Musashi: Bushido Code (75 page)

"Go there and wait for me."

"Aren't we going together?"

"Yes, but first I want to say good-bye to Yoshino. I won't be long."

"All right; I'll be by the gate." He felt a twinge of anxiety at having Musashi leave him even for a few moments, but on this particular night, he would have done anything his teacher asked him to do.

The Ōgiya had been a haven, pleasant but only temporary. Musashi reflected that being shut off from the outside world had done him good, for until now his body and mind had been like ice, a thick, frigid mass insensitive to the beauty of the moon, heedless of the flowers, unresponsive to the sun. He had no doubts about the rectitude of the ascetic life he led, but now he could see how his self-denial might make him narrow, small-minded and stubborn. Takuan had told him years ago that his strength was no different from that of a wild beast; Nikkan had warned him about being too strong. After his fight with Denshichirō, body and soul had been too tense and strained. These past two days, he had let himself go and allowed his spirit to expand. He had drunk a little, dozed when he felt like it, read, dabbled at painting, yawned and stretched at will. Taking a rest had been of immense value, and he had decided that it was important, and would continue to be important, for him occasionally to have two or three days of completely carefree leisure.

Standing in the garden watching the lights and shadows in the front parlors, he thought: "I must say just one word of thanks to Yoshino Dayū for all she's done." But he changed his mind. He could easily hear the plinking of shamisen and the raucous singing of the buyers. He saw no way to sneak in to see her. Better to thank her in his heart and hope she would understand. Having bowed toward the front of the house, he made his departure.

Outside, he beckoned to Jōtarō. As the boy ran to him, they heard Rin'ya coming with a note from Yoshino. She pressed it into Musashi's hand and left.

The notepaper was small and beautifully colored. As he unfolded it, the scent of Aloeswood came to his nostrils. The message said: "More memorable than the luckless flowers that wither and disintegrate night after night is a glimpse of moonlight through the trees. Though they laugh as I weep into another's cup, I send you this one word of remembrance."

"Who's the note from?" asked Jōtarō.

"Nobody in particular."

"A woman?"

"Does it make any difference?"

"What does it say?"

"You don't need to know that." Musashi folded up the paper.

Jōtarō leaned toward it and said, "It smells good. That's Aloeswood."

The Gate

Jōtarō thought their next move would be to get out of the quarter without being detected.

"Going this way will take us to the main gate," he said. "That would be dangerous."

"Mm."

"There must be another way out."

"Aren't all the entrances except the main one closed at night?" "We could climb the wall."

"That would be cowardly. I do have a sense of honor, you know, as well as a reputation to maintain. I'll walk straight out the main entrance, when the time is right."

"You will?" Though uneasy, the boy didn't argue, for he was well aware that according to the rules of the military class, a man without pride was worthless.

"Of course," replied Musashi. "But not you. You're still a child. You can go out some safer way."

"How?"

"Over the wall."

"By myself?"

"By yourself."

"I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"I'd be called a coward."

"Don't be foolish. They're after me, not you."

"But where will we meet?"

"The Yanagi Riding Grounds."

"You're sure you'll come?"

"Absolutely."

"Promise you won't run off again?"

"I won't run away. One of the things I don't intend to teach you is lying. I said I'll meet you, and I will. Now, while nobody's around, let's get you over the wall."

Jōtarō looked about cautiously before making a run for the wall, where he stopped dead, looking wistfully upward. It was more than double his height. Musashi joined him, carrying a sack of charcoal. He dropped the sack and peered through a crack in the wall.

"Can you see anyone out there?" Jōtarō asked.

"No; nothing but rushes. There may be water underneath, so you'll have to be careful when you land."

"I don't care about getting wet, but how am I going to get to the top of this wall?"

Musashi ignored the question. "We have to assume guards have been stationed at strategic points besides the main gate. Take a good look around before you jump, or you may find a sword pointed at you."

"I understand."

"I'll throw this charcoal over the wall as a decoy. If nothing happens, you can go ahead."

He stooped and Jōtarō jumped onto his back. "Stand on my shoulders." "My sandals are dirty."

"Never mind."

Jōtarō hoisted himself to a standing position.

"Can you reach the top?"

"No."

"If you jumped, could you make it?"

"I don't think so."

"All right; stand on my hands." He stretched his arms straight above his head.

"I've got it!" Jōtarō said in a loud whisper.

Musashi took the sack of charcoal in one hand and lobbed it as high as he could. It thudded into the rushes. Nothing happened.

"There's no water here," Jōtarō reported after he jumped down. "Take care of yourself."

Musashi kept one eye to the crack until he could no longer hear Jōtarō's footsteps, then walked quickly and lightheartedly to the busiest of the main alleys. None of the many revelers milling about paid any attention to him.

When he went out the main gate, the Yoshioka men uttered a collective gasp, and all eyes focused on him. Besides the guards at the gate, there were samurai squatting around the bonfires where the palanquin bearers passed the time while they waited, and relief guards in the Amigasa teahouse and the drinking shop across the street. Their vigilance had never relaxed. Basket hats had been unceremoniously lifted and faces examined; palanquins had been stopped and their occupants examined.

Several times negotiations had been started with the Ōgiya to search the premises, but these had come to naught. As far as the management was concerned, Musashi was not there. The Yoshiokas could not act on the rumor that Yoshino Dayū was protecting Musashi. She was too highly admired, both within the district and in the city itself, to be assailed without serious repercussions.

Obliged to fight a waiting war, the Yoshiokas had encircled the quarter at a distance. They didn't rule out the possibility that Musashi might try to escape over the wall, but most expected him to leave by the gate, either in disguise or in a closed palanquin. The one contingency they were unprepared for was the one they were faced with now.

No one made a move to block Musashi's path, nor did he pause to acknowledge them. He covered a hundred paces with bold strides before a samurai shouted, "Stop him!"

"After him!"

Eight or nine shouting men filled the street behind Musashi and began stalking him.

"Musashi, wait!" called an angry voice.

"What is it?" he replied immediately, startling all with the force of his voice.

He moved to the side of the road and backed up against the wall of a shanty. The shanty was part of a sawmill, and a couple of the mill hands slept there. One of them opened the door a crack, but after a quick glance slammed the door and bolted it.

Yelping and howling like a pack of stray dogs, the Yoshioka men gradually formed a black crescent around Musashi. He stared intently at them, gauging their strength, assessing their position, anticipating where a move might come from. The thirty men were quickly losing the use of their thirty minds. It was not difficult for Musashi to read the workings of this communal brain.

As he had anticipated, not one came forward alone to challenge him. They babbled and hurled insults, most of which sounded like the barely articulate name-calling of common tramps.

"Bastard!"

"Coward!"

"Amateur!"

They themselves were far from realizing that their bravado was merely vocal and revealed their weakness. Until the horde achieved a degree of cohesion, Musashi had the upper hand. He examined their faces, singled out the ones who might be dangerous, picked out the weak spots in the formation, and prepared himself for battle.

He took his time, and after slowly scrutinizing their faces, declared, "I am Musashi. Who called to me to wait?"

"We did. All of us!"

"I take it that you're from the Yoshioka School."

"That's right."

"What business do you have with me?"

"You know! Are you prepared?"

"Prepared?" Musashi's lips twisted into a sardonic grin. The laugh that issued from his white teeth chilled their excitement. "A real warrior is prepared even in his sleep. Come forward when you wish! When you're picking a meaningless fight, what sense is there in trying to talk like a human being or in observing the etiquette of the sword? But tell me one thing. Is your objective only to see me dead? Or do you want to fight like men?"

No answer.

"Are you here to settle a grudge or challenge me to a return bout?"

Had Musashi, by the slightest false movement of eye or body, given them an opening, their swords would have rushed at him like air into a vacuum, but he maintained perfect poise. No one moved. The entire group stood as still and silent as prayer beads.

Out of the confused silence came a loud shout: "You should know the answer without asking."

Musashi, shooting a glance at the speaker, Miike Jūrōzaemon, judged from the man's appearance that he was a samurai worthy to uphold Yoshioka Kempō's reputation. He alone seemed willing to end the stalemate by striking the first blow. His feet edged forward in a sliding motion.

"You maimed our teacher Seijūrō and killed his brother Denshichirō. How can we hold up our heads if we let you live? Hundreds of us who are loyal to our master have vowed to remove the source of his humiliation and restore the name of the Yoshioka School. It's not a matter of grudges or lawless violence. But we will vindicate our master and console the spirit of his slain brother. I don't envy you your position, but we're going to take your head. On guard!"

"Your challenge is worthy of a samurai," replied Musashi. "If this is your true purpose, I may lose my life to you. But you talk of discharging your duty, you speak of revenge according to the Way of the Samurai. Why, then, do you not challenge me properly, as Seijūrō and Denshichirō did? Why do you attack en masse?"

"You're the one who's been hiding!"

"Nonsense! You're merely proving that a coward attributes cowardice to others. Am I not standing here before you?"

"Because you were afraid of being caught when you tried to escape!" "Not so! I could have escaped any number of ways."

"And did you think the Yoshioka School would have let you?"

"I assumed that you would greet me one way or another. But wouldn't it disgrace us, not only as individuals but as members of our class, to brawl here? Should we disturb the people here, like a pack of wild beasts or worthless tramps? You speak of your obligation to your master, but wouldn't a fight here heap still greater shame on the Yoshioka name? If that's what you've decided on, then that's what you shall have! If you've resolved to destroy your teacher's work, disband your school and abandon the Way of the Samurai, I have nothing more to say—save this: Musashi will fight so long as his limbs hold together."

"Kill him!" cried the man next to Jūrōzaemon, whipping out his sword. A distant voice cried, "Watch out! It's Itakura!"

As magistrate of Kyoto, Itakura Katsushige was a powerful man, and though he governed well, he did so with an iron fist. Even children sang songs about him. "Whose chestnut roan is that, /clopping down the street?/ Itakura Katsushige's?/Run, everyone, run." Or "Itakura, Lord of Iga, has/ more hands than the Thousand-armed Kannon,/more eyes than the three-eyed Temmoku./His constables are everywhere."

Kyoto was not an easy city to rule. While Edo was well on the way to replacing it as the country's greatest city, the ancient capital was still a center for economic, political and military life. And as the place where culture and education were most highly advanced, it was also the one where criticism of the shogunate was most articulate. The townspeople had, from about the fourteenth century, given up all military ambition and taken to trades and crafts. They were now recognized as a class apart, and on the whole a conservative one.

Also among the populace were many samurai who sat on the fence, waiting to see whether the Tokugawas would be upset by the Toyotomis, as well as a number of upstart military leaders who, while lacking both background and lineage, managed to maintain personal armies of considerable size. There was also a considerable number of rōnin like those in Nara.

Libertines and hedonists were plentiful in all classes, so that the number of drinking shops and brothels was disproportionate to the city's size.

Considerations of expediency rather than political convictions tended to govern the allegiance of a substantial portion of the people. They swam with the current and grasped any opportunity seemingly favorable to themselves.

A story circulated in the city at the time of Itakura's appointment, in 1601, said that before accepting, he asked Ieyasu if he might first consult his wife. When he returned home, he said to her: "Since ancient times, there have been innumerable men in positions of honor who have performed outstanding deeds but have ended up bringing disgrace upon themselves and their families. Most often the source of their failure is to be found in their wives or family connections. Thus I consider it most important to discuss this appointment with you. If you will swear that you won't interfere with my activities as magistrate, I will accept the post."

His wife readily consented, avowing that "wives have no business interfering in matters of this sort." Then the next morning, as Itakura was about to leave for Edo Castle, she noticed that the collar of his underrobe was askew. She had barely touched it when he admonished her: "You've forgotten your oath already." She was made to swear again that she would not meddle. It was generally agreed that Itakura was an effective deputy, strict but fair, and that Ieyasu had been wise to choose him.

At the mention of his name, the samurai shifted their eyes away from Musashi. Itakura's men patrolled the quarter regularly, and everyone gave them a wide berth.

A young man pushed his way into the open space in front of Musashi. "Wait!" he cried in the booming voice that had given the alarm.

Smirking, Sasaki Kojirō said, "I was just getting out of my palanquin when I heard a fight was about to break out. I've been afraid for some time this might happen. I'm appalled to see it take place here and now. I'm not a partisan of the Yoshioka School. Still less am I a supporter of Musashi. Nevertheless, as a warrior and visiting swordsman, I believe I am qualified to make an appeal in the name of the warrior's code and the warrior class as a whole." He spoke forcefully and eloquently, but in a patronizing tone and with uncompromising arrogance.

"I want to ask you what you're going to do when the police get here. Wouldn't you be ashamed to be picked up in a common street brawl? If you force the authorities to take notice, it won't be treated like an ordinary fight among townspeople. But that is another question.

"Your timing is bad. So is the place. It's a disgrace to the entire military class for samurai to disturb the public order. As one of your number, I enjoin you to cease this unseemly behavior immediately. If you must cross swords to settle your grievance, then in the name of heaven, abide by the rules of swordsmanship. Choose a time and place!"

"Fair enough!" said Jūrōzaemon. "But if we set a time and place, can you guarantee Musashi will appear?"