by Unknown
‘Are you going to kill them?’ asked Jack, not certain he really wanted to know the answer.
‘I’ve seriously considered it. But Sensei Yamada convinced me they’d be more useful as messengers. They’ll ensure everyone they meet knows the province of Kyoto will not tolerate racial persecution.’
‘So what will you do?’
‘Let’s just say they won’t be able to count higher than eight – with either their fingers or toes!’
19
THE ANNOUNCEMENT
‘WAR sits upon the horizon like a thundercloud,’ proclaimed Masamoto.
The announcement sent a wave of stunned astonishment through the rows of young samurai kneeling before him in the Chō-no-ma, the dining hall named after its panelled walls of painted butterflies. For some, it was a shock; for others, it brought the promise of honour and glory. For Jack, who’d witnessed battles first-hand at sea against Portuguese warships, it meant days and nights of fear, pain and death.
Masamoto held up his hand for silence. He was wearing his ceremonial flame-red kimono, its five golden phoenix kamon glimmering in the lamplight like armour. His face was brooding and severe, his scarring a dark red.
‘You’ll all be aware of daimyo Kamakura’s campaign to drive out Christians and foreigners from our land. He considers them a threat to our nation.’
Jack felt the eyes of his fellow students upon him. Most were sympathetic to his plight, but a number were openly hostile.
‘Daimyo Takatomi, however, believes the way forward is a unified Japan that welcomes guests from other lands. He doesn’t see religion as a barrier to a samurai’s duty to their Emperor. Indeed, he is a convert to Christianity. He has, therefore, been seeking a peaceful solution to the situation, confident that his old comrades-in-arms will realize a campaign against foreigners would divide Japan, not strengthen it. For if daimyo begin to take sides, the whole of Japan could be dragged into another civil war.’
There was an anxious murmur among the students. Jack glanced over in Kazuki’s direction. His rival was smirking at the announcement, no doubt pleased to hear war was a real possibility. So far Kazuki’s Scorpion Gang had only been a focus for their bullying of him, but now it threatened to fulfil its true purpose – ‘Death to all gaijin’ – that the gang had pledged during their secret irezumi initiation ceremony. Jack shuddered at the thought.
‘But do not be fooled by daimyo Kamakura’s crusade,’ warned Masamoto, slamming his fist upon the table. ‘His call to arms suggests this isn’t just about banishing a supposed enemy from our country. We now have good reason to suspect he’s playing upon prejudice to raise an army, not only to expel our foreign friends, but to overthrow all of Japan and rule it for himself.’
There was a collective gasp of disbelief.
Masamoto had evidently informed his sensei of the news beforehand, for they showed no surprise. They sat impassively either side of Masamoto upon the wooden dais, studying their students with the steely determination of warriors ready to do battle.
‘We should therefore be prepared for war, if needs must. That is when I will turn to you, my young samurai. I trust I can count on your loyal service.’ He paused, gazing intently at the rows of trainee warriors. ‘In the meantime, we’ll intensify our battle training and await daimyo Takatomi’s command.’
Unsheathing his katana from its saya, he held the gleaming blade aloft and cried, ‘Learn today so that you may live tomorrow!’
The school thundered its response.
‘MASAMOTO! MASAMOTO! MASAMOTO!’
The conversation during dinner was animated. Clusters of students discussed the prospect of war in excited whispers, while others silently picked at their food, coming to terms with the news.
Jack sat between Akiko and Yamato only three tables down from the dais where Masamoto and his sensei ate. With a few more years’ training they would earn the right to sit at a table directly in front of the sensei. That was if they had a few more years to train. Or, for that matter, to live.
‘Do you think we’ll all have to go to war?’ whispered Yori, who sat opposite Akiko and Kiku, anxiously biting on his lower lip.
‘Probably,’ said Yamato. ‘It’s what we were born to do.’
‘But a lot of the students haven’t come of age yet,’ pointed out Kiku.
‘I don’t think the younger trainees will have to go,’ said Akiko. ‘But those at the top table certainly will.’
‘What about us?’ asked Saburo, the only one not to have lost his appetite, tucking into the bowls of rice and steamed fish with gusto.
‘Perhaps we get to choose,’ said Yori hopefully.
‘There’s no choice in war,’ Jack stated, his eyes fixed on a grain of rice that had got stuck to the end of his hashi. ‘War chooses us.’
Reflecting on his own predicament, he crushed the rice grain between the tips of his hashi. He was caught between two conflicts and had chosen neither. Portugal had been at war with England for as long as he could remember, but the only Portuguese person he had ever met was Father Lucius. Yet he was still their sworn enemy. And now he found himself trapped in the centre of another power struggle, one in which his race and religion were being used as pawns in the fight for Japan’s throne. Jack realized that as one of Masamoto’s students, he too would be called upon to fight. Not only for his survival, but for Japan’s future as well – one he had a vested interest in preserving.
‘You were right, Jack,’ said Kiku. ‘Daimyo Takatomi was talking about war when he’d described the Hall of the Hawk as a beacon of light in dark times. He must have already known of daimyo Kamakura’s plans.’
‘But what about the Emperor? Doesn’t he rule Japan?’ asked Jack, finding he had little stomach for dinner, and put down his hashi. ‘I thought daimyo Kamakura, as a samurai lord, was supposed to fight for him, not against him.’
‘He wouldn’t be taking power from the Emperor,’ explained Akiko. ‘The Emperor is the symbolic head of our country. The real power resides with the Council of Regents.’
‘So who are the Regents?’
‘They’re the five most powerful samurai lords in Japan. Daimyo Takatomi from Kyoto Province, daimyo Yukimura from Osaka Province, daimyo Kamakura from Edo Pro–’
‘But if Kamakura’s already in charge,’ interrupted Jack, ‘why would he want to start a war?’
‘The Council is only governing Japan on behalf of the ruler-in-waiting, Hasegawa Satoshi.’
‘What do you mean “in waiting”?’
‘Satoshi isn’t old enough to rule yet. His father, who became Japan’s leader following the Battle of Nakasendo, died only a year after the war. Satoshi was six at the time. And our daimyo Takatomi, not wanting Japan to descend back into civil war, set up the Council of Regents. They were to act as Japan’s government until Satoshi came of age. When he does next year, the Council will end and Satoshi will rule Japan alone.’
‘So that’s why daimyo Kamakura’s building an army now,’ said Yamato. ‘He’s intending to take over Japan before Satoshi does.’
‘So, if it does come to war,’ said Jack, lowering his voice and glancing over at Kazuki’s table, ‘would everyone here fight on daimyo Takatomi’s side for Satoshi?’
‘Of course!’ said Akiko, astonished Jack would even ask such a question.
‘Even Kazuki?’
‘Yes. Everyone at this school has sworn their allegiance. We’re all students of Masamoto-sama.’
‘But don’t you remember what I told you about his Scorpion Gang?’
Akiko sighed. ‘And remember how you falsely accused Kazuki of cheating during the Circle of Three?’
Jack nodded reluctantly.
‘Kazuki may not like you, but he’s not always as black as you paint him. He is a true samurai. As a student of the Niten Ichi Ryū, his duty is to Masamoto-sama. He is honour-bound to follow him. Besides, his family fought alongside daimyo Takatomi’s forces at Nakasendo.’
Jack still had his doubts
. Locking eyes with Kazuki on the opposite table, he knew his rival wasn’t to be trusted. Despite Akiko’s reassurance of Kazuki’s obedience to the code of bushido, Jack knew what he’d heard that night in the Butokuden when Kazuki, following in his father’s footsteps, had sworn his allegiance to Kamakura’s cause.
Dinner over, the young samurai left the Chō-no-ma and made their way to the Hall of Lions for bed. Summer was at an end, so there was a chill to the night air and few students dawdled long outside. Jack noticed some of them glancing in his direction. They seemed to be talking about him as they passed. Jack wondered whether they were blaming him for the growing troubles, being the only foreigner in the school.
‘Jack!’ called Takuan, strolling over. ‘I think we should increase our number of horseriding lessons. If there’s to be a war, you’ll need to know how to ride well.’
‘Thanks,’ said Jack, forcing a smile.
Though he appreciated Takuan’s help, he wasn’t looking forward to more lessons. They’d started practising the trot and Jack had great difficulty matching his horse’s rhythm. By the end of a session, his bones were pounded so much he could barely walk.
‘By the way,’ asked Takuan casually, ‘have you seen Akiko recently?’
‘She’s gone to ninja training,’ replied Jack, only half-joking. Takuan was always asking after Akiko. It irritated him, though he tried not to show it.
‘Really?’ replied Takuan, his mouth falling open in astonishment.
‘No,’ said Jack, laughing. ‘She sees her priest at this time.’
‘So that’s where she’s always off to!’ A puzzled expression then formed on Takuan’s face. ‘Don’t you think it’s a little odd? Why not the normal morning prayers?’
Jack shrugged. Though her timing did seem a bit strange, now he thought about it.
‘Well, it’s good to know Akiko’s a devout Buddhist,’ said Takuan cheerily, before turning towards the Shishi-no-ma. ‘See you tomorrow at the usual time.’
Only a few pockets of students remained in the courtyard now. From bitter experience, Jack didn’t want to end up alone out here. He’d seen enough trouble for one day.
As he was making his way to the Shishi-no-ma, Jack spotted a lone boy sitting on the steps of the Butsuden. Wandering over, he discovered that it was Yori.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Jack.
Yori nodded, but wouldn’t meet his gaze.
‘Are you sure?’ Jack insisted. ‘You hardly said anything during dinner.’
Yori merely shrugged and concentrated on folding a small piece of origami paper with his hands.
‘Don’t think much of your bodyguard,’ shouted a voice from the other side of the courtyard.
Jack turned to see Kazuki heading towards the Hall of Lions with Nobu and Hiroto.
‘I heard he scurried away like a mouse at the first sign of danger!’ Nobu chortled, mimicking a panicked escape. ‘Oh, help! It’s a lowly ashigaru!’
‘We should be thanking him for leaving the gaijin to die,’ sneered Hiroto. ‘It would have been a gruesome death!’
‘Go away!’ said Jack, seeing Yori hang his head in shame.
‘That’s what you should do,’ said Kazuki, stopping beside the entrance to the Hall of Lions. ‘If you stay here, you’ll burn.’
‘He’ll be roasted alive along with the rest of them,’ taunted Hiroto gleefully. ‘Anyone fancy gaijin for dinner?’
The three of them disappeared inside the hall, laughing to themselves.
‘Sorry, Jack,’ mumbled Yori, in a voice so quiet Jack had to crouch down to hear his friend.
‘Sorry for what?’
‘I’m ashamed I failed you.’
Jack looked into Yori’s face. He had tears in his eyes and was trembling.
‘You didn’t fail me. You got help.’
‘But I couldn’t save you,’ he sniffed, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his kimono. ‘I did try to fight, but the men just laughed at me. One of them snapped my staff and punched me in the face. I’m a pathetic joke of a warrior.’
‘No, you’re not,’ insisted Jack. ‘If it wasn’t for your quick thinking, Sensei Kano would never have found me.’
‘It doesn’t matter what you say,’ said Yori, making a final fold in the paper to form a small origami mouse. ‘When we go to war, I won’t stand a chance.’
He closed his fist round the little paper creature and threw the crushed remains to the ground.
20
KIAIJUTSU
‘What is your true face, which you had before your father and mother were even born?’ asked Sensei Yamada, twirling his wispy grey beard between his bony fingers.
Perched before the great bronze statue of the Buddha in the Butsuden, the old monk reposed upon his zabuton cushion like an amiable toad. He grinned impishly, enjoying the quizzical expressions upon his students’ faces.
‘Mokuso,’ he instructed, lighting a stick of incense.
The scent of jasmine floated through the air as the class settled into their meditation for the day. Sitting in the lotus position, they calmed their breathing and let their minds contemplate Sensei Yamada’s koan.
The Buddha Hall became silent with thought.
Jack shifted awkwardly upon his cushion, sore from all his horseriding lessons. He had never found his Zen master’s riddles easy, but this had to be the most perplexing of them all. The sad thing was that Jack was already having trouble remembering what his parents’ faces looked like. With each passing day he lost another detail, his memory of them washing away like sand with the incoming tide.
How on earth was he supposed to know his true face?
Jack let his mind drift to Jess. The last time he’d laid eyes upon his sister, she’d just turned five. Blessed with curls of mousey-blonde hair and sharing the same sea-blue eyes as Jack, she was a pretty girl, more summer buttercup than English rose. Jack wondered what his little sister looked like now. After four years away from home, she wouldn’t be so little. And when he finally did make it back to England, after another two years at sea, would he even recognize her? Jess would be ten, going on eleven. A grown-up girl. He could only imagine how different she looked. Then again, he must appear utterly transformed himself. What a bizarre sight he would make back in London, an English boy dressed as a samurai warrior!
‘Mokuso yame!’ announced Sensei Yamada as the last piece of ash fell from the stick of incense. Laying his hands in his lap, he waited for an answer to his koan.
The students all sat there, mute.
‘Does anyone wish to make a suggestion?’ Sensei Yamada asked. ‘Kiku-chan?’
Kiku shook her head.
‘Emi-chan, perhaps?’
The daimyo’s daughter bowed apologetically.
‘How about you, Takuan-kun? It’s a good opportunity for you to make your first contribution to my lesson.’
Jack looked over his shoulder at Takuan, who was sitting between Emi and Akiko. All the girls in the class were watching him and listening expectantly. For once, Takuan didn’t appear comfortable with all the attention.
After a long pause, he finally answered:
‘An empty cup waits:
Filled to the brim with thought
now too full to drink.’
There was some respectful applause at Takuan’s answer, though many were bemused that he’d replied to a koan with a haiku.
‘That’s a very imaginative way of saying you don’t know,’ Sensei Yamada chortled. ‘But I was looking for an actual answer.’
The girls gave a disappointed sigh. Jack offered Takuan a sympathetic shrug. Since Yori’s chat with him, Jack no longer felt threatened by Takuan. Even though it still bothered Jack every time Takuan asked after Akiko, the boy had really helped him with his horsemanship. In the past month, Jack had learnt to canter and soon, Takuan promised, he would be galloping. Not that this made the slightest impression on his kyujutsu teacher, who still insisted he train on the wooden dobbin, much to his continued frus
tration and embarrassment.
‘Doesn’t anyone have an answer?’ Sensei Yamada asked, looking around hopefully.
Greeted with silence, the Zen master turned to Yori.
‘Yori-kun, what do you think?’
‘Does it really matter?’ Yori replied grumpily.
Sensei Yamada’s eyes almost disappeared into his head as his face crinkled in utter astonishment. The monk hadn’t expected his most promising student to respond with such discourtesy. Nor had the rest of the class, who stared aghast at Yori’s attitude.
‘We’re going to war! What’s the point in answering a koan, or composing a haiku,’ Yori continued, picking angrily at the sleeves of his kimono. ‘Shouldn’t we be learning to fight instead?’
Sensei Yamada took a long slow breath and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. The class waited on tenterhooks for his response.
‘I appreciate your concerns, Yori-kun,’ he said, fixing Yori with a steely glare, ‘but I am surprised that you of all my students question the purpose of my classes.’
Yori swallowed guilty and looked as if he was about to burst into tears.
‘Let me make clear the crucial importance of these lessons.’ The Zen master’s tone was measured but severe, delivered like a rap across the knuckles. ‘The Niten Ichi Ryū does not train ignorant thugs. You are following the Way of the Warrior and this entails mastering all the Arts. You’re not a mercenary. You’re not a dim-witted ashigaru. You are samurai. Now act like one!’
Yori bowed his head in shame, his little rebellion over. Sensei Yamada turned his attention upon the rest of the class.
‘That goes for all of you. A nation that draws too broad a difference between its scholars and its warriors will have its thinking done by cowards and its fighting done by fools!’
The Zen master stood up and strode over to a large bowl. Made of hammered bronze, the singing bowl was seated upon an ornamental cushion and red lacquer stand. When struck, the bowl rang like a heavenly gong, its resonance pure and rich. Jack had heard its harmonious tones during the Ganjitsu celebrations at New Year.