the consequences if that had been the case. To see Nakahara deny her involvement, too, so fervently, insisting that Isla was not part of a Tokyo master plan, brought a wonderful sense of relief. ‘May I be excused, sir?’
Beppu-san waved Keiichirō away, his eyes fixed on Nakahara, who hung his head in acceptance of the fate that awaited him, his certain death.
Keiichirō breathed deeply outside in the crisp morning air, glad to clear his lungs of the fetid atmosphere he’d just been in.
He saw Isla standing between some houses, arms wrapped around herself. ‘You must be cold. You didn’t have to wait all night.’
‘I did what you asked of me.’ Isla’s voice was serious. She glanced towards the bay and suppressed a shiver.
‘We need something to eat. Kana will feed us,’ said Keiichirō. And together they walked to his house, Keiichirō making sure Isla walked at his side and not behind.
* * *
Toramasa’s face shone with excitement as Ikeda stood at his side. They had mapped out known locations of government arsenals, and a main one was the Somuta arsenal. ‘Let’s go in there and take everything we can,’ Toramasa said.
‘They took our stipends, our power, and now they try to cripple us from the inside,’ said Ikeda, his long fingers spread on the map before them.
Over a thousand shi-gakkō students were angry. Their great leader had been insulted, and they hated the depletion of their weapon stores.
Though the young samurai were fierce and brave, their response wasn’t a coordinated attack. However, by sunset they had retrieved spoils from the imperial arsenals, some young boys and women having joined the samurai in this offensive.
‘Look at this!’ Toramasa jeered at the end of the day, holding up an enormous rifle almost longer than he was tall. Kono stood beside him, his own gun in his hand.
And the samurai shouted and cheered as they paraded their spoils around the town for everyone to see, the Satsuma police turning a blind eye, hiding smiles behind hands.
* * *
Keiichirō, Toramasa, Tatsuzō, Ikeda, Murakami and the other samurai were summoned to the school three days later, on a cold February morning. Despite his friends at his side, Keiichirō felt a flicker of nerves as they gathered in the lobby, everyone sitting straight-backed beneath the wooden beams that held up the building as they settled themselves onto faded tatami mats.
Saigō-sama had not joined them in their strategic responses.
Now Keiichirō thought over what had happened in the past couple of days, he felt concerned. Everything had occurred so quickly and there hadn’t been enough time to think things through and weigh up their actions. But had anyone actually asked for Saigō-sama’s thoughts before repelling the invaders, and then stealing imperial-owned weapons and ammunition from the depots? Keiichirō thought not, and he didn’t like that the samurai hadn’t behaved in the proper way and respected the opinions and guidance of authority.
A hush fell over the young men as the door opened and Saigō-sama stepped before them, his face showing none of his usual gentle charm.
Keiichirō swallowed, feeling like there was a pebble in his throat. Did that mean he was against them? Was he angry at their behaviour? Their parades around town with the stolen weapons and ammunition now seemed tawdry and unbecoming.
Beppu-san followed Saigō-sama. Standing together, they looked awe-inspiring and fearsome, worthy leaders of all the Satsuma samurai.
If he and the others were about to be punished for their hasty actions, thought Keiichirō, they would have deserved it. The two men before them would have carefully considered their position.
‘Men of Satsuma,’ Saigō announced, his voice a deep rumble. ‘I cannot fight against the emperor.’
At this unexpected beginning, Keiichirō felt the creep of unease spread across those seated alongside him.
Saigō-sama paused to let the samurai think about what he had just said.
‘It is not the emperor who is our enemy,’ said Beppu-san after Keiichirō’s ears had almost begun to hurt, the silence having become so intense. ‘It is the corrupt Tokyo government. Is that not so?’
The room came alive. Keiichirō’s shouts joined those of his peers. ‘Yes!’ they bellowed. ‘That’s right!’
It was the government, the men behind the figurehead, who had pulled the strings of power. Someone in the government had sent the spies, not the emperor. He, no doubt, still held great respect for Saigō-sama.
Several more people entered the room and stood behind the speakers. Some wore kimonos but others were clad in their imperial army uniforms from the days when they had fought for the emperor.
‘We should raise an army of our own,’ somebody called. ‘Make the government answer for their assassination attempt.’
The samurai looked at each other, excitement crackling between them.
Wasn’t this what they had been training for?
‘Our response needs to be clever and well thought through. If we raise an army now, there will be war,’ said Beppu-san in a strong voice designed to quell the rising emotions in the room. ‘We should go with a few people only, and we must think with our heads and not our emotions. We need wise and experienced men, such as Kirino-san, to lead us to diplomacy.’ He acknowledged Kirino-san with a respectful bow of his head, and the other man bowed back.
‘You are naive,’ barked a clean-shaven, balding man in a kimono. ‘What if they send more soldiers and capture Saigō-sama? We’d be falling right into their trap! I say we strike now and drive out the corruption!’
Murata-san watched on in silence, his face troubled.
The men stood in a group, their voices rising as they quarrelled. Keiichirō looked between them. Would they go to war? Would they emerge triumphant? Could they even hope to face the imperial army? Other samurai called out their opinions, although Keiichirō didn’t add to the debate.
‘We should follow the sea route and land on Tokyo’s shores. Take them by surprise.’
‘The whole city of Tokyo taken by surprise by us? Don’t be a fool.’
‘We could raise an army from across various strongholds. We have allies all over Kyushu.’
‘There’s no time for that.’
‘So we have to rely on luck instead? That is not the samurai way.’
Saigō-sama took a pace forward and, one by one, his men fell silent.
Keiichirō swallowed, watching his superiors. Whatever Saigō-sama decided, they would follow.
‘You all feel strongly about this, I can see. And so, if you will it, I will pledge my life to this cause,’ Saigō-sama said, and a loud cheer rose.
That’s settled, then, thought Keiichirō, who’d abstained from cheering. Diplomacy as a first approach had been tossed aside, and now it seemed they had just voted to go straight to war, and the imperial government would answer for their crimes through violence.
As he looked around at the committed faces of his dear friends, Keiichirō wondered why he wasn’t sharing the sense of glee rapidly washing through the room.
* * *
News of the impending war spread through Kagoshima in mere hours. The corrupt new government must answer for its crimes, was the rallying cry. These crimes were plotting their leader Saigō-sama’s death, infiltrating their shi-gakkō with spies, and stealing the Satsuma weapons under the guise of saying this was on the emperor’s orders. Everyone seemed to be uniting to the samurai cause.
‘How did you know?’
‘Know what?’ Isla said carefully.
‘How did you foretell that the imperial soldiers were coming?’ Nene pressed.
Isla shifted, uncomfortable. They were working in a field today, the winter sun strong in the clear sky. She turned from Nene and raked at random, not answering. She heard the other girl sigh crossly.
A cold shiver that had nothing to do with the weather ran through Isla. History was unfolding before her eyes. She had just borne witness that the devastating Satsuma Rebellion had begun.
Had she changed anything by making sure Keiichirō saw the approaching thieves, or would things have worked out this way anyway? If the soldiers had never been discovered, would things be different?
She had no way of knowing.
These people she now knew would be dead in a few short months. Toramasa Mori. Uhei Ikeda. Keiichirō Maeda.
There’s a reason I came here. I know it. Now I just need to find what that reason is, Isla told herself.
Nene gave another huff of displeasure at her silence and stomped away.
Isla, now working with the unmarried women once more, was given another sack of food for her work, and this she gladly handed over to Kana. She couldn’t conjure the words to apologise for having returned, so she simply bowed and went to her room.
She thought about Takamori Saigō’s plan, which was still to march to Tokyo to speak to the emperor.
If history was to run its course, as she had read about what was going to happen, Takamori Saigō would never make it within a hundred miles of the capital. Isla had hoped that warning Keiichirō would have altered things, but clearly not.
She went to the river as the sun was setting, wishing she’d never come to Japan in the first place.
The falling-out with Will as their relationship crashed and burned, Isla would have got over in time if she had stayed in Scotland – he just wasn’t worth the problems she had faced since they broke up.
And no matter how curious she had been about her own Japanese ancestry, she’d pretty much been a failure at finding out about this, and in any case the knowledge she had gleaned in no way made up for the pain and anxiety she had experienced in these unsettled times as the Satsuma samurai readied for war. She was hungry nearly all of the time – not that she was ungrateful to Kana and the others – and she was unhappy and unsettled. She didn’t belong, even if there were things about this place she liked. Or, more exactly, people she liked.
As her thoughts turned to Keiichirō, Isla recognised his footsteps approaching in that frustratingly calm way of his. When he came to her side, she didn’t look at him. She wanted to be stoical, to hide her feelings like he did so easily. But she was not him. She was impatient, passionate Isla.
‘Why didn’t you tell me about Nene?’ Hating her weakness, she turned to look up at him.
‘Nakamura Nene and I got engaged because our parents wanted us to,’ he answered. ‘I care about her as a friend. Our mothers were close, you see, and as Nene doesn’t have any brothers or sisters she played with me and Kana a lot when we were small, and so the promise to each other didn’t seem onerous.’
Keiichirō sighed. He looked to the sky, almost as if he was forcing himself to swallow his emotions. ‘Father’s death changed things then, and I felt differently about Nene, not as certain, although I didn’t want to dishonour her. Then you arrived, and now she is upset with you, and with me. And I cannot make her feel better.’
Isla crossed her arms against the cold, digesting his words. He seemed to be saying he did have feelings for her, but that it was complicated. Well, complicated was her world now, wasn’t it?
‘Marrying me would elevate Nene to the status of samurai. Her father is a merchant, traditionally the lowliest class.’ He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Her father makes more money than I do. I couldn’t protect my mother from her illness, my father from his actions or my sister from being hurt,’ he said, and Isla understood why he felt as he did.
Who was she to even for a second think about standing in the way of another woman’s happiness – especially as, the moment she found a way to get back to her life in 2005, she’d take it at once?
Isla looked at Keiichirō. He was studying his sword, stroking the handle with his thumb, the tassel snaking through his fingers. ‘I know that Nene would be better off marrying someone else, someone who loves her in all the ways that I never can, but she cares for me, and I can’t bear the thought of hurting her.’
Something lurched deep within Isla as Keiichirō took her hand. ‘I’m so sorry, Isla, if I hurt you,’ he said, but she didn’t hear. Her skin tingled where he touched her, her heart singing.
He stepped closer to her and, while she yearned for him to kiss her, she saw the white crest of the Shimazu clan stitched on his jacket at eye level, a sobering reminder of who he was. Where they were, and who she was, too. She stepped back and turned away from him.
They wandered the small garden, finding quiet sanctuary behind the house. No one was here but them and the skeletal trees.
‘I was with someone I thought I loved very much,’ Isla said softly, keeping her gaze on the crest on Keiichirō’s haori jacket. ‘I trusted him with everything I had. I thought we’d get married, have kids, all that stuff. We spent a lot of time together. He met my parents, and my friends.’ Her chest tightened at the memory, but Keiichirō was here, he was warm and real, and in that moment she wanted to be vulnerable, for him to know. ‘He was a student, a bit like you, Keiichirō.’ She remembered Will’s face: industrious as he studied for his PhD, handsome, friendly and trustable. ‘But I was mistaken. And I found out I wasn’t the only woman he was seeing – it shattered my world, and I felt so used.’
Keiichirō sighed. Then, despite their best intentions, Isla allowed herself to be pulled into a hug.
Isla relaxed against a chest that smelled of incense and cedarwood, of male strength. As Keiichirō’s cheek pressed against the top of her head, all thoughts of Nene vanished, and she hugged him back.
It felt so long since anyone had hugged her, she had almost forgotten what it was like. When had the last time been? Hugging Mum goodbye at the airport months ago? She sighed against him, enjoying his warmth, his silent strength. Her heartbeat slowed, calm stealing over her as they stood among leaves blowing on the grass. She didn’t want this to end.
But he pulled back eventually, his palm cupping her face. Isla sniffled, hoping he didn’t want to kiss her and at the same time hoping he would. She looked at his full lips, at the little freckle near his mouth, and anticipation stole her breath. But he simply said, ‘We’re getting ready to leave. But before I go to help the others, may I ask how you knew the boats would come?’
Isla closed her eyes, but she owed him an answer.
‘I can’t explain in a way you can understand, Kei. But I know what will happen,’ she said after a lot of consideration. ‘This is a war you can’t win.’
* * *
Keiichirō thought sadly that Isla may well be telling the truth. Certainly, it seemed that she felt she was saying to him what she believed would happen, and he didn’t particularly care now how she had come by this opinion. The way she had spoken told him she was on his side, the side of the samurai, and that was all he needed to know.
‘Whoever sent those men did not do that in support of the emperor or at his request. We have to trust our decision that he will listen to Saigō-sama when he hears the truth,’ said Keiichirō.
Solemnly, they looked at each other, each aware of the other’s position.
‘You’re still going to go with Saigō-sama to Tokyo,’ said Isla. It wasn’t a question. She knew enough now about the samurai to understand how they thought, and that promises and honour were everything.
‘Yes, soon. It’s thanks to Saigō-sama that the samurai have any sort of life left here. My father fought at his side, and it is an honour for me to be asked to go to Tokyo to help him.’
* * *
It felt like almost everyone resident in the Satsuma province wanted to follow Takamori Saigō to war. Samurai, farmers, cooks, women, even children. The town was alive with activity as men gathered weapons and spoke in hushed, excited tones about how brave they were going to be. And as preparations were made, the samurai of the shi-gakkō walked around with pride, swords at their sides and guns strapped at their backs.
Isla looked on apprehensively. She couldn’t let them go. They’d all be dead in a few months, but it wouldn’t help them or their cause if she voiced her concerns to anyone else besides Keiichirō.
After it became gossip-fuelled common knowledge that Hisao Nakahara had denied her involvement in any spying, Isla found that she was no longer the centre of attention in the town, and that suited her just fine. Even Nene treated her better.
‘I wish we could stop them going,’ Isla said to her as they wandered through the now bustling town. ‘The imperial army is too strong. I fear they’ll be massacred.’
But they couldn’t stop an army. Maybe Keiichirō would listen if they pressed him enough, but there was too much passion in the people’s hearts to try to convince them not to go to war.
‘I don’t want them to go, either.’ Nene’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I don’t want him to die.’
Isla was squeezed with something that felt suspiciously like jealousy, but she made sure to squash that sensation immediately. She wasn’t going to risk upsetting Nene’s marriage plans with Keiichirō. It might be an arranged marriage, but it was something Keiichirō felt honour-bound to see through. And this made Isla determined not to do anything that might affect Keiichirō’s concentration in the upcoming days. He needed to focus wholly on the task that lay before him in Tokyo. Things were bad enough already without her behaving selfishly.
‘At any rate, we can’t let them go alone.’ The thought of staying here with Kana and waiting for months on end to hear news she already knew sounded beyond terrible. She had an idea. ‘Come on, Nene. Let’s find Kirino-san.’
Hisa Kirino was gathering women who wanted to join the army. Until then, Isla had thought the men would insist they stay, but, whether that was the case or not, the stern woman didn’t seem to care. Isla felt a rush of pride at the sight of them.
They were wearing straw hats and holding halberds and swords, with other weapons thrust through their obi belts. Others sat tying sacks and sharpening swords. The women she saw before her came from all walks of Satsuma life. The unmarried younger women she knew already had been joined by older women, and many with brothers or husbands or sons in the ranks had joined Hisa Kirino’s group.
With their hair tied behind them and their wide hakama trousers, it would be difficult to distinguish them from the men, and maybe that was the idea.
‘Kirino-san,’ said Nene meekly as they approached Toshiaki Kirino’s wife. ‘We’d like to join you.’
Hisa Kirino’s stern gaze swept over them both.
Isla fought a shiver. She always felt like the older woman was X-raying her.
‘Are you not in our town under protection, MacKenzie-san?’ she said sharply. ‘This is not your war, remember.’
Several women turned to stare at Isla. She itched to snatch up a halberd or a sword, to prove to them she belonged here.
Had she not proven herself these past weeks?
Or would she always be a gaijin?
‘All hands are needed in this great fight, and we want to help,’ Nene persisted, stepping forward. She quailed beneath the older woman’s gaze, and her voice trembled, but she kept going, showing a tenacity that impressed Isla. ‘We want to help protect Saigō-sama, too. We are all part of the Shimazu clan, aren’t we?’
‘There is some sense in what you say,’ said Hisa Kirino. ‘Very well, but don’t make me regret this. You may both join the ranks. We will dress as men, otherwise people will try to stop us. They mustn’t know we are with them until it’s too late for us to be sent back.’
Isla and Nene bowed their thanks, and then they dressed as instructed and found wide-brimmed straw hats to hide their faces. Isla made sure to hide her hair, terrified her red locks would give her away.
Later the women passed where the men were preparing themselves amid the scent of sweat and iron, and unobtrusively prepared themselves for a silent wait until they could join the march to battle.
This is it, thought Isla as Takamori Saigō’s best-led battalions got in line to leave for Tokyo. And so we follow.