by Unknown
Once the news of a draw had sunk in, Saigyo continued ‘I propose a maekuzuke between the two best entrants.’
The class sat rigid, no longer from cold but with anticipation.
Sensei Nakamura stepped forward to explain the rules.
‘Our honoured guest will provide a short two-line verse to which the participants must add a haiku of their own, and so form a complete tanka poem. The joining verse will be judged on its originality and relevance to the given phrase. The participants must compose their contribution on the spot.’
The difficulty of the challenge triggered an astonished gasp from the students.
‘Yori-kun and Takuan-kun, step forward.’
Yori froze, looking startled as a rabbit caught out in the open.
Jack whispered, ‘Don’t worry. You’re a natural with words.’
Takuan jumped up and strode to the front. The class waited patiently while Yori, finding his feet, reluctantly joined him.
Saigyo greeted Yori with a reassuring smile.
‘Your opening phrase is a simple dilemma:
‘ “I want to kill him,
I don’t want to kill him…” ’
Surprise registered on Yori’s face at the verse’s brutal bluntness, but Jack could see Takuan was already composing his response.
‘My friend who’s fond of frogs,’ announced Saigyo, ‘you will go first.’
Yori glanced around in panic at all the expectant faces. Jack thought he was about to bolt from the Hall of the Hawk, the pressure too much for him. But all of a sudden Yori’s face lit up as he found inspiration. He spoke his haiku so fast, his tongue almost tripped over his words:
‘Given a choice:
revenge can be sweet
but mercy greater.’
Yori breathed a sigh of relief at having managed a response.
Saigyo pursed his lips considering the haiku, then turned to Takuan. ‘What is your joining verse for the maekuzuke?’
Takuan replied without hesitation:
‘Catching the thief
and seeing his face,
it was my brother!’
Giving a noncommittal nod of the head, Saigyo gazed into the glowing coals of the hibachi as he mulled over the two verses.
‘Such a decision as this is like choosing between two types of saké. Though possessed of different flavours, they are both refreshing and potent,’ he explained, rubbing his chin. ‘Yorikun, yours resounded with the spirit of bushido, but it lacked a poetic twist. Takuan-kun, your response was as unexpected and memorable as a red rose in winter. I, therefore, declare you the winner!’
There was an excited squeal of delight from the girls, followed by enthusiastic clapping from everyone. Takuan went up to receive a scroll from Saigyo within which the poet had personally penned a haiku for him as a prize.
The competition over, Sensei Nakamura called an end to the class and ushered Saigyo towards the Hall of the Phoenix for a private audience with Masamoto-sama. Outside, the students all crowded round Takuan to congratulate him on his inspired response and well-deserved victory. Emi and Akiko were at his shoulder reading the prize haiku.
Jack spotted Yori wandering off on his own and crunched through the snow after him.
‘Are you all right?’ Jack asked tenderly, hoping his friend wasn’t too upset.
Yori turned round, a contented grin on his face.
‘Of course I am. I came second. How amazing is that?’
‘But… but you lost. Aren’t you disappointed that Takuan beat you?’
‘Why should I be? I never expected to win, let alone reach the final two. I just wanted to meet the great poet Saigyo. And he liked my frog haiku!’
‘I still don’t understand how you can’t be even a little upset that you lost,’ continued Jack, later that evening in Yori’s bedroom at the Shishi-no-ma. ‘If that was me, I’d be really disappointed.’
‘But I’m not you,’ replied Yori, setting up the little singing bowl for his nightly kiaijutsu practice. ‘If I was comparing my achievements with Takuan, then I would be a loser. But I was comparing them with my own ambition to be the best poet I can be. Therefore, I am a winner.’
Jack couldn’t argue with his friend’s wisdom, so he sat down in a corner of the room and picked through the various scraps of paper that bore the efforts of his own poetry. Having heard the other haiku during the competition, Jack felt none of his were in any way good enough to present to Akiko.
‘They’re terrible,’ he moaned. ‘Takuan’s are so much better. Perhaps I should just get him to write one for me.’
‘Stop comparing yourself to Takuan,’ admonished Yori as he began his kiai breathing exercises. ‘Akiko will appreciate your haiku more, simply because of the effort you’ve put in.’
‘Do you think so?’
Yori nodded and shouted at the singing bowl. The squeak that came out left the bowl unmoved. He grimaced in frustration and tried again.
Settling down, Jack redoubled his efforts to write a decent haiku. Once again, Yori’s insight had helped him to see things clearly. He would write a poem that meant something for him – and would mean something to Akiko. She had given him a black pearl. He saw this haiku as his personal gift to her.
‘Have you heard the announcement?’ said Saburo, bursting into the room.
Jack and Yori shook their heads.
‘Akiko, Emi and Takuan have been selected as the riders to represent our school at the forthcoming Yabusame competition.’
‘Great,’ mumbled Jack to himself, putting down his writing brush. ‘Takuan will be spending even more time with Akiko.’
‘I don’t know what you’re complaining about,’ retorted Saburo, suddenly defensive. ‘You spend most of your time training with my brother!’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘You should hear yourself at breakfast. Taro this. Taro that. I’m sick to death of hearing about how great he is!’
‘Sorry,’ said Jack, shocked by his friend’s sudden outburst. ‘I didn’t know you were… jealous.’
Saburo gave a tired shake of the head. ‘My apologies, Jack. It’s what I have to put up with from my parents. Taro’s done this and he’s achieved that. When are you going to do something worthy of a samurai, Saburo? I’m tired of having to measure up to my brother all the time.’
‘You shouldn’t worry about that. You need to stop comparing yourself to your brother and have your own ambitions,’ said Jack. He spotted Yori silently laughing at hearing his own advice being repeated. ‘Taro may be skilful with two swords but, if I’m honest, he can be a bit dull. It’s all he ever goes on about. He’s not funny like you.’
‘Thanks’ said Saburo, the smile returning to his face as he picked up a discarded haiku. ‘What’s this? I thought you hated writing haiku.’
‘Give it back!’ said Jack, panicking that Saburo might read the poem and guess it was for Akiko.
He snatched the paper from Saburo’s hands, pushing his friend out of the way so he could gather up the rest of the haiku. Saburo stumbled backwards, accidently stamping on Yori’s foot in the process. Yori let out a sharp cry.
The singing bowl pinged.
Jack and Saburo stared in amazement at Yori and then at the bowl.
‘I did it,’ whispered Yori in awe of himself. ‘I really did it.’
‘It’s certainly a hive of warrior activity in here,’ commented Kazuki, poking his head through the doorway. ‘Are we in the girls’ corridor? Squabbles, poetry and a kiai only a moth would be scared of. We’d better watch out, boys, they’ll be asking us to join their flower-arranging class next!’
Hiroto, Goro and Nobu burst into laughter before carrying on down the corridor to their rooms. Insulted, Jack and Saburo ran to the door. But unable to think of a suitable comeback to Kazuki’s abuse, they could only glare after them.
Yori remained where he was, transfixed by the bowl still humming away.
29
THE FRIAR
/> Akiko’s defence crumpled under Masamoto’s onslaught.
Having already lost her wakizashi to an Autumn Leaf strike, she valiantly tried to sustain her attack. But Masamoto’s skill was unassailable. He drove forward, knocking Akiko’s katana from her grasp and bringing his sword down upon her head. In a fit of apparent insanity, Akiko slammed her hands together either side of the sword.
There was a gasp of utter astonishment from the Two Heavens students standing down one side of the Hall of the Phoenix.
Akiko had caught Masamoto’s blade with her bare hands!
‘Not the recommended defence for a samurai,’ said Masamoto, strangely unfazed by Akiko’s miraculous skill. ‘You could easily lose your fingers.’
Akiko let go, suddenly self-conscious of her feat. She picked up her swords and rejoined Jack in line. Jack couldn’t believe what he’d just witnessed. Blocking a sword like that was a technique far beyond their samurai training. But before he could question Akiko, Masamoto summoned him on to the floor. Immediately the training duel began.
Jack struggled to defend himself against Masamoto’s double sword attack. Blocking the cut to his head with his wakizashi, Jack thrust his katana in a counterstrike at his guardian’s throat. But Masamoto effortlessly sidestepped the threat, bringing his own katana slicing across Jack’s chest.
Their swords clashed.
Without thinking, Jack struck down hard upon Masamoto’s blade with his kissaki. Twice.
The sword clattered to the dojo floor.
All the students now stared in wide-eyed amazement at Jack, apart from Taro who bore a proud grin.
It took a moment for Jack to realize what he’d done.
He’d disarmed the legendary swordmaster, Masamoto Takeshi.
He’d accomplished a perfect Autumn Leaf strike.
‘I did it!’ breathed Jack. ‘I’ve mastered the Two Heavens.’
But the duel wasn’t over. Masamoto still had his wakizashi.
Before Jack could exploit his advantage, Masamoto had changed grip on the short training sword and threw it at Jack. The hilt struck him hard in the chest. Staggering backwards, his heel caught on the edge of the dais and he crashed to the floor.
‘You’re dead,’ stated Masamoto, ending the duel.
Breathless and exasperated, Jack tried to protest, ‘But that… wasn’t sword fighting… You threw it at me.’
‘Mountain to Sea,’ replied Masamoto, offering Jack no sympathy. ‘In order to break through your double guard and win, I had to change tactics. I had to attack in a manner that wouldn’t be expected. In other words, move from the Mountain to the Sea. Learn from this, young samurai.’
Jack got to his feet and returned Masamoto’s wakizashi to him.
‘It’s satisfying to see you’ve grasped the Autumn Leaf strike at last, but do not confuse individual sword techniques with the Two Heavens style as a whole,’ reprimanded Masamoto, his scarred face stern and unsmiling.
Jack bowed his head in acknowledgement. Carried away by his brief success, it had been foolish to think that he’d suddenly mastered the technique.
‘The true Way of this style is not solely about handling two swords,’ Masamoto explained, now addressing the whole class. ‘The essence of the Two Heavens is the spirit of winning – to obtain victory by any means and with any weapon. Understand this and you’ll be well on the way to mastering the Two Heavens.’
With the snow now gone, the early spring sunshine had encouraged people on to Kyoto’s streets. Jack and Yamato, late as they were for their Yabusame class, had to push their way through the crowds. In the marketplace, Jack noticed a tense, edgy atmosphere as harassed shoppers bought provisions. After no word for months, rumours were now spreading that Kamamura’s army was on the march and many people were stocking up in case of war.
‘So how’s the Two Heavens training going?’ asked Yamato.
Jack was taken by surprise at the unexpected question. His friend usually avoided talking about it. Despite Yamato’s prowess in other classes, it reminded him of his failure to live up to his father’s expectations.
‘Good and bad,’ replied Jack. ‘I’ve just discovered the Two Heavens is as much to do with battle strategy, as it is with skill –’
Suddenly a hand shot out from a side alley and grabbed Jack by the arm. His immediate thought was of ronin seizing him for punishment again and he shouted to Yamato for help. At the same time, he instinctively twisted his hand round and put the attacker into a crippling lock. The man fell to his knees, crying out for mercy. In a flash Yamato was by Jack’s side, sword drawn.
‘Don’t kill me!’ pleaded the man as he grovelled on the ground. ‘I mean you no harm.’
‘What do you want then?’ demanded Yamato.
Dirty and dishevelled, the man wore a tattered cowl and cloak, his face was haggard, and his eyes sunken and bloodshot. But the most remarkable thing about him was that he wasn’t Japanese.
‘I… I’m Friar Juan de Madrid,’ he stuttered, his Spanish accent thickly tainting his Japanese. ‘I’m a Franciscan monk from the Church of St Francis in Edo. I saw this boy and thought he could help me.’
‘What could I do?’ asked Jack, wondering how the friar had got into such an appalling state.
‘You’re European. I thought you may be attached to a Spanish or Portuguese vessel.’
‘No. I was shipwrecked here. I’m English.’
‘English!’ exclaimed the friar, stunned. Jack nodded. ‘No matter. In these dreadful times, we must be allies, not enemies. As I said, I’ve come from Edo in the north where I’ve been for many years, had a faithful congregation, but now that’s all gone… gone…’
Tears welled up in his eyes.
‘Come to the Niten Ichi Ryū,’ suggested Jack, kneeling down to try and comfort the friar. ‘You’ll be safe there.’
‘No. No one’s safe,’ the friar shot back. ‘Daimyo Kamakura’s army has destroyed all Christian churches and burnt down our houses, even as we slept in them! Those friars and Jesuit priests that didn’t die by the fire were slaughtered by the sword…’
The friar was convulsed in sobs as he relived the horror of the massacre.
‘But why weren’t you killed?’ demanded Yamato, his sword still at the ready.
‘I don’t know. Somehow I managed to escape. But I’ve lost everything, save the clothes on my back. I’m trying to get to Nagasaki. I have to leave this godforsaken land.’ Clasping Jack’s arms, the friar exclaimed, ‘Daimyo Kamakura and his army are headed this way as we speak! We have no time to lose. You should come too! He will kill you for sure.’
Looking around in a wild panic, he tried to stand, but his legs gave way under him.
‘You need to rest,’ said Jack, putting his arm round the friar. ‘Let us take you to Sensei Yamada, our Zen master. He’ll look after you.’
It was early the following morning that Sensei Yamada and Jack bid farewell to Friar Juan de Madrid.
‘You’re welcome to stay longer,’ said Sensei Yamada.
‘No, you’ve been too kind already,’ said the friar, bowing humbly. ‘Thank you for the food and fresh robe, but it’s too dangerous to linger.’
Looking at Jack, he implored, ‘Are you certain you won’t come with me?’
‘Jack-kun will be safe here with us,’ assured Sensei Yamada.
With that, the friar set off down the road. Jack watched him shamble away, keeping to the shadows. With confirmation that daimyo Kamakura’s war had begun in earnest, Jack realized he’d have to give up all hope of retrieving his father’s rutter. Fighting a single ninja, even one as ruthless as Dragon Eye, was entirely different from battling a whole army. His greatest concern now was his own life. With each passing day, the threat drew ever closer.
The friar disappeared round the corner without looking back.
‘Perhaps I should have joined him,’ reflected Jack.
Sensei Yamada slowly shook his head.
‘You’re safer in the lion
’s den than in a field of snakes,’ replied the Zen master. ‘The road to Nagasaki is hard and dangerous. I doubt the friar will even make it to Kōbe, and that’s barely three days’ journey from here. In these uncertain times, there will be few who will take him in and many who will want to take his head. Masamoto-sama, though, can protect you, Jack-kun. The Niten Ichi Ryū is the safest place you can possibly be.’
30
KYOSHA
The taiko drum boomed to the thunder of horses’ hooves pummelling the air as the competing archers galloped past. The students jostled for position along the roped-off length of the Yabusame course, cheering and applauding their teams. Jack, seeing Akiko, Emi and Takuan fly by, gave a great shout of encouragement.
Spring had finally arrived and with it the exquisite sakura blossom that heralded the inter-school archery contest. But in the month that had passed since the friar’s unexpected appearance, many more stories of persecution and massacre, of branding and public burnings, had reached Kyoto. So far, the cleansing and Kamakura’s army had remained within the boundaries of Edo Province. But there was a growing tension among Kyoto’s citizens as more and more of his forces gathered on the border. Even though daimyo Kamakura had yet to directly attack a Japanese lord and his army was still seven days’ march from the city, this didn’t allay people’s fears. The lord of Edo could strike at any moment.
Seated high upon the ceremonial wooden tower, Masamoto and Yoshioka, the heads of the Niten Ichi Ryū and the Yoshioka Ryū, oversaw the proceedings. From their privileged position, they could view the entire course. A third zabuton cushion, set aside for the head of the Yagyu Ryū, daimyo Kamakura, remained ominously vacant.
‘Would you like some chicken?’ asked Saburo, offering Jack a bite of his yakitori.
Jack refused. They’d just had lunch.