Musashi: Bushido Code (126 page)

"That's Iori, isn't it?"

"I believe it is."

Iori turned toward the voices and the two human figures standing out blackly against the evening sky.

"Sensei!"
cried Iori, stumbling as he ran toward the man on horseback. "It's you!" Beside himself with joy, he clung to the stirrup and looked up to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

"What happened?" asked Musashi. "What are you doing out here alone?" Musashi's face seemed to be very thin—was it the moonlight?—but the warmth of the voice was what Iori had hungered for weeks to hear.

"I thought I'd go to Chichibu—" The saddle caught Iori's eye. "Why, this is the horse I was riding!"

Gonnosuke, laughing, said, "Is it yours?"

"Yes."

"We didn't know who it belonged to. It was wandering around near the Iruma River, so I regarded it as a gift from heaven to Musashi."

"The god of the plain must have sent the horse to meet you," said Iori with perfect sincerity.

"Your horse, you say? That saddle couldn't belong to a samurai getting less than five thousand bushels."

"Well, it's really Shinzō's."

Dismounting, Musashi asked, "You've been staying at his house, then?"

"Yes. Takuan took me there."

"What about our new house?"

"It's finished."

"Good. We can go back there."

"Sensei . . ."

"Yes."

"You're so thin. Why's that?"

"I've spent quite a bit of time meditating."

"How did you get out of prison?"

"You can hear about it from Gonnosuke later. For now, let's say the gods were on my side."

"You don't have to worry anymore, Iori," said Gonnosuke. "No one has any doubts about his innocence."

Relieved, Iori became quite talkative, telling them about his meeting with Jōtarō and Jōtarō's going to Edo. When he came to the "repulsive old woman" who had showed up at the Hōjō mansion, he remembered Kojirō's letter.

"Oh, I forgot something important," he exclaimed, and handed the letter to Musashi.

"A letter from Kojirō?" Surprised, he held it in his hand for a moment as though it were a missive from a long-lost friend. "Where did you see him?" he asked.

"At the village of Nobidome. That mean old woman was with him. He said he was going to Buzen."

"Oh?"

"He was with a lot of Hosokawa samurai....
Sensei,
you better be on your toes and not take any chances."

Musashi stuffed the unopened letter into his kimono and nodded.

Not certain his meaning had got through, Iori said, "That Kojirō's very strong, isn't he? Has he got something against you?" He related to Musashi every detail of his encounter with the enemy.

When they reached the cabin, Iori went down to the bottom of the hill to get food, and Gonnosuke gathered wood and fetched water.

They sat down around the fire burning brightly in the hearth, and savored the pleasure of seeing each other safe and sound again. It was then that Iori noticed the fresh scars and bruises on Musashi's arms and neck.

"How did you get all those marks?" he asked. "You're covered with them." "It's nothing important. Did you feed the horse?"

"Yes, sir."

"Tomorrow you must return it."

Early the next morning, Iori mounted the horse and galloped off for a short ride before breakfast. When the sun was above the horizon, he brought the horse to a halt and gaped in awe.

Racing back to the cabin, he yelled,
"Sensei,
get up. Quick! It's like when we saw it from the mountain in Chichibu. The sun—it's huge, and it looks like it's going to roll over the plain. Get up, Gonnosuke."

"Good morning," said Musashi from the grove, where he was taking a stroll. Too excited to think about breakfast, Iori said, "I'm going now," and rode off.

Musashi watched as boy and horse took on the semblance of a crow at the very center of the sun. The black spot grew smaller and smaller, until at last it was absorbed by the great flaming orb.

The Gateway to Glory

Before sitting down to breakfast, the gateman raked the garden, set fire to the leaves and opened the gate. Shinzō had been up for some time too. He started his day as he always did, by reading a selection from the Chinese classics. This was followed by sword practice.

From the well, where he'd gone to wash, he walked to the stable to have a look at the horses.

"Groom," he called.

"Yes, sir."

"Isn't the chestnut roan back yet?"

"No, but it isn't the horse I'm worried about so much as the boy."

"Don't worry about Iori. He grew up in the country. He can take care of himself."

The elderly gateman came up to Shinzō and informed him that some men had come to see him and were waiting in the garden.

Walking toward the house, Shinzō waved, and as he came up to them, one man said, "It's been a long time."

"It's good to see you all together again," said Shinzō.

"How's your health?"

"Splendid, as you can see."

"We heard you'd been wounded."

"It didn't amount to much. What brings you here at this early hour?" "There's a little matter we'd like to talk over with you."

The five former students of Obata Kagenori, all handsome sons of banner guards or Confucian scholars, exchanged significant glances.

"Let's go over there," said Shinzō, indicating a maple-covered hillock in one corner of the garden.

Coming to the gateman's fire, they stopped and stood around it.

Shinzō put his hand to his neck, then noticing the others were looking at him, said, "When it's cold, it does ache a little." They took turns examining the scar.

"I heard that was the work of Sasaki Kojirō."

There was a short, tense silence.

"As it happens, our purpose in coming today was to talk about Kojirō. Yesterday we learned he was the man who killed Yogorō."

"I suspected that. Do you have any proof?"

"Circumstantial, but convincing. Yogorō's body was found at the bottom of Isarago Hill, behind the temple. Kakubei's house is halfway up the hill. Kojirō was living there."

"Hmm. I wouldn't be surprised if Yogorō went alone to see Kojirō."

"We're pretty sure that's what happened. Three or four nights before the

body was found, a florist saw a man answering to Yogorō's description climbing the hill. Kojirō must've killed him and carried the body down the hill." The six men stared solemnly at each other, their eyes reflecting their silent

anger.

Shinzō, his face reddened by the fire, asked, "Is that all?"

"No. We wanted to talk about the future of the House of Obata and how we're going to take care of Kojirō."

Shinzō stood lost in thought. The man who had spoken first said, "You may have heard this already. Kojirō's become a vassal of Lord Hosokawa Tadatoshi. He's on his way to Buzen now, and he hasn't paid for what he did—ruin our master's reputation, kill his only son and heir and slaughter our comrades."

"Shinzō," urged a third man, "as disciples of Obata Kagenori, we have to do something."

Bits of white ash drifted up from the fire. One man caught a whiff of smoke and coughed.

After listening to them for a few minutes, as they expressed their bitter indignation, Shinzō said, "I'm one of the victims, of course, and I have a plan of my own. But tell me just what you have in mind."

"We're thinking of lodging a protest with Lord Hosokawa. We'll tell him the whole story and ask that Kojirō be turned over to us."

"Then what?"

"We'll see his head up on a pike in front of the graves of our teacher and his son."

"You might be able to do that if he were turned over to you tied up. But the Hosokawas aren't likely to do that. Even though he's only recently been engaged, he is their vassal, and it's his skill they're interested in. Your complaint would only be taken as further proof of his ability. What daimyō is going to turn over one of his vassals to anyone without compelling reasons?"

"Then we'll have to take extreme measures."

"Such as?"

"The group he's traveling with is fairly large. We could easily catch up with them. With you as our leader, the six of us and other loyal disciples—"

"Are you suggesting attacking him?"

"Yes. Go with us, Shinzō."

"I don't like it."

"Aren't you the one who's been chosen to carry on the Obata name?" "Admitting an enemy is better than we are is difficult," Shinzō said thoughtfully. "Still, objectively, Kojirō's the better swordsman. Even with dozens of men, I'm afraid we'd only end up adding to our shame."

"You're going to stand by and do nothing?" asked one man indignantly. "No, I resent Kojirō's getting away with what he's done as much as any of you. But I'm willing to wait until the time is right."

"You're awfully patient," one man said sarcastically.

"Aren't you evading your responsibility?" asked another.

When Shinzō made no reply, the five men decided further talk was useless and departed in haste.

On the way they passed Iori, who had dismounted at the gate and was leading the horse to the stable. After tying the animal up, he saw Shinzō by the fire and went to join him.

"Oh, so you're back," said Shinzō.

"Yes," said Iori. "Say, did you have a quarrel?"

"Why do you ask?"

"When I came in just now, I passed some samurai. They seemed angry. They were saying strange things, like 'I overestimated him,' and 'He's a weakling."'

"That doesn't mean anything," said Shinzō with a little laugh. "Come closer and warm yourself."

"Who needs a fire? I rode all the way from Musashino without stopping." "You seem in good spirits. Where did you stay last night?"

"At the house.
Sensei's
back!"

"I heard he was or soon would be."

"You already knew?"

"Takuan told me. Iori, have you heard the news?"

"What news?"

"Your teacher's going to be a great man. It's a wonderful stroke of luck for him. He's going to be one of the shōgun's teachers. He'll be the founder of his own school of swordsmanship."

"Do you mean that?"

"Does it make you happy?"

"Of course—happier than anything. Can I borrow the horse?"

"Now? You just came back."

"I'll go and tell him."

"You don't have to do that. Before the day's out, the Council of Elders will issue a formal summons. As soon as we receive word, I'll go myself and tell Musashi."

"Will he come here?"

"Yes," Shinzō assured him. With a last look at the dying fire, he started toward the house, cheered a bit by Iori but worried about the fate of his angry friends.

The summons was not long in coming. A messenger arrived about two hours later with a letter for Takuan and an order for Musashi to appear the following day at the Reception Pavilion just outside Wadakura Gate. After his appointment was confirmed, he would be received in audience by the shōgun.

When Shinzō, with an attendant, reached the house on Musashino Plain, he found Musashi sitting in the sun with a kitten on his lap, talking with Gonnosuke.

Words were few. Shinzo said only, "I've come for you."

"Thanks," said Musashi. "I was about to call you to thank you for looking after Iori."

Without further ado, he mounted the horse Shinzō had brought along for him and they returned to Ushigome.

That evening, as he sat with Takuan and Lord Ujikatsu, he felt immensely fortunate to be able to regard these men, as well as Shinzō, as true friends.

In the morning, Musashi awoke to find clothes suitable to the occasion already laid out for him, together with such things as a fan and tissue paper. And at breakfast, Lord Ujikatsu said to him, "It's a great day. You should rejoice." The meal included rice with red beans, a whole sea bream for each person and other dishes served only on festive occasions. The menu was very much as it would have been for a coming-of-age ceremony in the Hōjō family.

Musashi wanted to refuse the appointment. In Chichibu, he had reconsidered his two years in Hōtengahara and his ambition to put his swordsmanship to work in the interest of good government. Now the belief that Edo, not to speak of the rest of the country, was ready for the type of ideal government he envisioned seemed less tenable. The sanctity of the Way and the application of the principles of swordsmanship for the sake of peace seemed no more than lofty ideals, at least until either Edo or Osaka succeeded in consolidating its rule over the whole country. And he hadn't made up his mind on another point: if the final battle were to come tomorrow, should he support the Eastern Army or the Western Army? Or should he leave the world behind and survive on mountain grasses until peace was restored?

Even on this morning, he could not escape the feeling that if he contented himself with a high position, his pursuit of the Way would be aborted.

But he couldn't refuse. What finally swayed him was the trust in him shown by his supporters. There was no way to say no; he could not break faith with Takuan, his old friend and stern mentor, and Lord Ujikatsu, now a valued acquaintance.

Dressed in formal attire and riding a splendid horse with a beautiful saddle, he set forth on a brilliantly sunlit road for the castle, each step supposedly carrying him closer to the gateway to glory.

In front of the Reception Pavilion was a graveled courtyard and, on a high post, a sign saying: "Dismount." As Musashi got off the horse, an official and one of the stablemen came forward.

"My name is Miyamoto Musashi," he announced in a formal tone of voice. "I have come in response to a summons issued yesterday by the Council of Elders. May I request that you show me to the official in charge of the waiting room?" He had come alone, as was expected of him. Another official came and escorted him to the waiting room, where he was advised to stay "until there is word from within."

It was a large room, more than twenty mats in size, known as the "Orchid Room," after the paintings of birds and spring orchids on the walls and door panels. Before long, a servant came with tea and cakes, but that was Musashi's only contact with human beings for nearly half a day. The little birds in the pictures did not sing, the orchids gave off no fragrance. Musashi began to yawn.

He assumed that the ruddy-faced, white-haired man who eventually appeared was one of the ministers. Perhaps in his prime he had been a distinguished warrior.

"You're Musashi, are you?" Lord Sakai Tadakatsu said lightly as he sat down. "Forgive us for making you wait so long." Though Lord of Kawagoe and a well-known daimyō, in the shōgun's castle he was merely another official, attended by only one samurai. His manner suggested he cared little about pomp or protocol.

Musashi bowed to the floor and remained in this position as he announced in stiffly formal language: "My name is Miyamoto Musashi. I am a rōnin from Mimasaka, the son of Munisai, who was descended from the Shimmen family. I have come to the castle gate in compliance with the shōgun's will, as stated in the summons sent to me."

Tadakatsu nodded several times, causing his double chin to shake. "Many thanks for your trouble," he said, but then went on in an apologetic vein: "With regard to your appointment to official position, for which you were recommended by the priest Takuan and Lord Hōjō of Awa, there was, last evening, a sudden change in the shōgun's plans. As a result, you will not be engaged. Since several of us were not satisfied with this decision, the Council of Elders reviewed this matter today. In fact, we have been discussing it until just now. We took the question to the shōgun again. I am sorry to say that we were unable to alter this latest decision."

There was sympathy in his eyes, and he seemed for a moment to be searching for words of consolation. "In our fleeting world," he went on, "this sort of thing happens all the time. You mustn't let yourself be annoyed by what people say about you. In matters having to do with official appointments, it is often difficult to tell whether one has been fortunate or unfortunate."

Musashi, still bowing, said, "Yes, sir."

Tadakatsu's words were music to his ears. Gratitude swelled from the bottom of his heart, filling his whole body.

"I understand the decision, sir. I am grateful to you." The words came out naturally. Musashi was not concerned with face, nor was he being ironic. He felt that a being greater than the shōgun had just bestowed on him an appointment much higher than that of official tutor. The word of the gods had been vouchsafed to him.

"He took it well," thought Tadakatsu, gazing rather pointedly at Musashi. Aloud he said, "Perhaps it is presumptuous of me, but I've been told you have artistic interests unusual in a samurai. I would like to show an example of your work to the shōgun. Replying to the malicious gossip of ordinary people is unimportant. I think it would be more befitting a noble samurai to rise above the babble of the crowd and leave behind a wordless testimony to the purity of his heart. A work of art would be appropriate, don't you think?"

While Musashi was still pondering the meaning of this, Tadakatsu said, "I hope I will see you again," and left the room.

Musashi raised his head and sat up straight. It was a couple of minutes before he grasped the meaning of Tadakatsu's words—that is, there was no need to answer malicious gossip, but he had to give evidence of his character. If he could do this, his honor would be unsullied, and the men who had recommended him would suffer no loss of face.

Musashi's eye fell on a six-panel screen in one corner of the room. It was invitingly blank. Summoning a young samurai from the guard room, he explained that Lord Sakai had asked him to draw a picture and requested materials with which to comply—brushes, ink of good quality, some aged cinnabar and a bit of blue pigment.