Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [123]
The setting itself militated against ugliness. The mountains in the Kasagi Range were no less strikingly beautiful at eventide than at sunrise, and the water was pure and clean—ideal water, it was said, for making tea. The plum blossoms of Tsukigase were nearby, and nightingales sang from the season of the melting snow to that of the thunderstorms, their tones as crystal clear as the waters of the mountain streams.
A poet once wrote that “in the place where a hero is born, the mountains and rivers are fresh and clear.” If no hero had been born in Yagyū Valley, the poet’s words would have been empty; but this was indeed a birthplace of heroes. No better proof could be offered than the lords of Yagyū themselves. In this great house even the retainers were men of nobility. Many had come from the rice fields, distinguished themselves in battle, and gone on to become loyal and competent aides.
Yagyū Muneyoshi Sekishūsai, now that he’d retired, had taken up residence in a small mountain house some distance behind the Main House. He no longer showed any interest in local government, and had no idea who was in direct control at the moment. He had a number of capable sons and grandsons, as well as trustworthy retainers to assist and guide them, and he was safe in assuming that the people were being as well governed as they had been when he was in charge.
When Musashi arrived in this district, about ten days had passed since the battle on Hannya Plain. On the way he had visited some temples, Kasagidera and Jōruriji, where he’d seen relics of the Kemmu era. He put up at the local inn with the intention of relaxing for a time, physically and spiritually.
Dressed informally, he went out one day for a walk with Jōtarō. “It’s amazing,” said Musashi, his eyes roving over the crops in the fields and the farmers going about their work. “Amazing,” he repeated several times.
Finally Jōtarō asked, “What’s amazing?” For him, the most amazing thing was the way Musashi was talking to himself.
“Since leaving Mimasaka, I’ve been in Settsu, Kawachi and Izumi provinces, Kyoto and Nara, and I’ve never seen a place like this.”
“Well, so what? What’s so different about it?”
“For one thing, there are lots of trees in the mountains here.”
Jōtarō laughed. “Trees? There are trees everywhere. Well, aren’t there?”
“Yes, but here it’s different. All the trees in Yagyū are old. That means there haven’t been any wars here, no enemy troops burning or cutting down the forests. It also means there haven’t been any famines, at least for a long, long time.”
“That’s all?”
“No. The fields are green too, and the new barley has been well trampled to strengthen the roots and make it grow well. Listen! Can’t you hear the sound of spinning wheels? It seems to be coming from every house. And haven’t you noticed that when travelers in fine clothing pass by, the farmers don’t look at them enviously?”
“Anything else?”
“As you can see, there are many young girls working the fields. This means that the district is well off, that life is normal here. The children are growing up healthy, the old people are treated with due respect, and the young men and women aren’t running off to live uncertain lives in other places. It’s a safe bet that the lord of the district is wealthy, and that the swords and guns in his armory are kept polished and in the best condition.”
“I don’t see anything so interesting in all that,” complained Jōtarō. “Hmm, I don’t imagine you would.”
“Anyway, you didn’t come here to admire the scenery. Aren’t you going to fight the samurai in the House of Yagyū?”
“Fighting isn’t all there is to the Art of War. The men who think that way, and are satisfied to have food to eat and a place to sleep, are mere vagabonds. A serious student is much more concerned with training his mind and disciplining his spirit than with developing martial skills. He has to learn about