Musashi: Bushido Code (93 page)

Finding an able warrior, as Geki believed he had, and somehow enticing him into his lord's service was one of the most valuable services a retainer could perform. And it was for just this reason that Musashi had no interest in Geki's money: using it would incur an unwanted obligation. In a matter of seconds, he decided to ignore the gift, to pretend it did not exist.

Without a word he reached down, picked up the pouch and restored it to his bag. Addressing the proprietor as though nothing had happened, he said, "All right then, I'll leave the statue here in payment."

But the man balked. "I can't accept that now, sir!"

"Is there something wrong with it? I don't claim to be a sculptor, but—"

"Oh, it's not bad, and I would have taken it if you didn't have any money, like you said, but you've got plenty. Why do you throw your cash around for people to
see
if you want them to think you're broke?"

The other customers, sobered and thrilled by the sight of the gold, vigorously nodded their agreement. Musashi, recognizing the futility of arguing that the money was not his, took out a piece of silver and handed it to the man.

"This is far too much, sir," complained the proprietor. "Don't you have anything smaller?"

A cursory examination revealed some variation in the worth of the pieces, but nothing less valuable. "Don't worry about the change," Musashi said. "You can keep it."

No longer able to maintain the fiction that the money didn't exist, Musashi tucked the pouch into his stomach wrapper for safekeeping.

Then, despite urgings to linger awhile, he shouldered his pack and went out into the night. Having eaten and restored his strength, he calculated that he could make it to Daimon Pass by sunrise. By day, he would have seen around him an abundance of highland flowers—rhododendrons, gentians, wild chrysanthemums—but at night there in the immense sea of darkness he could see only a cottonlike mist clinging to the earth.

He was about two miles from the teahouse when one of the men he'd seen there hailed him, saying, "Wait! You forgot something." Catching up with Musashi, the man puffed, "My, you walk fast! After you left, I found this money, so I brought it to you. It must be yours."

He held out a piece of silver, which Musashi refused, saying it certainly wasn't his. The man insisted that it was. "It must have rolled into the corner when you dropped your money pouch."

Not having counted the money, Musashi was in no position to prove the man wrong. With a word of thanks, he took the silver and put it in his kimono sleeve. Yet for some reason he found himself unmoved by this display of honesty.

Though the man's errand had been completed, he fell in alongside Musashi and began making small talk.

"Perhaps I shouldn't ask, but are you studying swordsmanship under a well-known teacher?"

"No. I use my own style."

The perfunctory answer failed to discourage the man, who declared that he had been a samurai himself, adding, "But for the time being I'm reduced to living here in the mountains."

"Is that so?"

"Um. Those two back there too. We were all samurai. Now we make our living cutting trees and gathering herbs. We're like the proverbial dragon biding its time in a pond. I can't pretend to be Sano Genzaemon, but when the time comes, I'll grab my old sword and put on my threadbare armor and go fight for some famous daimyō. I'm just waiting for that day to come!"

"Are you for Osaka or Edo?"

"Doesn't matter. The main thing is to be on somebody's side, or else I'll waste my life hanging around here."

Musashi laughed politely. "Thanks for bringing the money."

Then, in an effort to lose the man, he started taking long, rapid strides. The man stayed right beside him, step for step. He also kept pressing in on Musashi's left side, an encroachment that any experienced swordsman would regard as suspicious. Rather than reveal his wariness, however, Musashi did nothing to protect his left side, leaving it wide open.

The man became increasingly friendly. "May I make a suggestion? If you'd like, why don't you come spend the night at our place? After Wada Pass, you've still got Daimon ahead of you. You might make it by morning, but it's very steep—a difficult road for a man not familiar with these parts."

"Thanks. I think I'll take you up on that."

"You should, you should. Only thing is, we don't have anything to offer in the way of food or entertainment."

"I'd be happy to have a place to lie down. Where is your house?" "About a half mile off to the left and a little higher up."

"You really are deep in the mountains, aren't you?"

"As I said, until the proper time comes, we're lying low, gathering herbs, hunting, doing things like that. I share a house with the other two men." "Now that you mention it, what became of them?"

"They're probably still drinking. Every time we go there, they get drunk, and I wind up lugging them home. Tonight I decided to just leave them... . Watch out! There's a sharp drop there—stream down below. It's dangerous."

"Do we cross the stream?"

"Yes. It's narrow here, and there's a log across it just below us. After we cross, we turn right and climb up along the riverbank."

Musashi sensed that the man had stopped walking, but he did not look back. He found the log and started across. A moment later, the man leaped forward and lifted the end of the log in an attempt to throw Musashi into the stream.

"What are you up to?"

The shout came from below, but the man jerked his head upward in astonishment. Musashi, having anticipated his treacherous move, had already jumped from the log and lit as lightly as a wagtail on a large rock. His startled attacker dropped the log into the stream. Before the curtain of flying water had fallen back to earth, Musashi had jumped back onto the bank, sword unsheathed, and cut his assailant down. It all happened so quickly that the man did not even see Musashi draw.

The corpse wriggled for a moment or two before subsiding into stillness. Musashi did not deign to give it a glance. He had already taken a new stance in preparation for the next attack, for he was sure there would be one. As he steeled himself for it, his hair stood up like an eagle's crown feathers.

A short silence ensued, followed by a boom loud enough to split the gorge asunder. The gunshot seemed to have come from somewhere on the other side. Musashi dodged, and the well-aimed slug hissed through the space he had been occupying, burying itself in the embankment behind him. Falling as though wounded, Musashi looked across to the opposite side, where he saw red sparks flying through the air like so many fireflies. He could just make out two figures creeping cautiously forward.

A Cleansing Fire

Clenching his teeth tightly on the sputtering fuse, the man made ready to fire his musket again. His confederate crouched down, and squinting into the distance, whispered, "Do you think it's safe?"

"I'm sure I got him with the first shot," came the confident reply.

The two crept cautiously forward, but no sooner had they reached the edge of the bank than Musashi jumped up. The musketeer gasped and fired but lost his balance, sending the bullet uselessly skyward. As the echo reverberated through the ravine, both men, the other two from the teahouse, fled up the path.

Suddenly one of them stopped in his tracks and roared, "Wait! What are we running for? There's two of us and only one of him. I'll take him on and you can back me up."

"I'm with you!" shouted the musketeer, letting go of the fuse and aiming the butt of his weapon at Musashi.

They were definitely a cut above ordinary hoodlums. The man Musashi took to be the leader wielded his sword with genuine finesse; nonetheless, he was a poor match for Musashi, who sent them both flying through the air with a single sword stroke. The musketeer, sliced from shoulder to waist, fell dead to the ground, his upper torso hanging over the bank as if by a thread. The other man sped up the slope, clutching a wounded forearm, with Musashi in hot pursuit. Showers of dirt and gravel rose and fell in his wake.

The ravine, Buna Valley, lay midway between Wada and Daimon passes and took its name from the beech trees that seemed to fill it. On its highest point stood an exceptionally large mountaineer's cabin surrounded by trees and itself crudely fashioned of beech logs.

Scrambling rapidly toward the tiny flame of a torch, the bandit shouted, "Douse the lights!"

Protecting the flame with an outstretched sleeve, a woman exclaimed, "Why, you— Oh! You're covered with blood!"

"Sh-shut up, you fool! Put out the lights—the ones inside too." He could hardly get the words out from panting, and with a last look behind him, he hurtled past her. The woman blew out the torch and rushed after him.

By the time Musashi arrived at the cabin, not a trace of light was visible anywhere.

"Open up!" he bellowed. He was indignant, not for being taken to be a fool, nor because of the cowardly attack, but because men like these daily inflicted great harm on innocent travelers.

He might have broken open the wooden rain shutters, but rather than make a frontal attack, which would have left his back dangerously exposed, he cautiously kept at a distance of four or five feet.

"Open up!"

Getting no answer, he picked up the largest rock he could handle and hurled it at the shutters. It struck the crack between the two panels, sending both the man and the woman reeling into the house. A sword flew out from beneath them and was followed by the man crawling on his knees. He quickly regained his feet and retreated into the house. Musashi bounded forward and seized him by the back of his kimono.

"Don't kill me! I'm sorry!" pleaded Gion Tōji, his whining tone exactly that of a petty crook.

He was soon back on his feet again, trying to find Musashi's weak point. Musashi parried each of his moves, but when he pressed forward to hem in his opponent, Tōji, mustering all his strength, pulled his short sword and made a powerful thrust. Dodging adroitly, Musashi swept him up in his arms and with a cry of contempt sent him crashing into the next room. Either an arm or a leg struck the pot hanger, for the bamboo pole from which it hung broke with a loud crack. White ashes billowed up from the hearth like a volcanic cloud.

A barrage of missiles coming through the smoke and ashes kept Musashi at bay. As the ashes settled, he saw that his adversary was no longer the bandits' chief, who was flat on his back near the wall. The woman, between curses, was throwing everything she could lay her hands on—pot lids, kindling, metal chopsticks, tea bowls.

Musashi leapt forward and quickly pinned her to the floor, but she managed to pull a bodkin from her hair and take a stab at him. When he brought his foot down on her wrist, she gnashed her teeth, then cried out in anger and disgust at the unconscious Tōji, "Haven't you any pride? How can you lose to a nobody like this?"

Hearing the voice, Musashi abruptly drew in his breath and let her go. She jumped to her feet, grabbed up the short sword and lunged at him.

"Stop it, ma'am," said Musashi.

Startled by the oddly courteous tone, she paused and gaped at him. "Why, it's ... it's Takezō!"

His hunch was right. Apart from Osugi, the only woman who would still call him by his childhood name was Okō.

"It
is
Takezō," she exclaimed, her voice growing syrupy. "Your name's Musashi now, isn't it? You've become quite a swordsman, haven't you?"

"What are you doing in a place like this?"

"I'm ashamed to say."

"Is that man lying over there your husband?"

"You must know him. He's what's left of Gion Tōji."

"That's Tōji?" murmured Musashi. He had heard in Kyoto what a reprobate Tōji was, and how he had pocketed the money collected to enlarge the school and absconded with Okō. Still, as he looked at the human wreck by the wall, he couldn't help feeling sorry for him. "You'd better tend to him," he said. "If I'd known he was your husband, I wouldn't have been so rough with him."

"Oh, I want to crawl in a hole and hide," simpered Okō.

She went to Tōji's side, gave him some water, bound his wounds, and when he had begun to come around, told him who Musashi was.

"What?" he croaked. "Miyamoto Musashi? The one who ... Oh, this is awful!" Placing his hands over his face, he doubled up abjectly.

Forgetting his anger, Musashi allowed himself to be treated as an honored guest. Okō swept the floor, tidied up the hearth, put on new kindling and heated some sake.

Handing him a cup, she said, in accordance with the accepted rules of etiquette, "We haven't a thing to offer, but . . ."

"I had quite enough at the teahouse," Musashi replied politely. "Please don't go to any trouble."

"Oh, I hope you can eat the food I've prepared. It's been such a long time." Having hung a pot of stew on the pot hanger, she sat down beside him and poured his sake.

"It reminds me of old times at Mount Ibuki," said Musashi amiably.

A strong wind had come up, and though the shutters were again securely in place, it came in through various cracks and teased the smoke from the hearth as it rose to the ceiling.

"Please don't remind me of that," said Okō. "But tell me, have you heard anything of Akemi? Do you have any idea where she is?"

"I heard she spent several days at the inn on Mount Hiei. She and Matahachi were planning to go to Edo. Seems she ran away with all his money."

"Oh?" said Okō disappointedly. "Her too." She gazed at the floor, sadly comparing her daughter's life with her own.

When Tōji had recovered sufficiently, he joined them and begged Musashi's forgiveness. He had, he avowed, acted on a sudden impulse, which he now deplored. There would come a day, he assured his guest, when he would reenter society as the Gion Tōji the world had known before.

Musashi kept quiet, but he would have liked to say that there didn't seem to be much to choose from between Tōji the samurai and Tōji the bandit, but if he did return to the life of a warrior, the roads would be that much safer for travelers.

Somewhat mellowed by the sake, he said to Okō, "I think you'd be wise to give up this dangerous way of life."

"You're quite right, but of course, it's not as though I'm living this way out of choice. When we left Kyoto, we were going to try our luck in Edo. But in Suwa, Tōji got to gambling and lost everything we had—travel money, everything. I thought of the moxa business, so we started gathering herbs and selling them in the town. Oh, I've had enough of his get-rich-quick schemes to last a lifetime. After tonight, I'm through." As always, a few drinks had introduced a coquettish note into her speech. She was beginning to turn on the charm.

Okō was one of those women of indeterminate age, and she was still dangerous. A house cat will romp coyly on its master's knees so long as it is well fed and cared for, but turn it loose in the mountains, and in no time it will be prowling the night with flaming eyes, ready to feast off a corpse or tear the living flesh off travelers who have fallen sick by the wayside. Okō was very much like that.

"Tōji," she said lovingly, "according to Takezō, Akemi was headed for Edo. Couldn't we go there too and live more like human beings again? If we found Akemi, I'm sure we'd think of some profitable business to go into."

"Well, maybe,' was the unenthusiastic reply. His arms were wrapped pensively around his knees; perhaps the implied idea—peddling Akemi's body—was a little raw even for him. Tōji, after living with this predatory woman, was beginning to have the same regrets as Matahachi.

To Musashi, the expression on Tōji's face seemed pathetic. It reminded him of Matahachi. With a shudder, he recalled how he himself had once been enticed by her charms.

"Okō," said Tōji, lifting his head. "It won't be long till daylight. Musashi's probably tired. Why don't you fix a place for him in the back room, so he can get some rest?"

"Yes, of course." With a tipsy sidelong glance at Musashi, she said, "You'll have to be careful, Takezō. It's dark back there."

"Thanks. I could use some sleep."

He followed her down a dark corridor to the back of the house. The room seemed to be an addition to the cabin. It was supported by logs and projected out over the valley, with a drop of about seventy feet from the outer wall to the river. The air was damp from the mist and the spray blowing in from a waterfall. Each time the groaning of the wind rose a trifle, the little room rocked like a boat.

Okō's white feet retreated across the slatted floor of the outdoor hallway to the hearth room.

"Has he gone to sleep?" asked Tōji.

"I think so," she replied, kneeling by his side. She whispered in his ear, "What are you going to do?"

"Go call the others."

"You're going through with it?"

"Absolutely! It's not just a matter of money. If I kill the bastard, I'll have taken revenge for the House of Yoshioka."

Tucking up the skirt of her kimono, she went outside, Under the starless sky, deep in the mountains, she sped through the black wind like a feline demon, her long hair streaming out behind.

The nooks and crevices on the mountainside were not inhabited solely by birds and beasts. As Okō raced along, she made contact with more than twenty men, all members of Tōji's band. Trained for night forays, they moved more quietly than floating leaves to a spot just in front of the cabin.

"Only one man?"

"A samurai?"

"Does he have money?"

The whispered exchanges were accompanied by explanatory gestures and eye movements. Carrying muskets and daggers and the type of lances used by boar hunters, a few of them surrounded the back room. About half went down into the valley, while a couple stopped halfway down, directly below the room.

The floor of the room was covered with reed mats. Along one wall were neat little piles of dried herbs and a collection of mortars and other tools used to make medicine. Musashi found the pleasant aroma of the herbs soothing; it seemed to beckon him to close his eyes and sleep. His body felt dull and swollen to the tips of his extremities. But he knew better than to give in to the sweet temptation.

He was aware there was something afoot. The herb gatherers of Mimasaka never had storage sheds like this; theirs were never located where dampness accumulated and were always at some distance from dense foliage. By the dim light of a small lamp resting on a mortar stand beside his pillow, he could see something else that disturbed him. The metal brackets holding the room together at the corners were surrounded by numerous nail holes. He could also discern fresh wooden surfaces that must previously have been covered by joinery. The implication was unmistakable: the room had been rebuilt, probably a number of times.

A tiny smile came to his lips, but he did not stir.

"Takezō," Okō called softly. "Are you asleep?" Gently sliding the shoji aside, she tiptoed to his pallet and placed a tray near his head. "I'll put some water here for you," she said. He gave no sign of being awake.

When she was back in the cabin itself, Tōji whispered, "Is everything all right?"

Closing her eyes for emphasis, she replied, "He's sound asleep."

With a satisfied look, Tōji hurried outside, went to the back of the cabin and waved a lighted musket fuse, whereupon the men below pulled the supports out from under the room, sending it crashing down into the valley—walls, frame, ridgepole and all.

With a triumphant roar, the others sprang from their hiding places, like hunters from behind portable blinds, and rushed down to the riverbank. The next step was to extricate the corpse and the victim's belongings from the debris. After that, it would be a simple matter to gather up the pieces and rebuild the room.

The bandits jumped into the pile of planks and posts like dogs falling on bones.

Arriving from above, others asked, "Have you found the body?" "No, not yet."

"It's got to be here somewhere."

Tōji shouted raucously, "Maybe he struck a rock or something on the way down and bounced off to the side. Look all around."

Rocks, water, the trees and plants of the valley, were taking on a bright reddish cast. With startled exclamations, Tōji and his henchmen looked toward the sky. Seventy feet above, bright flames spouted from the doors, windows, walls and roof of the cabin. It had turned into a huge ball of fire.

"Quick! Hur-r-ry! Get back up here!" The piercing summons came from Okō, and sounded like the howl of a woman gone mad.