Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [133]
Shōda Kizaemon was, needless to say, an accomplished swordsman, having mastered the Shinkage Style at an early age and, under the tutelage of Sekishūsai himself, gone on to learn the secrets of the Yagyū Style. To this he had added some personal techniques of his own, and he spoke proudly now of the “True Shōda Style.”
The Yagyū horse trainer, Kimura Sukekurō, was also an adept, as was Murata Yozō, who, though employed as keeper of the storehouse, was said to have been a good match for Hyōgo. Debuchi Magobei, another relatively minor official, had studied swordsmanship from childhood and wielded a powerful weapon indeed. The Lord of Echizen had tried to persuade Debuchi to come into his service, and the Tokugawas of Kii had tried to lure Murata away, but both of them had chosen to stay in Yagyū, though the material benefits were fewer.
The House of Yagyū, now enjoying a peak in its fortunes, was turning out a seemingly unending stream of great swordsmen. By the same token, the Yagyū samurai were not recognized as swordsmen until they had proved their ability by surviving the merciless regimen.
“You there!” called Kizaemon to a guard passing by outside. He had been surprised by the sight of Jōtarō following along after the soldier.
“Hello!” shouted Jōtarō in his friendliest manner.
“What are you doing inside the castle?” asked Kizaemon sternly.
“The man at the gate brought me in,” answered Jōtarō, truthfully enough. “He did, did he?” To the guard, he said, “Why did you bring this boy here?” “He said he wanted to see you.”
“Do you mean to say you brought this child here on his word alone? .. . Boy.
“Yes, sir.”
“This is no playground. Get along with you.”
“But I didn’t come to play. I brought a letter from my teacher.”
“From your teacher? Didn’t you say he was one of those wandering students?”
“Look at the letter, please.”
“I don’t need to.”
“What’s the matter? Can’t you read?”
Kizaemon snorted.
“Well, if you can read, read it.”
“You’re a tricky brat. The reason I said I don’t need to read it is that I already know what it says.”
“Even so, wouldn’t it be more polite to read it?”
“Student warriors swarm here like mosquitoes and maggots. If I took time to be polite to all of them, I wouldn’t be able to do anything else. I feel sorry for you, however, so I’ll tell you what the letter says. All right?
“It says that the writer would like to be allowed to see our magnificent dōjō, that he would like to bask, even for a minute, in the shadow of the greatest master in the land, and that for the sake of all those successors who will follow the Way of the Sword, he would be grateful to have a lesson bestowed upon him. I imagine that’s about the long and short of it.”
Jōtarō’s eyes rounded. “Is that what the letter says?”
“Yes, so I don’t need to read it, do I? Let it not be said, however, that the House of Yagyū coldheartedly turns away those who call upon it.” He paused and continued, as though having rehearsed the speech: “Ask the guard there to explain everything to you. When student warriors come to this house, they enter through the main gate and proceed to the middle gate, to the right of which is a building called the Shin’indō. It is identified by a hanging wooden plaque. If they apply to the caretaker there, they are free to rest for a time, and there are facilities for them to stop over for a night or two. When they leave, they are given a small amount of money to help them along the way. Now, the thing for you to do is to take this letter to the caretaker at the Shin’indō—understand?”
“No!” said Jōtarō. He shook his head and raised his right shoulder slightly. “Listen, sir!”
“Well?”
“You shouldn’t judge people by their appearance. I’m not the son of a beggar!”
“I do have to admit you have a certain knack with words.”
“Why don’t you just take a look at the letter? It may say something completely different from what you think. What would you do