Musashi: Bushido Code (128 page)

As Otsū listened, she thought of Jōtarō and was seized by a sense of loneliness. She was twenty-five now; he must be nineteen or twenty. Looking around at the plum blossoms—not yet in full bloom—she couldn't help but feel that spring had already passed for her.

"Let's go back, Ushinosuke," she said suddenly.

He gave her a questioning look but obediently turned the ox around. "Stop!" shouted a loud male voice.

Two other rōnin had joined the one from the salt shop. All three came and stood around the ox with their arms folded.

"What do you want?" asked Ushinosuke.

The men kept their eyes fixed on Otsū.

"I see what you mean," said one.

"She's a beauty, isn't she?"

"I've seen her somewhere before," said the third man. "In Kyoto, I think." "She must be from Kyoto, certainly not from any of the villages around here."

"I don't remember whether it was at the Yoshioka School or somewhere else, but I know I've seen her."

"Were you at the Yoshioka School?"

"For three years, after Sekigahara."

"If you've got any business with us, say what it is!" Ushinosuke said angrily. "We want to get back before dark."

One of the rōnin glared at him, as if noticing him for the first time. "You're from Araki, aren't you? One of the charcoal-makers?"

"Yes. So what?"

"We don't need you. Run along home."

"That's just what I'm going to do."

He pulled the rope taut, and one man gave him a look that would have had most boys trembling with fright.

"Get out of the way," said Ushinosuke.

"This lady's going with us."

"Going where?"

"What difference does it make to you? Give me that rope."

"No!"

"Say, he doesn't think I mean it."

The other two men, squaring their shoulders and glowering, moved in on Ushinosuke. One presented a fist as hard as a pine knot in front of his chin.

Otsū clutched the ox's back. The tilt of Ushinosuke's eyebrows said very clearly something was going to happen.

"Oh, no, stop!" she cried, hoping to keep the boy from doing anything rash.

But the plaintive note in her voice just spurred him to action. He lashed out swiftly with one leg, caught the man in front of him, sending him staggering backward. No sooner was Ushinosuke's foot in contact with the ground again than he rammed his head into the gut of the man on his left. Simultaneously he got a grip on the man's sward and pulled it from its scabbard. Then he began swinging.

He moved with lightning quickness. He whirled and seemed to be attacking in every direction at the same time, all three opponents at once, with equal force. Whether he was acting brilliantly out of instinct or out of childish recklessness, his unorthodox tactics took the rōnin by surprise.

The reverse swing of the sword drove forcefully into the chest of one man. Otsū cried out, but her voice was drowned by the scream of the wounded man. He fell toward the ox, a geyser of blood spurting into the animal's face. Terrified, the ox let out an indescribable shriek. Just then, Ushinosuke's sword cut deeply into its rump. With another shriek, the ox set off at a near gallop.

The other two rōnin rushed at Ushinosuke, who was leaping nimbly from rock to rock in the stream bed. "I didn't do anything wrong! It was you!" he shouted.

Realizing he was out of their reach, the two rōnin started after the ox. Ushinosuke jumped back onto the road and took after them, shouting, "Running away? You running away?"

One man stopped and half turned.

"You little bastard!"

"Leave him till later!" shouted the other man.

The ox, blind with fear, left the valley road and ran up a low hill, traveled a short distance along the crest and plunged down the other side. In a very short time, it covered a considerable distance, reaching a point not far from the Yagyū fief.

Otsū, her eyes shut in resignation, managed to keep from being thrown by clinging to the packsaddle. She could hear the voices of the people they were passing but was too stunned to utter a cry for help. Not that it would have done any good. None of the people commenting on the spectacle had the courage to stop the demented beast.

When they were almost to Hannya Plain, a man came from a side road into the middle of the main road, which, though very narrow, was the Kasagi highroad. He had a letter case slung from his shoulder and appeared to be a servant of some sort.

People were shouting, "Watch out! Get out of the way!" but he walked on, right in the path of the ox.

Then there was a terrible cracking sound.

"He's been gored!"

"The idiot!"

But it wasn't as the bystanders first thought. The sound they'd heard was not that of the ox striking the man but of the man landing a stunning blow on the side of the animal's head. The ox lifted its heavy neck sideways, turned halfway around and started back the other way. It hadn't gone ten feet before it came to a dead halt, saliva streaming from its mouth, its whole body shaking.

"Get down quick," the man said to Otsū.

Onlookers crowded around excitedly, staring at the man's foot, which was firmly planted on the rope.

Once she was safely on the ground, Otsū bowed to her rescuer, though she was still too dazed to know where she was or what she was doing.

"Why should a gentle animal like this go mad?" asked the man, as he led the ox to the side of the road and tied it to a tree. Catching sight of the blood on the animal's legs, he said, "What's this, now. Why, it's been cut—with a sword!"

While he was examining the wound and muttering to himself, Kimura Sukekurō pushed through the ring of people and sent them on their way.

"Aren't you Abbot Inshun's attendant?" he asked, even before he'd had a chance to catch his breath.

"How fortunate to meet you here, sir. I have a letter for you from the abbot. If you don't mind, I'd like to ask you to read it immediately." He took the letter from the case and handed it to Sukekurō.

"For me?" Sukekurō asked with surprise. Having ascertained there was no mistake, he opened it and read: "Regarding the samurai at Tsukigase, I have, since our conversation yesterday, verified that they are not Lord Tōdō's men. They are riffraff, rōnin expelled from the cities, who have holed up there for the winter. I hasten to inform you of this unfortunate error on my part."

"Thank you," said Sukekurō. "This agrees with what I've learned from another source. Tell the abbot I am much relieved and trust that he is too."

"Forgive me for delivering the letter in the middle of the road. I'll convey your message to the abbot. Good-bye."

"Wait a minute. How long have you been at the Hōzōin?"

"Not long."

"What's your name?"

"I'm called Torazō."

"I wonder," mumbled Sukekurō, scrutinizing the man's face. "Are you by any chance Hamada Toranosuke?"

"No."

"I've never met Hamada, but there's a man at the castle who insists Hamada's now serving as Inshun's attendant."

"Yes, sir."

"Is it a case of mistaken identity?"

Torazō, red in the face, lowered his voice. "Actually, I am Hamada. I've come to the Hōzōin for reasons of my own. To avoid further disgrace to my teacher and greater shame to myself, I'd like to keep my identity secret. If you don't mind . . ."

"Don't worry. I had no intention of prying into your affairs."

"I'm sure you've heard about Tadaaki. His abandoning his school and retiring to the mountains was due to a mistake of mine. I've given up my status. Doing menial tasks at the temple will be good discipline. I didn't give the priests my real name. It's all very embarrassing."

"The outcome of Tadaaki's fight with Kojirō is no secret. Kojirō told everyone he met between Edo and Buzen. I take it you've resolved to clear your teacher's name."

"One of these days ... I'll see you again, sir." Torazō took his leave swiftly, as though unable to endure another moment.

Hemp Seed

Hyōgo was growing concerned. After going to Otsū's room with a letter from Takuan in his hand, he'd searched for her all over the castle grounds, more and more urgently as the hours passed.

The letter, dated the tenth month of the previous year but inexplicably delayed, told of Musashi's pending appointment as an instructor to the shōgun. Takuan had asked that Otsū come to the capital as soon as possible, since Musashi would soon need a house as well as "someone to look after it." Hyōgo couldn't wait to see her face light up.

Not finding her, he finally went to question the guard at the gate and was told men were out looking for her. Hyōgo took a deep breath, thinking how unlike Otsū it was to cause people to worry, how unlike her not to leave word. She rarely acted impulsively, even in the smallest matters.

Before he began to imagine the worst, however, news came that they were back, Otsū with Sukekurō, and Ushinosuke with the men sent to Tsukigase. The boy, apologizing to everyone for no one knew what, was obviously in a hurry to be on his way.

"Where do you think you're going?" asked one of the attendants.

"I've got to get back to Araki. My mother will worry if I don't."

"If you try to go back now," said Sukekurō, "those rōnin will get you, and it's not likely they'd let you go alive. You can stay here tonight and go home in the morning."

Ushinosuke mumbled something vaguely acquiescent and was told to go to a wood storehouse in the outer encirclement, where the apprentice samurai slept.

Beckoning to Otsū, Hyōgo took her aside and told her what Takuan had written. He wasn't surprised when she said, "I'll leave in the morning," a deep blush revealing her feelings.

Hyōgo then reminded her of Munenori's coming visit and suggested she return to Edo with him, though he knew quite well what her answer would be. She was in no mood to wait two more days, much less two more months. He made another attempt, saying that if she waited until after the funeral service, she could travel with him as far as Nagoya, since he'd been invited to become a vassal of Lord Tokugawa of Owari. When she again demurred, he told her how much the idea of her making the long journey alone displeased him. In every town and inn along the way she would encounter inconveniences, if not actual danger.

She smiled. "You seem to forget. I'm used to traveling. There's nothing for you to worry about."

That evening, at a modest farewell party, everyone expressed his affection for Otsū, and the next morning, which was bright and clear, family and servants gathered at the front gate to see her off.

Sukekurō sent a man to fetch Ushinosuke, thinking that Otsū could ride his ox as far as Uji. When the man returned and reported the boy had gone home the night before after all, Sukekurō ordered a horse to be brought.

Otsū, feeling she was of too low a status to be so favored, refused the offer, but Hyōgo insisted. The horse, a dapple gray, was led by an apprentice samurai down the gentle slope to the outer gate.

Hyōgo went partway, then stopped. He couldn't deny it. At times he envied Musashi, as he would have envied any man whom Otsū loved. That her heart belonged to another did not diminish his affection for her. She'd been a delightful companion on the trip down from Edo, and in the subsequent weeks and months he had marveled at the devotion with which she had cared for his grandfather. Though deeper than ever, his love for her was selfless. Sekishūsai had instructed him to deliver her to Musashi safely; Hyōgo intended to do just that. It wasn't his nature to covet another man's good fortune nor to think of depriving him of it. He could not think of any act as being apart from the Way of the Samurai; carrying out his grandfather's wish would in itself have been an expression of his love.

He was lost in reverie when Otsū turned and bowed her thanks to her well-wishers. As she set off, she brushed against some plum blossoms. Unconsciously watching the petals fall, Hyōgo could almost smell the fragrance. He felt he was seeing her for the last time and took comfort in a silent prayer for her future life. He stood and stared as she disappeared from sight.

"Sir."

Hyōgo turned around and a smile came slowly to his face. "Ushinosuke. Well, well. I hear you went home last night after I told you not to."

"Yes, sir; my mother . . ." He was still at an age when mention of separation from his mother brought him to the verge of tears.

"That's all right. It's good for a boy to take care of his mother. But how did you get by those rōnin at Tsukigase?"

"Oh, that was easy."

"Was it, now?"

The boy smiled. "They weren't there. They heard Otsū was from the castle, so they were afraid of being attacked. I guess they must've gone to the other side of the mountain."

"Ha, ha. We don't have to worry about them anymore, do we? Have you had breakfast?"

"No," said Ushinosuke, slightly embarrassed. "I got up early to dig some wild potatoes for Master Kimura. If you like them, I'll bring you some too." "Thank you."

"Do you know where Otsū is?"

"She just left for Edo."

"Edo? . . ." Hesitantly he said, "I wonder if she asked you or Master Kimura what I wanted her to."

"And what was that?"

"I've been hoping you'd let me become a samurai's attendant."

"You're still a little too young for that. Maybe when you're older."

"But I want to learn swordsmanship. Won't you teach me, please. I have to learn while my mother's still alive."

"Have you been studying under someone?"

"No, but I've practiced using my wooden sword on trees and animals." "That's a good way to start. When you get a little older, you can come and join me in Nagoya. I'm going there to live soon."

"That's way off in Owari, isn't it? I can't go so far away, not while my mother's still alive."

Hyōgo, not unmoved, said, "Come with me." Ushinosuke followed along silently. "We'll go to the dōjō. I'll see if you have the natural ability to become a swordsman."

"The dōjō?" Ushinosuke wondered if he was dreaming. Since early childhood, he'd regarded the ancient Yagyū dōjō as symbolizing everything he aspired to in the world. Though Sukekurō had said he could enter, he had not done so yet. But now, to be invited inside by a member of the family!

"Rinse your feet."

"Yes, sir." Ushinosuke went to a small pond near the entrance and very carefully washed his feet, taking care to remove the dirt from under his toenails.

Once inside, he felt small and insignificant. The beams and rafters were old and massive, the floor polished to a sheen he could see his reflection in. Even Hyōgo's voice when he said, "Get a sword," sounded different.

Ushinosuke selected a black-oak sword from among the weapons hanging on one wall. Hyōgo took one too, and with the point directed toward the floor, walked to the middle of the room.

"Are you ready?" he asked coldly.

"Yes," said Ushinosuke, raising his weapon to chest level.

Hyōgo opened his stance slightly on the diagonal. Ushinosuke was puffed up like a hedgehog. His eyebrows were raised, his face was set in a fierce frown, and his blood raced. When Hyōgo signaled with his eyes that he was about to attack, Ushinosuke grunted loudly. Feet pounding the floor, Hyōgo advanced rapidly and struck laterally at Ushinosuke's waist.

"Not yet!" shouted the boy. As though kicking the floor away from him, he leaped high in the air, clearing Hyōgo's shoulder. Hyōgo reached out with his left hand and lightly pushed the boy's feet upward. Ushinosuke did a somersault and landed behind Hyōgo. He was up in a split second, running to retrieve his sword.

"That's enough," said Hyōgo.

"No; once more!"

Grabbing his sword, Ushinosuke held it high over his head with both hands and flew like an eagle toward Hyōgo. Hyōgo's weapon, aimed straight at him, stopped him dead in his tracks. He saw the look in Hyōgo's eyes and his own filled with tears.

"This boy has spirit," thought Hyōgo, but he pretended to be angry. "You're fighting dirty," he shouted. "You jumped over my shoulder."

Ushinosuke did not know what to say to that.

"You don't understand your status—taking liberties with your betters! Sit down, right there." The .boy knelt and put his hands out in front of him to bow in apology. As he came toward him, Hyōgo dropped the wooden sword and drew his own weapon. "I'll kill you now. Don't bother to scream."

"K-k-kill me?"

"Stick out your neck. For a samurai,
nothing
is more important than abiding by the rules of proper conduct. Even if you are only a farm boy, what you did is unforgivable."

"You're going to kill me just for doing something rude?"

"That's right."

After looking up at the samurai for a moment, Ushinosuke, resignation in his eyes, lifted his hands in the direction of his village and said, "Mother, I'm going to become part of the soil here at the castle. I know how sad you'll feel. Forgive me for not being a good son." Then he obediently extended his neck.

Hyōgo laughed and put his sword back in its scabbard. Patting Ushinosuke on the back, he said, "You don't think I'd really kill a boy like you, do you?"

"You weren't serious?"

"No."

"You said proper conduct is important. Is it all right for a samurai to play jokes like that?"

"It wasn't a joke. If you're going to train to become a samurai, I have to know what you're made of."

"I thought you meant it," said Ushinosuke, his breathing returning to normal.

"You told me you hadn't had lessons," said Hyōgo. "But when I forced you to the edge of the room, you jumped over my shoulder. Not many students, even with three or four years of training, could execute that ploy."

"I never studied with anyone, though."

"It's nothing to hide. You must have had a teacher, and a good one. Who was he?"

The boy thought for a moment, then said, "Oh, I remember how I learned that."

"Who taught you?"

"It wasn't a human being."

"A goblin maybe?"

"No, a hemp seed."

"What?"

"A hemp seed."

"How could you learn from a hemp seed?"

"Well, way up in the mountains there are some of those fighters—you know, the ones who seem to disappear right in front of your eyes. I watched them train a couple of times."

"You mean the
ninja,
don't you? It must have been the Iga group you saw. But what does that have to do with a hemp seed?"

"Well, after hemp's planted in the spring, it doesn't take long before a little sprout comes up."

"Yes?"

"You jump over it. Every day you practice jumping back and forth. When it gets warmer, the sprout grows fast—nothing else grows as fast—so you have to jump higher every day. If you don't practice every day, it's not long before the hemp is so high you can't jump over it."

"I see."

"I did it last year, and the year before that. From spring till fall."

Sukekurō came into the dōjō just then and said, "Hyōgo, here's another letter from Edo."

After Hyōgo read it, he said, "Otsū couldn't have gone very far, could she?" "Not more than five miles, probably. Has something come up?"

"Yes. Takuan says Musashi's appointment has been canceled. They seem to

have doubts about his character. I don't think we should let Otsū go on to Edo

without telling her."

"I'll go."

"No. I'll go myself."

With a nod to Ushinosuke, Hyōgo left the dōjō and went directly to the stable.

He was halfway to Uji when he began to have second thoughts. Musashi's not receiving the appointment would make no difference to Otsū; she was thinking of the man himself, not his status. Even if Hyōgo managed to persuade her to stay a while longer in Koyagyū, she would no doubt want to go on to Edo. Why spoil her journey by telling her the bad news?

He turned back toward Koyagyū and slowed down to a trot. Though he appeared to be at peace with the world, a fierce battle raged in his heart. If only he could see Otsū once more! While he had to admit to himself this was the real reason for going after her, he would not have admitted it to anyone else.

Hyōgo tried to rein in his emotions. Warriors had weak moments, foolish moments, like everybody else. Still, his duty, that of every samurai, was clear: to persevere until he reached a state of stoic balance. Once he had crossed the barrier of illusion, his soul would be light and free, his eyes open to the green willows around him, to every blade of grass. Love was not the only emotion capable of firing a samurai's heart. His was another world. In an age hungry for young men of talent, this was no time to be distracted by a flower along the wayside. What was important, as Hyōgo saw it, was to be in the right place to ride the wave of the times.

"Quite a crowd, isn't it?" Hyōgo remarked lightheartedly.

"Yes; Nara doesn't have many days as fine as this," replied Sukekurō. "It's like an outing."

Following a few steps behind them was Ushinosuke, for whom Hyōgo was developing quite a fondness. The boy came to the castle more frequently now and was on his way to becoming a regular attendant. He carried their lunches on his back and had an extra pair of sandals for Hyōgo tied to his obi.

They were in an open field in the middle of town. On one side, the five-story pagoda of the Kōfukuji rose above the surrounding woods; visible across the field were the houses of the Buddhist and Shinto priests. Though the day was bright and the air springlike, a thin mist hung over the lower areas, where townsmen lived. The crowd, numbering between four and five hundred people, did not seem that large because of the vastness of the field. Some of the deer, for which Nara was famous, were nosing their way among the spectators, sniffing out tasty morsels of food here and there.