‘But this is a real mission,’ insisted Saburo, pursuing the ronin across the square.

‘Don’t take me for a fool. If there was a serious problem, the farmers wouldn’t be hiring young samurai like you.’

‘That’s why they need your help.’

‘You’re the one needing help. Now leave me alone before I’m forced to end your very short life!’

At that, Saburo stopped in his tracks and let the ronin walk away. Returning to the entrance of Okayama’s main Buddhist temple, he slumped on the steps next to Jack.

‘That’s the sixth ronin to say no,’ complained Saburo. ‘They just won’t take me seriously.’

Peering from beneath the rim of his hat, Jack surveyed the square. They’d been trying all morning to recruit samurai. But with market day over, Okayama was no longer as busy and the choice of ronin was limited.

‘I can’t believe there isn’t a single samurai willing to help,’ said Jack.

Saburo shrugged. ‘Everyone’s out for themselves since the Shogun came to power.’

‘Then why not look to yourselves for salvation?’ advised a small monk descending the steps of the temple.

Dressed in white robes with a saffron-coloured mantle, he wasn’t much bigger than a child and carried a shakujō – a ringed staff – its pointed iron tip and six metal bands jangling with each step. The monk’s face was in shadow beneath a large conical straw hat. Jack had come across similar monks on his travels. They often hid their faces as a symbol of their detachment from the outside world.

‘We’re not the ones who need help,’ explained Jack, bowing his head respectfully. He pointed to Toge and Sora, glumly crouching on their haunches nearby. ‘The farmers need samurai to protect their rice harvest. But no ronin will help them.’

‘And no ronin will listen to us,’ said Saburo, sighing.

‘Then why not approach young samurai?’ suggested the monk. ‘They can be just as brave.’

Jack considered this. ‘They might still be training and won’t have the sword skills. It’s too risky against a bandit like Akuma. We need warriors with battle experience.’

‘Do you lack such experience?’

‘Not entirely,’ Jack admitted, his mind returning to the attack on the Niten Ichi Ryū and the Battle of Osaka Castle.

‘Have you not duelled adult samurai … and won?’

‘Errr … yes,’ replied Jack, taken off-guard by such a knowing question.

‘Then who’s to say there aren’t more warriors like you?’

‘Because I’m …’ Jack trailed off. Because I’m a gaijin, he’d almost said.

Yet maybe the monk was right. He, Jack, was willing to tackle the bandits. And if the Niten Ichi Ryū could produce warriors like Akiko, Yamato and himself, then why couldn’t there be other young samurai of equal skill?

‘But this isn’t Kyoto,’ argued Saburo. ‘There won’t be many sword schools here – if any! Where will we find young samurai?’