Masamoto appeared defeated. Blood seeped from the gash on his shoulder. He weakly lowered his wakizashi. The crowd gave a despondent groan. Godai grinned from ear to ear as he slowly raised his weapon for the final blow.

That was the moment of over-confidence Masamoto had been waiting for. With a sharp flick of his wrist, he sent his wakizashi spinning through the air. Taken by surprise, Godai stumbled backwards to avoid the flying blade and lost his footing in the sand.

Little more than a blur, Masamoto shot past Godai and headed for the boat. Godai, getting back to his feet, screamed at his fleeing opponent.

But Masamoto was not intent on escaping. Instead he grabbed the long wooden oar from the boat and spun round to face Godai. Now Masamoto possessed a weapon of equal length to the nodachi.

Immediately Godai charged at Masamoto, who parried his blows with the oar. Chunks of wood flew through the air. Godai then struck low attempting to chop off Masamoto’s legs.

Masamoto jumped high over the blade and brought his oar straight down on to Godai’s exposed head. The oar connected and Godai’s legs crumpled under the force of the blow. He collapsed backwards like a felled tree.

Masamoto’s samurai cheered and the crowd took up a chant urging him to kill Godai. But Masamoto stepped away from the prone body of Godai. His victory clear and decisive, he had no reason to kill.

As he approached the crowd, they fell silent and all dropped to their knees, bowing their heads to the sand. Even Akiko, Jiro and Taka-san followed suit.

Jack alone remained standing, unsure what to do. He was not one of them, but the man emanated such absolute authority and power that Jack found himself instinctively bowing anyway. As he eyed the sand, Jack sensed Masamoto approaching him.

The bare feet of the scarred man planted themselves directly in front of him.

13: FATHER LUCIUS

13

FATHER LUCIUS

‘Você fala o português?’ the priest asked Jack.

The priest knelt on the floor in front of Masamoto, who now sat on a raised platform in the main room of the house.

‘Parlez-vous français?’

The priest, with hard glassy eyes and greasy thinning hair, wore the distinctive buttonless cassock and cape of a Portuguese Jesuit. He had been summoned to translate for Masamoto and studied Jack distrustfully.

‘Habla español? Do you speak English?’ he asked in frustration.

‘Falo um pouco. Oui, un petit peu. Sí, un poco,’ Jack replied fluently. ‘But I prefer my own tongue, English. My mother was a teacher, always getting me to learn different languages. Even yours…’

‘Cursed child! You’d be wise not to make more of an enemy of me than you already are. You’re clearly the offspring of a heretic and not welcome on these shores –’

He gave a sharp rasping cough and wiped dark-yellow spittle from his lips with a handkerchief.