Musashi: Bushido Code (113 page)

Kojirō snored on. The soft hum of insects, briefly interrupted as the man moved into position, came again across the dew-covered grass.

Minutes passed. Then the silence was broken by the clatter the man made as he whipped out his sword and jumped up onto the veranda.

He leapt toward Kojirō and cried, "Arrgh!" an instant before he clenched his teeth and struck.

There was a sharp hissing as a long black object descended heavily on his wrist, but the original force of his strike had been powerful. Instead of falling from his hand, his sword sank into the tatami, where Kojirō's body had been.

Like a fish darting away from a pole striking water, the intended victim had streaked to the wall. He now stood facing the intruder, the Drying Pole in one hand, its scabbard in the other.

"Who are you?" Kojirō's breathing was calm. Alert as always to the sounds of nature's creatures, to the falling of a dewdrop, he was unperturbed. "I-it-it's me!"

"'Me' doesn't tell me anything. I know you're a coward, attacking a man in his sleep. What's your name?"

"I am Yogorō, the only son of Obata Kagenori. You took advantage of my father when he was sick. And you spread gossip about him all over the city."

"I wasn't the one who spread the gossip. It was the gossipers—the people of Edo."

"Who was it who lured his students into a fight and killed them?"

"I did that, no doubt about it. I, Sasaki Kojirō. How can I help it if I'm better

than they? Stronger. Braver. More knowledgeable in the Art of War."

"How can you have the gall to say that when you called on Hangawara's

vermin to help you?"

With a snarl of disgust, Kojirō took a step forward. "If you want to hate me, go ahead! But any man who carries a personal grudge into a test of strength in the Art of War isn't even a coward. He's worse than that, more pitiable, more laughable. So once again I have to take the life of an Obata man. Are you resigned to that?"

No answer.

"I said, are you resigned to your fate?" He moved another step forward. As he did so, the light of the moon reflecting off the newly polished blade of his sword blinded Yogorō.

Kojirō stared at his prey as a starving man stares at a feast.

The Eagle

Kakubei regretted having allowed himself to be used shabbily and vowed to have nothing more to do with Kojirō. Yet deep down, he liked the man. What he didn't like was being caught between his master and his protégé. Then he began to rethink the matter.

"Maybe Kojirō's reaction proves how exceptional he is. The ordinary samurai would have jumped at the chance to be interviewed." The more he reflected on Kojirō's fit of pique, the more the rōnin's independent spirit appealed to him.

For the next three days Kakubei was on night duty. He did not see Kojirō until the morning of the fourth day, when he walked casually over to the young man's quarters.

After a short but awkward silence, he said, "I want to talk to you for a minute, Kojirō. Yesterday, when I was leaving, Lord Tadatoshi asked me about you. He said he'd see you. Why don't you drop in at the archery range and have a look at the Hosokawa technique?"

When Kojirō grinned without replying, Kakubei added, "I don't know why you insist on thinking it's demeaning. It's usual to interview a man before offering him an official position."

"I know, but supposing he rejects me, then what? I'd be a castoff, wouldn't I? I'm not so hard up that I have to go around peddling myself to the highest bidder."

"Then the fault is mine. I put it the wrong way. His lordship never meant to imply any such thing."

"Well, what answer did you give him?"

"None yet. But he seems a little impatient."

"Ha, ha. You've been very thoughtful, very helpful. I suppose I shouldn't put you in such a difficult position."

"Wouldn't you reconsider—go and call on him, just once?"

"All right, if it means so much to you," Kojirō said patronizingly, but Kakubei was nonetheless pleased.

"How about today?"

"So soon?"

"Yes."

"What time?"

"How about a little after noon? That's when he practices archery." "All right, I'll be there."

Kojir/div set about making elaborate preparations for the meeting. The kimono he chose was of excellent quality, and the
hakama
was made of imported fabric. Over the kimono he wore a formal vestlike garment of sheer silk, sleeveless but with stiff flaring shoulders. To complement his finery, he had the servants provide him with new zōri and a new basket hat.

"Is there a horse I can use?" he inquired.

"Yes. The master's spare horse, the white one, is at the shop at the bottom of the hill."

Failing to find the florist, Kojirō glanced toward the temple compound across the way, where a group of people was gathering around a corpse covered with reed matting. He went over to have a look.

They were discussing plans for burial with the local priest. The victim had no identifying possessions on him; no one knew who he was, only that he was young and of the samurai class. The blood around the deep gash extending from the tip of one shoulder to his waist was dried and black.

"I've seen him before. About four days ago, in the evening," said the florist,
^-
who went on talking excitedly until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

When he looked to see who it was, Kojirō said, "I'm told Kakubei's horse is kept at your place. Get him ready for me, please."

Bowing hastily, the florist asked perfunctorily, "Are you going out?" and hurried off.

He patted the dappled-gray steed on the neck as he led it out of his stable. "Quite a good horse," Kojirō remarked.

"Yes, indeed. A fine animal."

Once Kojirō was in the saddle, the florist beamed and said, "It's a good match."

Taking some money from his purse, Kojirō threw it to the man. "Use this for flowers and incense."

"Huh? Who for?"

"The dead man over there."

Beyond the temple gate, Kojirō cleared his throat and spat, as if to eject the bitter taste left by the sight of the corpse. But he was pursued by the feeling that the youth he had cut down with the Drying Pole had thrown aside the reed matting and was following him. "I did nothing he could hate me for," he told himself, and felt better for the thought.

As horse and rider moved along the Takanawa highroad under the boiling sun, townsmen and samurai alike stood aside to make way. Heads turned in admiration. Even on the streets of Edo, Kojirō cut an impressive figure, causing people to wonder who he was and where he came from.

At the Hosokawa residence, he turned the horse over to a servant and entered the house. Kakubei rushed to meet him. "My thanks for coming. It's just the right time too," he said, as though Kojirō were doing him a great personal favor. "Rest awhile. I'll tell his lordship you're here." Before doing so, he made sure the guest was provided with cool water, barley tea and a tobacco tray.

When a retainer came to show him to the archery range, Kojirō handed over his beloved Drying Pole and followed along wearing only his short sword.

Lord Tadatoshi had resolved to shoot a hundred arrows a day during the

summer months. A number of close retainers were always there, watching

each shot with bated breath and making themselves useful retrieving arrows. "Give me a towel," his lordship commanded, standing his bow beside him. Kneeling, Kakubei asked, "May I trouble you, sir?"

"What is it?"

"Sasaki Kojirō is here. I would appreciate your seeing him."

"Sasaki? Oh, yes."

He fitted an arrow to the bowstring, took an open stance, and raised his shooting arm above his eyebrows. Neither he nor any of the others so much as glanced in Kojirō's direction until the hundred shots were finished.

With a sigh Tadatoshi said, "Water. Bring me some water."

An attendant brought some from the well and poured it into a large wooden tub at Tadatoshi's feet. Letting the upper part of his kimono hang loose, he wiped off his chest and washed his feet. His men assisted by holding his sleeves, running to fetch more water and wiping off his back. There was nothing formal in their manner, nothing to suggest to an observer that this was a daimyō and his retinue.

Kojirō had supposed that Tadatoshi, a poet and an aesthete, the son of Lord Sansai and the grandson of Lord Yūsai, would be a man of aristocratic bearing, as refined in his conduct as the elegant courtiers of Kyoto. But his surprise did not show in his eyes as he watched.

Slipping his still damp feet into his zōri, Tadatoshi looked at Kakubei, who was waiting off to one side. With the air of one has suddenly recalled a promise, he said, "Now, Kakubei, I'll see your man." He had a stool brought and placed in the shade of a tent, where he sat down in front of a banner bearing his crest, a circle surrounded by eight smaller circles, representing the sun, moon and seven planets.

Beckoned by Kakubei, Kojirō came forward and knelt before Lord Tadatoshi. As soon as the formal greeting was completed, Tadatoshi invited Kojirō to sit on a stool, thus signifying that he was an honored guest.

"By your leave," said Kojirō, as he rose and took a seat facing Tadatoshi. "I've heard about you from Kakubei. I believe you were born in Iwakuni, weren't you?"

"That is correct, sir."

"Lord Kikkawa Hiroie of Iwakuni was well known as a wise and noble ruler. Were your ancestors retainers of his?"

"No, we never served the House of Kikkawa. I've been told we're descended from the Sasakis of Ōmi Province. After the fall of the last Ashikaga shōgun, my father seems to have retired to my mother's village."

After a few more questions concerning family and lineage, Lord Tadatoshi asked, "Will you be going into service for the first time?"

"I do not yet know whether I am going into service."

"I gathered from Kakubei you wish to serve the House of Hosokawa. What are your reasons?"

"I believe it is a house I would be willing to live and die for."

Tadatoshi seemed pleased with this answer. "And your style of fighting?"

"I call it the Ganryū Style."

"'Ganryū'?"

"It's a style I invented myself."

"Presumably it has antecedents."

"I studied the Tomita Style, and I had the benefit of lessons from Lord Katayama Hisayasu of Hōki, who in his old age retired to Iwakuni. I've also mastered many techniques on my own. I used to practice cutting down swallows on the wing."

"I see. I suppose the name Ganryū comes from the name of that river near where you were born?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'd like to see a demonstration." Tadatoshi looked around at the faces of his samurai. "Which one of you would like to take this man on?"

They had been watching the interview in silence, thinking that Kojirō was remarkably young to have acquired the reputation he had. Now all looked first at each other, then at Kojirō, whose flushed cheeks proclaimed his willingness to face any challenger.

"How about you, Okatani?"

"Yes, sir."

"You're always claiming the lance is superior to the sword. Now's your chance to prove it."

"I shall be glad to, if Sasaki is willing."

"By all means," Kojirō answered with alacrity. In his tone, which was polite but extremely cool, there was a hint of cruelty.

The samurai who had been sweeping the sand on the archery range and putting away the equipment assembled behind their master. Although weapons were as familiar to them as chopsticks, their experience had been primarily in the dōjō. The chance to witness, much less have, a real bout would occur only a few times throughout their lives. They would readily agree that a man-to-man fight was a greater challenge than going out on the battlefield, where it was sometimes possible for a man to pause and get his wind while his comrades fought on. In hand-to-hand combat, he had only himself to rely on, only his own alertness and strength from beginning to end. Either he won, or he was killed or maimed.

They watched Okatani Gorōji solemnly. Even among the lowest-ranking foot soldiers there were quite a few who were adept with the lance; Gorōji was generally conceded to be the best. He had not only been in battle but had practiced diligently and devised techniques of his own.

"Give me a few minutes," said Gorōji, bowing toward Tadatoshi and Kojirō before withdrawing to make his preparations. It pleased him that today, as on other days, he had on spotless underwear, in the tradition of the good samurai, who started each day with a smile and an uncertainty: by evening he might be a corpse.

After borrowing a three-foot wooden sword, Kojirō selected the ground for the match. His body seemed relaxed and open, the more so since he didn't hitch up his pleated
hakama.
His appearance was formidable; even his enemies would have had to admit that. There was an eaglelike air of valor about him, and his handsome profile was serenely confident.

Worried eyes began to turn toward the canopy behind which Gorōji was adjusting his clothing and equipment.

"What's taking him so long?" someone asked.

Gorōji was calmly wrapping a piece of damp cloth around the point of his lance, a weapon he had used to excellent effect on the battlefield. The shaft was nine feet long, and the tapering blade alone, at eight or nine inches, was the equivalent of a short sword.

"What are you doing?" called Kojirō. "If you're worried about hurting me, save yourself the trouble." Again, though the words were courteous, the implication was arrogant. "I don't mind if you leave it unwrapped." Looking sharply at him, Gorōji said, "Are you sure?"

"Perfectly."

Though neither Lord Tadatoshi nor his men spoke, their piercing eyes told Gorōji to go ahead. If the stranger had the gall to ask for it, why not run him through?

"In that case ..." Gorōji tore off the wrapping and advanced holding the lance midway along the shaft. "I'm happy to comply, but if I use a naked blade, I want you to use a real sword."

"This wooden one's fine."

"No; I can't agree to that."

"Certainly you wouldn't expect me, an outsider, to have the audacity to employ a real sword in the presence of his lordship."

"But—"

With a touch of impatience, Lord Tadatoshi said, "Go ahead, Okatani. Nobody will consider you cowardly for complying with the man's request." It was obvious Kojirō's attitude had affected him.

The two men, faces flushed with determination, exchanged greetings with their eyes. Gorōji made the first move, leaping to the side, but Kojirō, like a bird stuck to a limed fowling pole, slipped under the lance and struck directly at his chest. Lacking time to thrust, the lancer whirled sideways and tried to jab the nape of Kojirō's neck with the butt of his weapon. With a resounding crack, the lance flew back up into the air, as Kojirō's sword bit into Gorōji's ribs, which had been exposed by the momentum of the rising lance. Gorōji slid to one side, then leapt away, but the attack continued without letup. With no time to catch his breath, he jumped aside again, then again and again. The first few dodges were successful, but he was like a peregrine falcon trying to fend off an eagle. Hounded by the raging sword, the lance shaft snapped in two. At the same instant, Gorōji emitted a cry; it sounded as though his soul was being torn from his body.

The brief battle was ended. Kojirō had hoped to take on four or five men, but Tadatoshi said that he had seen enough.

When Kakubei came home that evening, Kojirō asked him, "Did I go a little too far? In front of his lordship, I mean."

"No, it was a magnificent performance." Kakubei felt rather ill at ease. Now that he could assess the full extent of Kojirō's ability, he felt like a man who had hugged a tiny bird to his chest, only to see it grow up to be an eagle.