Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [139]
“Not at all.”
About three hundred yards from the dōjō, a crowd had gathered, and several torches had been lit. Besides Murata, Debuchi and Kimura, there were a number of foot soldiers and guards, forming a black circle, all talking and shouting at once.
From the outer rim of the circle, Musashi peered into the open space in the middle. His heart sank. There, just as he had feared, was Jōtarō, covered with blood and looking like the devil’s own child—wooden sword in hand, his teeth tightly clenched, his shoulders rising and falling with his heavy breathing.
By his side lay Tarō, teeth bared, legs outstretched. The dog’s sightless eyes reflected the light of the torches; blood trickled from his mouth.
“It’s his lordship’s dog,” someone said mournfully.
A samurai went toward Jōtarō and shouted, “You little bastard! What have you done? Are you the one who killed this dog?” The man brought his hand down in a furious slap, which Jōtarō just managed to dodge.
Squaring his shoulders, he shouted defiantly, “Yes, I did it!”
“You admit it?”
“I had a reason!”
“Ha!”
“I was taking revenge.”
“What?” There was general astonishment at Jōtarō’s answer; the whole crowd was angry. Tar() was the favorite pet of Lord Munenori of Tajima. Not only that; he was the pedigreed offspring of Raiko, a bitch belonging to and much loved by Lord Yorinori of Kishū. Lord Yorinori had personally given the pup to Munenori, who had himself reared it. The slaying of the animal would consequently be investigated thoroughly, and the fate of the two samurai who had been paid to take good care of the dog was now in jeopardy.
The man now facing Jōtarō was one of these two.
“Shut up!” he shouted, aiming his fist at Jōtarō’s head. This time Jōtarō did not duck in time. The blow landed in the vicinity of his ear.
Jōtarō raised his hand to feel his wound. “What are you doing?” he screamed.
“You killed the master’s dog. You don’t mind if I beat you to death the same way, do you? Because that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
“All I did was get even with him. Why punish me for that? A grown man should know that’s not right!”
In Jōtarō’s view, he had only protected his honor, and risked his life in doing so, for a visible wound was a great disgrace to a samurai. To defend his pride, there was no alternative to killing the dog: indeed, in all likelihood he had expected to be praised for his valiant conduct. He stood his ground, determined not to flinch.
“Shut your impudent mouth!” screamed the keeper. “I don’t care if you are only a child. You’re old enough to know the difference between a dog and a human being. The very idea—taking revenge on a dumb animal!”
He grabbed Jōtarō’s collar, looked to the crowd for approval, and declared it his duty to punish the dog’s murderer. The crowd silently nodded in agreement. The four men who had so recently been entertaining Musashi looked distressed but said nothing.
“Bark, boy! Bark like a dog!” the keeper shouted. He swung Jōtarō around and around by his collar and with a black look in his eye threw him to the ground. Seizing an oak staff, he raised it above his head ready to strike.
“You killed the dog, you little hoodlum. Now it’s your turn! Stand up so I can kill you! Bark! Bite me!”
Teeth tightly clenched, Jōtarō propped himself up on one arm and struggled to his feet, wooden sword in hand. His features had not lost their spritelike quality, but the expression on his face was anything but childlike, and the howl that issued from his throat was eerily savage.
When an adult gets angry, he often regrets it later, but when a child’s wrath is aroused, not even the mother who brought him into the world can placate him.
“Kill me!” he screamed. “Go on, kill me!”
“Die, then!” raged the keeper. He struck.
The blow would have killed the boy if it had connected, but it didn’t. A sharp crack reverberated in the ears of the bystanders, and Jōtarō’s wooden sword went flying through the air. Without thinking about it, he had parried the keeper