Prologue

PrologueArai Takeshi woke from his slumber to the sound of a shakuhachi, his hand quickly moving to his sword. His travel-worn overcoat was beaded with frozen dew as the frigid midnight air swept through Ises Outer Shrine. Strands of his matted black hair fell over his eyes, his pupils fully dilated and scouring the darkness. Arai Takeshi had once been a samurai, a rigid adherent to the samurai code of bushido and ready to follow his liege lord to hell and back as Japan swung from conflict to conflict. However, when Oda Nobunaga conquered half of Japan in the 1570s, the inherently deceitful and self-interested Takeshi saw a chance to improve his prospects as the inevitable peace drew ever closer. Murdering his lord, a minor daimyo of the Shiba clan, and recruiting several other disenfranchised samurai, Takeshi became a rnin, a masterless samurai who wandered the land. Normally, such men would look for employment from provincial nobility in order to live securely for the remainder of their lives. Takeshi had other, more ambitious ideas. With his small group, he raided villages in central Honshu, Japans largest island. As many as five villages had been wiped off the Earth to improve Takeshis personal wealth. Once he had amassed a large enough sum of money through selling of the goods obtained from these villages, he callously murdered his compatriots and settled down in Nara, resigning himself to a life of comfort and idleness. Then the fire came. It had consumed his house in Nara and had destroyed his fortune. Arai had been lucky to escape the blaze alive. Although no one believed him, he knew that his house had been burned deliberately. The following day, a note had been passed to Takeshi as he walked through the street. It simply said:Run all you wish. You will never be savedEven with his questionable intelligence, Takeshi knew from that point onwards that he had been marked for death. By whom he did not care to find out. As soon as he had read the letter, he left Nara, fleeing as far from civilisation as he could. But wherever he went he was always followed. Five times during his journey into the wilderness he had narrowly escaped death. An arrow that shaved a few hairs off his head or a thrown knife that had sliced his arm; he was always reminded that wraiths continued to stalk him. Always before an attempt on his life, there was the sound of the shakuhachi, which came to serve as a warning that Takeshis death could be very close indeed.Although he was the furthest thing from religious, Arai had been severely tempted to stop at any temple he passed and beg forgiveness from the Buddha or the Shinto Gods. It did not matter what deities saved him, so long as he was delivered from this nightmare. Eventually, though, he dismissed the help of the gods just as he dismissed their very existence. In the temple at Ise Shrine, the shakuhachi warned Arai once again that his pursuers were nearby. He did not know how many there were, but he could guess from their dogged pursuit that he lacked the courage, skill and intelligence to defeat them in a straight fight. His only option, therefore, was to evade them. Backing away from the sound of the flute, the terrified rnin left the shrine by a back entryway, hoping to escape his tormentors once again. He had no idea his every move was being watched.

Atop the shrine stood four men. All four wore black hakama tied around the waist, black kosode shirts with wide, open sleeves over an equally dark undergarment, or shitagi which terminated at the neck. Their eyes, all fixed on the fleeing figure, were clear and sharp. On their feet, rather than traditional divided socks and cane sandals, they wore black, square-tipped Chinese shoes and ordinary white socks. Physically, they were all very different. One man was very large in the chest and the arms, and had tiger-stripe tattoos covering his right shoulder, bared by his sleeveless kosode. His long black hair was tied in a ponytail. His back was adorned with a very long ndachi, or long sword. Another of the men was much shorter, with short, black hair and a far smaller physique. At his hip he wore a short sword, or wakizashi, and on his back was an unstrung longbow as tall as he was. Unlike the first man, his kosode was not sleeveless, with the black sleeves of his upper garment extending to his wrists. The tallest of the four was thinner than the first man and more athletic than muscular. His hair was unadorned and messy and ran down to the base of his neck. In his hand was a wakizashi. A weapon resembling a scythe on a chain, known as a kusarigama was hooked in his belt. Like his more muscular companion he wore a sleeveless kosode. The fourth man was very obviously the leader of the small group. He was the same height as the muscular one, but much thinner and wirier. His prematurely white hair exaggerated his age; he was nearing fifty and was the oldest of the four by some fifteen years. Like his shortest companion, his kosode was not sleeveless. The leaders armament was more typical of a warrior in 16th century Japan: his right hip carried a regular katana and wakizashi. In his hands he held a small, wooden flute which Japanese people called a shakuhachi. All four of these men watched Arai leave the shrine. At first, he crept out almost silently, his hand on his sword. The four men almost admired his common sense, an unusual thing amongst people of his ilk. When it became clear that he intended to sprint into the trees, the leader decided it was time to put down this rabid animal. Kazuo, he said, referring to the tallest of the group. Come with me. You two, stay here. Oh, and Ichir, have your bow ready just in case. Aim for his heart this time. The small man acknowledged the command, removing and stringing his longbow. The old man and his chosen companion leapt off the roof, landing silently in the bushes below. Their prey had not noticed their presence. The leader motioned to the tall man called Kazuo. Yamada Kazuo stood up from the bush and readied his kusarigama. As Arai obliviously passed the two, Kazuo swung the scythe at the rnins legs. The tip of the sharp blade caught the murderers left calf; when Kazuo pulled the weapon back towards him the blade sliced cleanly through the muscle.

With a scream of pain, Arai fell to the ground, his right leg burning and bleeding profusely from his cut calf. Whimpering, he crawled towards the trees, desperate to escape the fate that awaited him. Though his vision was tinged red, he heard the muffled footsteps of his killers. With no other options, he rolled on his back and faced them. The two men standing above him were clad in identical clothing; black hakama and black, kosode. Their facial features were concealed by shadows and darkness. One of them, shorter with white hair, spoke to him. Far from the harsh, violent voice he expected, the mans voice was soft. Takeshi would have considered it gentle, were it not for the steel edge of strictly controlled anger. Arai Takeshi, do you know why you are here? Arai refused to give the man the satisfaction of an answer. His assailant continued. You are here because you have used your standing as a samurai to bring personal gain to none but yourself. You have deceived, exploited and murdered those who trusted you. Many people have died by your blade, innocents who should not have been slain. For this, you have been sentenced to death by our hand. Arai looked at the men towering above him and his face somehow contorted into a half-sneer, albeit one tinged with the grimace of agony. How does killing me make you any better? he said spitefully. The old man was silent. Instead, his tall companion bent down, his wakizashi drawn. He whispered into Arais ear, his voice full of contempt. Consider it an investment in the future. Any response Arai may have formulated was cut off by the short sword that sliced his throat. Blood filled his mouth and his vision began to fade. The last words he could understand before he breathed his last came from the old man. Remember this, Arai Takeshi. We are the Tenken-ry and we visit justice on those who deserve it. To Takeshis fading consciousness, the words sounded like something the old man had repeated many times. His last conscious movement was to blink in surprise at the one name the old man had revealed.Tenken-ry. The words meant School of the Heavenly Sword. If these men did what they claimed so proudly to do, thought Takeshi, they were indeed a sword from Heaven.

Takeshis bloody head lolled back, the life in his eyes fading away. Kazuo and his old companion looked solemnly at the body. Although all Kazuo saw was an example of the potential for degradation in humans, his master insisted that Arai was as much of a human being, though a defective sample. Like an overly aggressive wolf whose violence must be halted to save the pack, men like Takeshi must be vanquished in order for there to be a true lasting peace amongst the people of Japan. It was the old mans favourite metaphor to explain his beliefs on the matter. Kazuos master called out to the two men on the roof of the shrine. Kimura, Ichir, come down from there. The two men leapt off the roof and stood before their master. They barely glanced at the body of Takeshi, having seen far worse many times in their lives. It is done, the old man said. We should remove the body so it does not desecrate the shrine. After that, we can leave. The three younger men agreed with him. Without another word, Kimura and Kazuo picked up Takeshis corpse and carried it out through the outer gate of Ise Shrine. There, they placed it on the forest floor, leaving it for scavengers or for some lucky passer-by. Their task fulfilled, the four men walked away, vanishing in the darkness. A Sword from HeavenRoderigo Ortega

461Chapter 1Cristiano de Noronha walked down one of the countless cobbled streets of Madrid. Everywhere he looked, people gave him a wide berth. Maybe it was the presence of the two large men behind him, or maybe they recognised who he was. As the eldest son of one of the most powerful nobles on the Council of Portugal, Cristiano de Noronha, son of the third Count of Linhares, was far from ordinary. However, he cared little for what people thought of him; their opinions held no validity in his mind. Born in 1579, Cristiano had grown up in the court of King Philip I of Spain. Now sixteen years old, he was beginning to mature very well, fully capable, his father boasted, of running the entire empire. From an early age, Cristiano had shown natural charisma, quick-thinking, and easy adaptation to virtually any situation, all underlying a largely friendly personality. He possessed a prodigious intelligence that sometimes humbled even the courtiers of Phillip, men often three times his age. However, beneath all this, Cristiano was far from the perfect child others saw him to be. He was proud and wilful to a fault and was prone to entering states of depression when he felt he had failed in some way. He could be introverted one minute and overconfident the next, and still manage to act impulsively when the mood took him. He could be cynical and sarcastic when he felt like it and was almost always suspicious of the ulterior motives of those he did not know. Physically, he was not exceptionally tall, nor exceptionally stout, but his stride was long and purposeful and his athletic physique showed that he was not the type who was completely allergic to physicality. His brown hair was tied in a ponytail, with several strands hanging loose around his face. His sharp brown eyes were wide open and clear. Cristiano was an oddity in the Noronha family. Every male relative he knew loved doing things associated with masculinity, such as running, jumping and climbing trees. By contrast Cristiano preferred to keep to himself, staying indoors and well away from the dirt and mud that other boys and even men seemed to love. He possessed an almost insatiable thirst for knowledge and was always looking for something new to occupy his time. This drive had given him considerable command of three foreign languages: French, English and Dutch, as well as his commonly used languages of Spanish and Portuguese. When his father caught him practicing English, it was quickly justified it as learning the language of the enemy. In reality, Cristiano knew that knowing these five languages in some detail would allow him to travel almost anywhere and talk to almost anyone in the world. Although his parents were very keen on fostering his love of learning, they often encouraged him to go outside and be a little more boyish more often. His father often likened him to his mother, who was of a similar intellectual persuasion. Walking beside him down that cobbled street in Madrid was his younger brother, Miguel. Taller and slighter than Cristiano, Miguels face was almost identical to his elder brothers, with its high cheekbones, olive skin and sharp eyes. Their personalities, however, were worlds apart. Where Cristiano was quiet and reserved, Miguel was outgoing and curious, instantly trusting of strangers and almost childishly nave. Miguel constantly forced Cristiano outdoors for some activity or another, and took great delight in beating him seven times out of ten. Behind them strode their two bodyguards. Cristianos father constantly worried about his two children being antagonised by some street drunk or possibly captured by foreign spies. His concern bordered on paranoia, but it had provided the two brothers with loyal protectors and friends. Cristianos bodyguard was a man called Rodrigo Cortz. Slightly taller than Cristiano but shorter than Miguel, Rodrigos large presence came from the intensity of his movements, rather than his actual physique. While the best way to describe him would be lean, his eyes were alert, his brows furrowed and he regarded every passer-by with barely concealed suspicion. His every movement was resolute; even blinking seemed to have been planned long in advance. Fortunately, this professional aura did not carry over into his relationship with his teenage charge. Rodrigo had been protecting Cristiano since the boy was six years old and had watched Cristiano grow and mature to be the young man that he was. He was as proud of the boy as if he were his own son. Miguels bodyguard was different again. He was an enormous man, both taller and wider than both Rodrigo. His face was stern and had a large scar running from his forehead to the base of his right ear. He was almost permanently silent. The only name he had ever given was Ramos. In contrast to Rodrigos friendly and often boisterous nature, Ramos was serious and completely devoted both to Miguels safety and to the family.

The cobbled street was awash with people; hawkers, entertainers, beggars, they were all here. Men called out to the small group from all sides. Seor, try some of my fruit. This fruit came all the way from Morocco!Are you in need of clothing, my good sir? Everything you will ever need is here! For the most part, Cristiano ignored them, showing neither disdain nor interest in the junk they had to sell. Occasionally, he had to pull Miguel away from a store or two, knowing that the rare items for sale were often overpriced and unnecessary. The group passed a beggar who was missing a leg. He was playing a small worn recorder. Although not complex, his melody was soft and heartfelt. Cristiano stopped and placed a few gold escudos in the mans small begging tin. The man momentarily stopped and looked in awe at his latest patron, and Cristiano smiled at him, a rare earnest smile. Never give up hope, he whispered. Without uttering another word, he turned and left. The man cried after him. Many thanks, seor! I will never give up; I swear! Cristiano smiled again. Miguel fell in beside him. Was that worth it? You know for that money you could have bought much more than a few moments of satisfaction. Cristiano glanced at his brother. That man will find a better use for it than I could. I need no more reason than that.

The quartet arrived at the Noronha mansion on the outskirts of Madrid. Although most of the Council of Portugal resided at the palace of King Philip, the Noronhas had been allowed a house of their own in recognition of their loyalty to the Habsburg emperors. It was a large house by the standards of the day, two stories high and with more than enough living space for the small family. However, unlike the homes of other Dukes or Marquises, it was not large enough to warrant an army of servants or slaves. The only staff the Noronhas employed were Rodrigo and Ramos. The group were greeted by their mother, Carla at the front door. A tall and aristocratic woman, often described as the very image of Queen Isabella of Castile, Carla was the youngest daughter of a provincial lord in the region of Aragon, in north-west Spain. She loved every member of her family, including the boys protectors, whom she treated like older sons. Welcome home, Cristiano, Miguel. Where were you? Her voice was soft and spoke very clearly of an upper-class upbringing. She smiled at her sons as they embraced her. She stood on tiptoe and kissed Miguels cheek; with Cristiano she had no such problem. Miguel dragged me down to the market, mother, Cristiano explained, half-real exasperation tinging his voice. He said he had seen something very rare from South America. Carla looked at her younger son, sighing in mock disbelief. Miguel, what have I told you about that? she said, a smile playing on her lips. Most of the time, all they sell is refuse and flotsam. Miguel, although slightly abashed, would not back down. I know, mother, but I saw it; it was a sword made of wood, with teeth sticking out of the side; the sailor called it obsidian or something like that. I had remembered what you said, so I thought Id get Cristiano to confirm before I tried to buy anything. Hes the one who would know. Cristiano groaned, earnestly, this time. Dios, Miguel. I told you that I would have no idea before we set off. Why do you always lay the blame on me for your ridiculous habits? The two glared at each other for a few moments before their mother intervened. Boys, calm yourselves. Dinner is ready and your father will be home soon. I would like you to be civil in his presence. You know how he hates to see you two fight. Miguel noticeably brightened at the mention of food. Bueno, mother, Im starving. Without another word, Miguel rushed in. He was quickly followed by Ramos and Rodrigo, both of whom were eager to be out of the hot Spanish sun and away from the awkward atmosphere that stifled the front door. Spates such as this between the two brothers were not uncommon, but they were always short and ended in either their parents or their bodyguards intervening. After that, no mention of the argument was ever heard again. Cristiano remained outside, scowling at his brothers back. Although he made every attempt to conceal it, Cristiano had an outrageously quick temper and was swift to enter a verbal conflict with anyone who annoyed him. It was a part of him that he desperately hated; his pride always suffered a blow whenever he lost his nerve. To Cristiano, concealing ones emotions and remaining strictly neutral was a sign of mental strength and discipline. Carla gave Cristiano a nudge from behind. Lets go inside, Cristiano. Its far too stuffy out here.

The family sat around the large dinner table, enjoying their meal. Cristiano and Miguel sat opposite from one another and, as always, no mention of the brief argument was said. Their respective bodyguards stood behind them; their meals always followed after the boys had gone to bed. The patriarch of the house, Fernando de Noronha, was seated at the head of the table, opposite his wife. A tall man, Fernando had succeeded his father Francisco as Count of Linhares in 1574. His black hair was beginning to grey at the edges and his noble face was beginning to crease with age. Despite his somewhat stern appearance, he was very easy to amuse and possessed a wit legendary among the Hapsburg court. He also had a habit of placing his fingertips together when deep in thought, a habit he had succumbed to at the table. What is wrong, father, Miguel asked. Upon a second and finally a third repetition, Fernando came out of his reverie. Nothing, Miguel. Just some business at the court which has kept me occupied. It is nothing you should be concerned about. Not at all satisfied, Miguel pressed the issue.If it has got you this worried, it must be important, father. Please tell us. Fernando sighed and looked down the table at Carla, who nodded. The king is considering sending another Armada to invade England, he said. Cristiano glanced up at his father, an eyebrow raised. However, he did not bother to object and continued to eat nonchalantly. Miguel, on the other hand, almost leapt out of his chair. But father, the last time he tried to invade that country he did not even need to retell the crushing defeat of the mighty Spanish Armada at Gravelines, or the disastrous circumnavigation of Ireland that followed. Everyone at the table, except possibly Cristiano, had shared in the pain of Spain over those few catastrophic months. To the eldest child of the family, the plan had always seemed stupid to begin with. Everyone at the court knows that such an expedition would be madness, Fernando reassured Miguel. Yes, we were unlucky the first time but we had the element of surprise. We are very unlikely to be more fortunate this time now that we have lost even that. Still, Philip and that idiot Alonso Prez, the Duke of Medina Sidonia believe that the English will not expect a repeat of the invasion. They say that this may well be Spains last chance to capture England and end the Protestant heresy. After a short bout of silence, Carla spoke, her soft voice somehow filling the space of the dining area. What do you think? What do I think? Fernando replied, now far from detached from the discussion. I think it is the greatest idiocy every concocted in the history of Spain or Portugal. Half of our Armada was destroyed trying to take that worthless island, all in the name of God. Ten thousand lives snuffed out on the whim of a king. Loyal as I am to Philip, I never agreed with his desire to claim England. He stopped, realising he was raising his voice and paused, breathing deeply to calm himself down. Well, fortunately for us, Philip cannot make a decision on his own. The courtiers will make sure common sense prevails. Fernandos tone indicated that the discussion was at a close, so the family returned to their meal.

That night, Cristiano was reading his favourite book: Marco Polos Il Milione. One of his favourite fantasies was travelling across the world and seeing for himself the worlds that Marco Polo had discovered. The amazing cultures of China and Japan particularly fascinated him, cultures in many ways so very far ahead of any in Europe. Polos description of Japan as a golden country fascinated him the most. Although he could almost tell that Polo had not been there himself, he could only imagine what a wonderful country Japan was. The book was the one of two that existed in Spain. Many years ago, when Cristiano had gone to the palace of the Hapsburgs, he had crept away from his family and wandered amongst the libraries of the palace. He discovered the book and had begun to read when he was interrupted by his father, several other nobles and King Philip himself. Philip was an impressive figure, with a graceful, yet imposing body contrasted with considerate and thoughtful eyes. He had smiled and laughed through Fernandos apologies and decreed then and there that if Cristiano so desired, he should have free access to the library and its secrets. Accepting the offer with youthful abandon, Cristiano would spend days on end in the library, only emerging to eat and occasionally talk when the king came to check on him. When Philip discovered him devouring Il Milione, the monarch requested that Cristiano take it with him, believing that it was merely rotting in the library. The book was now Cristianos most prized possession and he read a part of it every night before going to sleep. Although he very well knew that the probability of actually seeing the lands it described bordered on nothing, it did not stop him imagining doing so. Closing the book, Cristiano blew out the reading candle, placed the book in its proper place on the shelf and went to bed. As he began to doze off, he imagined the golden country that was Japan; with the busy villages, numerous farms and open plains, and the noble samurai watching and protecting the people from harm.

Roderigo Ortega

Chapter 2Cristiano awoke to the yelling of voices outside his bedroom window. He groaned and hauled himself out of bed. His long hair was everywhere but he did not bother to neaten it. He walked to the window and looked out. The sun was already quite high in the sky; Cristiano was amazed how he had still managed to sleep with the sun so high. Two storeys below, Miguel, Rodrigo and Ramos laughed about something his younger brother had just said or done. Miguel was showing off a large solid rubber ball. Cristiano supposed his brother had bought it at the market while he slept. Seeing nothing else of note, he retreated back into his room. The two boys were due to travel to the court today and make an appearance in front of the king. Fernando had gone ahead early, wishing to talk Philip out of his ill-conceived English invasion plan. Cristiano hated the idea of another day listening to bureaucrats currying favour with the king. Nevertheless, there was very little he could do, so he forced himself out of bed to get himself ready for the long and boring day ahead of him. As was his custom, Cristiano changed out of his clothes and washed. Despite comments from Miguel and even, at times, Rodrigo, Cristiano washed every morning, completely unable to tolerate feeling dirty. He often asked himself why he was one of a few who did such a thing, especially when he saw the filthy urchins and common folk in the streets. And yet, whenever he washed, he felt refreshed and ready for another day, even if it was to be filled with unbearable politics.

Having washed, Cristiano changed into his clothes, all of them ordered, tailored and made in Venice. Fernando had been to the canal-ridden city once or twice and had always returned ever more enamoured by the fashions there. As such, Cristianos light blue, open-necked shirt, black pants and tall leather boots were all sourced directly from Venice. However, Clara insisted that on visits to the court Cristiano wear a deep blue cloak, displaying the Noronha coat of arms. Youre going to spend most of your time there, one day, she would always say. You may as well get used to dressing like your father does. Cristiano had just fastened the cloak around his neck and let it rest on his shoulder when his nose caught the first wisps of smoke. Of all the scents in the world Cristiano hated the smell of smoke the most. It made him gag and cough whenever he inhaled even the smallest grey cloud of ash and smoke. As he choked, his mother rushed into the room. She was clearly on the verge of panic, her usually serene eyes wider than Cristiano had ever seen them. Behind her, he could hear the crackling of a fire and a shiver went up his spine. Although fires were not uncommon, especially during the hot Spanish summer, Cristiano always dreaded them. Once a fire got hold of a house, there was absolutely no way to stop it. Hurry Cristiano, out of the window, Carla shouted. Without thinking, Cristiano rushed to the windowsill. Miguel, Ramos and Rodrigo had stopped their game and were pointing at the house. As soon as Cristiano appeared at the window, Rodrigo started climbing the wall in an effort to get his charge out of the inferno. Mother, you go first, he said, stepping aside to make room. Clara refused. No son, you go first. Dont worry; Ill be right behind you. Cristiano knew that his mother would not budge so rather than arguing, Cristiano leapt onto the windowsill. Rodrigo was now only inches below him, his hand outstretched. Cristiano took his hand just as the fire burst through the door of his room. Rodrigo dragged him out of the room and flung him into Ramos arms, two storeys below. Cristiano landed with a thud but managed to steady himself in Ramos arms. He quickly stood and watched as Rodrigo remained at the windowsill. Lady Noronha, you next, Rodrigo said from two storeys up. Cristiano would never forget the next few seconds. No one there ever would. Without warning, the house collapsed.

First, the ground floor crumbled. The walls disintegrated and the house became one storey smaller. Rodrigo was flung off the windowsill by the sudden disintegration. Then, with a resounding crash, the rest of the house disintegrated, with Clara still inside. Rodrigo was caught by Ramos and stood shakily, still shocked by his fall. Miguel and Cristiano could only stare at the ruin that had been their house; their house that had collapsed, taking their mother with it. Ramos and Rodrigo dug through the wreckage in an attempt to find Clara. After digging through several feet of rubble, they found her. Her chest was crushed and her eyes were closed. A gaping wound pierced her left side and her right cheek had a deep gash in it. She was not breathing. Rodrigo and Ramos carried Claras body out and laid her on the ground. Miguel and Cristiano fell to their knees at the sight of their lifeless mother. Without warning, tears issued forth from Cristianos eyes. He fell on his hands and knees at his mothers side, his face streaming. He choked on his sobs and his cheeks were soon sodden. Miguel also bawled next to Claras lifeless body, his head almost buried in the ground, his fist pounding the turf. Their bodyguards stood impassively some distance away, giving the children space. Cristiano could not exactly remember when, but at some stage, Ramos left for the court, to tell Fernando that his wife was dead. Rodrigo stood some distance away, his head inclined in respect to his lady. At some point, Cristiano thought him speak. Que en paz descanse, Seora Clara. Rest in Peace, Lady Clara.

Cristiano was still at his mothers side when Fernando and King Philip arrived, some seventy minutes later. His stream of tears had only recently ceased but his mind was still filled with the sight before him. For his part, Miguel continued to cry, but he had moved himself some distance away and refused to face the lifeless body of his mother. Rodrigo was sitting down nearby on the remains of one of the houses wall, his head resting on one palm. Fernando rushed to Claras side and absorbed the sight of his wifes body, closing his eyes in grief when he saw her pallid face and wounded side. Cristiano did not know when he was taken away from his mother. His last memory of that day was Philip embracing his father reassuringly. Then, his vision faded as he, strangely, fell asleep.

Rodrigo looked at the sleeping boy. Although Clara was not his to protect, her safety meant almost as much to him as Cristianos did. For years she had treated him as one of the family, and had welcomed both he and Ramos into their world. With her gone, even an outsider like Rodrigo could feel a central part of that world fading away. It did not surprise him that, even as Cristiano slept, tears emerged from his eyes. The boy and his mother were exceptionally close. Where Miguel had preferred to play outdoors with Ramos and Fernando when he was a child, Cristiano had always preferred having his mother read to him. Before he had become as introverted and self-reliant as now he was, Cristiano had always talked to his mother when there was a problem. Rodrigo had never seen the boy go to his father for help in any matter. He had no idea how Cristiano would change with Claras death. When his own parents had been killed, Rodrigo sought to rectify their deaths by training to protect another family. However, he had also withdrawn into himself and had refused to discuss anything for some years. Even before Claras death Cristiano kept to himself. Now what Rodrigo feared more than anything, was that the boy would retreat so far into his own mind that he would almost cease to exist. A hand on his shoulder brought him out of his thoughts. He looked up and saw the scarred face of Ramos. As usual, the mans face was expressionless, but Rodrigo could see concern and perhaps even pain in his black eyes. King Philip is giving us quarters at the castle, Rodrigo. Wed better take the children. Rodrigo merely nodded. Standing, he carefully took the Cristianos limp form in his arms. Dont disappear, child, he whispered to the boy. People will rely on you in the future, I can guarantee it. Without another word, Rodrigo carried his charge away from his mother and the burning ruin that was their home.

Cristiano dreamed. He dreamed of waking up and seeing his mother walking through his door, her dress on fire, her features fading away. She would reach out to him whispering his name, asking him, pleading him to save her. No matter how fast Cristiano leapt out of his bed to save his mother, before he reached her, the house collapsed and Clara vanished forever. Cristiano jerked awake, gasping for breath. He felt his forehead and his hand came away wet. He could not believe he was sweating in his sleep. Looking around him reminded Cristiano of the events of the previous day. The room was not his. The walls were green and covered with golden fleurs de lis. The large window that dominated one wall was dark. The meagre light of Madrid was not enough to obscure the starlight coming from the heavens. The lace curtains were open and the window itself let the cool night wind into the room. He noticed he was still in the formal clothes that he had dressed in to go to the court. Cristiano did not turn toward the door as it opened. Through it came his father and Miguel. Cristiano thought he heard a command from his father for someone to stay outside. He could only assume Rodrigo and Ramos were guarding the door. Fernando approached the bed and sat gently on it. Cristiano did not look him in the eye. Instead he stared out into space, deliberately ignoring both people in his room. Miguel did not look at his brother either, preferring to stand with his back to the door with his eyes closed. How are you feeling, child? Fernandos voice was soft and sensitive, even more so than usual. Cristiano did not answer. I know youre still upset about your mother but Even while ignoring him, Cristiano could tell that it was taking effort for Fernando to even talk about his wife. This realisation compelled Cristiano to turn and face his father. I know youre taking this very hard, Cristiano, but there are times where we, as men, must deal withunexpected events. Cristiano turned away from him again, restraining his lip from curling in disgust. Even with his wife dead and his cheeks still moist, Fernando was trying to talk sense into his son. The very mother who had been taken away from him had told Cristiano countless times that using nothing more than logic, especially at times like this, was hardly appropriate. As if stimulated by this train of thought, Cristianos focus drifted away from the present to a conversation he had had with his mother, many years ago.

Cristiano, she said. Im going to ask you a few questions. I want you to answer them completely honestly, all right? Of course, Madre, Cristiano replied, eager to talk with her. Alright, then, she began, smiling. I want you to imagine you come to a fork in a road. One path is neat and tidy, but so dark you can only see a few feet ahead. The other is bathed in light, but, well, it is barely a path at all. Which one would you choose with your head? The smooth path, Cristiano had said without hesitation. When pressed for a reason, the best he could come up with was because it would be easier to use. Clara nodded, still smiling her small, knowing smile. Bueno. And what about your instinct? What would your gut feelings tell you to do? Cristiano had thought about this for a moment. After a short while, he had arrived at a conclusion. The rough road, I suppose. I can see where I am going, then. Clara nodded again. And what if I were to tell you that bandits had set an ambush on the darkened road? What happens to you if you make the logical decision? She answered her own question. The bandits rob you and kill you. Had you made the decision on instinct, you would definitely be alive. Cristiano had questioned the relevance of this analogy, but his mother had merely smiled. Just remember it, Cristiano; the time will come when you understand.

Cristiano? Are you even listening to me? Fernandos raised voice dragged Cristiano out of his memories. He looked impassively at his father. Perdn, Padre. What were you saying? Fernando looked out the window and spoke. His voice was faraway, as if imagining something. King Philip is allowing us to stay here in the palace for as long as we need. Very soon, he will build us a new home where we used to live. Until then, we must stay here. Philip has argued that you need peace more than anything, but I want a promise from you. Cristiano could guess what his father was going to say, but he did not bother to interrupt. I want you to promise to deal with this, my son, Fernando said softly. One day you will take my place here in the palace. Our family depends so much on who we produce that I would feel ashamed if I allowed my son to let us down. Too many people will depend on you for you to be constantly burdened by he trailed off, as if unable to articulate what had happened.Cristiano looked at his father in the eye. His voice was cool and reasoned, but it took all his effort to maintain his disinterested demeanour. Father, I realise that you look to the future, but I cant, not right now. I have never wanted to follow you into the court. Well now, I have even less desire to become your successor. Its just not who I am. He saw his fathers slightly open jaw and barked a hoarse laugh. Im not youre only son, father. Its not like Miguel would ruin the family name if hes chosen in my place, is it? Fernando stood, clearly forcing himself to remain calm. However, there was a clear edge of steel in his response. Neither of you have a choice in the matter, Cristiano. Our family has long committed the second son to the Royal Guard and Philip has already been notified of your future standings. I wont break a promise to my king, Cristiano, especially when I have no better reason than the whims of a single child. Without saying another word, he strode swiftly out of the room. Cristiano had never seen his father storm away; a brisk walk was the closest he seemed to be able to manage. Miguel followed silently, without so much as a glance in Cristianos direction.

Cristiano remained in the room for another two days. When it was mealtime, Rodrigo would bring him food, only staying long enough to take the plates away. Other than that, Cristiano remained alone in his self-imposed prison cell. Once the king himself had paid a visit, though it had only been brief. Cristiano guessed that it was either to see whether he was still in the room, or if he was still alive, for that matter. Philip had said a few encouraging words of little worth and left. Most of the time, Cristiano sat near the sweeping window, looking out onto the vast maze that was Madrid. He often caught sight of common folk walking in and out of the palace. Their faces were most often expressionless. Sometimes, though, Cristiano saw a man happily smiling and singing to himself. The conspicuous absence of sadness in the people around him only caused Cristianos depression to increase. Although his pride forced him to keep the tears at bay, it did not lessen the icy clenching of guilt and grief that tore at his diaphragm. Sometimes he would sit still for hours on end; an empty shell whose mind had almost completely left him. Cristiano would stare out into space and not respond to anything or anyone. When he waded deep enough into this trance-like state, a voice in his mind would repeatedly whisper to him the same question, but try as he might, he could not understand what the hazy and indistinct voice was asking. However, the one thing that made Cristiano consciously return to these spells like an alcoholic returning to the binge was the voice itself: it was the voice of his mother.

Chapter 3Three days later, Cristiano was reading Il Milione again, for no better purpose than killing time. The book was an identical copy to the one he had found in the library, all those years ago. Phillip had placed it on his desk on his solitary visit to Cristianos room. The boy flicked through the descriptions of countries on the mainland without much interest, only stopping on the brief description of Japan. The more Cristiano thought about it, the more he was sure that both the undiscernible question that had plagued him for days and its hitherto unknowable answer were to be found in that far off land. By now, he was completely convinced that he must somehow get to Japan. The major problem with that was his father. Fernando constantly worried about his children. Cristiano had not even been outside the confines of his house without Rodrigo watching his back, and even when he was at home or at the palace, Rodrigo was under strict orders to keep an eye on his charge. Cristiano very much doubted his father would let him leave Spain, let alone to travel to an unknown country on the other side of the world. Despite this, Cristiano knew that he must go to Japan and search for this hidden question and then go on to find its answer. He would not be surprised if he went mad if this impulse was denied.Taking two pieces of paper, he dipped his swan-feather quill in the bottle of black ink and began to write, the curly handwriting definitely not his.

That night, Cristiano waited until he heard Rodrigo abandon guarding his door before creeping out. He carried very little for his immense journey to Japan: several sheets of paper, his white quill and all the money he possessed all in a small leather sack. He was still dressed in the clothes he had worn on the day of Claras death, albeit with the deep blue cloak folded away in his room. He planned to go to Lisbon, the great port to the west and attempt to get passage on a ship headed for Japan. If his plan failed and he was desperate for a ship, he would likely stow aboard any vessel that would take him toward his goal. The details of this vague outline of a plan were not even remotely filled in. He had no idea how he would get to Lisbon, and had no backup plan if his father recaptured him. He truly was putting all his metaphorical eggs into the one basket. In his hand, Cristiano held a single, folded up piece of paper. It was a letter addressed to his father. In it, Cristiano stated his motives for leaving his family and had asked Fernando to thank King Philip for his kindness and generosity. Finally, and most critically, he promised to return when, and only when, he was ready. He told his father not to worry, promising to return to Spain when he felt ready. There was no mention of where he was going, a definite time frame for his return or an apology for leaving in the first place. These facts Cristiano either left to his fathers imagination or omitted because they were not needed.Cristiano crept past his fathers room. From within, he could hear his fathers snores. Cristiano thought it odd that his father would snore now; he had never made so much noise in his sleep. The boy could only suppose that his father was still grieving. And so he should was all he could think. The letter he placed on the foot of Fernandos door. With a small bow in his fathers direction, he turned away and left, not looking back once.

Throughout the castle there were countless guards stationed at virtually every archway and doorframe. Clothed in the red and gold livery of the royal house of Habsburg, they barely glanced at Cristiano as he strode purposefully past. Every guard in the Royal Alcazar had been alerted to the castles newest arrivals. Philip had personally instructed the guard force to allow his new guests to wander as they please, provided they did not attempt to leave the castle. It was this single fact that was the biggest obstacle in Cristianos path.As he reached the inner wall of the castle, the two guards, youngish men with expressions of perpetual boredom, placed their halberds across the gateway. I am sorry, seor, one of them said. The King gave specific orders not to let any of your family leave. It is for your own safety. Without surprise, Cristiano produced a second letter from his skin sack. It was a forged letter stating that he had permission to leave the castle grounds for activities of leisure in the city proper. It promised he would return in due course.When Philip had visited Cristiano, the king had left a letter on his desk, apparently misplaced inside Il Milione. It was nothing exciting; the usual political rubbish of threats to the kingdom, crop production and so on. However, Cristiano could see that it was written in a royal hand. Most importantly, it had the royal seal waxed on the envelope. After some effort during a similar midnight outing, Cristiano had procured a similar seal After hours of painstaking work, had forged a letter of admirable quality stating that he, Cristiano de Noronha had permission to leave the castle grounds, on the night of 25th July, 1595. Reading the letter, and taking special note of the coat of arms on the seal, the guard nodded, satisfied. The halberds were raised, and Cristiano marched past the guards, the forged letter in hand. In spite of all that had happened in the past few days, a small smile of satisfaction appeared on his lips. He did not notice the two figures behind him.

Cristiano was midway between the inner and outer walls when he heard footsteps behind him. Turning around, he saw a hint of a boot that he knew only too well. Dios, Miguel, why are you following me? When no one responded, he walked to the place he had seen the boot and saw Miguel hiding in the shadows. His brother grinned almost sheepishly as he came out of his hiding place, completely sprung. I suppose Rodrigo is with you too. Your footsteps arent that heavy. Rodrigo himself answered the question by emerging from a nearby pillar. He, unlike Miguel, was not smiling. Where do you think you are going, Cristiano? The question was simple and direct, yet Cristiano could tell that Rodrigo was holding back his temper. Cristiano, who had had years of dealing with both Rodrigo and Miguel, knew that lying would get him nowhere. Both men in front of him seemed to be able to detect whenever a lie was told in their presence. So, he simply said I have to leave, Rodrigo. I need to get away from this place. His bodyguards eyebrow arched, but before he could speak Miguel interjected quickly. Where are you going? Cristiano shook his head. I cant tell you that. I cannot afford to be followed. Miguel stepped forward. You cant leave, Cristiano. You heard father: neither of us can leave. Our lives are already mapped out for us. He paused for a moment, his dark eyes searching Cristianos own. However, Cristiano knew that Miguel would not find what he looked for. Did mothers passing really hurt you this much? Cristiano frowned darkly. She was our mother, Miguel. How can this not affect you at all? Is that what kept you in your room, then, Rodrigo said. You feel guilty that Clara died for your sake? I Unexpectedly, Cristiano found himself lost for words. With absolutely nothing to say, he turned away, somewhat ashamed at not being able to explain himself. Rodrigo strode towards him and grabbed him by the shirt. Escuchar me, boy. Why did Clara make you go out of that window first? Eh? Think, boy: if you were in her position, would you have saved yourself and left your child to die? Cristiano could only look away. Rodrigo pushed on. No. And now, youre running away? Abandoning the future that Clara gave you? He pushed Cristiano backward, forcing the boy to stumble and fall. For the first time, Cristiano saw what looked like contempt in Rodrigos eyes. He could not meet his bodyguards frowning gaze. There is something you are not telling us, Cristiano. I know when you hesitate to tell me something. Out with it. Cristiano could see no way to conceal it any longer. Any day hell, any time my mind is clear, I see mother smiling at me. She asks me a question, but I cant hear her voice. I have to find out what mother is asking me or I will lose my mind. Do you understand? I am leaving here to find her question and its answer, to save myself from going insane. Rodrigos expression had softened in understanding. Miguel looked at him curiously, as if he was surprised at Cristianos open display of vulnerability. Where do you intend to go? he asked. Having come this far, Cristiano saw no harm in revealing the whole truth. Japan. My instinct says that the question and the answer will be in Japan. He did not need to remind Miguel of the importance Clara placed on instinct; he seemed to understand the implication well enough. An awkward silence loomed. Miguel and Rodrigo looked at each other, and back to Cristiano. He could not look at either of them. Miguel finally sighed. I know I will regret this later, brother. But it is very clear that you will leave whether I permit it or not. An amused smile played on Cristianos upper lip. Since when had I asked you permission for anything? Miguel could only shake his head. Very well. However, I will only let you go on two conditions. If you do not consent with either of them, I will call the guards and have you arrested. Helpless, Cristiano did not bother to respond. Taking this as acceptance, Miguel continued. Rodrigo must go with you. He has protected you for your entire life; I dont see why he should stop now. Rodrigo nodded and Cristiano grudgingly admitted it was sound advice. Of the two brothers, Miguel had most of the experience in fighting and protecting himself. Cristiano rarely so much as touched a weapon of any kind. Rodrigo would be very useful on his journey. And your second condition? Cristiano asked. Miguel looked at his feet, kicking the dust. You must swear to return, brother. I have told you too many times, I lack what it takes to make a leader worthy of father. Youre the one with the courage to make decisions and stick with them. You have the leadership to govern people and the wisdom to know what is good for them, even if they dont. When compared with you, I cant help but think that our name will simply be disgraced if I take his place. Cristiano smiled at his brother and clasped his shoulder, a little humbled at the sudden gushing praise from his brother. When you put it that way, how could I refuse? Once I am ready, I will definitely return. Miguel returned his smile and grabbed his brothers hand. He saw the sincerity of his promise in his eyes. Buena suerte, hermano, Miguel said. Good luck, my brother.You too Miguel, Cristiano responded. Cristiano turned and left the castle, with Rodrigo in tow and Miguel looking on. As his brother vanished into the shadows, Miguel offered a prayer to God for his brothers safety. He knew he could never forgive himself should Cristiano never return.

Chapter 3Cristiano and Rodrigo had left the outskirts of Madrid far behind them by the time the sun rose on the following morning. As the golden light rose above the eastern horizon, Cristiano turned his white mare back towards Madrid, one final time. He closed his eyes and offered a brief prayer for his brother before turning around and following Rodrigo towards the rising sun. They carried very little; Rodrigo had hurriedly scrounged the essentials they would need from various places in Madrid. Cooking utensils, hunting knives and a rifle were now packed in three saddlebags hanging down the sides of his large, black stallion. Two brown, hooded cloaks were worn by both men, hiding their faces. It was only after the two had exited the city itself that Cristiano fully realised how foolish it would have been if he had gone alone. To the best of his knowledge, Lisbon was due east of Madrid. However, he could have ridden right to the sea shore and still missed the city. Rodrigo, on the other hand, had been to Lisbon several times in his life and knew the easiest and fastest roads to get there. Rodrigo was also well acquainted with surviving on the road. He avoided spending money on supplies, preferring to scavenge or hunt his meals. He also was very careful when spending on luxuries such as blankets, making sure that they were both suitable and durable enough for the journey. Although Cristiano objected, Rodrigo also bought him a sword. It was a long and slender Milanese spada de lato with simple wire hilt. Rodrigo insisted that Cristiano learn at least some swordplay if they were to travel to an unknown country. Reluctantly, Cristiano acknowledged the logic in Rodrigos observation and trained with him every night around the fire. Although clumsy and uncoordinated at first, Cristiano rapidly caught hold of the various nuances of fighting and even began to enjoy his evening duels. Slightly.

With Madrid far behind them, the two horsemen made slow, yet steady progress. The roads they took were not often hard, with both Rodrigo and Cristiano preferring ease of travel over a reduced distance. They often shared the road with others; farmers or craftsmen travelling between cities, merchants occasionally hawking their wares at the roadside or even the occasional well-to-do. However, the two simply clothed men were not easily recognised this far from the capital and always kept to themselves. Whenever someone squinted a little too closely at Cristianos face, the boy always made sure to turn away and spur his mount on slightly. The last thing he wanted was to be recognised and for word to filter back to Madrid. His father would be well aware that Cristiano had left by now. Cristiano did not need Fernando to be given a trail to follow. The pair travelled from sunup to sundown every day. They rarely stopped for food or rest, but always went slowly, never pressing their mounts to hard. As the sun set, they would wander off the beaten track and would make camp for the night. Cristiano was eternally grateful for the weather; in the thirty-or-so days that the two were on the road, there was not a single drop of rain from the sky. He and Rodrigo were content, therefore, to lie beneath the stars, their coats the only cover they needed. They never rested in cities or towns, as staying at inns would only create a greater probability of recognition. Whenever they found themselves in suburbia at sundown, they would work their horses hard to get away from the cities as quickly as possible. There were no problems at all during the trip; no guards chasing them down, no awkward questions asked and, oddly, no troubles with bandits. Rodrigo had stressed the need for vigilance; the countryside was rife with highwaymen and looters, opportunistic vagabonds who were quick to exploit the lonely traveller. Even the unsuspecting pair could be viable for an attack. However, on the many roads from Madrid to Lisbon, Cristiano did not catch any sign of an outlaw of any kind. He joked that the evening swordfights that the two undertook had scared any would-be robber far away. Rodrigo seemed to think this was quite likely.

It was also during this journey that Cristiano began a comprehensive recreation of who he was. Although his exterior and mannerisms had not changed, this was little more than a faade, hiding his rapidly shifting personality. Having watched and learned some survival and social skills from Rodrigo, Cristiano saw the need to exploit his full and wide range of latent talents, many of which had remained hidden for years. As a child, Cristiano had enjoyed manipulating those around him. He had often attempted to escape some of his duties by cajoling or threatening others into doing it for him. At the time he had thought it good sport, especially for someone as smart as he; people he perceived to be unintelligent or of lower standing were fair game, after all. However, as he grew older, Cristiano had become more mature and had realised that spinning webs around other people was a disgusting way to treat them. So he had stopped any attempts at strong-arming his way around obstacles and began to do his best to get them done, much like his brother did. However, the flair with words and an uncanny knack for finding and exploiting an enemys weaknesses had never deserted Cristiano and now he realised that he would likely need to use it. Combining this with a resourcefulness picked up from observing Rodrigo, Cristiano sought to transform himself dramatically but subtly over the course of the journey. He became more and more skilled with utilising his more exploitative side. The only thing left to do was to find someone on whom he could practice, what he would dub aggressive wordplay.

When the pair stopped in the small town of Cceres, Rodrigo discovered that they were running low on food and the water canteens were nearly empty. Going into town, they found that the place was filled with noble and wealthy folk. For the first time in weeks, Cristiano was able to walk through the town freely; it was clear from the beginning that none of them had received news of Cristianos escape and there were fairly few soldiers around.They stopped beside the Palacio de los Golfines de Abajo, the former residence of Queen Isabella I and Rodrigo told Cristiano that he was going to replenish their supplies. Cristiano was free to do as he pleased, provided he did not draw undue attention to himself. Cristiano smiled; for the first time since they had set off, Rodrigo seemed to be genuinely relaxed. However, Cristiano had seen the prices of food of any kind in Cceres and it was clear to him that buying enough was well beyond their ability, as Rodrigo refused to allow Cristiano to spend any of his own coin on their journey. So rather than spend his one free day idly, as any other child would have done, Cristiano looked for an easier, cheaper way to find food.

After several hours of searching, Cristiano found what he was looking for. Coming round a corner on a deserted alleyway, Cristiano saw three armoured men threatening a family, a man, his wife and their small child. The men were all very large and towered over the average-sized family, not to mention Cristiano himself. They all had swords drawn and pointed at the man. The ringleader spoke to him. You missed your last tax payment, Hernando. Our master is not pleased with you at all.This is ridiculous! the husband retorted. That bastard collector came around not yesterday and asked for my money. I paid him myself, and probably more than I should have. Youve got the wrong person. There are laws against tax evasion, you know. You could be thrown in jail for years. Cristiano scowled at the men from behind. Although they dressed well, it was clear that the three thugs were merely common extortionists. Threatening the man while his wife and child were present was a poor-mans tactic to ensure that they got what they wanted. In a city as prosperous as this, Cristiano had assumed that if he looked hard enough, there was bound to be some back-alley thuggery going on. It provided the perfect medium to practice the skill he wished to develop. Cristiano walked calmly up to them and tapped the ringleader lightly on the shoulder. He turned and glared at Cristiano. Who in Gods name are you? Cristiano smiled, nonchalantly . I must say that your behaviour is most unbecoming of a Spaniard, he said quietly. Begin with an insult; turn their attention toward you and away from their targets. All three of the thugs were glaring at him now, their original targets seemingly forgotten. Cristiano continued without pause. It never ceases to amaze me how those of lower intelligence invoke the name of the Lord without a second thought. Have you no pride as a loyal devotee of God and his son Jesus Christ? Cristiano smiled at the irony: he himself had done the same as this thug more times than he could count. Thats called hypocrisy, Cristiano, his mind said with a laugh. The breach of morality did not bother Cristiano in the slightest.The thugs face was red with fury by this point, and Cristiano was surprised that he had become so enraged so quickly. You little brat! Ill teach you to mess with us. He raised his fist into the air before Cristiano had spoken again.Before you do something you regret, I must alert you to one small fact. The thug faltered slightly and Cristiano had pressed forward. I am the first son of the Count of Linhares, Cristiano de Noronha. To strike me or anyone I protect is an offence against the king himself. My father will have a thousand troops searching for your hides if you so much as lay a finger on me. Unfortunately, the proclamation did not work. Pinche madre, I dont give a damn who your father is, the ringleader shouted. Even if he was the goddamned king of England, hes never going to see you again and he can do nothing to stop it. The fist came down like a falling boulder but Cristiano had moved before it had even begun to descend. The thug had made the mistake of pausing with his fist raised before he struck, giving Cristiano plenty of time to prepare. Sidestepping the large man, Cristianos sword flicked out of its scabbard and skewered the mans calf. The steel went through the muscle as if it were butter and Cristiano wrenched it out, slicing clean through the calf, just as Rodrigo had taught him. It was the cleanest and most agonising way to fell a man much larger than oneself. With the ringleader fallen, screaming in pain, Cristiano pointed his slender blade at the other two thugs. Droplets of blood flew through the air and landed in a straight line on the cobbled stones between Cristiano and the two brutes. Maybe this would be a good time to mention that I am part of His Majestys royal guard and have had years of training in combat. Although I dislike it, I wont hesitate to fight. Seeing their leader felled so easily, the other thugs drew and cast away their swords. Now that you have seen the error of your actions, I would advise you to disappear. My patience is wearing very thin. Without a seconds delay, the thugs fled, leaving their leader far behind. Cristiano was amazed at the power of softly spoken words. Not once had he raised his voice at the three brigands. Quickly, he approached the bleeding man and knocked him out with a hard kick to the head. It was quite likely he would bleed to death. A service to the nation indeed, Cristiano thought, half disgustedly, half proudly.While Cristiano single-handedly destroyed the resolve of the ruffians, the family had been watching the scene, astounded. It was hardly surprising: Cristiano had come out of nowhere and saved them from the thugs, seemingly out of the goodness of his heart. The baby began to cry, breaking the silent spell. His mother comforted him while his father approached Cristiano. Mi seor, I am deeply grateful for your assistance. Those men sought to deprive my family of our money. I cannot thank you enough. Cristiano waved the thanks away, sliding his spada back into its scabbard. I fancy myself by saying that I help those who cannot help themselves. The man bowed deeply. Playing the humble Samaritan had only increased his respect, just as Cristiano had intended. If there is anything we can do for you, good sir, anything at all, please name it. My family and I are at your disposal. Cristiano pretended to think deeply, but his response had already been thought out well in advance. It was the main reason that he searched for and saved the family in the first place. You wouldnt happen to know where I could buy he hesitated, feigning embarrassment, inexpensive food, would you? Rather embarrassingly, my financial situation is no longer what it used to be, but The man had straightened quickly. Why, of course seor! We sell the finest and cheapest food in all of Spain. Cristiano smiled. His guess had been correct. The family had a distinct workers air around them, yet the very fact that the extortionists had chosen them as targets suggested that they had more money than the average working-class man. Judging by the amount and variety of provisions available in Cceres, Cristiano had surmised that many of the towns occupants were in a position to provide both himself and Rodrigo with enough rations to get to Lisbon. My companion and I are travelling to Lisbon and we will require enough food to get us there. Would you be able to comply? I will be able to cover you for your trouble. The man smiled eagerly. Of course! There is no need for someone of your esteem to pay for our food. I will consider this our duty to the crown, as well as our duty to you. He turned and spoke a few soft words to his wife and child before beckoning Cristiano to follow him.

Two hours later, Cristiano found Rodrigo, still combing the markets for possible food. His bodyguard had clearly been able to scrounge no rations whatsoever. However he had not been completely idle; the canteens had been refilled. For his part, Cristiano returned bearing four saddlebags-worth of salted meat. Rodrigos eyes virtually bulged in delight when he saw the huge amount of food that Cristiano had managed to find. When asked where he bought it, Cristiano merely smiled enigmatically and led Rodrigo out of the city.

Chapter 4Many weeks after leaving Madrid and all it contained behind, Cristiano and Rodrigo arrived at Lisbon. The former capital of the Portuguese empire and the seat of the now-obsolete monarchy, Lisbon was very similar to Madrid. Its cobbled stones and mismatch of Moorish and Christian houses and buildings were all eerily familiar to Cristiano. Even the street urchins looked the same. The greatest feature of Lisbon was its massive port. Many dozens of vessels crowded this place, the doorway to the great beyond. From Lisbon, virtually all foreign shipping and trade came into the empire. Slaves, fruits, cotton, silks and raw materials all filtered into the mainland from this port by the tonne. However, as they entered the city, Cristiano and Rodrigo began to realise they had caught the dock at a bad time. Many of the quays were devoid of vessels. The vast majority of occupied spots contained ships that were badly damaged or degraded. Cristiano could not tell whether the damage was from the legendary sea storms or simply from lack of maintenance; they all looked the same to him: nowhere near seaworthy. There was but one quay which held a ship that seemed in perfect condition. The large carrack had seemingly just returned from sea. The crew and dockworkers were still unloading crates and barrels of goods. The man seemingly in charge, an ordinary-looking, bronze skinned sailor, was standing on the ship and shouting directions to his men and the workers. Beside him stood a man of obviously higher status, also overlooking what went onto the quay. With no other seaworthy ships in dock, Cristiano decided to go to the ship and ask for her heading. Making for the dock, Cristiano was unexpectedly pulled back by Rodrigo. His bodyguard pushed him into the shade of an alleyway and placed his hand against his lips. Motioning for him to stay put, Rodrigo proceeded to climb the sheer wall of the building beside him. Once on the flat rooftop, he disappeared from Cristianos sight. The boy crossed his hands against his chest and leaned against the wall, a small smile on his face.

Rodrigo crept along the flat rooftop, keeping low and making sure that he remained out of sight of the people on the street below. He could not be sure, but he could have sworn he saw a Portuguese count he recognised from the court. If the nobleman was indeed here, that meant he and Cristiano had been tracked all the way to Lisbon; it was not possible that this was not some random pass-through. The soldiers would be scouring the city for Cristiano. If any trace of either of them was found in the city, Fernando would have entire legions of soldiers sweeping the place searching for them. He heard a loud voice on the street below, some distance from where he had left Cristiano. Flattening himself on the ground, he peeked over the edge of the roof. His suspicions were indeed correct. There were five soldiers, all carrying firearms over their shoulders. They wore conical Spanish helmets and silver breastplates, typical of the soldiers of the day. The man at their centre was significantly different. Clothed as he was, in clothes of silk and satin, Rodrigo could tell that he was of the higher class. The fact that passing people spontaneously bowed to him also suggested that he was Portuguese; such open respect was not shown to Spanish nobility around here. At the moment, the man had his back turned to him, giving orders to the captain of his entourage. Rodrigo thought it was slightly odd that a member of the nobility should be dispatched hunting a fellow nobles son. Once the noble turned around, though, Rodrigo immediately understood. The man was Miguel Luis, the sixth Marquis of Vila Real. Not only was he one of the most powerful and prestigious of nobles, he was also a distant relation and close friend of Fernandos. It made sense, therefore, that this man would seek to bring back Fernandos runaway child. This, however, made him all the more dangerous. Not counting Fernando himself, Miguel Luis was likely to be the most driven noble to discover Cristiano, of whom Rodrigo knew he had a high opinion. There was no doubt in Rodrigos mind that Luis would scour every last alleyway in Lisbon in order to find the boy and drag him back to Madrid. While Rodrigo was the last person to condone Cristiano leaving his family, he was bound by duty to follow the boy and protect him, whether it meant protecting his body or his mind. And Rodrigo knew that the best way to do that was to somehow get him to the faraway land of Japan. That meant boarding the one seaworthy ship and hoping that Miguel Luis did not discover him. Without another thought, Rodrigo rushed back to the alleyway he had left Cristiano. Sure enough, he found him just as he had left him: completely carefree, with his head against the wall and his eyes closed. And yetWhat is it, Rodrigo? he asked. A single eye opened and a sly smile played on his lips. Rodrigo was a little taken aback by the boys sudden detection of his presence but quickly overcame his surprise. There are some people here who would like to see you to return to your father Cristiano cut him off unexpectedly. Yes, my fathers friend, Miguel Luis. He has already sent soldiers by here. I saw the man himself giving orders, but somehow I guessed he would track us to Lisbon. The sly smile remained on Cristianos face. Luckily, someone sent a rumour to the honourable Marquis through one of his soldiers that his quarry was attempting to leave the city from the north. All but a few of his soldiers are heading in that direction. In response, Rodrigo could do little more than stare at his young charge. The boy had changed unimaginably since his mother had died and Rodrigo had had no chance to notice it until now. Rather than transforming into the frail, introverted boy that Rodrigo had feared, Claras death had instilled, or rather resurrected, in Cristiano the ability to quickly ascertain facts from small clues and acting according to what one knew. Yes, he had been able to do this to some degree when Rodrigo had first met him, all those years ago. But the more Rodrigos mind filled in the gaps of Cristianos recent actions, the more he realised that they were a step up from anything the bodyguard had seen his charge, or anyone else, for that matter, accomplish. Come, Rodrigo. We should make the most of this opportunity. Rodrigo followed his master, almost humbly. It seemed to him that Cristiano was taking the first steps toward independence. Rodrigo could only smile ruefully. All these years and I never even dreamed he would change, he thought.

Cristiano strode out of the alleyway, making sure that none of the Maquis armoured guards were present. With Rodrigo in tow, he walked quickly, with his head down, toward the docked carrack. Upon reaching the giant ship, he saw, with surprise, that two Spanish soldiers were talking to a member of the crew, whom Cristiano guessed was the captain. The Marquis, the wealthy man he had seen on the ship was nowhere to be seen. Cristiano ducked behind a short bluestone wall and leaned casually against it, with his chin resting on his chest, pretending to be resting. Rodrigo separated himself from Cristiano and approached a nearby stall, turning his back on the ship. Cristiano waited until he saw the soldiers armoured backs moving towards the northern part of the city. As soon as they were out of sight, Cristiano left the safety of the wall and marched down the wooden quay and onto the ship. He tapped the captains shoulder twice. The middle-aged man was quite taken aback to see Cristiano so close. I am sorry to barge in on you like this, but I wondered if you would be able to make room for two more passengers. You are going to Japan, are you not? He wrenched the mans hand toward him and placed a pouch full of gold escudos into the forcibly opened palm. This will cover all travelling expenses, I assure you. The man was left totally bewildered, the unexpected request and bribe clearly reverberating in his mind. His hands massaged the purse and felt the coins within, but at the same time, his eyes kept flicking back towards the direction of the soldiers. His nervousness only confirmed that they had been two of Luis men and had been inquiring about his whereabouts. Youre not the man those two soldiers were looking for, are you? His Portuguese was half stuttered and his creased brow suggested at least some anxiety. Cristianos grin widened; he enjoyed playing this game. He stepped past the captain so he was now in between the owner and the bow of his ship. He pretended to survey the vessel like a prospective customer before turning back towards the captain. So what if I am? Unlike in Cceres, his words were neither overly boisterous nor arrogant. He was completely calm as he shaped and moulded his victim to his own designs. What if I report you to the guards? They were looking for you, you know. You and your friend. Cristiano spread his hands, both conceding the threat and pushing his travelling cloak back and revealing his slim blade. Well, theres nothing stopping you from doing that either. However, long before you could call anyone at all, I would have to cut your throat and disappeared. So you see, it is beneficial for both of us if you accept us and merely go about your business. Once we are safely out of port, my companion and I will cause you no trouble at all.The captain looked to his crew, which had, by now, gathered and watched as their leader and this upstart child traded verbal blows. Many of them were amazed that the boy was weaving words into such a comprehensive net around their captain. The bronzed man sighed and clutched the purse in his hand a little tighter. I seem to know I will regret this, but we were going to Japan anyway and it seems that youll cause nothing but trouble if I refuse you. We cast off in two days. Stay aboard till then. Cristianos smile softened. Gracias, seor.

Cristiano and Rodrigo remained on board the carrack as planned, never going on deck for very long. Cristiano was always aware of the possibility of the captain calling the soldiers while he and Rodrigo were trapped on the boat and had arranged routes whereby he and Rodrigo could disappear at a moments notice. However, the owner and commander of the ship, it seemed, did not want to invite trouble on his vessel, allowing Cristiano and Rodrigo to remain anonymous. The captain, Juan, had offered them the first mates cabin for the duration of the voyage. The room itself was small yet adequate, with just enough room to fit two men. Rodrigo, who had missed the war of words between Cristiano and Juan, was surprised and a little appalled upon discovering what Cristiano had done. It is incredible you werent killed, he admonished Cristiano when he joined the boy in the first-mates cabin. What made you think that you could blackmail an entire crew of grown men using nothing but your sword? Cristiano was nonchalantly examining one of the ships fruits and paying little attention to what Rodrigo was saying. Relax, Rodrigo, he said. You have done a similar thing often enough. Roderigo didnt accept the offhanded response. Thats different; Im a common soldier and sometimes there are times when I cant get what I need by being nice. You, on the other hand, are a noble of both Spain and Portugal. How do think your father would feel if he heard about this? Cristiano shot his friend a sharp look but soon returned to twirling the green fruit in his hands. Fathers far behind us, Rodrigo, he replied, curtly. Besides, even if he did somehow catch rumour of my actions, I guess this little episode would be the least of my worries. He placed the fruit down and turned to face Roderigo squarely. If it makes you feel any better, the captain was ready to accept, he just needed a littlepersuasion. Some money and a little encouragement were all it took. Much easier than forcing him at sword-point, dont you agree? Rodrigo merely shook his head, not at all amused. I just dont know where you learned such a thing. Cristiano smiled and turned away from Rodrigo again. Why, from you, of course. His friend did not notice the lie.

Upon securing his place aboard the carrack, Cristiano gradually began to win back the acceptance of the captain and the crew, something that had been all but shattered mere moments after he had stepped on the vessel. He had known before he confronted Juan that he would need the support and loyalty of the ships entire personnel to make the voyage as safe as possible for both himself and Rodrigo. He began helping with chores around the ship, such as cleaning the deck and peeling barnacles off the hull. While helping with these monotonous and mundane tasks, he struck up more and more conversation with the captain and crew. Eventually, even Juan warmed up to Cristianos presence. Well, I cant blame you, to be honest, he had said, after Cristiano had apologised for the incident that had caused their meeting. If Id been in the situation you were in, Id probably do a similar thing. And you dont seem like a bad kid, although you certainly seemed it two days ago. Cristiano had laughed amiably, satisfied that he now had the support of everyone on the vessel. Behind him, Rodrigo merely watched and shook his head, smiling incredulously.

Cristiano was up bright and early for the final day he remained on the mainland. The carracks soft rocking motion with the tide still sometimes upset his balance, but he was much more planted than he had been two days ago. Searching for Juan, he found the captain shouting at his crew as they began to load goods onto the ship in preparation for the long journey ahead. Anything I may help you with, Juan? he asked from behind the captain. Juan half jumped and spun around. Hell, lad, you shocked me. I dont know why, but your voice always sends shivers down my spine. You sure youre not a criminal on the run, are you It was seemingly only then that Juan realised he had never asked Cristiano his name or where he had come from. Lo siento, my friend, but I cant cast off without knowing who you actually are. Cristiano admired the way that Juan recovered the awkward situation. No harm done, my good captain. I had kind of already assumed that those soldiers had at least told you who they were searching for. I assume they told you that I am a runaway from the kings court. Juans jaw dropped. Youre having me on, lad. They said that you were a fugitive from the noose, not from the kings court. Cristiano laughed heartily. Well, thats news to me, I must say. My name is Cristiano de Noronha. My father is Fernando de Noronha, the third count of Linhares. Juans jaw managed to snap itself shut and he stepped back and bowed deeply to Cristiano. F-Forgive me, my lord, he stammered. I had no idea that someone such as your esteemed self would come upon my lonely vessel. I humbly beg your forgiveness. Cristiano smiled to himself. He had deliberately waited for Juan to ask his name before revealing his identity; as it happened, it came after two days of scrubbing decks and ripping barnacles off the ships hull. Having the captain treat him as a normal person would only entrench Juans loyalty to Cristianos safety once he realised that his guest was actually one of the higher nobility, not to mention increasing his regard of Cristianos character. Pretending to feel uneasy by Juans sudden change of face, Cristiano clasped Juan by his shoulders and pulled him upright. Please, Juan, I have always hated this sort of elitist ceremony. I would greatly prefer if you would look upon me as you first did, as little more than a minor guest on your generous vessel. Downplay your own status and boost your targets ego. That will further secure his loyalty and ensure his eternal service to you. It was another piece of advice that Cristianos intuition whispered to him. Juan immediately straightened and, at loss for anything else to do, offered his hand. Well if thats the case, my good seor, then I would humbly ask that your journey with us be as painless and as comfortable as possible. If nothing else, I would like for you to look upon me as a loyal hand at your disposal. Cristiano smiled again and shook Juans hand. Still smiling, he turned and walked to the bow of the ship, looking out to the sea. Although he did not see it, as he strode away, Juan was smiling at the back his esteemed guest. Now, there is a fine gentleman if ever there was one. He made a personal vow to see his young visitor safely on the shore of Japan. It was, after all, his duty.

It was midday before the crew was ready to cast off. Just before the ropes were untied and the carrack was released, a new arrival boarded the ship. Having blended in with the crew by helping load supplies and trading goods, Cristiano sat amongst them, looking at this latest guest. The man was a Dominican priest, clothed in the black cloak and white habit that distinguished the Order of Preachers from the many other religious orders. A very large cross hung around his neck, openly declaring his faith for the entire world to see. He spoke quietly and quickly with the captain and then proceeded below decks, vanishing from the sight of the crew. Cristiano leaned to the man beside him and asked about the mysterious priest. The crew hand responded, Well, Im not entirely sure, but theres talk about the king wishing to establish a relationship with Japan. Thatd mean winning over whoever rules Japan, nowadays. If you ask me, a priests the wrong way to do it. Cristianos brow furrowed in confusion. What do you mean whoever rules Japan? The sailor continued with a sigh. Japan has been at war with itself for almost the last century. Ive only been travelling there for twenty years and Ive seen Japan with no real ruler at all; then they had one for a little while, then he was knocked off. Last time I was there, another bloke had taken over. I never know if itll be the same the next time we return there. Wouldnt surprise me if theyve changed hats again by the time we land. Cristiano was surprised at this. What about the samurai? he asked. Arent they meant to protect the country from conflict? The sailor laughed, almost sadly. Youve been dreaming if you honestly believe that. The samurai are as rotten as anyone. Half of them try to create conflict and the other half are little more than trained thieves and criminals. Aint no samurai in Japan who want peace; with peace theyd all be out of a job. He shook his head and looked away. Cristiano chose the ensuing silence to end the conversation. Although he was surprised and a little shocked at the sailors news, he soon realised that he actually knew very little about the country he was going to. Until this point, he had relied solely on Marco Polos few fantastical words to provide him with an image of Japan that had taken root in his mind, and the man had never even laid eyes on the country. Regardless, he did not particularly mind. His original goal remained as strong as it ever had. All that had changed was that fulfilling it may meet with slightly more resistance.

About twenty minutes later, Juan approached Cristiano and told him they were casting off. Cristiano thanked him and the captain left. Although it would definitely be Cristianos last time in Spain for many years, he had no desire to look back or return to the land. His mind did return to Miguel and Fernando, the only true family he had left. He sincerely hoped to see them again. He knew he would, one day. A startled cry sounded from the dock. Cristiano turned around and saw a Spanish soldier pointing at him from the crowd. With him were two other armoured men and they were wasting no time pushing through the milling crowd on the street. Cristiano cursed. In his anticipation to leave, he had completely forgotten the possibility that soldiers would still be in Lisbon, even after two days. Back on the dock, the three soldiers sprinted down the wooden quay that ran parallel to the path taken by the carrack. Two of them leapt onto the deck, whipping out their rapiers and sprinting toward Cristiano. The third lost confidence in his ability to board the retreating carrack and instead brought his arquebus up. The rifle fired, the shot flying wildly over Cristianos head. Juan began shouting at his men to hurry the departure. Two of them took rifles out of the ships store and with amazing accuracy shot straight through the fast-unravelling ropes tying the carrack to the dock. Standing on the edge of the ship, rapier still in its scabbard, Cristiano saw Rodrigo emerge from his room. With a roar, Rodrigo hurled himself at the soldiers, swinging his fist and knocking one of them cleanly down, sending his helmet clattering onto the deck. The other, however, avoided his flying fists and continued to sprint the length of the ship toward Cristiano. Cristiano crossed his arms, watching, amused as Rodrigo pursued the soldier. His bodyguard faltered when his foot caught a coil of rope and he lost his footing. The soldier looked back, seeing his pursuer fallen, and turned back towards Cristiano, raising his sword to swing at his target. Standing nonchalantly a few inches from the edge of the deck, the boy sidestepped the soldiers strike and tripped him with a loose foot. The soldier fell screaming into the sea, where he would eventually flounder back to shore, armourless and humiliated.

Cristiano ducked as the thunderous crack of the third soldiers arquebus sent a projectile flying only inches over his head and far out to sea. Cristiano took in the situation before him. The carrack was well away from the dock, so there was no chance the soldier would be able to board the ship, By the same token, the ship was so far away from the dock that the only thing that could bridge the gap between Cristiano and the soldier was a firearmwhich the second unconscious soldier possessed.Keeping his head down, Cristiano scooped up the arquebus and, praying that its owner had it ready to be fired, ducked behind a solid wooden railing at the ships side. Cristiano had never so much as touched a firearm of any kind. The revolutionary weapons were sweeping Europe, and armies left, right and centre had been scooping them up by the hundred. However, Cristiano thought them uncivilised and rather crude. Nevertheless, he knew from watching them being fired that he had one shot at disabling the guard. If he missed, he would have no idea how to reload the thing. And even if he did, he possessed no additional powder, or shot for that matter. As the soldier fired again and busied himself reloading, Cristiano took aim. Using the railing for stability, he estimated the distance the shot would drop on its way to its target. Aiming at the soldiers neck, Cristiano pulled the trigger. The weapon exploded in a cloud of smoke. The shot flew towards its target, dropping just as Cristiano had intended. The small metal sphere hit the soldier squarely in the chest, making a large dent in his breastplate. The force of the projectile sent the soldier flying backward. His rifle flew into the air and clattered on the pavement. The soldier would walk away uninjured, if a little shamed at being bested by a sixteen-year-old with a single-shot arquebus. Cristiano watched the man get back up and breathed a sigh of relief. Although he had become more than comfortable manipulating people to get what he wanted, he saw no point in killing a man he would never meet again. The fact that he had managed to defeat two soldiers of the Spanish Army without bloodshed earned a grin of satisfaction. Juan approached Cristiano at the ships stern. The boy offered the arquebus to his captain. I assume you will find better use for this than I could, Juan. The bronzed captain wave