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her that was like a wild creature, trapped within the net of ceremony and deference that surrounded her. Sometimes Sachi thought she saw a flash of panic in her black eyes, like that of a frightened deer. Young and powerless though she was, she yearned to protect her.
    From far off came the pad of footsteps, hurrying along the corridor towards them. Sachi heard the door to the outer chamber sliding in its grooves and the boards creaking as the visitor knelt. There was a flurry of voices, the rustle of silk, then a lady-in-waiting appeared, bowing at the edge of the screen. Lady Tsuguko leaned towards her in her lofty way, then turned to the princess and whispered in her ear.
    Sachi caught the words: ‘The time of the morning visit approaches.’
    The princess froze. Then, for some strange reason, she looked straight at Sachi. Sachi quickly looked down.
    The princess took a breath, as if remembering what and who she was. Then she turned to Lady Tsuguko and said with studied calm, ‘Tell my ladies to make preparations.’
    Quickly Sachi gathered up the shells and put them back in theirboxes, carefully tying the tasselled cords that bound them. When she had first arrived at the palace, everything had been so new that she had barely noticed where she was or been aware of the immense luxury that surrounded her. Now, almost four years later, she handled the tiny painted shells and the lacquered eight-sided boxes with reverence.
    Only ladies of the highest rank ever entered the presence of the shogun. The life of the palace revolved around him. When he was absent it was as if darkness had fallen. All the women who pattered about the women’s palace from the highest in the hierarchy to the lowest – grand ladies, lesser ladies, old, young, maids, maids’ maids, halberd-wielding guards, bath girls, cleaning girls, carriers of charcoal and water, even the lowest-ranking errand girls whom everyone called the ‘honourable whelps’ – were silent and afraid. When he returned it was as if the sun had come out. But most of the women who devoted their lives to serving this godlike being never expected to see him.
    Indeed, it was extraordinary, as Sachi heard the older women saying to each other, for the shogun ever to have been away. The third shogun, Lord Iemitsu, had visited Kyoto in the Kan’ei era, more than 200 years ago, but since then no shogun had ever left Edo and few left the castle. The previous shogun, poor Lord Iesada, like all his predecessors, had been born, lived and died there.
    For why would anyone ever want to leave? The castle was a world in itself. Besides the inner palace, with its offices, guard rooms, great kitchens, dining rooms and baths, its sub-palaces for the great ladies and labyrinths of rooms where the women lived, all set in exquisite gardens with lakes and streams and waterfalls and stages for plays and dances, there was also the middle palace, the shogun’s residence when he was not in the inner palace, and the outer palace, where official business took place and the government had its offices.
    The women, of course, never went there and in theory did not know what went on; though in practice news and gossip seemed to flow like air into the inner palace so that even though the women never left, they knew exactly what was happening in the world outside. All this – the inner, middle and outer palaces – made up the main citadel. But there was also the second citadel,where the heir – when there was one – and his mother had their court, and the west citadel, where the widows – the wives, consorts and concubines – of the late shoguns were supposed to live, having taken holy vows. Each was a smaller version of the main citadel, complete with its own outer, middle and inner palaces. Within the great moat and the soaring walls, there was also the wooded expanse of the Fukiage pleasure gardens and Momiji Hill, where the women could stroll to enjoy the changing seasons, and the palaces of the