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be.
    Isamu gave me an odd look. ‘I meant it as a compliment. I’m sorry if I gave offence.’ He gave a short bow then strode on ahead, leaving me to alternately curse myself and puzzle over his meaning.
    A compliment ? Had he meant to praise my walking or my ladylike manner? Hardly the latter, given my response . . .

    We left the Kiso Valley. I had thought I’d be sad as we moved further and further away from my home, and I was a little, but more than that I was entranced, my eyes travelling over new landscapes: the sight of the sacred Mount Fuji from the Shiojiri pass; the bleakness of the Asama plateau, so wide and flat, the desolate air broken by the porters from Oiwake singing a song about the inn of the moon and flowers. Then Mount Asama, the mighty volcano, so unlike the comforting embrace of the mountains in my valley. I saw lakes and bustling towns and the grand Korigawashrine, and crossed a wide river on a ferry boat: my first time on the water.
    Lord Shimizu was often lost in thought the closer we drew to Edo. I supposed, having heard him tell his nephew of the tension between those who saw the necessity of negotiating with the foreigners and those who refused, that he had a lot on his mind. Isamu was very attentive towards his uncle. They didn’t only talk about politics, either. I heard talk of poetry and artists drifting back to me on the breeze. I wondered if Isamu was trying to take his uncle’s mind off his problems. He walked with me from time to time, and apologised for leaving me so much on my own, but I didn’t mind: I had always been happiest in my own company. I spent much of my time trying to imagine my life among samurai. From what I knew of Lord Shimizu, I felt sure that his wife would be serene, dignified and capable.
    We had been travelling for twelve days by the time we reached the Itabashi bridge one afternoon, the sun already sitting low in the sky. ‘It’s not more than four miles now to my house in Kanda,’ said Shimizu. ‘I know it’s late, but now that we’re so near home I’d like to keep going. Kasumi, can you manage it?’
    â€˜Yes, sir.’
    And then suddenly we were inside the city’s north gate, standing at the edge of an enormous open plaza backing onto a broad tree-lined river. Streets ran off in all directions. It was quite a sight for someone from a town with only one main road.
    Lord Shimizu pointed to a long grey wall at one end of the plaza. ‘That’s a daimyo’s mansion,’ he said. ‘When my lord is in Edo he lives in a large compound like thatin Daimyo Alley, to the south-east of the castle, and most of his retainers do too. A couple of thousand people live there. But I have my own house not far from the Matsuyama mansion.’
    I couldn’t say in which direction we went, as there was too much to distract me. The plaza — I’d never seen such a large open space — was crisscrossed by streams of people. Travellers moved in groups like schools of fish. To my left were tea stalls, with waitresses beckoning to passers-by. Palanquin bearers called out for custom, offering to convey weary travellers through the city streets in wooden seats or small wooden boxes held aloft by two long poles. Ahead of us was a trio of women, using their fans to point and whisper behind. Their faces were painted white with their eyebrows drawn in black and their lips coloured blood-red. Their hair was twisted into extravagant arrangements and bristling with decorative pins and combs. With their gorgeous kimonos and quick, darting movements, they resembled colourful birds.
    â€˜Geisha,’ said Isamu, staring.
    As dusk fell, lanterns were lit, giving the other people moving along the street the appearance of fireflies bobbing through the mild air.
    Shimizu began to walk more quickly, as if in a hurry to be home. We followed a wide road — I had the impression of rows of houses