Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [221]
“Whew!” was all he could say.
For a few minutes he sat inertly, his spirit dampened, if not broken, but then he remembered why he was there and jumped up.
Heedless of the ground he had covered, he shouted, “Otsū!”
He ran back up the slope, one hand firmly around his wooden sword. “What could have happened to her? … Otsū! O-tsū-ū-ū!”
Presently he met a man in a grayish-red kimono coming down the hill. The stranger wore a leather hakama and carried two swords, but had on no cloak. After passing Jōtarō, he looked over his shoulder and said, “Hello, there!” Jōtarō turned, and the man asked, “Is something wrong?”
“You came from over the hill, didn’t you?” Jōtarō asked.
“Yes.”
“Did you see a pretty woman about twenty years old?”
“I did, as a matter of fact.”
“Where?”
“In Natsumi I saw some freebooters walking along with a girl. Her arms were tied behind her, which naturally struck me as strange, but I had no reason to interfere. I daresay the men were from Tsujikaze Kōhei’s gang. He moved a whole villageful of hoodlums from Yasugawa to Suzuka Valley some years ago.”
“That was her, I’m sure.” Jōtarō started to walk on, but the man stopped him.
“Were you traveling together?” he asked.
“Yes. Her name’s Otsū.”
“If you take foolish risks you’ll get yourself killed before you can help anybody. Why don’t you wait here? They’ll come this way sooner or later. For now, tell me what this is all about. I may be able to give you some advice.”
The boy immediately placed his trust in the man and told him everything that had happened since morning. From time to time, the man nodded under his basket hat. When the story ended, he said, “I understand your predicament, but even with your courage, a woman and a boy are no match for Kōhei’s men. I think I’d better rescue Otsū—is that her name?—for you.”
“Would they hand her over to you?”
“Maybe not for the mere asking, but I’ll think about that when the time comes. Meanwhile, you hide in a thicket and stay quiet.”
While Jōtarō selected a clump of bushes and hid behind it, the man continued briskly on down the hill. For a moment, Jōtarō wondered if he had been deceived. Had the rōnin just said a few words to cheer him up, then moved on to save his own neck? Seized by anxiety, he lifted his head above the shrubs, but hearing voices, ducked down again.
A minute or two later Otsū came into view, surrounded by the three men, her hands tied firmly behind her. Blood was encrusted on a cut on her white foot.
One of the ruffians, shoving Otsū forward by the shoulder, growled, “What are you looking around for? Walk faster!”
“That’s right, walk!”
“I’m looking for my traveling companion. What could have happened to him? … Jōtarō!”
“Quiet!”
Jōtarō was all set to yell and jump out of his hiding place when the rōnin came back, this time without his basket hat. He was twenty-six or -seven and of a darkish complexion. In his eyes was a purposeful look that strayed neither right nor left. As he trotted up the incline, he was saying, as if to himself, “It’s terrifying, really terrifying!”
When he passed Otsū and her captors, he mumbled a greeting and hastened on, but the men stopped. “Hey,” one of them called. “Aren’t you Watanabe’s nephew? What’s so terrifying?”
Watanabe was the name of an old family in the district, the present head of which was Watanabe Hanzō, a highly respected practitioner of the occult martial tactics known collectively as ninjutsu.
“Haven’t you heard?”
“Heard what?”
“Down at the bottom of this hill there’s a samurai named Miyamoto Musashi, all ready for a big fight. He’s standing in the middle of the road with his sword unsheathed, questioning everybody who passes by. He has the fiercest eyes I ever saw.”
“Musashi’s doing that?”
“That’s right. He came straight up to me and asked my name, so I told him that I was Tsuge