The Way of the Dragon Read online

  ‘OSAKA AND VICTORY!’ shouted Sensei Hosokawa, signalling for the column of young samurai to begin marching out of the school gates.

  Shouldering his pack, Jack wondered if he’d ever return to the Niten Ichi Ryū again. He gazed around at the mighty Butokuden where he’d defeated the sword and been pummelled every day as Sensei Kyuzo’s uke in taijutsu; at the beautiful Chō-no-ma where he’d been introduced to the dubious pleasure of grilled eel’s liver and celebrated New Year; at the Southern Zen Garden, his favourite place to relax and be alone with his thoughts, and where he’d first learnt the archery skills of kyujutsu from Sensei Yosa; at the Butsuden in which Sensei Yamada had set his impossible koans and once shown him the legendary butterfly kick; and finally at the burnt shell of the Shishi-no-ma that had been his home for the past three years.

  He recalled how overawed he’d been the first day of his arrival at the school. How terrifying and invincible the students had appeared. He remembered lying on his futon in his tiny bedroom, alone in an alien land, the prey of a one-eyed ninja, and feeling like a lamb going to the slaughter.

  Heading off to war now, he didn’t feel much different. Except this time, he knew how to fight. He may have arrived as a lost English boy, but he was leaving the Niten Ichi Ryū as a trained samurai warrior.

  37

  OSAKA CASTLE

  After three days’ hard march the students arrived in Osaka, the political and economic centre of Japan. Jack hadn’t known what to expect from this great city. But, like Kyoto, it was a long way from the realities of English urban life with its putrid stench of dunghills and tanneries, its potholed roads and its gangs of footpads and wild youths.

  Osaka was teeming with people who politely bowed as they passed. The shops and houses were all staggeringly clean. The roads were wide, swept and free of rubbish. Even the air was fresh.

  But nothing could prepare Jack for Osaka Castle.

  Dominating the skyline was a fortress of unimaginable size. The Tower of London looked pitiful in comparison, and Jack thought several Hampton Courts could fit within its walls. Soaring up from the centre of the castle was a donjon – the main keep – eight stories high, with the walls painted a stark heron white and curved roofs overlapping at each level, their green tiles decorated with gleaming golden gables.

  As they passed through the outskirts of the city, the column of young samurai joined other troops heading towards the castle, until there was a steady stream flowing up the main thoroughfare. They approached a gigantic stone gateway set into a towering wall of interlocking battlements and bastions. The portcullis was raised and the huge iron-plated door opened to welcome their arrival.

  Jack’s ears were assaulted by the tramping of hundreds of marching feet as they crossed the long wooden drawbridge that spanned a wide moat. Glancing to his right, Jack noticed the outer defensive rampart stretched for at least a mile before it turned north. Its sheer walls sloped directly into the waters of the moat and appeared unscalable. Each block of stone in its construction was taller and wider than he was and had to weigh as much as ten cannon combined. Along the top, like the backbone of a dragon, ran a series of turrets that faced the wide, open plain of Tenno-ji to the south. As they passed through another gateway, equally formidable, Jack was astonished to discover the walls were several metres thick.

  At the next gate, the road bore right and they headed down a wide avenue lined with heavily fortified houses. Their route then doubled on itself through another portcullis and over a second large moat.

  Taro indicated for Jack to look up. Staring down at them from the battlements and parapets above were hundreds of soldiers. There were more on foot, guarding the gates, patrolling the thoroughfares and training in open courtyards, or tending to horses in the stables. There were samurai everywhere, by the thousand.

  ‘Whoever controls Osaka Castle, controls the heart of this country,’ whispered Taro.

  Jack could well believe it and his heart lifted. The castle appeared impregnable and the army invincible. Maybe there was hope after all.

  Jack soon lost his bearings in the labyrinth of stone steps and roads, and was glad when they finally halted in a large treelined courtyard with a building reminiscent of the Butokuden. Masamoto ordered his students to line up and there they waited while he disappeared with Sensei Hosokawa in the direction of the donjon.

  The keep was nearer now, but still appeared to be some ten minutes’ march away. Jack reckoned they’d entered the inner defences of the castle, but the area was still large enough to contain a small town. Off to one side was a carefully tended garden with little bridges and a tiny stream that ran into a pond. Blossoming sakura trees offered shade and across from where the students stood was a small well. Aside from the availability of water, Jack had noticed along their route a plum grove and numerous storehouses being stocked with rice, salt, soya beans and dried fish. It was clear those in the castle would not only be safe, but self-sufficient against any siege.

  Sensei Hosokawa returned, calling them sharply to attention. He was swiftly followed by an entourage of fully armed samurai warriors. In its midst was daimyo Takatomi, accompanied by Masamoto, several retainers and a young boy.

  ‘Kneel!’ commanded Sensei Hosokawa and all the young samurai dropped to one knee and bowed their heads.

  Daimyo Takatomi stepped forward to speak.

  ‘It is with great honour that I present to you his lordship Hasegawa Satoshi, Japan’s rightful heir and ruler-in-waiting.’

  The boy, surrounded by the retainers, nodded his head in acknowledgement. Jack risked a glance up. Satoshi appeared not much older than himself. Maybe sixteen. He had a thin unblemished face with the early signs of a moustache faint upon his upper lip. His hair had been pulled into a topknot and he wore the full regalia of a commanding daimyo. What surprised Jack the most was the small silver Christian cross that hung from the boy’s neck.

  ‘Your young samurai are most welcome in my castle, Masamoto-sama,’ piped Satoshi. ‘With each passing day, more loyal troops arrive. Our army will soon number over a hundred thousand. With such a force, we will crush daimyo Kamakura and his illegitimate campaign.’

  Moving with the gracious airs of one brought up in nobility, Satoshi inspected the lines of young samurai. He stopped before Jack.

  ‘And who is this?’ he asked, taken by surprise at the unexpected mop of blond among the rows of black-haired Japanese.

  Jack bowed. ‘Jack Fletcher, at your service.’

  Satoshi laughed heartily. ‘This will certainly put the fear of God into our enemy. A foreign samurai!’

  His retainers joined in the laughter. Except one. Close behind the boy stood a man of European descent, tall and slim, with dark-olive skin and slicked-back hair. Jack hadn’t noticed him before because he wore the same formal attire as the rest of the retainers. The man’s eyes flared a moment on seeing Jack, then appeared to regain their composure. A tight smile formed on his thin lips. He whispered something in Satoshi’s ear as the entourage moved on.

  Jack wished he could have overheard what the man said. The foreigner clearly had some influence over Satoshi to be part of his private entourage. And Jack should have been comforted by the presence of another European face, but he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  Having completed his inspection, Satoshi nodded his approval to Masamoto and departed, his retainers and samurai guard following swiftly behind. Daimyo Takatomi and Masamoto headed towards the garden, deep in discussion, leaving Sensei Hosokawa in charge.

  ‘These are to be our barracks,’ announced Sensei Hosokawa, indicating the building behind them. ‘Deposit your kit, then follow me to the armoury.’

  There were no beds inside, just a large empty hall separated at one end by a shoji screen. Jack followed Yamato and Yori, while Akiko headed to the other side of the screen with the rest of the girls. Finding a space in the far corner, Jack put down his pack. It contained little beside the Daruma Doll, the
ninja’s tantō and a spare blanket and kimono he’d managed to acquire from the school stores. His two swords were now permanently on his hip.

  The students were slow to take their places, morale low since the attack on the Niten Ichi Ryū. The damage Kazuki had inflicted upon the school was proving to be greater than the burning of a few buildings. His defection had struck at the very heart of the Niten Ichi Ryū. The school was splitting into cliques, the students no longer trusting one another, and a great sense of shame hung round everyone’s necks, the dishonour of a samurai-turned-traitor tainting them all.

  ‘Mind if I join you?’ asked Takuan, who looked exhausted after the long march.

  ‘Of course not,’ said Jack, making a space for him. Any sense of rivalry over Akiko now seemed irrelevant at a time of war. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Awful,’ he replied, grimacing as he dropped his kit. ‘My pack rubbed against my ribs all the way –’

  ‘Hurry up!’ shouted Sensei Kyuzo from the doorway.

  Outside they were taken to a large storeroom and supplied with armour. A gruff soldier handed Jack a skirted breastplate consisting of overlapping layers of lacquered leather scales, two large rectangular shoulder pads, a metal helmet with three curved plates that shielded the neck, a pair of heavy gauntlets to protect his hands and, lastly, an ugly metal mask. It covered half of Jack’s face and had a large pointed nose and thick black moustache.

  ‘What’s this for?’ asked Jack.

  ‘It’s a menpō,’ growled the soldier irritably. ‘It protects your throat and scares the enemy. Not that you need one with a face like yours!’

  He belly-laughed at his own joke. ‘Next!’

  Jack joined the others in the courtyard who were trying on their new equipment for size. Studying the array of armour, Jack had no idea where to start.

  ‘Do you need some help?’ asked Akiko, who was already fully clad in a magnificent turquoise-blue set.

  ‘How did you put it on so quickly?’

  ‘I often helped my father with his; even on the day he left for the Battle of Nakasendo. That was the last time I ever saw him.’

  A sadness passed across Akiko’s face. Jack knew she still felt the death of her father keenly despite the intervening years. He supposed the loss at such an early age had been one of the reasons Akiko was so intent on becoming a warrior herself. With no older brother in the family, it was her responsibility to take his place and maintain the family honour. Jack could understand her sense of loss. There wasn’t a day that went by when he didn’t think of his own father. But he had a different reason for becoming a samurai – the threat of Dragon Eye.

  Akiko passed the breastplate over Jack’s head and was about to tie it in place, when giggles burst forth from the other side of the courtyard. They turned round to see Yori swamped by his armour. His arms were not much longer than the shoulder pads and his breastplate almost touched his knees. But the feature that was generating the most amusement was his helmet. When Yori had put it on, his whole head had disappeared inside and he was now staggering around blind. Yamato rushed to his rescue.

  Once fully kitted, Yori having exchanged his helmet for a smaller, but equally ill-fitting one, they stored their armour with their other belongings and headed over to the communal kitchens for food. The long march from Kyoto to Osaka had left Jack starving and he was looking forward to a proper meal. But the only provisions were several balls of cold rice and a watery fish soup.

  The students gathered in disgruntled groups to eat their dinner. Yori sat down next to Jack in the courtyard, appearing thoroughly depressed. He picked at his rice, but didn’t eat any.

  ‘I know it’s not up to the standard of the Chō-no-ma, but at least here we have great views of the castle,’ said Jack, trying to encourage a smile from his friend.

  ‘We’re really going to war, aren’t we?’ Yori whispered, staring into his soup.

  ‘Don’t worry, Yori,’ Akiko soothed. ‘We won’t be on the frontline.’

  ‘Then why give us armour?’

  ‘We’re the reserve. That’s why we’ve been stationed in the inner bailey. It’s the safest place before the keep itself.’

  ‘But what if the enemy gets in?’

  ‘That won’t happen. You saw the defences. No army can cross two moats and scale these fortified walls. Osaka Castle will never fall.’

  As they were talking, four castle guards approached Jack. The lead guard addressed him.

  ‘Jack Fletcher, you are to accompany us to the keep.’

  38

  FATHER BOBADILLO

  Jack was frogmarched along a narrow road, the walls closing in on either side of him as they approached a huge iron-clad timber gateway, guarded by foot soldiers with spears. The doors swung open and they entered an inner courtyard bordered by plum and sakura trees. The keep was much closer now and Jack had to incline his head to see the uppermost floor.

  Passing a tea garden with an oval pond, then a central well house, they crossed to the main entrance of the keep. As they approached the large fortified doorway set into its immense stone base, samurai guards challenged them, their hands ready on their swords. The Council were clearly taking no chances with Satoshi’s safety. Jack also noticed a patrol circling the donjon. The lead guard gave the password and the gate was opened.

  Once inside, the guards kicked off their sandals and Jack did likewise. The wooden interior was dark and it took a few moments for Jack’s eyes to adjust. Off to one side, Jack spotted a storeroom stacked with gunpowder, muskets, arquebuses and spears. Expecting to find stone steps leading up to the main floor, Jack was amazed to discover there were three levels within the base of the keep alone. Ascending several wooden staircases, they passed more guards and countless rooms, but only when they reached the fourth floor were there any windows.

  The sun was now low on the horizon and Jack could see for miles across the Tenno-ji Plain. Below were the three main encircling walls of the castle and beyond that the city, stretched out like a patchwork quilt to the harbour and the sea. It was so tantalizingly close. Perhaps, thought Jack, when this was all over, he could find a Japanese ship in the harbour bound for Nagasaki and from there make his way home.

  His escort abruptly halted before a large wooden door on the fifth floor. There were no guards here and Jack had no idea what to expect. The samurai hadn’t spoken a word to him since the barracks, so Jack didn’t know whether he’d been arrested or was about to meet the ruler-in-waiting. The uneasy sensation in his stomach returned as the door was pulled back.

  ‘Come into my study,’ said a voice, thick and oily as tar.

  Before him stood the European man from Satoshi’s retinue, his hair slick and shiny in the lamplight. No longer dressed in a Japanese kimono, he wore the distinctive buttonless cassock and cape of a Portuguese Jesuit priest. Jack tried to suppress the surge of fear he felt at discovering a sworn enemy of England held a position of power in the castle.

  Jack entered the priest’s study and was momentarily disorientated. It was as if he’d stepped to the other side of the world. The room was fashioned in an entirely European manner. The walls and ceiling were wood-panelled. A heavy oak table with intricately carved legs dominated the room. Upon its surface were two silver candleholders and a pewter jug containing water. Behind was a large wooden chair, in which the priest now seated himself, its headrest decorated in the floral swirling pattern so popular among the courts of Europe. In one corner was a dark mahogany casket secured with a large lockplate. Above it on the wall was an oil painting, a portrait of St Ignatius, the founder of the Jesuits; and in a recess were a number of thick leatherbound books. The furnishings were so wholly un-Japanese that Jack experienced an overwhelming pang of homesickness.

  ‘Sit down,’ instructed the priest as the door was closed.

  Jack instinctively knelt down on the floor.

  ‘In the chair,’ the priest said, waving in exasperation at the wooden high-backed seat behind Jack. ‘You’ve
clearly forgotten who you are. Not that I blame you. One can only live among the Japanese for so long before going completely mad. That’s why I insisted on having my own piece of Portugal here. This room is my sanctuary from all their suffocating rituals, formality and etiquette.’

  Jack sat down, still dumbfounded by the appearance of the room.

  ‘Do you understand me?’ enquired the priest, slowly enunciating the words as if Jack was an idiot. ‘Or would you prefer me to speak… English?’

  Jack snapped to attention, immediately wary of the man. Despite his apparent friendliness, there was something snakelike and conniving about his manner. He’d not told the priest where he was from, so clearly the Jesuit was well aware of how he’d come to be in Japan. Though Jack desperately wanted to speak English after all these years, he needed to make clear he wasn’t to be taken for a fool.

  ‘Japanese is fine. Or Portuguese, if you prefer,’ replied Jack, thankful his mother, a teacher, had taught him some of the language.

  The priest smiled thinly. ‘It is pleasing to discover you’re educated. For a moment I was worried you were a lowly ship’s boy. But we shall speak in English. I’m sure you’ve missed your mother tongue.

  ‘My name is Father Diego Bobadillo, a brother of the Society of Jesus, the protectorate of the Catholic Church and the head of the missionaries here in Japan. I am also a key adviser to his lordship Hasegawa Satoshi.’

  Jack realized this was the very man Father Lucius, the Jesuit priest in Toba, had asked him to deliver the Japanese–Portuguese dictionary to.

  ‘I was meant to find you,’ interrupted Jack. ‘I knew Father Lucius.’

  The priest raised an eyebrow, but otherwise seemed unsurprised at the news. Father Lucius had evidently informed his superior of their meetings.

  ‘His dying wish was for me to give you his dictionary. I’m sorry to say it was stolen.’