Musashi: Bushido Code (125 page)

He said that though there had been no delay in acting on the order for Daizō's arrest, Daizō had escaped after closing up his establishment in Narai, taking his entire household with him. A search had brought to light a substantial supply of arms and ammunition, together with a few documents that had escaped destruction. The papers included letters to and from Toyotomi supporters in Osaka. The envoy had arranged for shipment of the evidence to the shōgun's capital and then rushed back to Edo by fast horse.

The ministers felt like fishermen who had cast a big net and not caught so much as a single minnow.

The very next day, a retainer of Lord Sakai, who was a member of the Council of Elders, made a report of a different sort: "In accordance with your lordship's instructions, Miyamoto Musashi has been released from prison. He was handed over to a man named Musō Gonnosuke, to whom we explained in detail how the misunderstanding came about."

Lord Sakai promptly informed Takuan, who said lightly, "Very good of you."

"Please ask your friend Musashi not to think too badly of us," said Lord Sakai apologetically, uncomfortably aware of the error made in the territory under his jurisdiction.

One of the problems solved most quickly was that of Daizō's base of operations in Edo. Officials under the Commissioner of Edo descended on the pawnshop in Shibaura and in one swift move confiscated everything, both property and secret documents. In the process, the unlucky Akemi was taken into custody, though she was completely in the dark regarding her patron's treacherous plans.

Received in audience by the shōgun one evening, Takuan related events as he knew them and told him how everything had turned out. He ended by saying, "Please do not forget for a moment that there are many more Daizōs of Narai in this world."

Hidetada accepted the warning with a vigorous nod.

"If you attempt to search out all such men and bring them to justice," Takuan continued, "all your time and effort will be consumed in coping with insurgents. You won't be able to carry out the great work expected of you as your father's successor."

The shōgun perceived the troth of Takuan's words and took them to heart. "Let the punishments be light," he directed. "Since you reported the conspiracy, I leave it to you to decide the penalties."

After expressing his heartfelt thanks, Takuan said, "Quite without intending to, I see I've been here at the castle for more than a month. It's time to leave now. I'll go to Koyagyū in Yamato to visit Lord Sekishūsai. Then I'll return to the Daitokuji, traveling by way of the Senshū district."

Mention of Sekishūsai seemed to evoke a pleasant memory for Hidetada. "How is old Yagyū's health?" he asked.

"Unfortunately, I'm told that Lord Munenori thinks the end is near."

Hidetada recalled a time when he had been at the Shōkokuji encampment and Sekishūsai had been received by Ieyasu. Hidetada had been a child at the time, and Sekishūsai's manly bearing had made a deep impression on him.

Takuan broke the silence. "There is one other matter," he said. "In consultation with the Council of Elders and with their permission, Lord Hōjō of Awa and I have recommended a samurai by the name of Miyamoto Musashi to be a tutor in your excellency's household. I hope that you will look favorably upon this recommendation."

"I've been informed of that. It's said that the House of Hosokawa is interested in him, which is very much to his favor. I have decided it would be all right to appoint one more tutor."

It was a day or two before Takuan left the castle, and in the time he acquired a new disciple. Going to the woodshed behind the inspector's office, he had one of the kitchen helpers open the door for him, letting the light fall on a freshly shaven head.

Temporarily blinded, the novice, who thought himself a condemned man, slowly lifted his downcast eyes and said, "Ah!"

"Come," said Takuan.

Wearing the priest's robe Takuan had sent him, Matahachi stood up unsteadily on legs that felt as if they had begun to decay. Takuan gently put his arm around him and helped him out of the shed.

The day of retribution had arrived. Behind his eyelids, closed in resignation, Matahachi could see the reed mat on which he would be forced to kneel before the executioner raised his sword. Apparently he had forgotten that traitors faced an ignominious death by hanging. Tears trickled down his clean-shaven cheeks.

"Can you walk?" asked Takuan.

Matahachi thought he was replying; in fact, no sound came out. He was barely conscious of going through the castle gates and crossing the bridges spanning the inner and outer moats. Trudging along dolefully beside Takuan, he was the perfect image of the proverbial sheep being led to slaughter. "Hail to the Buddha Amida, hail to the Buddha Amida...." Silently he repeated the invocation to the Buddha of Eternal Light.

Matahachi squinted and looked beyond the outer moat at stately daimyō mansions. Farther to the east lay Hibiya Village; beyond, the streets of the downtown district were visible.

The floating world called out to him anew, and along with his yearning for it, fresh tears came to his eyes. He closed them and rapidly repeated, "Hail to the Buddha Amida, hail to the Buddha Amida...." The supplication became first audible, then louder and louder, faster and faster.

"Hurry up," Takuan said sternly.

From the moat, they turned toward Ōtemachi and cut diagonally across a large vacant lot. Matahachi felt he had walked a thousand miles already. Would the road simply go on like this all the way to hell, daylight gradually giving way to utter darkness?

"Wait here," commanded Takuan. They were in the middle of a flat open area; to the left, muddy water came down the moat from Tokiwa Bridge.

Directly across the street was an earthen wall, only recently covered with white plaster. Beyond this was the stockade of the new prison and a group of black buildings, which looked like ordinary town houses but was actually the official residence of the Commissioner of Edo.

His legs quaking, Matahachi could no longer support himself. He plopped down on the ground. Somewhere in the grass, the cry of a quail suggested the pathway to the land of the dead.

Run for it? His feet were not bound, nor were his hands. But no, he thought, he couldn't get away with it. If the shōgun decided he was worth finding, there would not be a leaf, a blade of grass, to hide behind.

In his heart, he cried out to his mother, who at this moment seemed very dear to him. If only he had never left her side, he wouldn't be here now. He recalled other women too: Okō, Akemi, Otsū, others he had been fond of or dallied with. But his mother was the only woman he genuinely longed to see. If only he were given the opportunity to go on living, he was certain he would never again go against her will, never again be an unfilial son.

He felt a damp chill on the back of his neck. He looked up at three wild geese winging their way toward the bay and envied them.

The urge to take flight was like an itch. And why not? He had nothing to lose. If he were caught, he would be no worse off than he was now. With a desperate look in his eyes, he glanced toward the gate across the street. No sign of Takuan.

He jumped up and started to run.

"Stop!"

The loud voice alone was enough to break his spirit. He looked around and saw one of the commissioner's executioners. The man stepped forward and brought his long staff down on Matahachi's shoulder, felling him with one blow, then pinned him down with the staff, as a child might pin down a frog with a stick.

When Takuan came out of the commissioner's residence, he was accompanied by several guards, including a captain. They led out another prisoner, who was tied up with a rope.

The captain selected the place where the punishment would be carried out, and two freshly woven reed mats were spread on the ground.

"Shall we get on with it?" he asked Takuan, who nodded his assent.

As captain and priest sat down on stools to watch, the executioner shouted, "Stand up!" and lifted his staff. Matahachi dragged himself to his feet but was too weak to walk. The executioner seized him angrily by the back of his robe and half dragged him to one of the mats.

He sat. His head dropped. He could no longer hear the quail. Though he was conscious of voices, they sounded indistinct, as though separated from him by a wall.

Hearing his name whispered, he looked up in surprise.

"Akemi!" he gasped. "What are you doing here?"

She was kneeling on the other mat.

"No talking!" Two of the guards made use of their staffs to separate them.

The captain stood up and began reading the official judgments and sentences in stern, dignified tones. Akemi held back her tears, but Matahachi wept shamelessly. The captain finished, sat down and shouted, "Strike."

Two low-ranking guards carrying long switches of split bamboo pranced into position and began systematically lashing the prisoners across the back.

"One. Two. Three," they counted.

Matahachi moaned. Akemi, head bowed and face ashen, clamped her teeth together with all her might in an effort to bear the pain.

"Seven. Eight. Nine." The switches frayed; smoke seemed to rise from their tips.

A few passersby stopped at the edge of the lot to watch.

"What's going on?"

"Two prisoners being punished, it looks like."

"A hundred lashes, probably."

"They're not even to fifty yet."

"Must hurt."

A guard approached and startled them by thumping the ground sharply with his staff. "Off with you. You're not allowed to stand here."

The gawkers moved to a safer distance and, looking back, saw that the punishment was over. The guards discarded their switches, which were now only bundles of flabby strands, and wiped the sweat off their faces.

Takuan stood up. The captain was already on his feet. They exchanged amenities, and the captain led his men back toward the commissioner's compound. Takuan stood still for several minutes, looking at the bowed figures on the mats. He said nothing before walking away.

The shōgun had bestowed a number of gifts on him; these he had donated to various Zen temples in the city. Yet the gossips of Edo were soon at it again. According to which rumor one heard, he was an ambitious priest who meddled in politics. Or one the Tokugawas had persuaded to spy on the Osaka faction. Or a "black-robed" conspirator.

The rumors meant nothing to Takuan. Though he cared very much about the welfare of the nation, it made little difference to him whether the gaudy flowers of the time—the castles at Edo and Osaka—blossomed or fell.

A few thin rays of sunlight filtered through the clouds; the voice of the quail was audible again. Neither of the forms moved for quite some time, though neither had completely lost consciousness.

Finally Akemi mumbled, "Matahachi, look—water." Before them were two wooden pails of water, each with a dipper, placed there as evidence that the Office of the Commissioner was not entirely heartless.

After gulping down several mouthfuls, Akemi offered the dipper to Matahachi. When he failed to respond, she asked, "What's the matter? Don't you want any?"

Slowly he reached out and took the dipper. Once it touched his lips, he drank ravenously.

"Matahachi, have you become a priest?"

"Huh? ... Is that all?"

"Is what all?"

"Is the punishment over? They haven't cut off our heads yet."

"They weren't supposed to. Didn't you hear the man read the sentences?" "What did he say?"

"He said we were to be banished from Edo."

"I'm alive!" he shrieked. Almost insane with joy, he jumped up and walked away without so much as a backward glance at Akemi.

She put her hands to her head and began to fuss with her hair. Then she adjusted her kimono and tightened her obi. "Shameless," she muttered through crooked lips. Matahachi was only a speck on the horizon.

The Challenge

Iori was bored after only a few days at the Hōjō residence. There was nothing to do but play.

"When's Takuan coming back?" he asked Shinzō one morning, really wanting to know what had happened to Musashi.

"My father is still at the castle, so I suppose Takuan is too," said Shinzō. "They'll be back sooner or later. Why don't you amuse yourself with the horses?"

Iori raced to the stable and threw a lacquer and mother-of-pearl saddle on his favorite steed. He had ridden the horse both the day before and the day before that without telling Shinzō. Receiving permission made him feel proud. He mounted and tore out the back gate at full gallop.

The houses of daimyō, the paths through the fields, the rice paddies, the forests—the sights came at him in rapid succession and were left behind just as rapidly. Bright red snake gourds and russet grass proclaimed that autumn was at its height. The Chichibu Range rose beyond Musashino Plain. "He's in those mountains somewhere," thought Iori. He envisioned his beloved master in jail, and the tears on his cheeks made the wind feel soothingly cool.

Why not go see Musashi? Without giving the matter further thought, he whipped the horse, and horse and rider surged through the silvery sea of fluffy eulalia.

After covering a mile at breakneck speed, he reined in the horse, thinking: "Maybe he's gone back to the house."

He found the new house finished but unlived in. At the nearest paddy, he called out to the farmers harvesting their rice, "Has anyone seen my teacher?" They shook their heads sadly in reply.

Then it had to be Chichibu. On horseback, he could make the journey in a day.

After a time he came to the village of Nobidome. The entrance to the village was virtually blocked by samurai's mounts, packhorses, traveling chests, palanquins and between forty and fifty samurai having their lunch. He turned around to look for a way around the village.

Three or four samurai's attendants came running after him.

"Hey, you rascal, wait!"

"What're you calling me?" Iori asked angrily.

"Off the horse!" They were on either side of him now.

"Why? I don't even know you."

"Just keep your mouth shut and get off."

"No! You can't make me!"

Before he knew what was happening, one of the men lifted Iori's right leg high in the air, tumbling him off the other side of the horse.

"Someone wants to see you. Come along with me." He took hold of Iori's collar and pulled him toward a roadside teahouse.

Osugi stood outside, a cane in one hand. With a wave of her other hand, she dismissed the attendants. She was dressed for traveling and in the company of all those samurai. Iori didn't know what to make of it, nor did he have time to give it much thought.

"Brat!" said Osugi, then she whacked him across the shoulder with her cane. He went through the motions of taking a stance, though he knew he was hopelessly outnumbered. "Musashi has only the best of disciples. Ha! I hear you're one of them."

"I ... I wouldn't say things like that if I were you."

"Oh, wouldn't you now?"

"I ... I don't have any business with you."

"Oh, yes you do. You're going to tell us a few things. Who sent you to follow us?"

"Follow you?" Iori asked with a snort of disdain.

"How dare you talk that way!" the old woman screeched. "Hasn't Musashi taught you any manners?"

"I don't need any lessons from you. I'm leaving."

"No you aren't!" cried Osugi as she caught him on the shin with her cane. "O-w-w!" Iori collapsed to the ground.

Attendants grabbed the boy and marched him over to the miller's shop by the village gate, where sat a samurai of obviously high rank. He had finished eating and was sipping hot water. Seeing Iori's predicament, he broke into a grin.

"Dangerous," thought the boy, as his eyes met Kojirō's.

With a look of triumph, Osugi thrust out her chin and said, "See! Just as I thought—it was Iori. What's Musashi got up his sleeve now? Who else could have sent him to follow us?"

"Umm," mumbled Kojirō, nodding and dismissing his attendants, one of whom asked if he wanted the boy tied up.

Kojirō smiled and shook his head. Held by Kojirō's eyes, Iori was unable to stand straight, let alone run away.

Kojirō said, "You heard what she said. Is it true?"

"No; I just came out for a ride. I wasn't following you or anybody else."

"Hmm, could be. If Musashi's any kind of a samurai, he wouldn't resort to cheap tricks." Then he began thinking out loud. "On the other hand, if he heard we'd suddenly left on a trip with a contingent of Hosokawa samurai, he might get suspicious and send someone to check on our movements. It would only be natural."

The change in Kojirō's circumstances was striking. Instead of the forelock, his head was shaved in proper samurai fashion. And in place of the loud clothing he used to wear, he had on a solid black kimono, which together with his rustic
hakama
made a most conservative impression. The Drying Pole he now carried at his side. His hope of becoming a vassal in the House of Hosokawa had been realized—not for the five thousand bushels he had wanted but for a stipend about half that large.

The present entourage, under the command of Kakubei, was an advance party on the way to Buzen to make things ready for Hosokawa Tadatoshi's return. With his father's age foremost in his mind, he had submitted his request to the shogunate quite some time earlier. Permission had finally been granted, an indication that the shogunate had no qualms about the Hosokawas' loyalty.

Osugi had asked to come along because she felt it imperative to return home. She had not relinquished her position as head of the family, yet she had been absent for nearly ten years. Uncle Gon might have looked after things for her if he were still alive. As it was, she suspected there were a number of family matters awaiting her attention.

They would be going through Osaka, where she had left Uncle Gon's ashes. She would be able to carry them to Mimasaka and hold a memorial service. It had been a long time, too, since she'd held a service for her neglected ancestors. She could return to her quest after she had straightened out affairs at home.

Recently she'd felt pleased with herself, believing she had struck a strong blow against Musashi. On first hearing of his recommendation from Kojirō, she had fallen into a state of extreme depression. If Musashi were to receive the appointment, he would be that much farther from her reach.

She'd taken it upon herself to prevent this disaster to the shogunate and the nation from happening. She hadn't seen Takuan, but she visited the .House of Yagyū as well as the House of Hōjō, denouncing Musashi, claiming that it would be a dangerous folly to raise him to a high station. Not content with that, she reiterated her calumnies at the house of every government minister whose servants allowed her through the gate.

Kojirō, of course, made no effort to stop her, but he offered no special encouragement either, knowing that she wouldn't rest until she had done a thorough job. And thorough it was: she even wrote malicious letters about Musashi's past and threw them into the compounds of the Commissioner of Edo and the members of the Council of Elders. Before she was done, even Kojirō wondered if she hadn't gone too far.

Kojirō encouraged Osugi to make the journey, believing it would be better for him if she was back in the country where she could do a minimum of harm. If Osugi had any regret, it was only that Matahachi was not going with her, for she was still convinced that someday he would see the light and return to her.

Iori had no way of knowing the circumstances. Unable to flee, loath to cry for fear it would discredit Musashi, he felt trapped among enemies. Deliberately, Kojirō stared directly into the boy's eyes and to his surprise found his stare returned. Not once did Iori's eyes waver.

"Do you have brush and ink?" Kojirō asked Osugi.

"Yes, but the ink's all dried up. Why?"

"I want to write a letter. The signs Yajibei's men put up didn't draw Musashi out, and I don't know where he is. Iori is the best messenger one could ask for. I think I should send Musashi a note on the occasion of my departure from Edo."

"What are you going to write?"

"Nothing elaborate. I'll tell him to practice his swordsmanship and visit me in Buzen one of these days. I'll let him know I'm willing to wait the rest of my life. He can come whenever he has the necessary confidence."

Osugi threw up her hands in horror. "How can you talk like that? The rest of your life, indeed! I haven't got that much time to wait. I must see Musashi dead within the next two or three years at most."

"Leave it to me. I'll take care of your problem at the same time I take care of mine."

"Can't you see I'm getting old? It has to be done while I'm still alive."

"If you look after yourself, you'll be around when my invincible sword does its work."

Kojirō took the writing kit and walked to a nearby stream, where he wet his finger to moisten the ink stick. Still standing, he took some paper from his kimono. He wrote quickly, but both his calligraphy and his composition were those of an expert.

"You can use this for paste," said Osugi, taking a few grains of cooked rice and placing them on a leaf. Kojirō mashed them between his fingers, spread the stuff along the edge of the letter and sealed it. On the back, he wrote: "From Sasaki Ganryū, Retainer to the House of Hosokawa."

"Come here, you. I'm not going to hurt you. I want you to take this letter to Musashi. Make sure he gets it, because it's important."

Iori hung back a minute but then grunted his assent and snatched the letter from Kojirō's hand. "What's written in it?"

"Just what I told the old lady."

"May I look at it?"

"You aren't to break the seal."

"If you wrote something insulting, I won't take it."

"There's nothing rude in it. I asked him to remember our promise for the future and told him I look forward to seeing him again, perhaps in Buzen, if he should happen to come there."

"What do you mean by 'seeing him again'?"

"I mean meeting him on the boundary between life and death." Kojirō's cheeks reddened slightly.

Stuffing the letter into his kimono, Iori said, "All right, I'll deliver it," and ran off. About thirty yards away, he stopped, turned and stuck out his tongue at Osugi. "Crazy old witch!" he shouted.

"Wh-what?" She was ready to go after him, but Kojirō took her arm and held her back.

"Let it pass," he said with a rueful smile. "He's only a child." Then to Iori he shouted, "Don't you have anything better to say?"

"No . . ." Tears of anger rose from his chest. "You'll be sorry, though. There isn't any way Musashi could lose to the likes of you."

"Just like him, aren't you? Never say die. But I like the way you stick up for him. If he ever dies, come to me. I'll put you to work sweeping the garden or something."

Not knowing Kojirō was only teasing, Iori was insulted to the marrow. He picked up a rock. When he raised his arm to throw it, Kojirō fixed his eyes on him.

"Don't do that," he said in a calm but forceful voice.

Iori, feeling the eyes had hit him like two bullets, dropped the stone and ran. He ran on and on until, completely exhausted, he collapsed in the middle of Musashino Plain.

He sat there for two hours thinking about the man he looked up to as his teacher. Though he knew Musashi had many enemies, he thought of him as a great man and wanted to become a great man himself. Believing he had to do something to fulfill his obligations to his master and ensure his safety, he resolved to develop his own strength as quickly as possible.

Then the memory of the terrifying light in Kojirō's eyes came back to haunt him. Wondering whether Musashi could defeat a man that strong, he pessimistically decided even his master would have to study and practice harder. He got to his feet.

The white mist rolling down from the mountains spread over the plain. Deciding he should go on to Chichibu and deliver Kojirō's letter, he suddenly remembered the horse. Fearing bandits might have got hold of it, he searched frantically, calling and whistling at every other step.

He seemed to hear the sound of hooves coming from the direction of what he took to be a pond. He ran toward it. But there was no horse, no pond. The shimmering mist receded into the distance.

Seeing a moving black object, he approached it. A wild boar stopped rooting for food and charged dangerously close to him. The boar was swallowed up in the reeds and in its wake the mist formed a white line, looking as if it had been spread by a magician's wand. As he gazed at it, he became conscious of gurgling water. Going closer, he saw the reflection of the moon in a rocky brook.

He had always been sensitive to the mysteries of the open plain. He firmly believed that the tiniest ladybird possessed the spiritual power of the gods. In his eyes, nothing was without a soul, neither fluttering leaves nor beckoning water nor driving wind. Surrounded now by nature, he experienced the tremulous loneliness of autumn nearly gone, the sad wistfulness that must be felt by grasses and insects and water.

He sobbed so hard his shoulders shook—sweet tears, not bitter ones. If some being other than a human—a star perhaps, or the spirit of the plain—had asked him why he was weeping, he wouldn't have been able to say. If the inquiring spirit had persisted, soothing and coaxing him, he might finally have said, "I often cry when I'm out in the open. I always have the feeling the house in Hōtengahara is somewhere near."

Crying was refreshment for his soul. After he had cried to his heart's content, heaven and earth would comfort him. When the tears were dry, his spirit would come forth from the clouds clean and fresh.