Samurai and Other Stories (2 page)

A creak, as of a door opening, came from the room beyond, and his curiosity got the better of him. He stepped into the room.

The light was coming from a makeshift firebrand that had been placed in a sconce on the wall. The chamber was obviously the temple’s main altar. High arches of black lacquered wood overhung a large plinth that was painted in deep reds and golds that seemed to shine in the light from the brand. Three large wooden chests sat on the plinth, and the sound Duncan had heard was Moorhouse opening the nearest one.

“So it is desecrating holy ground now is it?” Duncan said in a mock whisper.

Moorhouse turned, unable to hide the sudden guilty look on his face.

“These are heathens,” the little man said. “It is no desecration if they do not follow the will of our Lord.”

Duncan raised the sword.

“Nevertheless, you
will
stand aside.”

Moorhouse eyed the sword warily, then pointed at the chest.

“There is gold here,” he said. “More than enough for us all. More than enough to cover our losses on this trip.”

Duncan laughed.

“Your losses you mean. Stand aside,” he said and showed the man the sword once more. “I will not let you defile a temple.”

A voice spoke behind him.

“Then you will have to stop us all,” Big Bill said quietly. “For if there
is
gold here, then we will have it.”

Big Bill, McLeod and Geordie all stood in the doorway.

Duncan focused on Big Bill.
 

If I can persuade him, the others will follow.
 

“You would not go into an Abbey and steal the monk’s gold, would you Bill?”

Big Bill spat on the varnished floor.

“This is no Abbey. And we are beggars in this land, Duncan. In case you have not been paying attention, yon shipwreck made paupers of us all.”

Duncan smiled sadly.

“I have rarely been anything but a pauper. If you are bent on this course, I will stand aside. I will not fight you, Bill, for you are my friend. But I will not help you in your desecration.”

Duncan put away the sword and left the room to sit by the fire in the centre.
 

No good can come of this. Of that I am certain.

He heard Geordie’s cries of delight as the boxes were opened. The sound of the chests being dragged to the ground and their contents scattered echoed through the temple.

*
   
*
   
*

It is decided then. I am called to act.

I will serve, and I will protect.
 

There is nothing more.

*
   
*
   
*

Duncan made more tea while the others counted up their
prize
.
 

Big Bill came over to where he sat.

“You can still have your share, Duncan,” he said. “We shall all be rich men after this night.”

Duncan shook his head.

“I prefer to stay a pauper.”

Big Bill laughed. He held up a gold coin.

“The Captain says these are nigh on six hundred years old,” he said. “And each one would buy a house in Edinburgh.”

He dropped the coin into the top pocket of Duncan’s tunic.

“I would buy you a house, Duncan,” he said. “And mayhap, on our return, I will buy you a whole street of them.”

The big man went back to fawning over the booty. Their laughter sounded too harsh to Duncan’s ears. Dawn was starting to come up so he took his tea to the main door of the temple and looked out over the view.

From this height he could see the whole strait through which they’d been sailing when the storm struck. The wind had dropped and the rain eased to a steady drizzle. But the length of the strait was under a thick haze of fog. Even if they lit a fire, no one would see it.

He was about to report this to the others when he heard a dragging noise behind him. He turned to see Geordie and McLeod manhandling a chest across the floor. The polished boards showed white long gouges all the way through to the central chamber.

“Where the deuce are you going with that?” Duncan asked.

“To the longboat. The Cap’n says we need to be ready for rescue.”

So he is the captain again is he? That did not take long.

Duncan laughed.

“Do you not remember the cliff steps? You will never get yon box down there. Not in one piece anyway.”

The two men ignored him and made for the door.

They had just crossed the threshold when a dark figure stepped in front of them. It happened so fast that Duncan barely knew what he had seen. Something silver and bright
swished
in the air. The chest fell to the floor in the doorway. McLeod’s left arm was still attached to the handle.

McLeod looked at the spouting stump at his shoulder. He just had time to register surprise when there was another
swish,
like a lightning bolt from a clear sky.
 

McLeod’s head parted from his body and bounced away out of sight. The body slumped to its knees pumping blood over the treasure chest.

Geordie screamed and fainted dead away.
 

Duncan raised his sword but the black figure stepped to one side and was gone, as swift as a bird taking flight.

Big Bill ran up to Duncan’s shoulder.

“What the hell did you do?” he said. Duncan stepped back and showed the big man his sword.

“It was not me Bill. Look. My weapon is clean,” he whispered. “There is someone else here.”

Big Bill went to move towards the door, but Duncan pulled him back.

“Wait. ‘Tis not safe.”

The big man looked at the body slumped in the doorway, then back at Duncan. He must have seen something in Duncan’s eyes, for he nodded, and stepped back.

Moorhouse arrived at a run.

“What is going on here?” he shouted.

Duncan laughed.

“It seems someone does not want you leaving with the gold,” he said.

Moorhouse looked down at McLeod’s body and went white.

“You killed him?” Big Bill replied.

“No,” he said. “Duncan is right. There is someone else on this island with us.”

Moorhouse still looked suspicious. He stepped forward towards the chest.

The black figure reappeared in the doorway, standing, his legs apart, as if protecting the box. The man who stood there was even taller and broader than Big Bill, made even more imposing by his garb. He was clad head to toe in black polished metal and leather armour. The tall helmet rose into a peak above the lintel of the door, only dark slits showing for eye-holes. No part of the body was unprotected, from the banded combination of metal and leather around the torso reinforced by thick shoulder guards, to a long enameled apron hanging below his knees. Heavy shoes protected the feet and shin guards were tied from knee to ankle. Each piece of the main body armour consisted of a set of small iron plates lacquered to protect the material against rust and laced together by gleaming white cord.

A scabbard was slung over the shoulders and he held the weapon, a long straight sword, across his chest.

The figure didn’t speak. It didn’t have to. The intent was plain.

None of us are leaving here any time soon.

*
   
*
   
*

I can wait.
 

That is what I do.

The world is ruled by letting things take their course.

I will serve, and I will protect.
 

There is nothing more.

*
   
*
   
*

Even then Moorhouse still looked like he might step forward.

“What is it that you want,” the little man blustered. “If it is the gold, I will see that you get McLeod’s share.”

Duncan pulled Moorhouse away.

“He cares not for your gold,” Duncan said. “And neither do I. I will not stay here and be party to any more death.”

But when Duncan strode towards the door the black figure once again raised the sword.

Even I cannot pass.

Big Bill laughed bitterly.

“It seems we are
all
to share. Come. Let us at least get McLeod out of here.”

The black figure allowed Duncan and Bill to drag what was left of McLeod away. They left the arm where it was, the white hand still grabbing the handle of the chest, for neither of them wanted to touch it.

After they had stored the body in one of the empty rooms they went back for Geordie who was still lying insensate by the door.
 

“Let us get him to the fire,” Big Bill said. “At least we can keep him warm.”

Moorhouse was still staring at the black figure guarding the door. “You cannot keep us here,” he said. “We are on the King’s business.”

Duncan laughed.

“The King’s business is worth about as much as a shite in this place,” he said. He helped Big Bill drag Geordie away.

‘Where are you going?” Moorhouse called after them.

“Back to where it is warm,” Big Bill replied.

“But we need to get out of here,” Moorhouse wailed.

“After you,” Duncan said.

They left the little man at the entrance and half-carried, half-dragged Geordie to the hearth. Duncan stoked the fire and Big Bill got a pot of tea brewing.

“The Cap’n is right about one thing,” the big man said. “We
do
need to get out of here.”

Duncan nodded.

“It might well come down to a fecht with the man outside. I am not sure we can take him.”

Big Bill stared into the fire before nodding. “I have seen his like afore. They are
Samurai—
fearsome warriors, bound by duty. Our only chance will be to catch him off guard.”

I am not sure a man such as that is ever off guard.

They sat in silence, drinking tea and watching the flames.
 

Moorhouse joined them as they were on the second cup.

“He is still there,” he said. “He will not respond to entreaties. ‘Tis like talking to an excise man.”

Geordie woke soon after, and almost immediately started to wail like a babe. Big Bill managed to soothe him, but Duncan knew it was only a matter of time before the crying would start again.

We need a plan.

Duncan left the others and did a tour of the temple. Moorhouse had been right. The black figure still stood in the doorway, so still that he might be a statue. Duncan ignored him and surveyed the other rooms. The sight of poor McLeod’s ravaged body gave him pause, and he stood there for long minutes, saying a prayer for the man’s soul before moving on.

He found what he was looking for at the rear of the temple, on the far side from the entrance door. The wood back here was more rotted than at the front, and weak sunlight showed through holes where the rain had got in.

We can kick our way out of here with little trouble.

He went back to tell the others of the plan that was brewing in his mind.
 

Big Bill had got a fresh pot of rice and beans going in the cauldron, and the aroma filled the temple. Duncan laid out his plan while they waited.

Two of them would kick out the back wall, make an escape and search for help while the others kept the black man busy. Duncan already knew that, as the best swordsman, he would be one of the two to stay behind. The argument came when deciding who should stay with him.

Duncan wanted Big Bill beside him, but Moorhouse would have none of it.

“I need the big man with me,” he said.

The thought has never crossed his mind that he might be the one to stay.

Geordie surprised Duncan.

“I will fight by your side,” he said. “Although the very thought of it has me pishing my breeks. McLeod was my friend. I will see him avenged.”

Big Bill nodded.

“We have a plan then.”

*
   
*
   
*

An end is near.

When the student is ready, the master appears.

*
   
*
   
*

Duncan started counting in his head as he left the hearth.
 

When he got to a hundred he stepped into the entrance doorway and stood over the chest, trying to ignore the drying blood that had splashed and splattered around it.

The armoured figure raised its sword.

“Let us have at it then,” Duncan said and stepped forward. At almost the same instant he heard the loud splintering of wood from the other side of the temple.
 

The black figure sent his blade out in a quicksilver flicker that Duncan only just managed to parry as it was over his heart.

He stepped forward into a lunge that caught the other off guard, but the
Samurai
managed to weave to one side and the stroke cut a slice across the armour at his ribs instead of taking him through the heart. The
Samurai
stepped into the attack with renewed vigor so that Duncan was hard pressed to defend himself. The sound of clashing steel echoed around the room as each of them searched for an opening. Duncan was painfully aware that he was weakening faster than his opponent, and decided to try a risky feint, one that he had sometimes had success with on the training ground.

He stepped backwards, as if retreating before the attack, and let his right leg give under him, feigning a stumble and letting his sword hand go down towards the floor, looking as if he was going to use it to steady himself. As he hoped, the
Samurai
went for his suddenly exposed left-hand side. He ignored the descending blade, and, with a straight arm, punched his sword upwards, catching his opponent under the ribs and pushing through with a strike that pushed clean through the armour and cleaved the
Samurai’s
heart.

“Die, you bastard,” Duncan shouted.

The
Samurai
had other ideas. It stepped backwards fast and Duncan’s sword slid from its body.