Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [140]
Weaponless, he closed his eyes and charged blindly at the enemy’s midriff, latching on to the man’s obi with his teeth. Holding on for dear life, he tore with his nails at the keeper’s groin, while the keeper made futile swings with his staff.
Musashi had remained silent, arms folded and face expressionless, but then another oak staff appeared. A second man had dashed into the ring and was on the verge of attacking Jōtarō from behind. Musashi moved into action. His arms came down and in no time he forced his way through the solid wall of men into the arena.
“Coward!” he shouted at the second man.
An oak stick and two legs described an arc in the air, coming to rest in a clump about four yards away.
Musashi shouted, “And now for you, you little devil!” Gripping Jōtarō’s obi with both hands, he lifted the boy above his head and held him there. Turning to the keeper, who was taking a fresh grip on his staff, he said, “I’ve been watching this from the start, and I think you’re going about it the wrong way. This boy is my servant, and if you’re going to question him, you ought to question me too.”
In fiery tones, the keeper answered, “All right, we’ll do that. We’ll question the two of you!”
“Good! We’ll take you on together. Now, here’s the boy!”
He threw Jōtarō straight at the man. The crowd let out an appalled gasp and fell back. Was the man mad? Who ever heard of using one human being as a weapon against another human?
The keeper stared in disbelief as Jōtarō sailed through the air and rammed into his chest. The man fell straight back, as though a prop holding him up had suddenly been removed. It was difficult to tell whether he had struck his head against a rock, or whether his ribs had been broken. Hitting the ground with a howl, he began vomiting blood. Jōtarō bounced off the man’s chest, did a somersault in the air, and rolled like a ball to a point twenty or thirty feet away.
“Did you see that?” a man shouted.
“Who is this crazy rōnin?”
The fracas no longer involved only the dog’s keeper; the other samurai began abusing Musashi. Most of them were unaware that Musashi was an invited guest, and several suggested killing him then and there.
“Now,” said Musashi, “everybody listen!”
They watched him closely as he took Jōtarō’s wooden sword in his hand and faced them, a terrifying scowl on his face.
“The child’s crime is his master’s crime. We are both prepared to pay for it. But first let me tell you this: we have no intention of letting ourselves be killed like dogs. We are prepared to take you on.”
Instead of acknowledging the crime and taking his punishment, he was challenging them! If at this point Musashi had apologized for Jōtarō and spoken in his defense, if he had made even the slightest effort to soothe the ruffled feelings of the Yagyū samurai, the whole incident might have passed by quietly. But Musashi’s attitude precluded this. He seemed set on creating a still greater disturbance.
Shōda, Kimura, Debuchi and Murata all frowned, wondering anew what sort of freak they had invited to the castle. Deploring his lack of sense, they gradually edged around the crowd while keeping a watchful eye on him.
The crowd had been seething to begin with, and Musashi’s challenge exacerbated their anger.
“Listen to him! He’s an outlaw!”
“He’s a spy! Tie him up!”
“No, cut him up!”
“Don’t let him get away!”
For a moment it looked as though Musashi and Jōtarō, who was again by his side, would be swallowed up by a sea of swords, but then an authoritative voice cried, “Wait!”
It was Kizaemon, who together with Debuchi and Murata was trying to hold the crowd in check.
“This man seems to have planned all this,” said Kizaemon. “If you let him entice you and you’re wounded or killed, we shall have to answer to his lordship for it. The dog was important, but not as important as a human life. The four of us will assume all responsibility. Rest assured no harm will befall you because of anything we do. Now calm down and go home.”
With some reluctance, the others dispersed, leaving the four men who