The Way Of The Sword (9 page)

‘But isn’t a
daimyo
more powerful than a samurai?’ he asked. ‘Can Masamoto-sama really protect me from him?’

‘We’re talking about Masamoto-sama here. Possibly the greatest swordsman to have lived,’ said Sensei Yamada, chuckling at the idea. ‘Besides, even if
daimyo
Kamakura was contemplating such a foolish notion, he would have little support for such ideas. Foreigners are needed in Japan since they bring in good trade.’

Sensei Yamada got up and walked Jack to the Buddha Hall’s entrance. From the top of the stone steps, he pointed across the rooftops to Nijo Castle.

‘As you’re well aware, the ruling lord here in Kyoto is
daimyo
Takatomi. But
daimyo
Takatomi is not just responsible for this province. He governs Japan as one of the appointed regents and he’s popular among the samurai lords. He likes Christians and foreigners. In fact, he likes them so much, I’ve heard that he’s converting to Christianity himself. So he wouldn’t allow anything like that to happen here.’

Sensei Yamada smiled and placed a reassuring hand on Jack’s shoulder.

‘Jack, you are perfectly safe.’

Following Sensei Yamada’s reassurance that his fears were unfounded, Jack would have been in good spirits that evening had Yamato not reminded him of Sensei Kyuzo’s punishment. So, while everyone folded cranes and sought a solution to Sensei Yamada’s
koan
, Jack was hard at work polishing block after block of the
Butokuden’
s training area.

The wooden floor seemed as vast as an ocean to Jack as he rocked back and forth with the polishing oil, his shadow ebbing and flowing like a tiny wave across its surface.

‘Put your back into it!’ snarled Sensei Kyuzo, who was eating his dinner in the ceremonial alcove of the large hall.

The tantalizing aroma of grilled mackerel wafted past and Jack’s stomach rumbled with hunger.

‘I’ll return in the morning,’ the sensei suddenly announced, having finished his meal, ‘and I expect the
Butokuden
to be gleaming. Or else you will miss breakfast too.’

‘Hai
, Sensei,’ Jack mumbled, bowing his head all the way to the floor.

However much he despised this samurai, he had to show the appropriate respect.

When Sensei Kyuzo had left, Jack resumed his punishment. He had no intention of being here in the morning and intended to work until his fingers were raw and his knees felt like granite, if need be.

Despite the injustice of the punishment, Jack found solace in the chore. He was reminded of all the times he’d had to holystone the decks of the
Alexandria
. Though it had meant toiling under the blistering heat of a Pacific sun with the rest of the crew, the task had been necessary work to maintain the ship, not a punishment. Scouring the decks became a time of songs and merry tales, when friendships were made and worries forgotten.

He was reminded of Ginsel, his shark-toothed friend, who now lay dead at the bottom of the ocean. He missed their camaraderie. In fact, he missed all the crew, even the Bosun, who had kept the men in check with the threat of the cat-o’-nine-tails!

But most of all, he missed his father. His murder had left a gaping hole in Jack’s life. His father had been the one he’d always turned to, the one who had guided and protected him, the one who had believed in him.

Jack wiped an unexpected tear from his eye and turned back to the task in hand.

The moon had nearly completed its arc across the heavens by the time Jack had polished every block of the wooden floor. The inky black sky was showing the first signs of dawn on the horizon as he emerged from the
Butokuden
, exhausted and light-headed with hunger.

At least breakfast would soon be served, thought Jack. Not that he was particularly looking forward to it. Miso soup, cold fish and rice were hard to stomach early in the morning. How he longed for a normal English breakfast of crusty buttered bread, fried eggs and ham.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a movement on the opposite side of the courtyard. At first he thought his eyes were deceiving him, for who else would be up at this time?

He looked harder.

A shadow flitted along the edge of the Hall of Lions.

Whoever it was, they didn’t want to be seen. Dressed all in black, the figure kept close to the wall and barely made a sound as it crept towards the entrance of the Hall of Lions, where the students slept.

Jack’s senses went on alert. The intruder looked like a ninja.

Retreating behind the
Butokuden’
s doorway, Jack watched the ninja’s progress.

So Dragon Eye had finally returned.

‘Another time,
gaijin
! The
rutter
is not forgotten
.’ The ninja’s words resounded in Jack’s head. He cursed himself for not having spoken with Emi yet to arrange going back to Nijo Castle to hide the logbook. But Jack had foolishly begun to think that Yamato had been right and that Dragon Eye had died from his wounds, for there had been no sight or sound of his sworn enemy for months.

But it appeared that Dragon Eye
wasn’t
dead.

Akiko had suggested that the ninja, as an assassin for hire, had simply been employed by someone else on another mission. Clearly that assignment was over and he’d returned to finish his original job.

The figure in black reached the doorway and, as it turned to enter the
Shishi-no-ma
, the moonlight caught the intruder’s face.

Jack drew back in surprise. It was a fleeting glimpse, but he could have sworn it was Akiko.

Jack sprinted across the courtyard.

Reaching the doorway, he slid back the
shoji
and peered in. All of the lamps had burnt out so it was hard to see anything, but the corridor seemed empty.

He silently made his way down the girls’ corridor towards Akiko’s room. When he got there, he found that her door was slightly ajar. He peeked in through the gap.

Akiko was fast asleep under the covers of her
futon
– and looked like she had been there for some time.

Seeing her asleep, Jack became aware of just how exhausted he was. Suffering from hunger and lack of sleep, could he have imagined the intruder?

He decided he would speak with Akiko in the morning, but now the pull of his own bed was too much to resist and he stumbled back to his room. Collapsing on to his
futon
, Jack’s mind whirled. He stared at his Daruma Doll, willing himself to sleep, and after a while he felt his eyelids grow heavy.

He could have sworn he’d closed his eyes for only a moment before Yamato was at his door, the bright morning sunshine flooding his room.

‘Come on, Jack!’ said Yamato, rousing him out of bed. ‘You’ve missed breakfast and Sensei Kano’s said we’re to meet at the
Butokuden
right now. We’ve got our first lesson in the Art of the
Bō
.’

Leaving the bustle of Kyoto city behind, the students crossed the wide wooden bridge that spanned the Kamogawa River and headed north-east in the direction of Mount Hiei. Despite being the tail end of summer, the weather was warm and dry, the sky cloudless, and in the sharp light of morning the burnt-out temples, that could be seen scattered over the mountain’s forested slopes, glinted like broken teeth.

The enormous bulk of Sensei Kano, a mountain in himself, strode out in front, his great white
bō
staff striking the ground with each step. Like sheep following their shepherd, his students trailed behind in two regimented rows, their pace dictated by the rhythmic
thunk-thunk
of the sensei’s staff.

As instructed, the class had gathered outside the
Butokuden
to await their new teacher. Jack and the others had been watching the early morning workers digging the foundations for the new Hall of the Hawk when Sensei Kano appeared. He acknowledged his students with a brief bow before instructing them to collect a wooden
bō
staff from a pile stacked against the weapons wall inside the
Butokuden
. They had then left the school at a brisk march.

Their teacher hadn’t spoken a word since.

By the time they reached the foot of the mountain, the morning sun had risen high in the sky. The forced march, combined with the dust of the road, soon left the students hot and thirsty, so the cool shade of the cedar trees was a welcome relief when they entered the forest and began their ascent of Mount Hiei.

As they weaved their way up its slope, the students spread out a little and Jack finally spotted an opportunity to speak with Akiko.

‘So where do you think Sensei Kano’s taking us?’ he asked nonchalantly.

‘Enryakuji, I presume.’

‘Why there? Didn’t you tell me a samurai general destroyed it?’

‘Yes, General Nobunaga.’

‘So what’s there left to see?’ asked Jack.

‘Nothing. Apart from the remains of several hundred deserted temples. Enryakuji has been a tomb for over forty years.’

‘It seems a rather odd place to take us to train.’ Jack drew closer, checking no one was listening before he whispered, ‘By the way, what were you doing last night?’

Akiko momentarily faltered at the question. Then, keeping her gaze fixed on the path, replied, ‘I was folding cranes.’

‘No, I mean just before dawn,’ pressed Jack. ‘I’m sure I saw you outside the
Shishi-no-ma
. You were dressed all in black like a ninja!’

Akiko’s face was an odd mixture of disbelief and alarm.

‘You must be mistaken, Jack. I was asleep. Like everyone else.’

‘Well, I saw
someone
– and I swear it looked like you. But when I got inside, there was no one around.’

‘Are you sure you didn’t imagine it?’ She studied his face with concern. ‘You look dead on your feet. Did you get any sleep last night?’

Jack shook his head wearily and was about to question her further, when the students behind caught them up.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jack continued to study Akiko, but her face gave nothing away. Perhaps he
had
been mistaken. Akiko had no reason to lie to him. But if it wasn’t Akiko, then who else could it have been?

THUNK!

Jack’s thoughts were interrupted by the final beat of Sensei Kano’s
bō
staff upon the ground. The students all came to an abrupt halt.

‘We cross here,’ announced Sensei Kano. His voice was deep and booming, as if a temple gong had been rung inside his chest.

The students gathered round. Jack edged his way forward with Yamato and Akiko by his side. In front of them was a ravine splitting the forest in two, with a fast-flowing river far below. Shimmering in the watery mist, the remains of a footbridge jutted out over the abyss.

‘Where shall we cross, Sensei?’ asked Yamato.

‘Is there not a bridge?’ enquired Sensei Kano.

‘Hai
Sensei,’ Yamato replied, bemused at the question, ‘but it’s been destroyed.’

Sensei Kano raised his eyes to heaven, as if listening to some distant sound, then said, ‘What about the log?’

A little way down from the bridge, spanning the gorge, was a small felled cedar tree, its branches pruned, the trunk stripped bare of its bark.

‘But, Sensei,’ objected Yamato, a tremor in his voice, ‘the log is barely wide enough for one foot… it’s covered in moss… and it’s wet… someone could easily slip and fall.’

‘Nonsense. You’ll all cross here. Indeed you, Yamatokun, will go first. You are Masamoto’s son, aren’t you?’

Yamato’s mouth fell open, his face going a touch pale.
‘Hai
, Sensei,’ he replied weakly.

‘Good, then lead the way!’

The sensei gave Yamato an encouraging prod with his staff and Yamato shuffled to the edge of the ravine. He stopped at its lip.

‘Why haven’t you crossed yet?’ asked Sensei Kano.

‘S-s-sorry… Sensei,’ stammered Yamato, ‘I… can’t do it.’

Jack knew his friend was scared of heights. He had discovered Yamato’s phobia when they had climbed the Sound of Feathers waterfall at the culmination of the
Taryu-Jiai
contest. The same vertigo was defeating him again.

‘Nonsense. If it’s the height that scaring you, simply don’t look,’ instructed Sensei Kano.

‘What? Close my eyes!’ exclaimed Yamato, backing away from the chasm.

‘Yes. Become blind to your fear.’

Everyone stared at the sensei, aghast. The thought of crossing the log was unnerving enough, but to cross it with one’s eyes closed. That was sheer lunacy!

‘It’s perfectly safe. I’ll even go first,’ said Sensei Kano, slipping off his sandals and threading them on his staff. ‘It would be helpful, though, if someone could show me where the log is.’

The students exchanged bewildered looks. The log was in plain sight. After a brief pause, several of the students pointed to the makeshift crossing.

‘No use pointing,’ said Sensei Kano. ‘I’m blind.’

Jack, along with the rest of the class, was stunned. Sensei Kano had led them all the way to the gorge without a guide or even a single request for directions. How could he be blind?

Jack studied his new sensei properly for the first time. Sensei Kano’s sheer size dominated his appearance, being a head taller than most Japanese. Upon closer inspection, though, Jack realized that Sensei Kano’s eyes were not grey by nature, but clouded as if a sea mist had seeped into them.

‘Excuse me, Sensei,’ said Akiko, recovering first. ‘The log’s almost in front of you, no more than eight
shaku
ahead and twelve
shaku
to your left.’

‘Thank you,’ replied Sensei Kano, striding confidently up to the lip of the ravine.

His
bō
found the edge and he followed it to his left until it struck the fallen tree. Without a moment’s hesitation, he stepped on to the narrow log. Holding his staff out in front of him for balance, he crossed in several easy strides.

‘You have just witnessed your first lesson,’ announced Sensei Kano from the opposite side. ‘If one sees with the eyes of the heart, rather than the eyes of the head, there is nothing to fear.’