The Return of the Warrior

by Chris Bradford

  ‘Will Sir Toby Nashe be here?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Why, yes, of course. He’s a good acquaintance of mine,’ replied Sir Henry. ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘We’ve met …’ Jack admitted. ‘I believe he might know where my sister Jess is.’

  Sir Henry frowned. ‘Your sister? You haven’t found her yet?’

  ‘I spotted her a few days ago with Sir Toby in Stratford,’ Jack replied. ‘And a brewer’s boy swears he saw her here at Lupus Hall when he was delivering beer the other day … and I believe I just saw her in that window.’ He pointed to the upper floor.

  Sir Henry’s face went pale. ‘Oh … then you’ve seen it too!’ he said, peering up anxiously at the blank window.

  ‘It?’ questioned Jack, suddenly confused.

  ‘The ghost girl,’ Sir Henry replied gravely. ‘To be honest, no one goes up there. The attic is empty. The servants say this manor house is haunted – and I’m inclined to believe it too. But I suppose that’s what comes from acquiring a house on the cheap from a fleeing Catholic.’ Sir Henry forced a laugh, then stifled his amusement when he saw the indignant look on Signor Horatio’s face. ‘I’m sorry. I forget that you’re of that religion. But, well, we are in England, don’t you know.’

  ‘Certo, signor,’ said Signor Horatio with a tight smile.

  ‘Are you telling me it was a ghost I saw?’ said Jack.

  Sir Henry nodded. ‘Come inside and I’ll explain,’ he said, ushering Jack and the others through to a vaulted entrance hall. ‘This manor house was originally designed and built by Humphrey Pakington, but Nicholas Owen had a hand in its construction too. That devious Jesuit had a knack for concealing priest holes within the design.’

  ‘What’s a priest hole?’ asked Yori.

  Sir Henry stopped at the foot of a main staircase: a square spiral set of wooden steps, each flight leading to one of the four floors of the house. Ascending the staircase a little, he lifted the wood on the fifth step to reveal a hidden cavity beneath. ‘It’s where traitors such as Humphrey Pakington hid Catholic priests from the authorities,’ he explained darkly. ‘You see, Pakington was a Catholic who refused to give up his religion and become a Protestant. When Queen Elizabeth passed a law banning Catholic priests, he had his friend Owen build secret hiding places for them in his house. This manor has as many holes as a Dutch cheese! I doubt I’ve managed to find them all.’ He lowered the wooden step back into place. ‘The story goes that a servant girl hid in one of these priest holes; she became trapped and was never found again, and her restless spirit haunts the house still.’ Sir Henry raised an ominous eyebrow at Jack. ‘That’s who you may have seen in the attic. But enough of the ghost stories! Sir Toby will be here this evening. You can ask him yourself about your sister, but I daresay he’ll be perplexed by what you tell him. As far as I’m aware, he hasn’t been in Stratford this past week – he’s still travelling up from London.’

  Jack frowned. He was certain that it had been Sir Toby with his sister. Could I have been mistaken? he thought.

  ‘In the meantime,’ continued Sir Henry, ‘I’ve something that may be of interest to you and your warrior friends.’ He waved them through to the next room: a Gallery of Arms. Lining the wood-panelled walls were racks of iron-tipped pikes, a dozen longbows each with a sheaf of arrows, twenty or so arquebuses and flintlock pistols, several broadswords and a variety of rapiers. Shining sets of armour were mounted beside a collection of crested steel helmets. And above this impressive array of weapons hung a coat of arms – a white stag and a red wolf rampant either side of a black-and-white shield.

  ‘There’s enough for an entire army here!’ said Signor Horatio, his eyes widening.

  ‘Probably not an army,’ Sir Henry conceded, ‘but certainly enough to fulfil my duty of supplying the local militia.’ He patted an arquebus rifle. ‘All the weapons are loaded and sharpened so they’re ready at a moment’s notice.’

  Jack examined one of the broadswords. He weighed it in his hand. It felt like a sledgehammer compared with the finesse of a rapier and the elegance of his katana. Akiko seemed even more taken by the display. She immediately went over to the longbows, comparing their D-shaped curves to the serpentine shape of her yumi.

  ‘By all means, try one out,’ offered Sir Henry.

  Akiko selected a bow and strained as she attempted to pull back its string. ‘The draw strength must be at least double that of my yumi!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘They can shoot up to four hundred yards,’ Sir Henry said proudly.

  Akiko’s mouth fell open. ‘That’s twice the range of a Japanese bow!’ she said, impressed.

  Yori appeared more taken with a huge portrait on the opposite wall. It was of their host, in a steel breastplate, striking a heroic pose.

  ‘A fine work, don’t you think?’ boasted Sir Henry, crossing his arms and assuming a stance very similar to the one in his portrait.

  Yori leaned in, studying it closely. ‘Mmm, wonderful brushwork,’ he murmured.

  ‘You get a better perspective from here,’ advised their host.

  Yori stepped back a little and nodded his head in respectful appreciation.

  ‘I think the further away, the better,’ mumbled Signor Horatio under his breath. Rose overheard his jibe at Sir Henry and smothered a giggle.

  Missing the remark himself, Sir Henry escorted them through to the main hall, a high-ceilinged, wood-panelled chamber with lattice casement windows overlooking the lawns and formal knot garden. A group of musicians were setting up at the far end, while actors were rehearsing their parts and scenery was being erected upon a makeshift stage. Servants bustled to and fro, putting up decorations, stacking the central fireplace with fresh wood, and preparing a long table for what promised to be a sumptuous banquet.

  ‘This is the Great Hall where the festivities and feasting will take place this evening,’ Sir Henry explained. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I have much to do. Please be back here at six o’clock sharp. Until then, make yourselves at home. I’ll arrange with the servants to prepare rooms for you on the second floor and leave costumes on the beds. Do please dress up this evening – it is a masque, after all!’

  Their host strode out of the hall, barking orders to his servants as he went. The five of them stood for a moment amid the chaos and manic preparations. Then Rose said, ‘Do you believe Sir Henry’s story about the ghost?’

  ‘Well, he seemed convinced,’ said Signor Horatio.

  ‘In Japan we call ghosts yūrei,’ explained Yori. ‘Such spirits are thought to be the souls of people robbed of life and denied a peaceful afterlife. So his story would fit in with our beliefs.’

  ‘But I swear it was Jess’s face I saw in that window,’ said Jack. ‘Not some ghost.’

  ‘Then why don’t we take a look?’ suggested Akiko. ‘After all, Sir Henry did say to make ourselves at home.’

  ‘We should be cautious,’ Yori warned, as Jack and Akiko approached the small wooden door that led to the attic room. The narrow corridor was gloomy and threaded with spider’s webs, suggesting no one had come this way for quite some time. It had taken a good deal of exploration just to find the right room. The manor house was a warren of corridors, staircases and chambers. Jack had had to return to the courtyard twice to gauge which window he’d seen Jess’s face in and work out from that which part of the building to search next. Rose and Signor Horatio had elected to stay at the foot of the main staircase as lookouts, in case they needed to make a quick exit.

  Jack’s hand hesitated on the latch. ‘You’re right,’ he said, drawing his rapier. ‘Sir Toby could be here too.’

  ‘It’s not Sir Toby I’m worried about,’ Yori replied, a slight tremor in his voice. ‘It’s the ghost. Yūrei often haunt this world to exact revenge, and will not rest until they have done so.’

  ‘There’s nothing to fear,’ said Akiko kindly. ‘We’re not in Japan.’

  Yori’s eyes grew wide in the gloom. ‘Ghosts are ghosts wherever they are!
Yūrei can never be destroyed. Desire is the key to such malevolent spirits – they want something. This is what drives them, gives them purpose. They may just want to pass on a message to a loved one … or tear their victims apart in revenge for their own murder! But whatever they want, it’s best not to seek such ghosts out.’

  Ghosts or not, Jack had to know one way or another whether his sister was there. He tried the latch. It was stiff but gave way under a little effort. The door creaked slowly open to reveal a surprisingly small and drab room. The floorboards were bare, an old writing table stood by the window and there was a disused fireplace in the far corner. The timber-beamed walls were crumbling where the damp had eaten into the brickwork and the musty smell of mildew hung in the chill air.

  ‘Jess …?’ asked Jack tentatively, almost fearfully.

  There was no reply.

  Jack stepped inside, the floorboards groaning underfoot. For a moment he thought he could hear whispering, but, when he listened hard, all was quiet. Akiko joined him in the room.

  Yori peeked in, keeping to the threshold. ‘Do you see anyone or … anything?’

  Jack shook his head in dismay and sheathed his sword. ‘The room’s empty.’ His heart felt equally empty. His expectation at finding Jess shrank to disappointment.

  Akiko ran a finger through the sheen of dust on the table. ‘It looks like it’s been empty for a while.’

  Growing bolder, Yori entered the gloomy attic room. He gazed nervously around at the dank walls, keeping away from the darkest corners. Jack peered out of the small lattice window into the courtyard below. The guests were starting to arrive for the masked ball, which meant Sir Toby would be arriving too.

  A floorboard suddenly creaked, making Yori jump. ‘If Jess isn’t here, then … perhaps that servant girl’s ghost … Can we go, now?’

  Jack nodded and they headed for the door.

  Flaming torches illuminated the night, fiery beacons lining the paths and guiding the procession of costumed guests towards the masque. Greek gods, Egyptian pharaohs, Turkish sultans, medieval knights, fairy kings and queens … a fantastical treasury of characters and opulent costumes wended their way over the bridge and into the manor house. On arrival in the Great Hall, they were greeted by servants dressed as mythical creatures and served with goblets of wine and plates of sweetmeats. Above the hubbub of noise and chatter, the musicians played sprightly tunes to which the guests were encouraged to dance and make merry. At the same time, the actors, in biblical dress, played out scenes from the tale of King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba for everyone’s amusement.

  ‘I’ve never seen anything quite like it,’ said Akiko breathlessly, as they entered through an archway of glittering blossoms.

  ‘Nor have I!’ replied Rose, gazing in awe at the sheer extravagance. ‘This is a world away from the life I’ve known.’

  But Jack barely noticed the lavish decorations or gargantuan buffet. His eyes were trained on the multitude of guests, seeking out Sir Toby’s pompous moustachioed face. With everyone wearing masks, however, it was proving an impossible task.

  ‘Jack? Is that you?’ called a hearty voice. A rotund Egyptian king in a golden face mask came barrelling up to them. Sir Henry lifted the mask and winked. ‘Look, it’s me! I must say, I like your choice of costume – very jolly.’

  Not wishing to give Sir Toby Nashe any warning of their presence, Jack and his friends had decided to get into the spirit of the ball and wear the fancy-dress costumes their host had provided. Jack wore the red-and-black chequered suit of Harlequin, its full-face black mask reminding Jack of the hood of a ninja’s shinobi shōzoku.

  Akiko was wearing a long, shimmering, red silk kimono, complete with Jack’s katana on her hip, and a fearsome battle mask adapted from a knight’s costume to look more like a traditional Japanese mempō. Sir Henry stepped back to take her in. ‘May I ask who you have come as?’ he enquired.

  ‘Tomoe Gozen,’ replied Akiko, ‘the greatest female samurai to have ever lived.’

  Sir Henry raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, it seems female warriors are the theme,’ he went on, now admiring Rose’s costume: a pleated green gown with silver armoured breastplate and a half-visor helmet. ‘If your armour, shield, spear and red hair are anything to go by, I’m guessing you’re Boudicca, the Queen of the Celts.’

  Rose curtseyed. ‘Full marks, Sir Henry.’

  Beside her stood Signor Horatio, who’d chosen to come as a Roman emperor, resplendent in a white toga, a crown of golden laurel leaves on his head, and a decorative mask covering one side of his face. Unable to bear being parted from his cherished rapier, he still carried the weapon on his hip, its sheath slipped into the belt of his toga.

  Meanwhile, Yori had opted for a simple costume made out of a bedsheet. He’d painted his face white and had somehow managed to find an old wig. He’d blackened it with soot and teased out the hairs, and now wore it in a long, dishevelled mess over his face instead of a mask. When Sir Henry enquired as to who he represented, Yori dangled his hands limply from his wrists and glided across the floor, moaning and groaning, ‘I’m a yūrei!’

  Sir Henry looked bemused, and Akiko explained for him. ‘Your story of the servant girl inspired him to dress up as a Japanese ghost!’

  ‘Well, he frightens the wits out of me!’ replied their host, laughing. When a servant came up offering drinks to the group, Sir Henry pulled Jack to one side and whispered, ‘By chance, have you had any more thoughts about returning to the Japans? I’ve just been conversing with Sir Isaac and he’s decidedly keen to press on with the trading expedition, as am I.’

  Jack was taken by surprise by his host’s question, particularly at that moment. ‘Not really …’ he admitted. ‘I’ve yet to find my sister.’

  ‘Of course, how insensitive of me,’ blustered Sir Henry, putting an arm round Jack’s shoulders. ‘I realize her welfare must be your first priority. However, whether you find her or not, you must have considered your future, no?’

  ‘My future depends on being reunited with Jess,’ explained Jack. ‘And I have no plans to leave so soon after my arrival.’

  Sir Henry withdrew his arm. ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘You must do what you think is best.’

  Grabbing a goblet of wine from a passing servant, Sir Henry downed the entire contents in one gulp. He suddenly seemed lost in deep thought and the conversation appeared to be over.

  ‘Do you know if Sir Toby’s here?’ asked Jack.

  ‘I’m sure he’s here somewhere,’ Sir Henry replied distractedly, sweeping his gaze over his guests. ‘But I’m afraid I’ve no idea what he’s come as. But I’ll keep an eye out for him, you may be certain of that.’ Then, pulling his golden mask back on, he plunged into the thick of the festivities.

  Jack watched Sir Henry go, wondering why he was behaving somewhat strangely. He put it down to the stress of hosting such a lavish masked ball. Jack rejoined his friends near the banqueting table. ‘Has anyone spotted Sir Toby yet?’ he asked.

  Signor Horatio shook his head. ‘No sign of the scoundrel, I’m afraid.’

  Jack peered down the length of the hall. Masked dancers weaved in and out, performing an elaborate pavane, but none offered up a clue as to their real identity. Jack felt his frustration growing. Sir Toby had to be somewhere amid the guests – and, dare he hope, maybe even his sister was there too!

  ‘Perhaps we should spread out?’ suggested Akiko. But, before they could move, the musicians fell silent and the actors gathered on the stage for the play. The Queen of Sheba, resplendent in her jewelled gown, presented gifts to King Solomon as the players enacted their fabled romance before the hushed audience.

  Rose whispered, ‘This ball must have cost Sir Henry a fortune!’

  ‘A fortune he doesn’t have, as far as I’m aware,’ muttered Signor Horatio.

  Jack frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  Signor Horatio leant in and lowered his voice further. ‘It’s perhaps improper of me to talk ill of our ho
st … but before I was forced to leave London, I heard that Sir Henry, having made some unwise investments over the years, had lost all his money.’

  Akiko turned to the sword master. ‘So why is he putting on a masked ball if he has no money?’

  ‘For show, I presume,’ replied Signor Horatio. ‘He’s calculated that, by appearing to afford a lavish lifestyle such as this, he will convince his creditors that he’s a man of power and influence and good social standing and that, more importantly, he can repay his debts.’

  ‘Ah, but all that glitters is not gold,’ said Yori, wiping his finger through the fairy dust sprinkled on an extravagant floral arrangement.

  ‘Too true,’ replied Signor Horatio. ‘You can be as bankrupt as a beggar, but if you look rich and act rich, any fool will lend you money.’

  ‘Well, we had best enjoy his hospitality while we can,’ said Rose, selecting a crystallized date from the banqueting table and popping it into her mouth.

  Jack now began to understand why Sir Henry was so desperate to send another expedition to the Japans. A lucrative trading mission would earn back his lost wealth and, with Sir Isaac willing to bankroll the voyage, Jack was his ticket to the Far East and the prospect of untold riches.

  The play ended to wild applause and the music struck up again, heralding the start of the dances. The constant movement of the guests now made it doubly difficult to keep track of everyone. After several turns, a man dressed as Zeus, in a toga with a thunderbolt headdress and porcelain-white mask, approached Akiko.

  ‘May I have the pleasure of this dance?’ asked the suitor, holding out a hand.

  Akiko hesitated and glanced uncertainly in Jack’s direction, knowing they weren’t there to dance.

  ‘It’s bad manners to refuse an invitation,’ said Rose. ‘Isn’t that right, Signor Horatio?’ she added, offering her own hand to the sword master.

  ‘Certo, signorina!’ Signor Horatio smiled as he escorted Rose on to the dance floor.

  With a polite bow of her head, Akiko accepted Zeus’s invitation and followed him into the centre of the room, where the other guests had begun a processional galliard dance. Jack watched Zeus expertly whirl Akiko round and lead her smoothly through the set moves. Then her partner began to show off with hops, twists, sidesteps and high kicks, prompting a round of applause from the audience as well as Akiko. Jack felt a pang of jealousy at the man’s dazzling display and its evident effect on Akiko. He turned to the banqueting table as a means of distraction, choosing from a plate of exotic foods something he’d never tried before: a slice of potato. As he sampled the strange vegetable, Jack looked from guest to guest, trying to work out which masked person was Sir Toby. Beside him stood a squat Turkish sultan and a tall medieval knight gorging on the sumptuous delights. Neither looked to be Sir Toby.