Toshirō bowed deeply, his forehead touching the polished wooden floorboards of the dojo. He remembered them well from the hours that he and the other kendōka had spent cleaning and polishing them between classes. Even now, almost a decade after he had last set foot in the dojo, he could remember the odours of polish and detergent. "Ikeda-hanshi," Toshirō began. "I wish to beg a favour from you."

Ikeda, the head of the dojo, sighed in resignation. "Please - Kikuchi-san. Get up. I am not your sensei any more. You are no longer in my school."

Toshirō sat up, placing his hands on his thighs. No matter what the old man said, Toshirō still had a great respect for him. "I know. But this is ... ." He took a deep breath. "I wish to be your pupil again!"

Ikeda raised a shaggy eyebrow in disbelief. "After all these years? Why now?"

"It is a long story." Toshirō looked the old man in his eyes. "But I need you to teach me how to handle a sword again. Please, Ikeda-hanshi." Toshirō bowed again until he could feel the cool of the dojo floor against his forehead.

"Is it?" Ikeda put his hand to his mouth and tapped his front teeth with his index finger. "Very well. This way. Come and tell me about it." He turned his back to Toshirō and padded across the dojo floor, towards the door that led to his office. Toshirō got to his feet and followed the old kendo master.

Ikeda's office was a small room - barely more than a cubbyhole. The centre of the room was taken up by a low table with a thick, cloth skirt around it. A few mementoes of Ikeda's past had been set on the shelves that lined the office walls: photographs, certificates and the like. However, even these personal touches did not relieve the starkness of the room. Ikeda sat down at the table, his back to the single window, and tucked his legs under the table. Toshirō hesitated. Ikeda slapped his hand down on the top of the table. "I said come in. Sit down!" Toshirō bowed, then did as he was told.

"So." Ikeda steepled his hands, his fingers a few millimetres from the end of his nose, and peered over the top of his glasses. "Your story? What do you have to tell me?"

Toshirō shifted his weight and tried to avoid the older man's gaze. "I didn't know if you would believe me, Ikeda-hanshi."

"But you came anyway."

"I did. Yes." Toshirō paused to collect his thoughts. What should he say? What would persuade the old kendo master to help him? "You know the Nihonbashi?"

Ikeda nodded. "Of course."

"A few nights ago, I was heading for the metro station at the northern end of the bridge when somebody grabbed me. A woman."

"A woman?"

"I know. I didn't know what to do. At first I thought she was after money - like those panhandlers around the stations. But she told me that she had been waiting for me for almost four centuries, and that now I was here we were going to have a duel. I mean - a duel? On the Nihonbashi?" Toshirō glanced at Ikeda, trying to gauge the old man's reaction. However, Ikeda's face was impassive, expressionless.

"And you believed her?"

"Toshirō shook his head. "Not at first. I mean, who would? She sounded crazy. I tried to get around her, but she wouldn't let me. She just kept going on at me. I even told her that I would call the police, but that didn't work. She just didn't care."

Ikeda raised a hand to silence his old student. "So, what changed your mind?"

"I don't know. It was the way that she just kept on at me." Toshirō looked down at the table top, rather than at the old man. "This is ridiculous, Ikeda-hanshi. I apologise for wasting your time." He started to get up.

"Wait!" Toshirō stopped. Ikeda leaned towards him. "This woman - her belief was sincere?" Toshirō nodded. Ikeda continued. "And this convinced you?" He tapped his index finger against his front teeth. "Tell me, Kikuchi-san, are you familiar with the history of the Nihonbashi?"

"I know it used to be one of the main roads into Edo."

"It was. The bridge was a sign that you had arrived in the capital, and that you had to obey the laws of the shogun. One of the laws was that duelling was forbidden. But this didn't apply outside the city. Samurai who wanted to settle their disputes would arrange to meet on the Nihonbashi." Ikeda was silent for a moment. "But why did she pick you?"

"I don't know. The woman said that if I was to fight her, then it would wipe out the dishonour on my family. But, if I didn't, then my name would be cursed forever." Toshirō stopped. "Are you saying - ?"

"Perhaps." Ikeda eased himself out from under the table, disentangling his legs. "There is only one way for me to be sure." He stood up and rubbed his knees, wincing as he did so. "Take me to see this woman."

* * *

The Nihonbashi was just as Toshirō remembered it. The bridge crossed the Nihonbashi river; its deck suspended on grey stone arches that ran between the banks of the canal. Above the bridge, the twin carriageways of the Metropolitan Expressway followed the course of the river into the distance. Tall buildings surrounded the plazas at the ends of the bridge, their bulk allowing only glimpses of blue and white between the glass and steel. Once upon a time the Nihonbashi had been famous for its views of Mount Fuji. Now it lay in a near-perpetual twilight.

Kikuchi Toshirō and Ikeda climbed the steps that led from the ticket hall of the Mitskoshimae station at the northern end of the bridge. A solitary cherry tree grew by the entrance to the station, its leaves pale and sickly from the lack of sunlight and the ever-present exhaust fumes. Ikeda glanced around the plaza. "So - where is this mysterious woman?"

Toshirō pointed to what looked like a heap of rags that had been discarded by an ornate balustrade. "There."

Ikeda looked closely at the heap. Deep within the layers of faded and torn fabric, he could see a woman's dirt-etched face outlined by straggly wisps of grey hair. There was something about the beggar's eyes that reminded Ikeda of a hawk - the look of a predator, watching from afar. Ikeda nodded to Toshirō. "Follow me, Kikuchi-san."

As the two men approached the beggar, she turned to look at them and reached out for a long, cloth-wrapped bundle that lay on the pavement beside her. Toshirō hesitated. He remembered what the woman had said to him the last time they had met; what she had threatened to do to him. Ikeda, however, kept going. He stopped two metres from the woman and bowed. "May I sit beside you for a moment?"

The woman nodded. "Dozo. Of course." Ikeda was struck by her accent and her tone of voice. They were those of a woman who was used to being obeyed.

"Thank you." Ikeda lowered himself gently to the pavement and rested his back against the stonework of the bridge. "It's good to rest my bones," he said to no-one on particular.

The old woman's eyes flicked to Ikeda, then back to Toshirō. "Only for a time," she said. "Inactivity rots the spirit. Immobility rots the body."

"I agree." Ikeda nodded. "I agree." He watched the traffic stream slowly across the bridge. "But at my age I feel the need to rest more often."

"At your age?" There was a hint of amusement in the woman's voice.

"I'm 67 years old."

The woman laughed. "Would you believe that I was born during the reign of the Emperor Reign? Now you can tell me how ridiculous that sounds, that I am a bad liar."

"On the contrary," Ikeda replied. "Only person of great spirit could live that long - and you are obviously such a person."

The woman's attention was now focussed on Ikeda. "It is rare to meet someone as perceptive as you seem to be. Tell me about yourself."

"My name is Ikeda Genjirō. I am a kendōka. Over many years I have learnt to recognise the spirit of a warrior. Now, how should I address you?"

"I am Hachisuka Hara. My husband was a samurai, sworn to serve the Emperor Higashiyama."

The rumbling of the traffic on the expressway grew louder. Ikeda waited for it to subside before speaking again. "So - why are you here?"

"It was a matter of honour," Hachisuka replied. "I challenged a man to a duel. He was a boorish man - unfit to wear a sword - who thought nothing of insulting my family. So, I challenged him to a duel here, upon the Nihonbashi."

Ikeda nodded in admiration. "And what happened?"

"He never came. He sent no message, no excuse."

"I understand. Obviously a despicable man. So - why are you still here?"

"I swore that I would wait for him." Hachisuka glared at Ikeda. "You would expect me to walk away? To renege on my oath?"

"No. That would be unthinkable." Ikeded a pointed at Toshirō. "But what has all this got to do with that man?"

Hachisuka turned towards Toshirō, narrowing her eyes in a mixture of anger and disgust. "Him? He is a descendant of the man who refused to meet me. The acts of his ancestor are like a stain upon his soul."

"Why him? That man must have had many descendants?"

"Perhaps. But he is the first one to have crossed my path in all the years I have been waiting here."

Ikeda looked at Toshirō in a new light. "And what do you intend to do to him?"

"I intend to fulfil my oath at last."

"I see. Please. Excuse me." Ikeda grabbed hold of the balustrade, using it to lever himself up from the pavement. "Kikuchi-san! Come here!" Toshirō just shook his head. Ikeda repeated his command with more force than before. "Kikuchi-san!"

The tone of Ikeda's voice stirred some vestige of obedience in Toshirō. "At once, Ikeda-hanshi!" Toshirō swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat and trudged towards the two. Hachisuka rose to her feet, keeping both hands on the long parcel that seemed to be her sole possession.

Ikeda reached out, his arm a barrier between the two others. "You wish to duel this person?" he asked Hachisuka, his voice only just loud enough to be heard above the noise of the traffic. "He is no swordsman - I can attest to that. He does not have the spirit. When he was my student, he was a mediocre pupil at best." As Ikeda continued to list his faults, Toshirō lowered his head so that the old man could not see his shameful blushing. Finally, Ikeda concluded his litany, finishing with a, "Well?"

Hachisuka sighed and lowered her hands to her side. "It would not be an honourable fight."

"Then you will forgive this one for the sin of his ancestor?"

"I would like to, but I cannot. I have waited so long for this moment - and so!" In a single, fluid movement Hachisuka grabbed for her package, pulling the ends away from each other to reveal the blade of a sword. As she flourished the weapon, Toshirō froze in terror, unable to resist the prospect of his death. Fortunately, age had not dulled Ikeda's reactions. The old kendōka sidestepped the beggar's attack and placed himself as a human shield in front of Toshirō.

"No!" The blade of Hachisuka's sword stopped just short of Ikeda's torso. "No," Ikeda said once more. "This is not a duel. This is murder."

"And what is the alternative?" Hachisuka demanded. "Shall I wait another three hundred years for satisfaction?"

"I will find a solution. Trust me."

Hachisuka's sword wavered. "Do I have your word, Ikeda-san?"

"The word of a kenshi."

Hachisuka withdrew her sword, returning it to its battered sheath. "Very well," she said. "I shall be here." She turned her back on the two men and returned to her place at the side of the Nihonbashi.

Ikeda pulled at Toshirō's sleeve. The younger man blinked, amazed that he was still alive. "Come," Ikeda said. "We have work to do."

* * *

In the dojo, Toshirō stood, his limbs trembling with the effort of maintaining the first stance of the kata. He had not practiced kendo in a long time, and he could feel the weight of the armour on his shoulders, the claustrophobia from the padded helmet. The bamboo stave that Ikeda-hanshi had given him wavered in his hands. Toshirō wanted to let the weapon drop, but every time he lowered it - CRACK!

Ikeda's bokken slapped against Toshirō's weapon. "Again!" Toshirō groaned and tried to resume his stance. When they had returned to the dojo, Ikeda had set about a training programme. After three days of near-constant practice, driving for perfection, Toshirō was tired. Ikeda looked his pupil up and down. "Enough," the old man sighed. "You may rest." Toshirō knelt on the floor in front of Ikeda, placing his practice sword before him.

"You have not improved in the years since you left my dojo," Ikeda continued. "You have become lazy. Weak." The softness of the old man's voice did not make his words sting any less. "The only comfort I can take is that your disgrace will not last long. And nor," he muttered, "will mine." Ikeda raised his voice. "Why did you come to me?"

"For your help, Ikeda-hanshi," Toshirō replied. "You always forgave my mistakes and encouraged me."

"And that was my mistake!" Ikeda snorted in return. "I should never have let you into this dojo! But - now you are here, you are my responsibility. Now, resume the kata."

The training session went on for another hour before Ikeda called a halt. "I am tired, and so are you. Come back tomorrow, and I shall see if I can teach you enough to face your opponent with honour."

Toshirō bowed before Ikeda. "Thank you for the honour of your teaching, Ikeda-hanshi." The ritual complete, Toshirō made his way to the changing room to take off the practice armour and get ready to return home. Carefully he removed the pieces of the boōgu. The men was first. Toshirō wiped the inside of the helm clean and placed it carefully in its niche. Next were the dō and the tare. The kote was placed on its stand, with the tare folded carefully beneath it. The ritual of arranging these brought Toshirō a sense of calm. Finally he set the kote in their proper place, the gauntlets crossed over each other. Toshirō then stepped back and started to bow.

"Stop!" Ikeda's voice brought Toshirō out of his reverie. "Kikuchi-san - describe your state of mind!"

"I ... ." Toshirō hesitated.

Ikeda muttered something in disgust. "Do not think about it, Kikuchi-san! Now - tell me what you were feeling."

"Calm," Toshirō said. "And centred. Or I was until - ."

Ikeda dismissed with a wave of his hand whatever Toshirō was going to say next. "How easy would it be for you to achieve that state of mind again?"

"I think - ." Toshirō caught sight of Ikeda's disgust, and took a deep breath. "Yes. I can, Ikeda-hanshi."

"Good!" Ikeda exclaimed. "Then there may be hope for you yet."

* * * * * * *

When I was writing this story, I was influenced by three things. First was the tale of the Tea Samurai - a story about a courtly samurai who is taught how to face death properly. The second was the history of the Nihonbashi - a bridge that marked the boundary of ancient Edo. Samurai used to meet to duel there, as duelling was forbidden with the city itself. The last source of inspiration was a story about the homeless who congregate around the metro stations in Tokyo, living lives of quiet dignity as best they can. The three combined in my mind to create a story of a samurai waiting for a duel for centuries.

There might be a longer story in this. One day I might even write it.