Sir Toby was removing his fur-collared cloak with the affected grace of a royal courtier. Offloading the garment to his round-bellied and fawning friend, he examined the grassy duelling area, appeared satisfied, then began stretching his legs and flexing his arms. His other companion, the lank-haired drunkard, propped himself up against the tree, his eyes half-closed with intoxication. The growing number of spectators now formed a loose circle round them, hemming Jack and his friends in.
Yori, who’d been fearfully quiet all the way to Moorfields, now whispered to Jack, ‘Do you really have to do this?’
‘It looks like it,’ he replied, as Sir Toby made a show of parrying and lunging, much to the delight of the crowd.
‘But what if you apologize?’
Jack frowned. ‘What do I have to apologize for? He’s the one who should be apologizing to us!’
‘I know, but for the sake of avoiding yet another fight today, perhaps we can swallow our pride, say sorry and return to the inn in one piece.’ Yori looked up at him, eyes round and hopeful.
Jack sighed. Yori was right. He was about to risk everything over a perceived slight. He should just apologize and pray that would be the end of it, that his opponent’s posturing was no more than an act of bravado. ‘Yes, by all means try,’ he said.
Summoning up his courage, Yori approached Sir Toby and bowed low. ‘I understand, sir, the importance of honour and respect. I can assure you that my friend Jack did not wish to offend your good nature or imply that you’re a liar. This is clearly a misunderstanding. So, rather than fight a duel, please accept our sincere apology.’
Sir Toby looked haughtily down his narrow nose at the submissive little monk. ‘Some men are satisfied with words, some content with penance,’ he replied, ‘and others need to be answered with weapons. I, sir, am of this last opinion.’
With that, Sir Toby drew his rapier with a flourish. The weapon was long, slim and pointed as a needle. The ornate handguard was composed of a complex swirl of silver loops and prongs, and the pommel was large and round, a counterweight to the long blade as well as an effective striking ball. Sir Toby flicked the sword several times, its sharp tip whipping through the air with a high-pitched swish. Yori retreated rapidly.
‘Well, it was worth asking,’ consoled Akiko, as wagers started to be made among the crowd on the outcome of the impending fight.
Jack wasn’t put off. Having gained experience of duelling in Japan, he was confident in his own fighting abilities. He was keenly aware that any combat posed the risk of injury, or even death, but he’d been trained in kenjutsu by the greatest swordsman in Japan, Masamoto Takeshi. From him, he’d learnt and mastered the Two Heavens, an almost invincible technique using both the katana and wakizashi. Furthermore, the samurai sword had by far the most lethal and honed blade in the whole world, and looking at the flimsy rapier in Sir Toby’s hand, Jack almost pitied the man’s chances.
‘Is this your second?’ Sir Toby asked him, pointing the tip of his rapier towards Yori. ‘Not much of an opponent for Sir Francis here, but I suppose he’ll do.’
‘Me?’ squeaked Yori, aghast. He glanced at the drunk yet towering gentleman leaning against the tree. ‘I’m no fighter. I’m a monk. I’ve taken a vow of peace.’
Sir Toby shrugged away his protest. ‘But we fight according to the French custom. The seconds on each side duel too.’
Yori backed away, his gaze darting round the crowd like a mouse seeking a bolt-hole.
‘I’ll be Jack’s second,’ said Akiko, stepping up.
Sir Francis’s drooping eyes suddenly popped open. ‘Zounds! The girl really thinks she is a warrior!’
‘You realize this is a man’s fight,’ said Sir Toby condescendingly.
The corner of Akiko’s mouth curled into a faint smile. ‘Then I’ll be gentle with him.’
Laughter burst from the gathered onlookers and the excitement intensified at the prospect of such an unusual match. More eager bets were placed.
‘So be it,’ declared Sir Toby. ‘Edmund, lend her your rapier.’
His portly friend reluctantly presented his sword. Akiko weighed it in her hand, adapting her grip to the unfamiliar weapon. ‘It’s light!’ she remarked.
‘Of course it is,’ said Sir Edmund. ‘Italian steel. The finest.’
‘Won’t save you, though,’ said Sir Francis, peeling himself away from the tree.
Jack and Akiko stood side by side, facing their opponents. The crowd fell silent in anticipation.
‘En garde!’ cried Sir Toby, dropping into a long low stance and holding out his rapier.
‘I assure you that you don’t want to do this,’ said Jack, maintaining a calm composure as he and Akiko prepared for battle. ‘Put away your swords now and we can forget all about our quarrel.’
‘I believe they’re scared,’ slurred Sir Francis, his rapier tip wavering.
‘I’m scared for you,’ said Jack. ‘Your last chance: sheathe your weapons.’
Sir Toby snorted his disdain. ‘This is a matter of honour. I must draw blood to be satisfied.’
With that, he lunged at Jack. At the same time Sir Francis went for Akiko.
The speed at which Sir Toby moved was astounding. Caught off guard, Jack barely saw the rapier’s sharpened tip as it thrust towards his heart. Only a deft, instinctive shift of his body saved him from being skewered. Meanwhile, Akiko was driven back by a series of sharp jabs from Sir Francis.
Recovering quickly, Jack drew his katana in one fluid movement and sliced down. The curved blade cut across Sir Toby, threatening to sever the man’s sword arm clean off. But Sir Toby was quick to pull back and the katana sliced through thin air, a fraction from the end of his nose.
‘Your sword work is too slow,’ sneered Sir Toby as if he’d only been testing Jack’s reactions with his first attack.
Then the stiffened ruff round his neck parted, fell away and dropped into the dirt.
‘Not that slow,’ replied Jack with a cunning grin.
Sir Toby’s face blanched at this indignity as sniggering spread through the crowd. The laughter caused Sir Francis to pause in his assault on Akiko, who’d been fiercely defending herself.
Sir Edmund waddled over in a panic and examined Sir Toby. ‘No blood,’ he declared with evident relief and Sir Francis resumed his attack on Akiko.
Although uninjured, Sir Toby was incensed. ‘You ruined my ruff! You’ll pay for that!’
He came at Jack like a thing possessed, his rapier stabbing for Jack’s eyes. Jack deflected the first thrust, dodged the second, but the third caught him across the cheek. Pain flared in a sharp line.
‘First blood!’ cried an onlooker in delight.
‘Sir Toby’s won,’ Sir Edmund announced with an official air.
Money began to exchange hands as bets were claimed and attention now turned to the ongoing duel between Sir Francis and Akiko. Despite her awkwardness with the rapier, she was putting up a valiant fight, deflecting his attacks and countering with a few well-placed jabs of her own. Sir Francis was forced to up his game when the tip of Akiko’s rapier pierced his doublet and almost drew blood.
Sir Toby fought on too – regardless of taking first blood. Rapier and katana clashed as Jack warded off the multiple jabs. He was pricked in the arm, then the hand, but still Sir Toby advanced on him.
‘It’s first blood, Sir Toby,’ called out his friend. ‘Victory is yours.’
‘My honour is yet to be satisfied,’ he snapped, lunging again and again.
Each strike was like a bee sting to Jack. Despite his own sword skills, Jack found himself unable to match Sir Toby for speed and reach. More and more puncture wounds dotted his limbs and body. As he desperately fended off the flurry of attacks, Akiko continued to battle Sir Francis. Drunk as the man was, he proved to be a capable swordsman and Akiko was struggling to hold her own with an unfamiliar weapon and against such a vastly different sword style. But she seemed to be faring far better than Jack, who was fast becom
ing a bleeding pincushion.
Realizing he’d dangerously underestimated his opponent, Jack drew his wakizashi and took up a Two Heavens stance.
‘You’ll need more than two swords to beat me!’ Sir Toby scoffed and thrust for Jack’s chest.
Jack blocked the attack with his wakizashi, then brought his katana down hard on to the rapier. The steel of his blade being stronger than the rapier’s, the clash of swords broke the tip clean off Sir Toby’s weapon.
That should reduce his reach, thought Jack with a grin.
Sir Toby stared at his docked rapier in disbelief. Then flew into a rage. He stabbed, thrust and lunged repeatedly. But armed now with two swords and no longer at a disadvantage in terms of range, Jack had less trouble deflecting and countering the onslaught. A sudden yelp of pain caused him to turn. Akiko was backed up against the oak tree, her shoulder run through with Sir Francis’s rapier, its slender blade pinning her to the trunk.
Distracted by her plight, Jack was caught off guard by a vicious slash from Sir Toby. The broken blade whipped across the back of his left hand, leaving a welt and forcing him to drop his wakizashi. Retreating awkwardly, Jack stumbled over a tree root and landed on his back. With a gleeful grin, Sir Toby saw his opportunity and prepared to plunge his broken rapier into Jack’s exposed chest …
‘CONSTABLES!’ came a cry from the crowd.
A unit of armed men barged on to the scene and Sir Toby was denied his killing strike.
‘Arrest these men!’ ordered the chief constable as the spectators quickly dispersed. Then, somewhat taken aback at Akiko’s involvement, he added, ‘And the girl.’
The constables swiftly intervened, seizing the duellists and confiscating their weapons. Jack was forced to relinquish both his katana and wakizashi. Even Yori was made to give up his shakujō staff.
‘Unhand me!’ roared Sir Toby as he was being bound. ‘Don’t you know who I am?’
The chief constable, an officious man with a thrusting jaw and deep-set eyes, looked him up and down before replying, ‘No.’
Sir Toby’s face flushed with outrage. ‘I am Sir Toby Nashe, second cousin of Sir William Harrington, who is friend to His Majesty the King.’
While the connection seemed pretty tenuous to Jack, it had the desired effect on the chief constable and Sir Toby and his friends were immediately released. But Jack, Akiko and Yori remained in custody.
‘My apologies, Sir Toby,’ said the chief constable, his tone polite but without any real effort at deference. ‘Now will you explain what is going on here?’
‘These foreigners tried to rob me,’ Sir Toby declared, his two faithful companions nodding in vigorous agreement.
‘That’s a lie!’ cried Jack.
‘And besmirch my reputation,’ added Sir Toby haughtily, holding his nose high.
‘Please, honourable constable,’ said Yori, managing a half bow despite being pinned by the arms. ‘These three men insulted us, then challenged my friend Jack to a duel. We are innocent of these accusations.’
The chief constable eyed Yori’s religious robes, then glanced at Akiko’s wounded shoulder, the blood blooming on her silk kimono. For a moment it seemed he might be willing to believe them. Then his stubbled jaw hardened. ‘You’re the ones who caused that disturbance at Cheapside market – I heard that three travellers in strange clothes had escaped capture.’ Puffing out his barrel chest, he announced, ‘I arrest you in the name of the King for brawling, robbery and disturbing the peace.’
Jack opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off by the constable’s order: ‘Take them away!’
‘At least this saves us the cost of lodgings!’ said Yori, trying to sound cheerful as he crouched on his haunches in the grim confines of his little cell: no more than a cage of rusting iron bars and greasy granite walls with a filthy floor for a bed.
Akiko eyed the soiled bucket in the corner of her cell with disgust. ‘I don’t think much of the bath!’
Jack was slumped on the cold stone floor of his cell, his head hanging between his knees. While he appreciated his friends’ attempts at humour, his heart was too heavy. They hadn’t even been in England a day and they were prisoners in the city gaol, awaiting trial for crimes they hadn’t committed. They could be incarcerated in this hell-hole for days, weeks … even months before they were brought before a court. Would he ever see his sister?
‘I’m so sorry for dragging you all the way to England,’ he mumbled. ‘I shouldn’t have asked you to come.’
‘Forever bound to one another,’ reminded Akiko with a weak smile.
Yori jangled the heavy iron shackles round his wrists. ‘You can say that again!’
Like Yori, Jack was also shackled to a wall, but Akiko, being a girl, had been spared such undignified treatment. ‘You must think England is a living hell,’ he said.
‘It’s … not exactly what I’d pictured,’ Akiko admitted kindly. ‘But I’m with you, and that’s what matters.’
Jack looked across to her prison cell. Weak sunlight squeezed through the bars of the tiny window above, casting a pale glow across her delicate features. He loved Akiko for her unwavering loyalty to him, but, despite that, she couldn’t hide in her eyes the dismay and disbelief at what they’d experienced since arriving in London. And who could blame her! Jack, too, was astounded at the sheer savagery and uncivilized nature of his fellow countrymen, as well as repulsed by the primitive living standards compared to those in Japan. No wonder the Japanese considered Westerners to be barbarians. After seven years away from home, Jack no longer recognized his country. He was a stranger in his own land.
‘How’s your shoulder?’ he asked, feeling guilty not only for dragging Akiko to this sorry country but for embroiling her in a duel.
She peeled away the silk of her kimono, the blood now dry, and peeked at her wound. ‘It should be fine,’ she said through gritted teeth, ‘although it’s a little painful. How about you?’
‘All good,’ lied Jack. In fact, he hurt all over; the numerous puncture wounds from Sir Toby’s rapier still smarted as if he’d been rolled through a steel thorn bush. To add to his bleak mood, he couldn’t forget that he’d been defeated in the duel. Never would he have believed that the samurai sword could be bettered, yet Sir Toby’s rapier had proved an exceptionally nimble and effective weapon. His opponent had scored multiple strikes before Jack had managed to find any sort of weakness in his swordplay. If the rapier hadn’t broken, Jack was convinced that Sir Toby would have run him through.
‘Nam-myoho-renge-kyo-nam-myoho-renge-kyo …’ Yori had begun chanting to himself, his shackles clinking in rhythm. Jack knew his friend was meditating, trying to distance himself from their dire circumstances.
‘Perhaps we can escape somehow?’ said Akiko, standing up and examining the bars to her cell.
A crazed cackle from a cell at the far end greeted her suggestion. ‘Escape? You’d need wings to escape this pit of despair!’ said a dishevelled pile of rags.
Until then, Jack had thought they were the only ones in the prison block. But now a dirty, toothless face appeared between the gaps in the cell bars. The shrivelled creature licked its cracked lips and stretched its skeletal fingers out towards them.
‘Abandon all hope!’ it croaked. ‘For we are all damned. The devil rules over this infernal prison.’
‘Why aren’t you shackled?’ asked Jack, glad of the bars between them and this lunatic inmate.
‘Been ’ere so long awaiting trial that the chains no longer hold me,’ he replied with another skittish laugh. ‘They just slide off me bones,’ he said, showing Jack his stick-thin wrists.
Jack’s low spirits plummeted even further. They would die of starvation before they were ever set free!
‘Me name’s Arthur, by the way,’ the prisoner went on, then frowned, ‘or at least I think it was … Most people call me Mad Bob.’ He offered a toothless grin. ‘Pleased to make your acquaintance!’
Jack nodded a cautious greeting, t
hen turned to Akiko. ‘We have to get ou–’ Jack almost leapt out of his skin. She was standing right outside his cell door.
‘I already have,’ she said with an impish grin.
He stared in astonishment. ‘B-but how?’
‘The bars are bent at the top, from the weight of the roof,’ she replied, pointing to a wider opening high up in the ironwork. ‘I was able to squeeze through.’
Though he was aware of Akiko’s ninja skills, Jack was still taken aback at her extreme agility. He would have thought only a squirrel could have scaled the bars and slipped between such a narrow gap.
‘The bird does have wings!’ gasped their fellow prisoner.
‘I’ll go and find the keys,’ Akiko whispered, heading towards a darkened stairwell, ‘for the doors and your shackles.’
‘Don’t worry about me,’ said Yori, who’d finished chanting. He held up his hands, free of their shackles.
Mad Bob’s skull-like eyes widened into black holes of awe and fear. ‘It’s witchcraft!’
‘No, the shackles were simply corroded,’ Yori explained matter-of-factly. ‘A little chanting – soft kiai-jutsu, as Sensei Yamada calls it – and with the right resonance, the brittle metal weakens and cracks.’
Jack looked at his own shackles. They were new. No chanting would break them.
‘I’ll be back with our weapons and hopefully your purse too,’ said Akiko, before disappearing up the flight of stairs.
‘We won’t be seeing ’er again,’ muttered Mad Bob peevishly.
Jack shot him an irritated look. ‘She’ll be back – you don’t know Akiko.’
There was a snort of manic high-pitched laughter. ‘Once a bird takes flight, it won’t return to its cage.’
Trying to ignore him, Jack stood and pulled at his own shackles. While he had every faith in Akiko, there was a good chance she would not find the keys to his irons. So rather than sitting around and doing nothing, he yanked on the chains again. But the bolts held firm.
‘Go on!’ encouraged Mad Bob. ‘Haul away, me hearty. I’d like to see ye trying to drag a whole prison wall with ye!’
The Return of the Warrior Page 4
