Young Samurai: The Ring of Sky

by Chris Bradford

  But the unit stopped short outside a tea house. With a nod from the commanding officer, two of his samurai strode inside and dragged out the owner. Dumping him in the middle of the street, they set to beating him with sticks. The dull thud of wood on flesh was unnaturally loud amid the fearful silence of the onlookers. There was a harsh crack as a bone broke and the man screamed in agony. A shrieking woman rushed out of the tea house and tried to intervene, but she was kicked to the ground. Then she too was beaten unmercifully.

  Jack was sickened by the savage violence against two defenceless individuals. He felt compelled to intervene, but knew such a move would be suicidal.

  The beating stopped.

  ‘Let that be a lesson to you … both,’ snarled the officer, before giving the order to march on, the reason for the beating never declared.

  The unit of samurai left the semi-conscious man bleeding in the gutter and the woman sobbing beside him, one side of her face cruelly puffed up. When the samurai were gone, the street returned to normal and everyone went on their way. But no one approached or helped the battered couple.

  ‘We need to get out of here as soon as we can,’ whispered Akiko. ‘This is an unforgiving place.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly,’ said Jack, hurriedly finishing his broth of ramen.

  Leading the horse on foot, Akiko guided them down the road. But the city was so overwhelming in its size, they soon lost their bearings. Facing a bewildering number of streets and alleyways, Akiko stopped to ask an old woman for directions to the harbour. With a polite bow, the woman gestured down the road then said something Jack didn’t catch, before going on her way.

  Akiko turned to Jack and Benkei, her expression grim.

  ‘She says to follow this street until we come to a bridge, cross the river then take the main road west. But there are no ferries until tomorrow morning … and we’ll need travel permits.’

  33

  The Innkeeper

  ‘So it’s the long way round to Nagasaki, after all,’ said Jack, as they ducked down a side street to avoid another unit of samurai marching by.

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said Benkei, a crafty twinkle in his eye. ‘There are ways and means of getting permits, especially in a city like this.’ He rubbed his fingers, making the gesture for money. ‘We just need the means.’

  ‘Will this be enough?’ asked Akiko, holding up a string of silver and copper coins.

  Benkei grinned. ‘Definitely. We’re good to sail!’

  ‘But what are we going to do until then?’ asked Jack. ‘We can’t keep dodging patrols like this.’

  ‘Certainly not after dark,’ Akiko agreed. ‘That will look even more suspicious. We must find an inn, one with a stable.’

  ‘I know where to go,’ said Benkei. ‘Follow me.’

  With the plan agreed, they crossed the bridge and took the main road west. Wooden slatted buildings crowded the street on either side. They passed several well-to-do establishments with views over the Shira River, but none of these met with Benkei’s approval. He turned down a side street, and Jack and Akiko followed him into what appeared to be a less prosperous area of the city. The inns along this stretch showed signs of wear and tear; loose roof tiles held down with stones, crooked guttering, unrepaired rips in shoji doors. Empty saké bottles were piled high in crates, still awaiting collection, and the signs above various businesses were chipped and weather-beaten. The clientele hanging around outside and wandering through the streets mirrored the rundown appearance of the neighbourhood. Their clothes were travel-worn, their weapons more prominently displayed, and polite bows were replaced with hard stares and hostile scowls.

  Benkei stopped outside the shabbiest-looking inn.

  ‘Here?’ exclaimed Akiko, turning up her nose.

  ‘A place like this will ask fewer questions,’ explained Benkei, ‘and be more likely to know where to acquire permits.’

  ‘I suppose beggars can’t be choosers,’ said Jack.

  ‘As long as the stable is satisfactory,’ agreed Akiko, stroking her horse’s mane, ‘and they’ve got a hot ofuro.’

  Benkei pulled on the bell. It gave a dull clang, its ringer broken. He banged on the door.

  They waited a moment. Then the door slid open a crack.

  ‘Yes?’ demanded a wrinkle-faced man with hangdog eyes and a left ear that stuck out like a sail.

  ‘We need a room for the night,’ replied Benkei.

  The innkeeper eyed the mismatched threesome with suspicion: the elegant and well-armed girl samurai and her valuable white horse, the spiky-haired and gangly lad in the rainbow-coloured kimono, and the mysterious samurai retainer with a straw hat pulled too low over his face.

  ‘One room?’ he asked, rubbing his bristled chin thoughtfully.

  ‘Two,’ corrected Akiko. ‘My retainers will share.’ She indicated her stallion. ‘I presume you have a stable?’

  The innkeeper grunted. ‘Out back … but I may not have a vacancy.’

  ‘I think you might find one,’ stated Benkei, glancing meaningfully at Akiko, who produced the string of coins.

  The innkeeper’s manner instantly changed at the sight of the money. ‘I’ve just had a late cancellation. Go round the back.’

  Shutting the door in their faces, he was then heard bawling, ‘Momo, get up! We’ve guests.’

  ‘That’s warm hospitality for you,’ remarked Akiko as she led the stallion down the side alley.

  The innkeeper opened up a gate and ushered them into a rear courtyard.

  ‘Take your pick,’ he said, pointing to three dilapidated stalls that were the inn’s excuse for a stable.

  Akiko peered in, frowning in disgust at the state of them.

  ‘At least the hay is fresh,’ she muttered, tethering her horse in the first stall and removing his saddle.

  ‘Two rooms … breakfast … plus stabling and hay … one night …’ The innkeeper licked his lips as he counted off his fingers. ‘That’ll be ten mon. Payment in advance only.’ The innkeeper bowed graciously and held out his hand.

  ‘How much?’ queried Akiko, her face registering shock.

  ‘They are our two best rooms,’ he said, offering his most ingratiating smile. ‘And they guarantee privacy.’

  The innkeeper glanced at Jack as he emphasized the last word – the clear implication being that his silence did not come free.

  With reluctance, Akiko handed over the ten copper coins. ‘The ofuro had better be hot.’

  ‘Momo!’ shouted the innkeeper over his shoulder. ‘Stoke up the fire.’

  Pocketing the money, the innkeeper led them inside. As they passed down the lamplit corridor, the warped wooden floorboards creaking beneath their feet, Jack and Akiko exchanged doubtful looks at Benkei’s choice of establishment. But to their surprise the rooms, though small, turned out to be clean with tatami-matted floors, low wooden tables and pristine white futons neatly rolled in one corner. The washi paper walls were even decorated with colourful screen paintings depicting hunts, festivals and theatre scenes.

  ‘As I said, our best rooms,’ remarked the innkeeper, noticing Akiko’s approval. He glanced at Jack, who now looked even more conspicuous wearing his hat indoors. ‘May I take that for you?’

  Jack shook his head.

  ‘He was beaten in a duel and lost face,’ cut in Akiko. ‘The shame of it!’

  ‘Ahhh … the famous samurai pride,’ replied the innkeeper, accepting the answer but clearly not believing a single word. ‘Perhaps I can get you some green tea instead?’

  ‘That would be nice,’ said Akiko, taking off her sandals and entering her room.

  ‘Momo! Green tea!’ hollered the innkeeper. He bowed low, though less out of courtesy and more out of curiosity to catch a glimpse of Jack’s face. However, Jack bowed quickly back and foiled his attempt.

  ‘Have a pleasant stay,’ said the innkeeper as he shuffled off.

  ‘I’ll ask where to buy the permits when he returns,’ said Benkei, stepping into thei
r room and dumping their supply bag.

  Jack slipped off his pack too and rubbed his shoulders. The journey that day had been long and tiring. He was looking forward to a good night’s rest in a soft bed. Laying down his swords, he began to take off his hat, when the shoji shot open.

  ‘Your tea!’ announced the innkeeper, walking in and placing the tray on the table.

  ‘Thank you,’ acknowledged Benkei. Without giving the innkeeper the chance to linger further, he asked, ‘May I have a word?’

  The innkeeper nodded and the two of them left the room.

  Once the door was closed and he was certain the innkeeper had gone, Jack removed his hat and relaxed. Pouring himself some tea, he sat down and, with nothing else to do, gazed at the screen painting in his room. It portrayed a vibrant theatre scene with men and women dancing upon a stage. One panel was devoted to a lithe woman singing and playing a thirteen-string koto. The figure was almost full-size and exquisitely painted, the work so lifelike the woman’s eyes appeared to be staring right at him.

  ‘Jack!’

  He almost jumped out of his skin. But it was just Akiko whispering through the thin washi paper wall.

  ‘Benkei’s taken some money for the permits,’ she said. ‘Seems my opinion of your new friend was mistaken. He’s proving very useful.’

  ‘If anyone can get them, Benkei will,’ Jack reassured her. ‘He’s got a silver tongue.’

  ‘Good. I’m going to take a bath now. Then I’ll arrange for some dinner.’

  Jack thought he could do with an ofuro too. Three days had passed since his last wash at Shiryu’s house and his skin felt grimy. He smiled to himself; back in England he’d have considered three months still too soon for a bath!

  While he waited for Akiko and Benkei to return, Jack passed the time cleaning his swords. He used a cloth to wipe off any dirt, then polished the steel to a high gleam. Once satisfied, he put the blades aside, laying them by his futon, and rummaged in his pack for his father’s rutter. Carefully laying the logbook on the table, he unwrapped the protective oilskin covering and flicked through the pages. The sea charts, compass bearings, travel logs and observation notes were like familiar friends. Thanks to his father’s instruction, he could decipher the coded passages as easily as if they’d been written in plain English. Jack even remembered his father inserting many of the entries in the logbook during their long voyage to the Japans; the memories were so distinct that, as he turned the pages, Jack could almost imagine his father by his side.

  All the while he read, Jack couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was being watched. Yet when he looked around the room, there was no one there … only the koto woman’s eyes upon him. He put this down to nerves from the fraught day and went back to studying the logbook. In a few days he’d be sailing for home – perhaps as a pilot like his father – and the idea of using this information to help navigate a ship back to England filled him with excitement.

  When he heard Akiko return from her bath, Jack closed the rutter and stashed it back in his pack before slipping it under his futon for a pillow. It had become habit for him to sleep on top of his most prized possession. He couldn’t be too careful.

  Glancing up at the little window to his room, he noticed that dusk was fast approaching. Benkei still wasn’t back and Jack began to worry. He was about to call to Akiko, when the corridor floorboards softly creaked. Jack now realized his concerns were unfounded – Benkei was returning.

  Then Jack registered multiple footsteps. He reached for his swords. But, before he could get to them, the shoji burst open and ten of daimyo Kato’s samurai charged in.

  34

  The Dohyō

  Bound and gagged, Jack was dragged through a twisting, turning and baffling complex of passageways to reach the inner bailey of Kumamoto Castle. He struggled in his captors’ grip across the courtyard, his hobbled feet scoring two lines in the grey gravel behind him. All ten samurai had pounced on him when they’d barged into his room. He’d thrown the first three off and broken the arm of the fourth before they managed to pin him to the floor. With a knife held to his throat, Jack’s hands were tied behind his back and his ankles fettered. Powerless to resist, he’d been forced to listen to a violent tussle next door, Akiko screaming then falling silent. For several long seconds, he feared she was dead. Then they’d hauled her in, half-conscious, between the shoulders of two burly soldiers. Her lip was split and there was a vicious red welt across her temple. Jack’s blood boiled at seeing Akiko in such a state and, fighting against his bonds, had vowed retribution the first chance he got. The samurai had all laughed in his face before the lead officer had shoved a gag in his mouth. Then, glaring up at Akiko’s two attackers, Jack had felt a small surge of satisfaction when he noticed one sported a freshly broken nose and the other walked with an awkward limp. At least Akiko had been able to put up a fight as well, thought Jack.

  Now they were both being escorted through the enormous castle for an audience with daimyo Kato. Akiko, having regained consciousness, stumbled along behind. Tied to a short length of rope, she was barefoot and bound like Jack. The two samurai delighted in manhandling her across the gravel. A sharp pull on the tether sent Akiko sprawling.

  ‘Not so feisty now, are you?’ said the samurai, his voice muffled by his broken nose. He dragged the grazed Akiko back to her feet.

  ‘And you’re not so pretty,’ she retorted defiantly, before being yanked onward.

  The black keep of Kumamoto Castle loomed closer. Its seven arched roofs with its golden eaves soared into the sky like a colossal multi-winged beast, its entrance a gated mouth that seemed to swallow all who entered. And, in the deepening twilight, its barred windows flickered orange with burning oil lamps, transforming the fortress into a mythical dragon with a hundred fiery eyes.

  But the samurai patrol took them past the forbidding tower and over to a grand hall on the other side of the courtyard. Two massive wooden doors peeled back on their approach, and Jack and Akiko were led inside. A highly polished woodblock floor stretched out before them like a glassy sea. Stout oak pillars, stained black, stood to attention in a regimented line down either side and supported an ornate panelled ceiling high above. Around the walls a vast collection of weapons was on display – katana, bokken, spears, bō staffs, spiked chains, studded clubs and a host of other lethal implements.

  The hall was the largest and best-equipped dojo Jack had ever laid eyes on. Similar to the Butokuden at the Niten Ichi Ryū, there was a ceremonial throne set within a curving alcove midway down the hall. Two carved eagles, their wings gilded and their eyes blazing with emeralds, perched atop the alcove’s entrance and stared down with the keen watchfulness of vengeful guardians. Beneath their protective gaze sat a slim man in a dark green kimono and black kataginu jacket.

  Daimyo Kato, Jack presumed, as they were escorted in his direction.

  The samurai lord was seated upon a tiger-skin rug, the animal’s head still attached and fixed in a snarling growl. He held an iron-edged fan, which he tapped upon the palm of his hand. His face was young yet severe, his eyes sharp and intense, and his posture straight as an arrow. With his pate neatly shaven and the remaining hair tied into the traditional topknot, the daimyo looked every inch the samurai warrior and gave the impression he could spring into action at a moment’s notice.

  Yet daimyo Kato paid them no attention as they approached. His entire focus was on the sumo wrestling ring – a dohyō – that took prominence in the centre of the dojo. The dohyō consisted of a raised square platform of hard-packed clay, its surface covered with a thin layer of brushed sand. A circle of rice-straw bales were partly buried in the clay and two white lines scored, parallel to one another, in the middle. Above the ring, suspended from the hall’s rafters, was the pitched roof of a Shinto shrine with coloured tassels – blue, red, white and black – hanging from each of the corners.

  Standing at the edge of the ring was a small man in a purple silk outfit. He wore a peaked hat and
carried a wooden oval war-fan. The man was dwarfed by two gargantuan warriors, whose chests were bare, their lower halves wrapped in loincloths. They were each the size of elephants, their bodies a combination of blubbery fat and bulging muscle. At the command of the purple-clad referee, the two combatants mounted the dohyō. Facing out, they clapped their hands loudly, then turned to each other and stomped the ground in a ritual to drive the evil spirits from the ring.

  Jack watched all this as the patrol dumped him and Akiko unceremoniously opposite the razor-toothed tiger’s head. The samurai soldiers forced them both into a kneeling bow and waited patiently for their lord to acknowledge them. But daimyo Kato’s eyes remained firmly fixed on the sumo bout.

  The two wrestlers, having stepped from the dohyō to rinse their mouths with water, now returned and squatted, hands on knees, either side of the white lines. They glared at one another, clapped their hands for a second time, then spread them wide to show neither of them carried weapons. Still they did not fight. Rising back up, they strode over to their respective corners and grabbed a handful of salt from a wooden box. In the manner of a farmer scattering seed, each of them tossed the salt on to the ring to purify it. Once this sacred rite was concluded, they crouched beside the white lines again and stared each other down.

  Jack waited for the attack but it never came.

  Instead, after glaring at one another, the two warriors returned to their corners. They repeated the salt rite and the staring contest twice more, before both wrestlers placed their fists on the ground. Then all chaos broke loose.

  The two juggernauts sprang up, colliding mid-ring with the force of charging bulls. The smack of flesh against flesh echoed through the dojo, as they slapped, pushed and grappled one another for dominance. One seized his opponent’s loincloth, trying to topple him sideways, but the other sidestepped the attack, spun and tripped his rival up. The sumo wrestler crashed heavily to the sand, tumbling out of the designated ring. The referee brought the match to a halt and held up his fan to declare the champion.