‘It’s my father’s diary,’ he finally admitted.

‘A diary?’

‘Well, not exactly. The rutter is a guide to the oceans of the world. My father said the person who possesses it has dominion over the seas,’ explained Jack. ‘Its knowledge is priceless, and it’s the only hope I have of ever getting home.’

‘So why didn’t you tell Masamoto?’

‘Because my father swore me to secrecy,’ explained Jack. ‘The more people who know of its survival, the more dangerous it is for all of us. I don’t know who I can trust.’

‘Well, you can trust me. I remained silent on your behalf – and so did Yamato – and you can trust me to stay silent.’

‘But what about Yamato? Can I really trust him?’ enquired Jack.

A cry from the head of the column interrupted them.

The samurai rapidly re-grouped in preparation for departure.

‘We must go,’ said Akiko, leaving the question unanswered.

Akiko mounted her stallion, and Kuma-san rode up before Jack could press Akiko further. Then in a long disciplined file, two abreast, they set off down the road.

By nightfall, they had reached the coastal village of Hisai. The main street boasted two resthouses, and Kuma-san secured lodgings in the better of the two for the night.

∗ ∗ ∗

The next day, they rose early and made rapid progress to Kameyama, a bustling stopgap of a town on the main route between Edo and Kyoto. This was the station at which they joined the Tokaido Road.

The main Tokaido Road was little more than a wide track but it was busy with foot traffic. Merchants. Samurai. Travellers. Exhausted porters warming themselves by fires. Some wore round-domed straw hats and carried large, square backpacks. Others had slung cloth bags over their shoulders and wrapped their heads with large patterned bandanas. The few that were on horseback were all samurai. The scene struck Jack as a little odd for there were no carts or horse-drawn vehicles of any kind, unlike the roads back in England.

As they journeyed along the thoroughfare, Jack noticed that they frequently passed small mounds with two trees planted on either side.

‘What are those, Kuma-san?’ asked Jack, pointing at one.

‘Distance markers. We are now seventeen ri from Kyoto,’ explained Kuma-san.

Near these markers was the occasional merchant plying his wares or else there was a small inn offering refreshment and lodgings. As they passed one very old merchant, who had a teapot hanging from a tree and was selling freshly brewed sencha, the pedestrian traffic in the distance began to scatter. Jack heard a far cry of ‘Down! Down!’ and the road ahead became lined with Japanese prostrating themselves on the ground.

‘Jack-kun, off the horse and bow. Now!’ commanded Kuma-san urgently.

Jack did as he was told and Kuma-san joined him by his side.