Musashi: Bushido Code (129 page)

"They haven't finished already, have they?" asked Hyōgo.

"No," said Sukekurō. "They seem to be taking time off for lunch." "So even priests have to eat!"

Sukekurō laughed.

The occasion was a show of sorts. The larger cities had theaters, but in Nara and the smaller towns, shows were held in the open air. Magicians, dancers, puppeteers, as well as archers and swordsmen, all performed outdoors. Today's attraction was more than mere entertainment, though. Each year the lancer-priests of the Hōzōin held a tournament, at which they decided the order of seating at the temple. Since they were performing in public, the competitors fought hard, and the bouts were often violent and spectacular. There was a sign in front of the Kōfukuji, clearly stating that the tournament was open to all who were devoted to the martial arts, but the outsiders who dared face the lancer-priests were very, very few.

"Why don't we sit down somewhere and have our lunch?" said Hyōgo. "We seem to have plenty of time."

"Where would be a good spot?" said Sukekurō, looking around.

"Over here," called Ushinosuke. "You can sit on this." He indicated a piece of reed matting he had picked up somewhere and spread on a pleasant knoll. Hyōgo admired the boy's resourcefulness and, in general, was pleased by the way his needs were looked after, although he did not regard solicitousness as an ideal quality for a future samurai.

After they had arranged themselves, Ushinosuke passed out their simple fare: balls of unpolished rice, sour plum pickles and sweetish bean paste, all wrapped in dried bamboo to make them easier to carry.

"Ushinosuke," said Sukekurō, "run over to those priests there and get some tea. But don't tell them who it's for."

"It'd be a nuisance if they came over to pay their respects," added Hyōgo, who had a basket hat pulled down over his face. Sukekurō's features were more than half hidden by a bandanna of the type worn by priests.

As Ushinosuke got to his feet, another boy, about fifty feet away, was saying, "I can't understand it. The matting was right here."

"Forget it, Iori," said Gonnosuke. "It's no great loss."

"Somebody must have swiped it. Who do you suppose would do a thing like that?"

"Don't worry about it." Gonnosuke sat down on the grass, took out his brush and ink and began listing his expenses in a small notebook, a habit he had recently acquired from Iori.

In some ways, Iori was too serious for his years. He paid close attention to his personal finances, never wasted a thing, was meticulously neat, and felt grateful for every bowl of rice, every fair day. He was, in short, fastidious, and he looked down on people who were not.

For anyone who'd walk off with another person's property, even if it was only a cheap piece of matting, he had only contempt.

"Oh, there it is," he cried. "Those men over there took it. Hey, you!"

He ran toward them, but stopped about ten paces short to consider what he

was going to say and found himself face to face with Ushinosuke. "What do you want?" growled Ushinosuke.

"What do you mean, what do I want?" snapped Iori.

Regarding him with the coldness country folk reserve for outsiders, Ushinosuke said, "You're the one who called to us!"

"Anybody who goes off with somebody else's things is a thief!" "Thief? Why, you son of a bitch!"

"That matting belongs to us."

"Matting? I found it lying on the ground. Is that all you're upset about?"

"A mat's important to a traveler," said Iori rather pompously. "It protects him from the rain, provides him with something to sleep on. Lots of things. Give it back!"

"You can have it, but first take back what you said about me being a thief!" "I don't have to apologize to get back what belongs to us. If you don't give it back, I'll take it back!"

"Just try it. I'm Ushinosuke of Araki. I have no intention of losing to a runt like you. I'm the disciple of a samurai."

"I bet you are," said Iori, standing a little straighter. "You talk big with all these people around, but you wouldn't dare fight if we were by ourselves."

"I won't forget that!"

"Come over there later."

"Where?"

"By the pagoda. Come alone."

They parted, Ushinosuke went for the tea, and by the time he came back with an earthenware teapot, the matches were under way again. Standing in a large circle with the other spectators, Ushinosuke looked pointedly at Iori, challenging him with his eyes. Iori's eyes answered. Both believed that winning was all that counted.

The noisy crowd pushed this way and that, raising yellow clouds of dust. In the center of the circle stood a priest with a lance as long as a fowling pole. One after another, rivals stepped forward and challenged him. One after another, they were struck to the ground or sent flying through the air.

"Come forward," he cried, but eventually no more came. "If there's no one else, I'm going to leave. Is there any objection to declaring me, Nankōbō, the winner?" After studying under In'ei, he had created a style of his own and was now the chief rival of Inshun, who was absent today on the pretext of illness. No one knew whether he was afraid of Nankōbō or preferred to avoid conflict.

When no one came forward, the burly priest lowered his lance, holding it horizontally, and announced, "There's no challenger."

"Wait," called a priest, running out in front of Nankōbō. "I'm Daun, a disciple of Inshun. I challenge you."

"Get ready."

After bowing to each other, the two men jumped apart. Their two lances stared at each other like living beings for such a long time that the crowd, bored, began shouting for action. Then all at once the shouting ceased. Nankōbō's lance thudded into Daun's head, and, like a scarecrow toppled by the wind, his body leaned slowly to the side, then fell suddenly to the ground. Three or four lancers ran forward, not to take revenge but merely to drag the body away.

Nankōbō arrogantly threw back his shoulders and surveyed the crowd. "There seem to be a few brave men left. If indeed there are, come ahead."

A mountain priest stepped out from behind a tent, took his traveling chest off his back and asked, "Is the tournament open only to lancers of the Hōzōin?"

"No," chorused the Hōzōin priests.

The priest bowed. "In that case, I'd like to try my hand. Can anyone lend me a wooden sword?"

Hyōgo glanced at Sukekurō and said, "This is getting interesting." "It is, isn't it?"

"No question about the outcome."

"I don't suppose there's any chance of Nankōbō's losing."

"That's not what I meant. I don't think Nankōbō will agree to fight. If he does, he'll lose."

Sukekurō looked puzzled but didn't ask for an explanation.

Someone handed the vagabond priest a wooden sword. He walked up to Nankōbō, bowed and issued his challenge. He was a man of about forty, but his body, like spring steel, strongly suggested training not in the ascetic fashion of mountain priests but on the battlefield, a man who must have faced death many times and would be prepared to accept it philosophically. His manner of speaking was soft, his eyes placid.

Despite his arrogance, Nankōbō was no fool. "Are you an outsider?" he asked pointlessly.

"Yes," replied the challenger with another bow.

"Wait just a minute." Nankōbō saw two things clearly: His technique might be better than the priest's. He couldn't win in the long run. Quite a few celebrated warriors, defeated at Sekigahara, were still masquerading as wandering priests. There was no telling who this man was.

"I can't take on an outsider," he said, shaking his head.

"I just asked the rules and was told it was all right."

"It may be all right with others, but I prefer not to fight outsiders. When I fight, it's not for the purpose of defeating my opponent. It's a religious activity, in which I discipline my soul by means of the lance."

"I see," said the priest with a little laugh. He seemed to have something more to say, but hesitated. After mulling it over for a moment, he retired from the ring, returned the wooden sword and disappeared.

Nankōbō chose this time to make his exit, ignoring the whispered comments that it was cowardly of him to back out. Trailed by two or three disciples, he strode away grandly, like a conquering general.

"What did I tell you?" said Hyōgo.

"You were absolutely right."

"That man is without a doubt one of those hiding out on Mount Kudo. Change his white robe and bandanna for a helmet and armor, and you'll find you're looking at one of the great swordsmen of a few years ago."

When the crowd thinned out, Sukekurō began looking around for Ushinosuke. He didn't find him. At a signal from Iori, he had gone over to the pagoda, where now they stood glaring fiercely at each other.

"Don't blame me if you get killed," said Iori.

"You talk big," said Ushinosuke, picking up a stick to use as a weapon.

Iori, sword held high, rushed to the attack. Ushinosuke jumped back. Thinking he was afraid, Iori ran straight at him. Ushinosuke leaped over him, kicking him in the side of the head. Iori's hand went to his head, and he crashed to the ground. Recovering quickly, he was on his feet again in no time. The two boys faced each other with their weapons raised.

Forgetting what Musashi and Gonnosuke had taught him, Iori charged with his eyes shut. Ushinosuke moved slightly to one side and knocked him down with his stick.

Iori lay on his stomach, moaning, sword still in hand.

"Ha! I won," shouted Ushinosuke. Then, noticing that Iori was not moving at all, he grew frightened and ran.

"No you don't!" roared Gonnosuke, his four-foot staff catching the boy on the hip.

Ushinosuke fell with a shriek of pain, but after one look at Gonnosuke, he got to his feet and bounded off like a rabbit, only to collide head on with Sukekurō.

"Ushinosuke! What's going on here?"

Ushinosuke quickly hid behind Sukekurō, leaving the samurai face to face with Gonnosuke. For a moment, it appeared that a clash was inevitable. Sukekurō's hand went to his sword; Gonnosuke tightened his grip on the staff. "Would you mind telling me," asked Sukekurō, "why you're chasing a mere child as though you wanted to kill him?"

"Before I answer, let me ask a question. Did you see him knock that boy down?"

"Is he with you?"

"Yes. Is this one of your attendants?"

"Not officially." Looking sternly at Ushinosuke, he asked, "Why did you hit the boy and run away? Tell the truth, now."

Before Ushinosuke could open his mouth, Iori raised his head and shouted, "It was a bout." Rising painfully to a sitting position, he said, "We had a bout and I lost."

"Did you two challenge each other in the proper way and agree to fight it out?" asked Gonnosuke. There was a trace of amusement in his eyes as he looked from one to the other.

Ushinosuke, deeply embarrassed, said, "I didn't know it was his mat when I picked it up."

The two men grinned at each other, both aware that if they had not acted with restraint themselves, a trivial, childish affair could have ended in bloodshed.

"I'm very sorry about this," said Sukekurō.

"So am I. I hope you'll forgive me."

"Don't mention it. My master's waiting for us, so I think we'd better go." They went out the gate laughing, Gonnosuke and Iori going to the left, Sukekurō and Ushinosuke to the right.

Then Gonnosuke turned and said, "Could I ask you something? If we go straight down this road, will it take us to Koyagyū Castle?"

Sukekurō walked over to Gonnosuke and some minutes later, when Hyōgo

joined them, told him who the travelers were and why they were here. Hyōgo sighed sympathetically. "That's too bad. If only you'd come three

weeks ago, before Otsū left to join Musashi in Edo."

"He's not in Edo," said Gonnosuke. "No one knows where he is, not even his friends."

"What'll she do now?" said Hyōgo, regretting he hadn't brought Otsū back to Koyagyū.

Though he held back his tears, Iori really wanted to go somewhere all alone and cry his heart out. On the way down, he'd talked incessantly of meeting Otsū, or so it had seemed to Gonnosuke. As the men's conversation shifted to events in Edo, he slowly drifted away. Hyōgo asked Gonnosuke for more information about Musashi, for news about his uncle, for details about the disappearance of Ono Tadaaki. There seemed to be no end either to his questions or to Gonnosuke's supply of information.

"Where're you going?" Ushinosuke asked Iori, coming up behind him and laying a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "Are you crying?"

"Of course not." But as he shook his head, the tears flew.

"Hmm.... Do you know how to dig wild potatoes?"

"Sure."

"There are some potatoes over there. You want to see who can dig the fastest?"

Iori accepted the challenge, and they began digging.

It was getting late in the day, and since there was still much to talk about, Hyōgo urged Gonnosuke to spend a few days at the castle. Gonnosuke, however, said he preferred to continue his journey.

While they were saying their farewells, they noticed the boys were missing again. After a moment, Sukekurō pointed and said, "There they are, over there. They seem to be digging."

Iori and Ushinosuke were absorbed in their work, which because of the brittleness of the roots, involved digging carefully to a great depth. The men, amused at their concentration, walked quietly up behind them and watched for several minutes before Ushinosuke looked up and saw them. He gasped slightly, and Iori turned around and grinned. Then they redoubled their efforts.