Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [101]
The proprietor poured a cup of tea for himself and told them what he knew of the situation in Nara. Most people, it seemed, had the impression that the old capital was a quiet, peaceful place where there were lots of colorful temples and tame deer—a place undisturbed by war or famine—but in fact the town was no longer like that at all. After the Battle of Sekigahara, nobody knew how many rōnin from the losing side had come to hide there. Most of them were Osaka partisans from the Western Army, samurai who now had no income and little hope of finding another profession. With the Tokugawa shōgunate growing in power year by year, it was doubtful whether these fugitives would ever again be able to make a living out in the open with their swords.
According to most estimates, 120,000 to 130,000 samurai had lost their positions. Being the victors, the Tokugawas had confiscated estates representing an annual income of 33 million bushels of rice. Even if the feudal lords who had since been allowed to reestablish themselves on a more modest scale were taken into consideration, at least eighty daimyō, with incomes thought to total 20 million bushels, had been dispossessed. On the basis that for every 500 bushels, three samurai had been cut loose from their moorings and forced into hiding in various provinces—and including their families and retainers—the total number could not be less than 100,000.
The area around Nara and Mount Kōya was full of temples and therefore difficult for the Tokugawa forces to patrol. By the same token, it was an ideal hiding place, and the fugitives moved there in droves.
“Why,” said the old man, “the famous Sanada Yukimura is in hiding at Mount Kudo, and Sengoku Sōya is said to be in the vicinity of the Hōryūji, and Ban Dan’emon at the Kōfukuji. I could name many more.” All these were marked men, who would be killed instantly if they showed themselves; their one hope for the future was for war to break out again.
The old man’s opinion was that it wouldn’t be so bad if it were only these famous rōnin hiding out, since they all had a degree of prestige and could make a living for themselves and their families. Complicating the picture, however, were the indigent samurai who prowled the city’s back streets in such straits that they’d sell their swords if they could. Half of them had taken to picking fights, gambling and otherwise disturbing the peace, in the hope that the havoc they caused would make the Osaka forces rise up and take arms. The once tranquil city of Nara had turned into a nest of desperadoes. For a nice girl like Otsū to go there would be tantamount to her pouring oil on her kimono and jumping into a fire. The teahouse proprietor, stirred by his own recitation, concluded by strongly begging Otsū to change her mind.
Now doubtful, Otsū sat silently for a while. If she had had the slightest indication that Musashi might be in Nara, she would not have given danger a second thought. But she really had nothing to go on. She had merely wandered toward Nara—just as she had wandered around to various other places in the year since Musashi had left her stranded at the bridge in Himeji.
Shōda, seeing the perplexity on her face, said, “You said your name is Otsū, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, Otsū, I hesitate to say this, but why don’t you give up the idea of going to Nara and come with me to the Koyagyū fief instead?” Feeling obliged to tell her more about himself and assure her that his intentions were honorable, he continued, “My full name is Shōda Kizaemon, and I’m in the service of the Yagyū family. It happens that my lord, who’s now eighty, is no longer active. He suffers terribly from boredom. When you said you make your living by playing the flute, it occurred to me that it might be a great comfort to him if you were around to play for him from time to time. Do you think you’d like that?”
The old man immediately chimed in with enthusiastic approval. “You should definitely go with him,” he urged. “As you probably know, the