‘Against forty?’ Jack couldn’t believe he was even contemplating the prospect. He thought back to his warrior training and the Battle of Osaka Castle. He’d witnessed the best samurai swordsmen handle five or six adversaries at once. Even more, if the enemy was disorganized or poorly trained, which was likely the case with bandits. ‘If the recruits are skilful and experienced, then perhaps … seven samurai.’

‘Seven!’ exclaimed Toge. ‘It took us weeks to find one. Where on earth will we get seven samurai?’

‘What about your daimyo?’ asked Jack, who knew that samurai lords were charged with protecting the citizens of their domains.

The farmers all snorted in derision.

‘Daimyo Ikeda doesn’t care about us,’ spat Junichi. ‘As long as he gets his rice tax that two-faced lord wouldn’t lift a finger to come to our aid.’

‘But if your rice has been stolen, how can you pay him?’

‘Akuma’s crafty,’ explained Yoshi. ‘He only raids us after the tax has been collected.’

‘This’ll be the third year in a row,’ stated a despondent Junichi. ‘We’ve had no option but to look for our own samurai. But it’s all been in vain. Our situation is hopeless.’

Jack had to agree. Outnumbered forty to one, the battle was lost before it had even begun. ‘I’m sorry,’ he admitted reluctantly. ‘But I can’t help you.’

Fury born out of despair seized Toge. He shook an angry fist at Jack and bawled, ‘You samurai are all the same! We work the fields, till the soil, grow the rice to fill your stomachs. So that you can go to war over your lords’ domains. Then the day we need you, where are you?’

‘What do you expect me to do?’ said Jack in his defence. ‘Fight off forty bandits on my own!’

‘Aren’t samurai meant to be courageous?’ snapped Toge.

‘Yes, but not suicidal.’

‘How I despise –’

‘Enough, Toge!’ interrupted Yoshi. ‘That’s no way to treat our guest. He came of his own free will. We must respect his decision to leave.’

The room fell into a sullen silence, leaving only the crackle of the fire and the bubble of the boiling rice.

Jack’s conscience was torn. He dearly wanted to help the farmers. As a samurai, he felt honour bound to defend them. But the stark truth was that, against so many enemies, he’d only get himself killed – and for nothing. The bandits would still seize the rice.

Tears welled up in Sora’s eyes and he began to sob. Wiping a dirty hand across his nose, he snivelled, ‘How will we feed our little ones?’

No one answered him. The farmers merely stared in wretched misery at the floor, wringing their hands.

All of a sudden Kunio looked up, his face bright with an idea. ‘We can recruit more samurai!’ he blurted.