Jack realized that a lord who lived in such an imposing structure would have little sympathy for any of his subjects, especially lowly farmers.

The archery contest was taking place on the broad veranda of the largest of the warehouses. Six small targets had been set up at one end and the archers were lined up at the other, some sixty metres away. The competing samurai were dressed in winter kimono, their left arms pulled out of the sleeve and laid bare to the elements so that they could draw their bows and shoot cleanly.

Arrows flew through the air like flights of startled sparrows, followed by a percussive thunder of steel tips striking hard wooden targets. As soon as one round was complete, another hail of arrows was unleashed.

‘Every year Okayama holds a Tōshiya contest,’ explained Toge. ‘The archer who hits their target the most out of a hundred arrows is declared the winner.’

Another pepper of bolts struck home, the shafts quivering upon impact. Those that missed either fell short into the veranda’s decking or embedded themselves in the warehouse wall behind.

Saburo spotted several young samurai among the spectators. ‘Which one shall we ask first?’

Jack followed his gaze. The group were a mix of boys and girls, but none were anywhere near their coming-of-age ceremony. He shook his head. ‘Far too young.’

‘How about those two?’ suggested Sora.

An older boy and a girl, who appeared to be his sister, stood at the front, transfixed by the ongoing contest. Scanning the crowd, Jack considered they were the only likely candidates.

‘What do you think, Yori?’

‘I need to have a closer look,’ he replied, unable to see over the crowd’s shoulders.

‘Follow me,’ said Saburo, leading the way.

Just as they reached the front row, a great shout went up. The archers had ceased firing and the judging now began. The spectators fell silent in anticipation, while a white-robed official inspected the targets in turn, counting the successful hits of each archer.

‘Fifty-two,’ he announced to respectful applause, and the first samurai gave a humble bow.

‘Sixty-four.’ To which the second archer allowed himself a smug grin as he was greeted with enthusiastic cheering.

‘Twenty-one.’ A polite yet half-hearted clapping couldn’t hide the crowd’s sniggering, or the shame burning on the third samurai’s face. But he didn’t have to suffer their ridicule for long. A collective gasp of amazement sounded when the fourth competitor’s score was revealed.

‘Ninety-eight!’ declared the official, clearly astonished himself. ‘A new record!’

Dressed in a crisp white gi and all-white hakama, a severe-looking samurai with a thin moustache gave a victorious shout and thrust his bow into the air.

‘Why not him?’ said Yori, nodding towards the veranda as the official called out a disappointing ‘Forty-seven’ for the fifth samurai.

‘Make your mind up, Yori,’ said Saburo. ‘I thought we were looking for young samurai.’