The Way Of The Dragon (32 page)

‘By the will of his lordship Hasegawa Satoshi,’ announced Masamoto, ‘Father Bobadillo is to personally bless the students of the
Niten Ichi Ryū
before you go into battle. It’s a great honour for the school to have our lord’s own priest perform such a rite. Please kneel.’

The rows of young samurai bent down on one knee and lowered their heads. Father Bobadillo stepped forward and raised the wooden cross that hung round his neck.

‘Lord, grant that these souls are blessed and protected with your love. May you deliver them from harm this day and carry them safely in your arms. Amen.’

He then walked the rows, annointing the heads of each. As he passed Jack, he surreptiously skipped over him, leaving him unblessed. Jack cursed the man. Even in the final moments of war, he could not extend the love of God to a sworn enemy of his country.

The blessing complete, Masamoto mounted his horse, as did Sensei Yosa, carrying her powerful bow in her hand. The other sensei remained on foot. Sensei Nakamura wielded a vicious-looking
naginata
, Sensei Kano his long white staff, Sensei Hosokawa his two swords, but Sensei Yamada and Sensei Kyuzo were unarmed, Sensei Kyuzo trusting in his hand-to-hand
taijutsu
skills and Sensei Yamada, resting upon his walking stick, serenely relying on himself.

‘Young samurai!’ bellowed Masamoto, ‘Are you ready to face the enemy?’

Once again, the students roared their commitment. Apart from Yori, who began to quiver within his oversized armour.

‘Stay close to me,’ whispered Jack, ‘and you’ll be fine, I promise.’

He really didn’t believe his own words, though they seemed to comfort Yori, who attempted a brave smile through his
menpō
.

‘The school maxim is
Learn today so that you may live tomorrow
,’ Masamoto proclaimed.

He raised his
katana
aloft, its steel blade glinting in the morning light.

‘Tomorrow is upon us. Long live the
Niten Ichi Ryū
!’

No amount of training could have prepared the young samurai for the chaos of war. Thousands upon thousands of samurai swamped the plain, the two sides clashing like monstrous waves in a seething ocean. Each and every samurai bore upon his back a colourful
sashimono
. The small rectangular banners, painted with their
daimyo’
s
mon
, rippled with the aftershock of each attack.

The sounds of battle assaulted the students’ ears. Explosions of cannon, the crack of arquebus fire, the clash of swords and the screams and shouts of samurai filled the air. The onslaught of two hundred thousand enemy troops determined to fight to the death chilled the young samurai to their bones.

Their unit stood at the rear overlooking the plain. They were part of the reserve force, awaiting the command to join the fight. To their left on a distant rise, Satoshi’s top general issued orders directing the movement of all their troops. The instructions were conveyed to the other generals through a combination of
nobori
signal flags, ear-splitting blasts from conch horns and
taiko
drums, and runners bearing the distinctive golden
sashimono
of a messenger.

As yet, the reserves had not been called for.

The waiting was the hardest part. The adrenalin that had kicked in upon exiting the castle had faded, leaving only the dull throb of constant fear. Every student was agitated, caught between a determination to fight and an urge to flee.

‘Are we winning?’ asked Yori, trying to snatch a look between Jack and Taro.

‘The battle’s barely begun,’ replied Taro.

‘But how are we doing? I can’t see anything in this stupid helmet.’

‘Take it off,’ Akiko suggested, helping him untie the cord round his chin. ‘It’s going to do you more harm than good.’

Yori stared in fear at the grey sky. ‘What if an arrow hits me?’

‘We’re standing behind Sensei Kyuzo. He’ll catch it for you!’ jested Yamato.

A ripple of nervous laughter broke from the ranks of young samurai.

‘Stay focused,’ growled Sensei Kyuzo, pacing the lines.

Taro scanned the plain, giving them a running commentary of the battle as it progressed.

‘It’s too early to tell who has the advantage. But a division of our troops are attacking the centre of the enemy’s frontline. See the ones with the black-and-white-striped
sashimono
– they’re trying to smash their way through to
daimyo
Kamakura’s personal guard.’

‘Why on earth attempt that?’ said Yamato. ‘That’s where his army is most concentrated.’

‘I think it’s a distraction. To draw their forces inwards. Look! Over to the left, there’s huge movement of our troops. I think Satoshi’s planning to strike Kamakura’s ranks from the rear.’

‘So… the enemy are losing?’ asked Yori hopefully.

‘No, they’re putting up heavy resistance. Kamakura’s cannon and arquebus fire are slaughtering our right flank.’

Jack could see wave upon wave of their
ashigaru
charging at the enemy, but each advance was decimated by a hail of gunshot.
Daimyo
Kamakura had trained his troops to shoot in coordinated ranks, ensuring at least one row was firing while another reloaded. Behind the gunners, an immense division of samurai was poised to launch a counter-attack.

‘They could break through at any moment,’ said Taro.

The optimistic smile on Yori’s face dropped.

The light rain of dawn returned and began to fall in earnest as the morning progressed. By noon, it had turned into a torrential downpour. The sounds of battle became lost in the deluge and the fire from cannon and arquebus petered out. The plain was churned into a quagmire of mud and blood, slowing the advance of both forces. Samurai not only had to fight the enemy, but also the ground as it sucked at their feet and dragged them off-balance. Meanwhile, the reserve troops, soaked to the skin and shivering with cold, slowly lost their resolve to fight.

‘Have we won yet?’ asked Yori, tugging on the sleeve of Taro’s armour.

‘No,’ replied Taro irritably. ‘Stop pestering me.’

‘Then why have the enemy stopped firing?’

‘He’s right,’ said Yamato, their view across the plain obscured by rain and smoke. ‘Have they surrendered?’

‘It doesn’t look like it,’ Taro said, pointing to a contingent of
daimyo
Kamakura’s army fighting tooth and nail with Satoshi’s samurai. ‘Though they are no longer shooting at our right flank.’

Jack grinned. The reason was apparent to him from his experience of loading the cannon on-board the
Alexandria
. ‘Gunpowder doesn’t ignite when wet!’

‘Of course! It should give us the advantage,’ said Taro, slamming a fist to his breastplate in satisfaction. ‘Look! Our troops are already starting to break through their frontline.’

Jack watched as a battalion of crack troops engaged with
daimyo
Kamakura’s personal army. A diamond formation of black-and-white
sashimono
was cutting deep into a sea of Kamakura’s blue-and-yellow flags. Soon they would be within striking distance of
daimyo
Kamakura’s own bodyguards.

‘We might just win!’ uttered Taro in disbelief.

Out of the east came a terrifying sight.

As if the horizon itself was bleeding, an army of red marched on to the battlefield. Not only were their
sashimono
a brilliant scarlet, but their helmets, body armour and even their mounted troops’ harnesses were the colour of blood. Fearing his imminent loss,
daimyo
Kamakura had summoned his reserve army, his secret weapon.

‘The Red Devils of the Ii,’ breathed Taro, his face going deathly pale.

Jack turned to him for an explanation, though their hellish appearance had already sent an involuntary shudder of fear through him.

‘They’re the most ruthless, brutal and bloodthirsty samurai in all of Japan. Without mercy, they’ll kill us to the last samurai standing.’

The Red Devils entered the fray, launching a blistering counter-attack and laying waste all those before them. Like a floodgate opening, the black-and-white banners of Satoshi’s forces were washed aside by a surge of red.

The tide of battle had turned and, as if the war god Hachiman were now on the Red Devils’ side, the rain ceased and the blasts from cannon and arquebuses commenced once more.

‘Samurai of the
Niten Ichi Ryū
!’ cried Masamoto, riding along their frontline. ‘Prepare for battle!’

The students exchanged nervous glances and unsheathed their swords. Jack grasped the handle of his
katana
, the
menuki
grip digging deep into his palm. He was hesitant to withdraw the blade, terrified he’d suddenly forgotten all his training. A hand clamped on his shoulder and Jack turned to see Yamato, his staff planted firmly in the ground beside them.

‘Five years ago I lost a brother,’ said Yamato, staring gravely at Jack. ‘I don’t want to lose another.’

The significance of his statement touched Jack to his heart. He drew Yamato into a tight embrace.

‘I never had a brother until I came to Japan,’ he replied, letting Yamato go. ‘And I’ll willingly lay down my life to save yours.’

‘I hope it won’t come to
that
,’ said Akiko.

She stood beside them, her bow at the ready. In her other hand, she held three arrows. Without prompting, Yamato and Jack grasped the shafts either side of her outstretched hand.

‘Only by binding together will we remain strong,’ she said, recalling Sensei Yamada’s words.

For a moment Jack believed they were invincible, the bond between them unbreakable. Yamato let go. But Jack didn’t want to. He realized this might be the last time they’d be together. He held Akiko’s gaze, the connection between them seeming stronger than ever, the shared secret of her ninja identity somehow bringing them even closer.

‘Forever bound to one another,’ she whispered, smiling at him.

‘Forever bound to one another,’ repeated Jack, meaning every word.

Feeling a tug on his armour, he looked down to see Yori, his eyes red and welling with tears.

‘Jack, I’m scared,’ he blurted. ‘I know I’m samurai, but we’re too young to die.’

Trying to comfort his friend, Jack could only think of repeating his mother’s phrase again. ‘Remember, where there are friends, there’s hope.’

His words sounded weak and insipid in the midst of battle. But if the truth be told, he was just as terrified. The Red Devils were drawing ever nearer, leaving a bloodbath in their wake. Yori began to tremble uncontrollably. Panic seizing him, he dropped his sword and looked ready to flee.

‘Yori-kun!’ said Sensei Yamada, shuffling over to them. ‘Have you figured out my
koan
yet?’

Yori blinked in bafflement at his sensei, completely taken off-guard by the unexpected question.

‘What is your true face, which you had before your father and mother were even born?’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t know,’ replied Yori, shaking his head.

‘But you are wearing it
now
,’ replied Sensei Yamada, smiling kindly at his protégé. ‘When confronted with death, a samurai’s true face is revealed. And I see in you strength, courage and loyalty. With those
bushido
qualities, you
will
survive the forthcoming fight. Just like you survived the attack on our school. I hear you mastered
kiaijutsu
.’

Yori nodded.

‘Then you’ll understand what I meant, that even the smallest breeze can make ripples on the largest ocean.’

Sensei Yamada wandered away, seeking out other students to counsel in the final moments.

Yori picked up his sword, a newfound strength within him.

‘Hold the line!’ ordered Sensei Hosokawa, as the Red Devils thundered towards them.

The
Niten Ichi Ryū
were positioned at the top of a rise and their sensei was determined they shouldn’t lose the advantage by entering the battle too soon. Closer and closer came the murderous red samurai, cutting a swathe through the ranks of
ashigaru
.

Jack began to hyperventilate, his breathing sounding loud and panicky inside the helmet and
menpō
. His heart thudded against his breastplate. Despite all his training, all the duels he’d won, all the challenges he’d faced, he’d never been so scared in all his life.

He wished his father were still with him. Even in the most treacherous of storms, he’d been reassured by his presence. His father’s sense of strength and unwavering confidence had always given him hope where there appeared to be none. Here he was, facing an army of bloodthirsty warriors, about to sacrifice his life for a Japanese lord. What hope did he have?

There was a flicker of movement in the sky and he spotted an arrow flying at him. Fear having nailed his feet to the ground, he could only watch as the steel tip hurtled directly towards his head.

At the last second, a hand snatched the arrow from the air.

Sensei Kyuzo glared at Jack with contempt. ‘I haven’t trained you to die before the fight even starts,
gaijin
!’ he sneered. ‘You’re a pathetic excuse of a samurai!’

Jack felt a wave of anger rise in him at his teacher’s abuse. It broke his paralysis. He confronted his sensei,
katana
in hand.

‘
That’s
the fighting spirit I’m looking for,’ snapped Sensei Kyuzo, seeing the indignation in Jack’s eyes.

Jack suddenly realized Sensei Kyuzo had goaded him on purpose. To impel him into action.

‘
LONG
LIVE
THE
NITEN
ICHI
RYŪ
!’ bellowed Masamoto, brandishing his sword and spurring his horse into the thick of the enemy.

Roaring a battle cry, the students and sensei charged down the slope at the advancing Red Devils. The two sides met head on, swords and spears clashing. Jack found himself surrounded by warring samurai, mounted and on foot. An
ashigaru
fell at his feet, blood spewing from his mouth as the sharpened points of a trident pierced his chest.