Free Casca 19: The Samurai by Barry Sadler Page A

their minds, and the passes would be closed to him. He might, it was true, go around or come in from the south. But to do so would cost him more men than he could comfortably spare.
    There were at this time no alternatives. She had to concentrate on one day at a time. The farther north they went, the safer they were. Here in Suo Province they were in constant danger. The spies and scouts of Taira would be looking for her on all roads and paths. They knew she carried a message of great import that could change the course of the war. Just what it was, they did not know and would without the slightest hesitation kill thousands if need be to find out. That was all the torturers of Munemori no Taira, brother to Shigimori, could find out from her mother before she died. That was all she knew. It was a great sadness that her mother had not found the courage to take her own life when the soldiers of Taira came for her. She would have saved herself great pain and not have put her family in jeopardy. Yoshiko hoped that her uncle would be able to have proper funeral rites performed for her spirit so that it might rest.
     
    First light found the small party taking the ridge trail from Suo to Akia, then on to Bitchu where Yoshiko said they might find aid from a relative of her family. That would be welcome news for all. They were running short of everything. Food would be needed soon, and to go into any of the villages was to invite disaster. For Muramasa and Casca were certain that by now the Taira would be after them with a vengeance, and their descriptions, especially Casca's, would surely doom them if he was seen.
    To counter this as best he could, Casca took to wearing a scarf tied tightly about his head to conceal his hair and tried as much as possible to keep his features from casual view. He hid them under a wide brimmed straw hat he had picked up when a traveling farmer saw the party approach and ran away rather than meet them, leaving his hat behind.
    He and Muramasa each led one of the animals. Returning the better clothes they had taken from the dead to their packs, they tried to look as much like simple porters and servants as they could. Each kept his weapons close to hand, for they both felt that somewhere on the road, if their luck held true, they would have need of them again. Casca did regret having to leave the naginata behind at their last stop, but there was no way to conceal it among their goods. But they did have their bows if they had time to get them out and in use.
    Wishing they were able, even for a short time, to visit some of the cities they passed on the way, Casca reconciled himself to trying to remain as anonymous as possible. It wasn't easy. He was much larger and broader than most of the native population and would stand out in any crowd. He had heard the people of Chin refer to the inhabitants of these islands as dwarfs. That was not exactly true. There were some they'd met, as he had found among the samurai, who were taller and heavier boned. It was probably diet. As usual, nobles ate much better than the people who grew the food for them.
     
    Their first two days travel on Honshu were uneventful except for the whining of the maid who saw swords in every shadow. She wished fervently that she had stayed in her home fishing village and had married the old man who had asked her father for her. By now he would be dead and she would be the owner of two fine boats instead of on this terrible journey with these barbarians and savages who might ravish her and her mistress. Tears came to her eyes when she thought of the humiliation, but also a warming to her loins.
    Near noon they ran into their first stroke of bad luck – six men on foot wearing the colors of Taira. Only one was samurai, the others common soldiers with poor weapons and simple breastplates of lacquered wood for armor.
    Casca tried to shrink and make himself smaller as he moved closer to the rear of the horse with the maid mounted on it, his