Yori dived through the hole a second before a large bearded man with a belly the size of a walrus lumbered in. Holding up his oil lamp, the gaoler studied the two empty prison cells, then furrowed his thick brow in confusion. ‘Weren’t there three of you before?’

Jack said nothing, Mad Bob gave a toothless grin and shrugged.

‘No matter,’ said the gaoler, unhooking the keys from his belt and opening Jack’s cell door. ‘The court’ll punish ye all the same.’

‘Only if they find me guilty,’ said Jack.

‘Guilty?’ cackled Mad Bob, as Jack was dragged away up the stairs by the gaoler. ‘You’re already guilty just by being in ’ere!’

7: Judge and Jury

‘Who comes next?’ demanded the judge. A stern-faced man with sallow sunken cheeks, grey back-swept hair and a beard trimmed to a point, he could have been the devil in old age. He wore a fur-lined gown, a silk shirt laced at the neck and a heavy jewelled gold chain of office.

The court scribe studied his documents under the candlelight. ‘The English seaman and two foreigners from the Japans.’ He glanced across at the group of prisoners occupying the four rows at the back of the courtroom and called, ‘Jack Fletcher, Akiko Dāte and Yori Sanada, come to the bar!’

Rising from his seat, Jack approached the judge, who sat behind a large and daunting mahogany bench. On either side of him, like vultures waiting for the kill, perched his deputies, tight-lipped and narrow-eyed.

‘Where are your companions?’ asked the judge tersely.

‘They didn’t like their welcome here in England so they left,’ Jack replied, dearly hoping that Yori and Akiko were indeed long gone. A murmur of amusement rippled through the spectators gathered in the gallery overlooking the proceedings.

‘Careful, young man!’ warned the judge. ‘I’ll hold you in contempt of court with such surly replies. In their absence, you will stand for their crimes too. You’re very fortunate we’re holding session today, otherwise you’d be waiting a full season before being tried.’

But Jack, arrested and imprisoned on false charges, didn’t feel very fortunate. He should have been with his sister by now, enjoying a warm meal in their father’s cottage, celebrating his return in front of the fire, his two best friends at his side, while regaling her with tales of his adventures in Japan. Instead he was standing alone in a cold courtroom having to defend himself against a false charge.

One of the judge’s deputies leant forward and rested his bony elbows on the bench. Peering from his perch with disdain, he enquired, ‘What are you wearing?’

Jack glanced down and shrugged. ‘A hakama.’

‘I thought you were an Englishman, yet you dress like a foreigner!’ he scoffed, sharing a derisive look with his associates.

‘I’ve been in the Japans for the past seven years,’ explained Jack.