Free The Last Concubine by Lesley Downer Page B

wave of relief. It was over, she had survived. But she had done nothing, she had not known what to do. Supposing he was disgusted with her, suppose he no longer wished her to be his concubine?
    He reached out. A bell rang.
    ‘Oi!’ he shouted. A maid scooted in on her knees. She lit a long-stemmed pipe, gave it to him and slipped out again.
    Sachi turned and peeped at him. In the flickering lamplight his smooth chest seemed to glow with the pallor of someone who has never worked in the fields or even walked in the sun, who has lived his life entirely protected from the elements.
    As her eyes crept up she made out an unassertive chin, then a delicate mouth shaped like a bow, curving at the ends. Then came a nose, slightly turned up, set in an oval face, then a pair of narrow brown eyes under fine eyebrows. The whiteness of his skin continued to the top of his head, which was shaved in the samurai manner. His neat topknot had become tousled and strands of his oiled hair hung loose around his face.
    He was unlike any man she had ever seen. Indeed, he was not a man but virtually a god. This was the shogun, the ruler of the whole great land of the rising sun. This was also the first man she had gazed on since she had entered the women’s palace. To her dazzled eyes he seemed to embody every noble quality she could ever imagine. And here he was, lying right next to her, his silken robe flung carelessly open.
    He was gazing at her seriously. He seemed to be studying every curve of her face. He ran his fingers across her cheek and chin and around the nape of her neck.
    ‘ O-yuri-no-kata . . .’ he said, as if trying out the syllables. He had a clear, slightly high-pitched voice. ‘Lady Yuri?’ He drew on his pipe. Then he tapped it out, added a plug of tobacco, took the tongs, picked up a piece of charcoal and sucked at the pipe again.
    ‘Shall we be friends?’ he asked, almost plaintively.
    Sachi gasped, shocked and frightened that this grand personage was speaking to her directly, and in such everyday language. She could feel the wakeful ears beside them straining to pick up every word. Dared she, she wondered, reply to him? She took a deep breath.
    ‘Sire?’ she whispered.
    ‘Call me Kiku,’ he said. ‘That’s what my women call me. Kikuchiyo is the name I had when I was little.’
    She knew she had to obey, even though what he was ordering her to do was against all the rules of protocol.
    ‘Sire . . . I mean, Kiku- sama ,’ she whispered nervously, stumbling over the intimate syllables. There was the faintest of rustles from the shadows. ‘You must know . . . their lady-ships . . .’
    She gestured helplessly towards the bundles of bedclothes to each side of them.
    ‘Don’t worry about them,’ he said, grinning at her. ‘There are watchers and listeners everywhere. I won’t say anything to harm you.
    ‘The first time I saw you, you were in the gardens,’ he added mischievously. ‘You didn’t know that, did you! You were running here and there, laughing, kicking up cherry blossoms with your feet, your hair flying. You looked so sweet, like a little girl.’
    Sachi could feel her face burning. She dared not say a word. He looked at her and laughed, not a polite artificial laugh like the court ladies uttered when they were embarrassed but an open, merry laugh.
    ‘I had never seen anyone like you,’ he went on, growing serious. ‘You were like a deer, so free and so graceful. Your face is quite perfect. Your skin is so white, so smooth, so dewy. Like a lotus flower. Your lips.’ He ran his fingers across them. ‘And your eyes are green, dark green. Like a forest of pine trees in the mountains. My women are all chosen for their beauty, but none of them is like you – except, of course, Princess Kazu, your mistress. You are like matching shells. She told me about you. And once I’d seen you I noticed you again and again. I’m sure our destinies are entwined.’
    Sachi lay in silence. She tried not to