Free Casca 19: The Samurai by Barry Sadler Page B

hand unobtrusively moving near the concealed handle of his sword among their packs. Muramasa did the same. Acting startled and frightened by the presence of soldiers, he bowed his way to the rear of his horse where Well Drinker lay in wait.
    Casca had a feeling that they might have a remote chance to get away if Muramasa kept the sword in its sheath. Every time he drew the thing, killing started. He wished he knew what it was about the blade that had frightened old Hama -san and, driven him out of their camp so fast. That there was something, he had no doubt, but Muramasa had not spoken to him of it, and he didn't know how to ask properly.
    The samurai in charge of the patrol was a broad shouldered, bow legged man with good, if not expensive, robes. He raised his hand in front of them, calling both the travelers and his soldiers to a halt.
    Striding forward a few paces in front of his men, he tried to peer under the broad brimmed tasseled hat of the woman on horseback. His eyes missed nothing. He took his time before addressing her, noting the manner in which she held her body, the carefully tended nails of her hands. Everything about her said this was a lady of quality. He was looking for a lady with another older woman and two men who were fierce fighters. All looked to be such, except the men were not so very dangerous looking to his eyes. They kowtowed and backed away, bowing in subservience as was their due, something no true warrior would do. But the lady was the mystery.
    Unless they were on some errand requiring secrecy, they would have traveled the main roads, which were much safer and patrolled by the warriors of Taira who kept the order and drove the bandits into these very hills. That the woman was here was most suspicious. But there could be another answer. He hoped for such. The woman beneath the tasseled hat was very beautiful.
    Casca could see the glint of lust in the shave pated samurai's eyes, which was why he hoped once more that wishful thinking would overrule intelligence.
    With the automatic contempt his class held for those beneath them, he ignored the two porters, giving them hardly a glance. That they were obviously cowed was normal. No mere serf would dare to raise his eyes to a samurai without permission. These two did everything except urinate down their legs. That he also took as his due, for he was indeed a most fearsome and powerful warrior.
    Peasants should be frightened of him. Twice he had performed tsujugiri in the streets of his city.
    This he did not do randomly but waited for one who offended him by his manners or lack of them. Only then did he test the new sword blade on the body of the offender. "Greeting, lady. I am Jochiku Murakami, captain of guards, and I care for those who travel these trails and roads. May I inquire as to your name and destination?" He bowed politely, keeping his spine straight to show his martial spirit, his attention locked on the dark eyes with such incredibly long lashes that looked at him with certain interest. A chill of iced fire raced down from his stomach into his loins. It had been long since he had pillowed with a lady of quality, especially one with such bold eyes.
    It was obvious that he impressed her greatly by the manner in which she moved her head so that the nape of her long graceful neck was best exposed to, his view when she returned his bow from her saddle. His pulse raced as he came closer to her sword hand touching the reins of her horse. His soldiers stayed back. They would not come closer until they were bidden. He had always insisted on great discipline among his lessers. All should know their place in the structure of life at all times.
    He was prepared to make the gentle opening moves of offering his protection for part of her journey when the spell of her eyes was broken by a hysterical sob from the maid. The tension was too much for her. Her bowels let loose as the samurai neared her lady. She couldn't control herself. A wail started