Several smaller boats followed in its wake. Three were of a similar design to the atake-bune. These seki-bune possessed equally strong defences, but were half the size and had pointed prows, each tasselled with a coiled rope. Upon the open deck, Jack saw thirty samurai warriors stationed along the gunwales, armed with bows, muskets and half a dozen cannon. The four remaining vessels were the smallest yet fastest of the fleet. Powered by twenty oarsmen and carrying ten samurai, these kobaya cut through the water. But, being little more than glorified rowing boats, there was no wooden planking for side protection. With the deck completely exposed, the crew would have to rely on speed and fighting skill to survive in a sea battle.

‘You’d think there was a war still going on,’ remarked Miyuki.

‘There is,’ replied the poet, the atake-bune dwarfing them as it surged past.

‘But the Shogun won,’ said Yori.

‘Daimyo Mori isn’t fighting the Shogun. He’s waging a pirate war,’ the poet explained. ‘That’s just one of many Sea Samurai patrols. The daimyo has built an entire navy for the sole purpose of wiping the pirate clans out.’

‘Are there that many pirates?’ asked Jack.

‘Who knows their number? The Seto Sea is vast and has thousands of islands and hidden coves. But the daimyo’s campaign is personal. His son was killed by a pirate.’

‘And that justifies a full-blown war?’ questioned Yori as their boat entered the harbour.

‘You clearly don’t know daimyo Mori,’ the poet sighed heavily. ‘On news of his son’s death, he rounded up the first fifty pirates he could find, whether guilty or not of the crime. He crucified them all, nailing them to the seawall as a warning to other pirates. Then he commanded his torturer to pierce each of their bodies with spears. The pirates suffered a long and excruciating death. It was said the pirate leader had sixteen spears inserted without puncturing a single vital organ. It took him five whole days to die.’

With a sorry shake of his head, the poet stood up in readiness to disembark.

‘Believe me, you don’t want to get on the wrong side of daimyo Mori.’

Jack, Yori and Miyuki exchanged an anxious look as the poet wished them luck on their pilgrimage and, bowing his respects, departed. Stepping ashore themselves, they helped Saburo off the boat and over to the shade of a cedar tree. The dockside was bustling with fishermen, pilgrims and a disturbing number of samurai. Fortunately, with so many white-clad travellers, no one paid them any attention.

‘Am I glad to be back on dry land!’ sighed Saburo, slumping against the tree.

‘Don’t get too used to it,’ said Jack. ‘We need to find another boat as soon as possible.’

Saburo was crestfallen.