The Last Concubine by Lesley Downer Read Free Book Online

darkness. On one set of doors, dimly visible in the gloom, painted cranes soared and turtles swam; on another were mountains and waterfalls that reminded her for a moment of home. Leopards and tigers lurked in the shadows, their eyes glinting. Dragons coiled along the lintels and friezes and the ceiling glimmered with gold. Even the nail heads were of gold, intricately moulded. To one side of the hall was a courtyard with a small pond and a tiny square of grey sky. White flowers sparkled on the rocks. The heat was so intense it was difficult to move. The air was steamy, dense with moisture.
    ‘Head down!’ barked Lady Tsuguko.
    They came to a walkway which led to the shogun’s private wing, rising like a pavilion amid lawns, willows, sparkling streams and beds of purple irises. A crowd of women were waiting on their knees there. They shuffled back as the princess approached. At the front were seven shrivelled women with parchment faces and elaborate wigs of glossy black hair – the elders, who ruled over every detail of life in the women’s palace. They had, so people said, once been beauties, among the hundreds of concubines of Lord Ienari, the present shogun’s grandfather. But as far as Sachi was concerned they were fire-breathing dragons. She lived in fear of their sharp tongues and hard knuckles. What might they say or do, seeing a lowly creature like her daring to climb so high above her station? She raised her eyes just enough to see their faces as Lady Tsuguko ushered her past and was startled to see that they were looking at her kindly. One even smiled and nodded encouragingly.
    She barely had time to register the strangeness of it before the princess and her entourage had swept on into a long, gloomy passageway. Reed blinds decorated with huge red tassels formed one wall. At the far end was a hefty wooden door.
    This was the famous Upper Bell Corridor, the point of entry into the women’s palace from the middle and outer palaces which were the domain of the men. Only the shogun used it; he was the only man who ever came into the women’s quarters. There were a few men who worked in the women’s quarters – desiccated priests, a couple of smooth-faced doctors, the brawny guards atthe outer gates – but they did not count. As far as the women were concerned, they didn’t exist.
    Beside the door hung a ball of copper bells that sounded when the shogun was about to pass through; to ring them at any other time was a terrible crime. A lady-in-waiting was kneeling on each side, together with a couple of the lady priests, gnarled old women with shiny shaven pates who dressed like men in priests’ robes. When Sachi had first seen them she had stared in surprise but now they just seemed part of the palace population.
    The princess and her entourage wore the white robes, scarlet trousers and vermilion brocade coats which were the formal costume of the imperial court at Kyoto. But the noblewomen who filled the passageway were dressed in robes more lavish than any Sachi had ever seen. Some were embroidered with designs of wisteria and irises, others with cypresswood fans and oxcarts. On some, miniature landscapes in shades of blue scrolled across the ladies’ curved backs. The princess and her ladies wore their hair long and straight, cascading to the floor. But the heads bent to the ground were adorned with heavy loops and coils of oiled hair bristling with combs, hairpins and ribbons.
    The Dowager Lady Jitsusei-in, the shogun’s real mother, was kneeling in the place of honour nearest the closed door. She had a pinched, sallow face. As a widow, she wore the short hair, plain robes and cowl of a nun. Sachi thought of her as the Old Crow. Every day she swooped into the princess’s apartments in her black robes, finding fault here and there. No matter how hard everyone tried to please her, she always unearthed something to complain about.
    The princess took her place on the cushion opposite her. But just as she was