Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [129]
“This Denshichirō seems to have a good deal of self-confidence. If he wants so badly to come, perhaps I myself should take him on.”
“No, don’t even consider it. These sons of famous people usually have a high opinion of themselves; moreover, they’re prone to try and twist things to their own advantage. If you were to beat him, you can depend on it that he’d try to destroy our reputation in Kyoto. As far as I’m concerned, it makes no difference, but I don’t want to burden Munenori or Hyōgo with something like that.”
“What shall we do, then?”
“The best thing would be to appease him in some way, make him feel he’s being treated the way a son from a great house should be treated. Maybe it was a mistake to send a man to see him.” Shifting his gaze to Otsū, he continued: “I think a woman would be better. Otsū is probably just the right person.”
“All right,” she said. “Do you want me to go now?”
“No, there’s no hurry. Tomorrow morning will do.”
Sekishūsai quickly wrote a simple letter, of the sort a tea master might compose, and handed it to Otsū, with a peony like the one he had put in the vase. “Give these to him, and tell him that you’ve come in my stead because I have a cold. Let’s see what his answer is.”
The next morning, Otsū draped a long veil over her head. Although veils were already out of style in Kyoto, even among the higher classes, the upper-and middle-class women in the provinces still prized them.
At the stable, which was in the outer grounds of the castle, she asked to borrow a horse.
The keeper of the stables, who was busy cleaning up, asked, “Oh, are you going somewhere?”
“Yes, I have to go to the Wataya on an errand for his lordship.”
“Shall I go with you?”
“There’s no need for that.”
“Will you be all right?”
“Of course. I like horses. The ones I used to ride in Mimasaka were wild, or nearly so.”
As she rode off, the reddish-brown veil floated in the wind behind her. She rode well, holding the letter and the slightly weary peony in one hand and deftly handling the horse with the other. Farmers and workers in the field waved to her, for in the short time she had been here, she had already become fairly well known among the local people, whose relations with Sekishūsai were much friendlier than were usual between lord and peasants. The farmers here all knew that a beautiful young woman had come to play the flute for their lord, and their admiration and respect for him were extended to Otsū.
Arriving at the Wataya, she dismounted and tied her horse to a tree in the garden.
“Welcome!” called Kocha, coming out to greet her. “Are you staying for the night?”
“No, I’ve just come from Koyagyū Castle with a message for Yoshioka Denshichirō. He’s still here, isn’t he?”
“Would you wait a moment, please?”
In the brief time Kocha was gone, Otsū created a mild stir among the travelers who were noisily putting on their leggings and sandals and strapping their luggage to their backs.
“Who’s that?” asked one.
“Who do you suppose she’s come to see?”
Otsū’s beauty, a graceful elegance seldom encountered in the country, kept the departing guests whispering and ogling until she followed Kocha out of sight.
Denshichirō and his companions, having drunk until late the night before, had only just arisen. When told that a messenger had come from the castle, they assumed it would be the man who had come the day before. The sight of Otsū with her white peony came as a distinct surprise.
“Oh, please forgive the room! It’s a mess.”
With abjectly apologetic faces, they straightened their kimonos and sat properly and a little stiffly on their knees.
“Please, come in, come in.”
“I’ve been sent by the lord of Koyagyū Castle,” Otsū said simply, placing the letter and the peony before Denshichirō. “Would you be so kind as to read the letter now?”
“Ah, yes … this is the letter? Yes, I’ll read it.”
He opened the scroll, which was no more than a foot long.