Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [125]
In response to this, the best these city youths could say was that Sekishūsai was “tactful,” that he had decided to “play it safe,” and that he couldn’t be “as good as he’s said to be.” They seemed exceedingly satisfied with themselves, but Musashi thought them ridiculous. In contrast to what he had seen of Koyagyū Castle and the enviable state of the area’s inhabitants, they appeared to have nothing better to offer than clever conversation.
It reminded him of a saying about the frog at the bottom of a well, unable to see what was going on in the outside world. Sometimes, he was thinking, it works the other way around. These pampered young sons of Kyoto were in a position to see what was happening at the center of things and to know what was going on everywhere, but it would not have occurred to them that while they were watching the great open sea, somewhere else, at the bottom of a deep well, a frog was steadily growing larger and stronger. Here in Koyagyū, well away from the country’s political and economic center, sturdy samurai had for decades been leading a healthy rural life, preserving the ancient virtues, correcting their weak points and growing in stature.
With the passage of time, Koyagyū had produced Yagyū Muneyoshi, a great master of the martial arts, and his son Lord Munenori of Tajima, whose prowess had been recognized by Ieyasu himself. And there were also Muneyoshi’s older sons, Gorōzaemon and Toshikatsu, famous throughout the land for their bravery, and his grandson Hyōgo Toshitoshi, whose prodigious feats had earned him a highly paid position under the renowned general Katō Kiyomasa of Higo. In fame and prestige, the House of Yagyū did not rank with the House of Yoshioka, but in terms of ability, the difference was a thing of the past. Denshichirō and his companions were blind to their own arrogance. Musashi, nevertheless, felt a little sorry for them.
He went over to a corner where water was piped into the room. Undoing his headband, he seized a handful of clay and began scrubbing his scalp. For the first time in many weeks, he treated himself to the luxury of a good shampoo.
In the meantime, the men from Kyoto were finishing their bath. “Ah, that felt good.”
“Indeed it did. Now why don’t we have some girls in to pour our sake for us?”
“Splendid idea! Splendid!”
The three finished drying themselves and left. After a thorough wash and another soak in the hot water, Musashi too dried off, tied up his hair, and went back to his room. There he found the boyish-looking Kocha in tears.
“What happened to you?”
“It’s that boy of yours, sir. Look where he hit me!”
“That’s a lie!” Jōtarō cried angrily from the opposite corner.
Musashi was about to scold him, but Jōtarō protested, “The dope said you were weak!”
“That’s not true. I didn’t.”
“You did too!”
“Sir, I didn’t say you or anybody else was weak. This brat started bragging about how you were the greatest swordsman in the country, because you’d killed dozens of rōnin at Hannya Plain, and I said there wasn’t anybody in Japan better with the sword than the lord of this district, and then he started slapping me on the cheeks.”
Musashi laughed. “I see. He shouldn’t have done that, and I’ll give him a good scolding. I hope you’ll forgive us. Jō!” he said sternly.
“Yes, sir,” said the boy, still sulking.
“Go take a bath!”
“I don’t like to take baths.”
“Neither do I,” Musashi lied. “But you, you’re so sweaty you stink.” “I’ll go swimming in the river tomorrow morning.”
The boy was becoming more and more stubborn as he grew more accustomed to Musashi, but Musashi did not really mind. In fact, he rather liked this side of Jōtarō. In the end, the boy did not go to the bath.
Before long Kocha brought the dinner trays. They ate in silence, Jōtarō and the maid glaring at each other, while she served the meal.
Musashi was preoccupied with his private objective of meeting Sekish