Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [165]
Matahachi was pleased with himself. The brawl had erupted between two workmen, and when he had scowled at them, threatening to kill them both if they did any damage to the stall, they had fled.
“Lots of people around, aren’t there?” he remarked amiably.
“It’s the end of the year. They stay awhile and move on, but others keep coming.”
“Nice that the weather’s holding up.”
Matahachi’s face was red from drink. As he lifted his cup, he remembered having sworn off before he went to work at Fushimi, and vaguely wondered how he had started again. “Well, what of it?” he thought. “If a man can’t have a drink now and then …”
“Bring me another, old boy,” he said aloud.
The man sitting quietly on the stool next to Matahachi’s was also a rōnin. His long and short swords were impressive; townsmen would be inclined to steer clear of him, even though he wore no cloak over his kimono, which was quite dirty around the neck.
“Hey, bring me another one too, and make it quick!” he shouted. Propping his right leg on his left knee, he scrutinized Matahachi from the feet up. When his eyes came to the face, he smiled and said, “Hello.”
“Hello,” said Matahachi. “Have a sip of mine while yours is being heated.”
“Thanks,” said the man, holding out his cup. “It’s humiliating to be a drinker, isn’t it? I saw you sitting here with your sake, and then this nice aroma floated through the air and pulled me over here—by the sleeve, sort of.” He drained his cup in one gulp.
Matahachi liked his style. He seemed friendly, and there was something dashing about him. He could drink too; he put down five jars in the next few minutes, while Matahachi was taking his time over one. Yet he was still sober.
“How much do you usually drink?” asked Matahachi.
“Oh, I don’t know,” replied the man offhandedly. “Ten or twelve jars, when I feel like it.”
They fell to talking about the political situation, and after a time the rōnin straightened up his shoulders and said, “Who’s Ieyasu anyway? What kind of nonsense is it for him to ignore Hideyori’s claims and go around calling himself the ‘Great Overlord’? Without Honda Masazumi and some of his other old supporters, what have you got? Cold-bloodedness, foxiness and a little political ability—I mean, all he has is a certain flair for politics that you usually don’t find in military men.
“Personally, I wish Ishida Mitsunari had won at Sekigahara, but he was too high-minded to organize the daimyō. And his status wasn’t high enough.” Having delivered himself of this appraisal, he suddenly asked, “If Osaka were to clash with Edo again, which side would you be on?”
Not without hesitation, Matahachi replied, “Osaka.”
“Good!” The man stood up with his sake jar in his hand. “You’re one of us. Let’s drink to that! What fief do you— Oh, I guess I shouldn’t ask that until I tell you who I am. My name is Akakabe Yasoma. I’m from Gamō. Perhaps you’ve heard of Ban Dan’emon? I’m a good friend of his. We’ll be together again one of these days. I’m also a friend of Susukida Hayato Kanesuke, the distinguished general at Osaka Castle. We traveled together when he was still a rōnin. I’ve also met Ono Shurinosuke three or four times, but he’s too gloomy for me, even if he does have more political influence than Kanesuke.”
He stepped back, paused for a moment, seemingly having second thoughts about talking too much, then asked, “Who are you?”
Matahachi, though he did not believe everything the man had said, felt somehow that he had been put temporarily in the shade.
“Do you know of Toda Seigen?” he asked. “The man who originated the Tomita Style.”
“I’ve heard the name.”
“Well, my teacher was the great and selfless hermit Kanemaki Jisai, who received the true Tomita Style from Seigen and then developed the