Young Samurai: The Ring of Wind

by Chris Bradford

  Saburo now appeared even more queasy. ‘How did you bear this for two whole years?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Jack, patting his friend gently on the back. ‘After three days, your body adjusts to the motion and you stop being seasick.’

  Saburo’s eyes widened in dismay. ‘Three days! There must be something that can be done before then?’

  The boat crested a wave and he vomited.

  ‘There is,’ replied Jack, stepping back a pace as it splattered the rail. ‘Point your head downwind!’

  Leaving Saburo to wrestle with his sickness, Jack returned to sit beside Yori and Miyuki.

  ‘Will he be all right?’ asked Yori.

  Jack nodded. ‘Yes, he’s finding his sea legs, that’s all.’

  Miyuki was staring thoughtfully around the boat. Then she leant close to Jack’s ear. ‘Yori and I have been talking. Rather than making our way to Nagasaki on foot, why don’t we sail there instead? We’d avoid all the samurai patrols, the checkpoints on the roads and hopefully any more trouble.’

  Jack considered this. It seemed so obvious now. Alone, such a voyage was impossible. No captain in his right mind would willingly carry a foreigner, for fear of incurring the wrath of the Shogun. But with his friends to hide and protect him … ‘Do we have enough money to sail that far?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ admitted Yori. ‘Perhaps we could work our passage.’

  ‘Or else borrow a boat,’ suggested Miyuki, a sly grin on her lips. ‘Jack, you know how to sail and could teach us. With a ship like this, we could even sail to England!’

  Jack laughed out loud, then shook his head regretfully. ‘This boat sits too low in the water. She’d be swamped in the open ocean. We’d need a ship at least three times the size just to cope with the storms.’

  ‘Maybe we can find a bigger one at the next port,’ insisted Miyuki, unwilling to be put off so easily.

  Jack grinned at her determination and zeal. ‘It’s not that simple, I’m afraid. The distances between landfall are vast. We’d need food for several months. Not just for us, but a whole crew as well, since we couldn’t sail a ship that size without help. The Alexandria carried a hundred souls on-board and well over a thousand tons of supplies. To have any hope of making such a voyage alive, we require a galleon – and with the Shogun banishing all foreigners, the only place we might find one is in Nagasaki.’

  Miyuki appeared a little deflated and Jack felt bad at having crushed her idea so thoroughly. But those were the hard facts of attempting to sail around the world.

  ‘It doesn’t stop us getting a boat to Nagasaki, though,’ encouraged Jack. ‘All we need to know is the route and what bearings we’d have to take.’

  At that moment, a deckhand approached them.

  ‘With compliments of the captain,’ he said, putting down a large plate. Cut into thin strips were a freshly caught bream and a couple of mackerel, along with some pickled ginger and soy sauce for taste.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Yori, bowing his head in appreciation. As the deckhand went to depart, Yori asked, ‘What’s the best way to reach Nagasaki by boat?’

  The deckhand thought for a moment. ‘If you cut short your pilgrimage, you could stop at Yawatahama in the south and cross the Bungo Channel to Sagaseki. But then you’d have the long trek across Kyushu.’

  ‘Isn’t there a more direct route by sea?’

  The deckhand whistled through his teeth. ‘That’s the entire length of the Seto Sea and more. It’s risky. But if the winds and tides are with you it could be far quicker.’

  He looked to the horizon where the distant shimmer of Shikoku Island was now visible. ‘Once we dock at Imabari, take a boat due west along the Seto Sea and through the Kanmon Straits to the Sea of Japan. Then bear south-west along the coast to Nagasaki itself.’

  ‘Is this ship going that way?’ asked Jack hopefully, keeping his face hidden beneath the rim of his hat.

  The deckhand laughed. ‘Not likely! There are more pirates in that area of the Seto Sea than mosquitoes.’ He pointed to a small red-and-white striped flag that fluttered from the boat’s stern. ‘See that? The captain pays the pirates along this route not to attack him. The flag guarantees safe passage – but only between Tomo Harbour and Shikoku Island. You’ll have to find another boat in Imabari.’

  Leaning close to Yori, the deckhand whispered, ‘A word of warning – you take your life into your own hands sailing that route. I’ve heard tales of man-eating sea dragons!’

  Walking away, he left them all with horrified expressions on their faces.

  ‘Perhaps we should stick to the road,’ said Yori, swallowing fearfully.

  ‘He’s just trying to scare us,’ said Miyuki. But she appeared equally unsettled by the idea, and turned to Jack for reassurance. ‘There aren’t sea dragons, are there?’

  Having encountered many strange creatures in the ocean, Jack could understand why people might believe in dragons. But he’d never seen one for himself. ‘Our real concern should be pirates. We need to find a ship with a flag.’

  ‘And a fast one, just in case we meet a dragon,’ added Yori.

  Attempting to change the subject away from dragons, Jack offered the plate of fish to Saburo. ‘Would you like some food?’

  Usually the first in line to eat, Saburo shook his head feebly.

  ‘Ginger is good for settling the stomach,’ insisted Jack, but his friend just heaved and hung his head over the side.

  8

  Pirate War

  As their boat made its final tack towards the port of Imabari, a castle loomed into view. Surrounded by sheer stone walls, the imposing structure rose directly out of the water. The central keep – a stark white tower with slate-grey curving roofs – soared five storeys high to command unbroken views across the Seto Sea. Like an armoured sentinel, it stood guard at the entrance to the port.

  ‘That’s Mizujiro,’ explained the poet, noticing how awestruck Yori and his friends appeared at the sight. ‘Daimyo Mori’s infamous Castle in the Sea, built to keep watch over the Kurushima Straits.’

  Jack felt a hard knot of dread form in the pit of his stomach. Where such a fortress existed, so did numerous samurai patrols – and they were sailing straight into the midst of them.

  ‘Look! Part of the castle’s floating away,’ exclaimed Miyuki in astonishment.

  Glancing up, Jack saw a wooden section of wall on the eastern flank detach itself from the main complex. But, as their boat drew closer, it became apparent the floating wall was something else entirely.

  ‘That’s an atake-bune,’ the poet said grimly. ‘One of daimyo Mori’s warships.’

  Jack couldn’t blame Miyuki for her mistaken observation. The immense vessel was built just like a battlement. On all four sides, solid wooden walls towered upwards to form an impregnable box-like shell. Along its length were two rows of diamond-shaped loopholes from which cannon, guns and bows could be fired. And an enclosed cabin on the upper deck completed the illusion of a fortified rampart.

  In fact, the only clues to it being a ship were a tall mast and the forest of oars that projected from a hidden lower deck. The oarsmen themselves were shielded behind a protective skirt of bamboo screens, just above the waterline.

  As the atake-bune pulled away from the castle, a large square sail was raised aloft. Emblazoned at its centre was the mon of a golden shell. Across the waters, Jack could hear the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of a drum, like the beat of a monster’s heart. With each strike, the oars dipped into the water to be followed by the grunts and groans of eighty oarsmen as they strained to move the great beast across the sea.

  The captain of their own vessel kept well clear of the warship’s path. Built for battle, the atake-bune was heavy and had limited steerage, but once it had picked up speed, it would stop for no one.

  Several smaller boats followed in its wake. Three were of a similar design to the atake-bune. These seki-bune possessed equally strong defences, but were half the size and had pointe
d prows, each tasselled with a coiled rope. Upon the open deck, Jack saw thirty samurai warriors stationed along the gunwales, armed with bows, muskets and half a dozen cannon. The four remaining vessels were the smallest yet fastest of the fleet. Powered by twenty oarsmen and carrying ten samurai, these kobaya cut through the water. But, being little more than glorified rowing boats, there was no wooden planking for side protection. With the deck completely exposed, the crew would have to rely on speed and fighting skill to survive in a sea battle.

  ‘You’d think there was a war still going on,’ remarked Miyuki.

  ‘There is,’ replied the poet, the atake-bune dwarfing them as it surged past.

  ‘But the Shogun won,’ said Yori.

  ‘Daimyo Mori isn’t fighting the Shogun. He’s waging a pirate war,’ the poet explained. ‘That’s just one of many Sea Samurai patrols. The daimyo has built an entire navy for the sole purpose of wiping the pirate clans out.’

  ‘Are there that many pirates?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Who knows their number? The Seto Sea is vast and has thousands of islands and hidden coves. But the daimyo’s campaign is personal. His son was killed by a pirate.’

  ‘And that justifies a full-blown war?’ questioned Yori as their boat entered the harbour.

  ‘You clearly don’t know daimyo Mori,’ the poet sighed heavily. ‘On news of his son’s death, he rounded up the first fifty pirates he could find, whether guilty or not of the crime. He crucified them all, nailing them to the seawall as a warning to other pirates. Then he commanded his torturer to pierce each of their bodies with spears. The pirates suffered a long and excruciating death. It was said the pirate leader had sixteen spears inserted without puncturing a single vital organ. It took him five whole days to die.’

  With a sorry shake of his head, the poet stood up in readiness to disembark.

  ‘Believe me, you don’t want to get on the wrong side of daimyo Mori.’

  Jack, Yori and Miyuki exchanged an anxious look as the poet wished them luck on their pilgrimage and, bowing his respects, departed. Stepping ashore themselves, they helped Saburo off the boat and over to the shade of a cedar tree. The dockside was bustling with fishermen, pilgrims and a disturbing number of samurai. Fortunately, with so many white-clad travellers, no one paid them any attention.

  ‘Am I glad to be back on dry land!’ sighed Saburo, slumping against the tree.

  ‘Don’t get too used to it,’ said Jack. ‘We need to find another boat as soon as possible.’

  Saburo was crestfallen.

  Miyuki handed Jack the canvas bag. ‘With so many samurai, you should stay here with Saburo,’ she suggested. ‘Yori and I will see what we can find.’

  Jack nodded his agreement and settled down beside his friend. He watched as Miyuki and Yori worked their way along the dock. Wooden vessels of all types and sizes were moored to the jetty – from tiny dinghies, to fishing boats, to large cargo ships.

  ‘Is there any food left?’ asked Saburo.

  ‘You’re clearly feeling better,’ smiled Jack, fishing out a mochi from the bag.

  While Saburo chewed slowly on the rice cake, Jack risked another glance round the port. Compared to the quiet fishing village of Tomo Harbour, Imabari was a noisy centre for trade and shipping. Dockhands were loading and unloading goods of all kinds: rice, saké, lacquerware, porcelain, wood, silk, spices and – given the heavy presence of samurai guards – presumably copper, silver and gold too.

  He noticed the majority of pilgrims were making their way out of the harbour and taking the road south to begin their epic journey. As they cleared the port, he and Saburo became more and more conspicuous. Jack silently urged Miyuki and Yori to hasten their search for a suitable boat.

  Footsteps from behind alerted him to someone’s approach. But without turning round he could tell by the clink of armour they didn’t belong to a pilgrim.

  ‘We’re in trouble,’ Jack whispered to Saburo.

  A samurai guard strode purposefully up to them. ‘Travel permits,’ he demanded.

  Jack kept his head bowed while Saburo pulled out their nōkyōchō books.

  ‘What’s wrong with him?’ said the samurai, giving the permits a cursory glance as he scrutinized Jack’s hunched form.

  ‘Seasickness,’ explained Saburo, with an apologetic grin.

  The samurai snorted, ‘Soft-stomached pilgrims!’

  He handed back the nōkyōchō and walked on.

  Jack breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Quick thinking, Saburo.’

  ‘Thanks, but that guard’s bound to get suspicious if we stay here much longer.’

  The tension grew with each passing moment, Jack imagining more and more samurai eyes turning towards him. He spotted the same guard pacing along the dock, heading back their way.

  ‘I think we should go –’

  ‘No, I see Miyuki,’ said Saburo, pointing to a pilgrim hurrying towards them as fast as she dared.

  ‘What took you so long?’ asked Jack. ‘And where’s Yori?’

  ‘He’s at the boat.’

  ‘You found one!’ exclaimed Jack, trying to imagine what sort of vessel she’d acquired.

  Miyuki nodded. ‘There were too many patrols to steal a boat. But we did find one ship sailing all the way to Nagasaki,’ she revealed, although her expression didn’t look particularly jubilant. ‘We must be quick; it’s leaving now.’

  Jack and Saburo picked up the canvas bag and followed Miyuki along the dock.

  ‘Most captains weren’t going that far south or were too afraid of pirates to try,’ continued Miyuki. ‘But, judging by how much this captain is charging, he’s as mercenary as any pirate!’

  She slowed before a magnificent cargo ship loaded with barrels of saké. Propelled by a single large sail, it had a reinforced hull to bear the weight of the heavy barrels.

  ‘This looks ideal,’ said Jack, impressed. ‘Even in a storm, she should fare well.’

  ‘Not that ship,’ said Miyuki regretfully. ‘It’s the next one.’

  Jack redirected his gaze and his heart sank. Yori stood beside a single-masted boat similar to the one they’d arrived on, but this vessel was in a sorry state. The square canvas sail was patched up, the rigging frayed, and the hull showed signs of several repair jobs. On top of that, the decks were dangerously overloaded with cargo and she sat worryingly low in the water.

  Yet what choice did they have? They were on borrowed time. News of their escape from Tomo Harbour would soon reach the ears of Imabari’s samurai. A patrol was working its way along the jetty at this very moment. Yori waved them urgently on-board, the captain giving the order to cast off. As Jack ran up the gangplank, he glanced towards the stern. There was no protection flag.

  9

  Omishima Island

  The boat slipped out of Imabari port, its warped deck creaking and its sail flapping like a broken wing. Waves occasionally breached the gunwales, soaking crew and cargo alike. In a vain attempt to keep dry, Jack and his friends perched among the crates of pottery and bundles of bamboo. They were the only passengers on-board and Jack could understand why. Not only did the ship appear unseaworthy but the captain and his deckhands were a surly bunch. None of them smiled and, surprisingly for Japanese people, they were unkempt and unwashed.

  The captain, a stout man with rough skin, a ragged beard and bald head, stood at the stern, leaning upon the tiller. His listless crew of four went barefoot and wore only the simplest of kimono or just a plain white loincloth.

  ‘The captain wants payment upfront,’ said Yori.

  ‘That’s all our money,’ Saburo complained, handing over the pilgrims’ coins and his own funds. ‘We won’t have any for food.’ Then, at the very thought of eating, he lay down and closed his eyes in a vain attempt to fend off the seasickness.

  ‘But it takes us all the way,’ reminded Miyuki.

  ‘Tell the captain he can have half now and the rest upon arrival, if we make it that far,’ said Jack, eyeing the old sea dog mistr
ustfully.

  Yori clambered over the crates and up a wooden ladder to the stern. The captain grunted his dissatisfaction at the half payment, protesting it was a smear upon his honourable character. Nonetheless, he quickly pocketed the money. They conversed a little longer before Yori fought his way back across the listing deck to sit beside Jack. The captain had informed him the entire voyage could take up to a month, depending upon the tides, winds and weather conditions. He’d also be making a number of stops en route at various islands to deliver and collect goods. Much to Yori’s delight, their first port of call was Omishima Island. They would reach its shores by dusk.

  Having been on the run for so long, exhaustion finally took its toll. Stowing the canvas bag out of sight from the crew’s prying eyes, Miyuki and Yori succumbed to the gentle roll of the ship and joined Saburo in sleep. Not far from sleep himself, Jack took one last look in the direction of Imabari. The port was slowly retreating into the distance as their boat sailed north-west through the Kurushima Straits. But the white tower of Mizujiro remained on the horizon like an all-seeing eye. Until that disappeared, Jack wouldn’t believe they had truly escaped.

  Sensing a shift in course, Jack roused himself from his slumber. The boat was now bearing directly north. Sitting up, he spied the haze of a mountain peak and presumed this was Omishima Island. But he decided against waking the others, since landfall was still some distance off.

  Needing to stretch his legs, Jack made his way to the stern’s upper deck, the only spot on the ship that wasn’t crammed with cargo. Lifting the brim of his hat, he scanned the horizon and was glad to discover Mizujiro’s keep was no longer in sight. Nor could he see any vessels following a similar course to them.

  This time they had made it.

  With the mountain and several smaller islands surrounding them, it was relatively easy for Jack to judge the boat’s progress. Compared to the vast emptiness of the open ocean, the Seto Sea was blessed with numerous navigational markers. If the southwesterly breeze held, they were little more than an hour’s sail from their first destination.