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‘OSAKA AND VICTORY!’ shouted Sensei Hosokawa, signalling for the column of young samurai to begin marching out of the school gates.

Shouldering his pack, Jack wondered if he’d ever return to the Niten Ichi Ryū again. He gazed around at the mighty Butokuden where he’d defeated the sword and been pummelled every day as Sensei Kyuzo’s uke in taijutsu; at the beautiful Chō-no-ma where he’d been introduced to the dubious pleasure of grilled eel’s liver and celebrated New Year; at the Southern Zen Garden, his favourite place to relax and be alone with his thoughts, and where he’d first learnt the archery skills of kyujutsu from Sensei Yosa; at the Butsuden in which Sensei Yamada had set his impossible koans and once shown him the legendary butterfly kick; and finally at the burnt shell of the Shishi-no-ma that had been his home for the past three years.

He recalled how overawed he’d been the first day of his arrival at the school. How terrifying and invincible the students had appeared. He remembered lying on his futon in his tiny bedroom, alone in an alien land, the prey of a one-eyed ninja, and feeling like a lamb going to the slaughter.

Heading off to war now, he didn’t feel much different. Except this time, he knew how to fight. He may have arrived as a lost English boy, but he was leaving the Niten Ichi Ryū as a trained samurai warrior.

37

OSAKA CASTLE

After three days’ hard march the students arrived in Osaka, the political and economic centre of Japan. Jack hadn’t known what to expect from this great city. But, like Kyoto, it was a long way from the realities of English urban life with its putrid stench of dunghills and tanneries, its potholed roads and its gangs of footpads and wild youths.

Osaka was teeming with people who politely bowed as they passed. The shops and houses were all staggeringly clean. The roads were wide, swept and free of rubbish. Even the air was fresh.

But nothing could prepare Jack for Osaka Castle.

Dominating the skyline was a fortress of unimaginable size. The Tower of London looked pitiful in comparison, and Jack thought several Hampton Courts could fit within its walls. Soaring up from the centre of the castle was a donjon – the main keep – eight stories high, with the walls painted a stark heron white and curved roofs overlapping at each level, their green tiles decorated with gleaming golden gables.

As they passed through the outskirts of the city, the column of young samurai joined other troops heading towards the castle, until there was a steady stream flowing up the main thoroughfare. They approached a gigantic stone gateway set into a towering wall of interlocking battlements and bastions. The portcullis was raised and the huge iron-plated door opened to welcome their arrival.

Jack’s ears were assaulted by the tramping of hundreds of marching feet as they crossed the long wooden drawbridge that spanned a wide moat. Glancing to his right, Jack noticed the outer defensive rampart stretched for at least a mile before it turned north. Its sheer walls sloped directly into the waters of the moat and appeared unscalable. Each block of stone in its construction was taller and wider than he was and had to weigh as much as ten cannon combined. Along the top, like the backbone of a dragon, ran a series of turrets that faced the wide, open plain of Tenno-ji to the south. As they passed through another gateway, equally formidable, Jack was astonished to discover the walls were several metres thick.

At the next gate, the road bore right and they headed down a wide avenue lined with heavily fortified houses. Their route then doubled on itself through another portcullis and over a second large moat.

Taro indicated for Jack to look up. Staring down at them from the battlements and parapets above were hundreds of soldiers. There were more on foot, guarding the gates, patrolling the thoroughfares and training in open courtyards, or tending to horses in the stables. There were samurai everywhere, by the thousand.

‘Whoever controls Osaka Castle, controls the heart of this country,