Making their way beneath overhanging branches, and through muddy patches, they discovered some stretches so waterlogged that the road was almost marshland. And for a while it appeared that Akiko might be vindicated: the road had clearly been flooded at some point. With careful riding, however, the route eventually proved passable.

‘See?’ said Rose smugly as the road began to slope gently upwards, the ground drying out the higher they got. ‘We can get thr–’

A woman’s scream pierced the air, causing several birds to take flight from the tree canopy. They reined in their horses and glanced at each other in alarm.

‘It came from the woods,’ said Jack, his eyes scanning the treeline.

‘It could be a trap,’ Rose warned, as another scream rang out.

‘Trap or not, someone needs our help,’ said Akiko.

Jack was in two minds. He didn’t want to delay their search for Jess. Then again, he couldn’t ignore someone clearly in need. The code of bushido compelled him to help. There had been occasions during his escape through Japan when strangers had stepped up for him and saved his life, so it was only right that he did the same in return, especially in his own homeland.

‘Akiko’s right,’ he said. ‘It’s our duty as samurai to help.’

With a flick of his reins, he rode for the woods. Yori and Akiko did the same.

‘But I’m not samurai!’ Rose called after them.

Leaving their horses tied to a tree, Jack and the others crept through the forest. As the sound of voices grew louder, they hunkered down behind a clump of ferns and peered into a small clearing. They saw a gang of a dozen or so ruffians. Some of them were binding an elderly man and a younger woman, dressed only in their undergarments, to the trunk of an oak tree, while others rifled through their saddlebags. Two manservants lay bleeding on the ground at their master’s feet, having been badly beaten.

‘Isn’t that Lord and Lady Percival, the couple who were dining in the private booth last night?’ asked Yori under his breath.

Jack nodded. A pair of robbers had stripped them of their finery and were now parading around in the clothes, pretending to be the lord and lady of the manor, much to the amusement of their fellow robbers. A tall, bearded man with a thick knotted staff stood at the centre of the clearing, presiding over the mayhem. He bore a long scar that curled from the corner of his right eye down to his jawline. Next to him stood a young woman with a tangle of hawthorn hair and a spray of girlish freckles that was at odds with the cruel sneer on her lips.

‘That tall one, with the scar, he’s what we call an upright-man,’ whispered Rose. ‘He’s the leader of this gang. You don’t want to mess with him, or his doxy.’