Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [277]
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Seijūrō shook his head. “I forbid you to fight Musashi!”
Denshichirō’s tone became resentful. Taking orders from his elder brother had always annoyed him.
“And why not?”
A tinge of pink appeared on Seijūrō’s pale cheeks. “You can’t win!” he said curtly.
“Who can’t?” Denshichirō’s face was livid.
“You can’t. Not against Musashi.”
“Why can’t I?”
“You’re not good enough!”
“Nonsense!” Denshichirō deliberately broke into a laugh that shook his shoulders. Pulling his hand loose from Seijūrō’s, he upended the sake jar. “Somebody bring sake,” he bellowed. “There’s none left.”
By the time a student came with the sake, Denshichirō was no longer in the room, and Seijūrō was lying face down under the covers. When the student straightened him around and put his head on the pillow, he said softly, “Call him back. I’ve something more to say to him.”
Relieved that the Young Master was speaking clearly, the man ran out to look for Denshichirō. He found him seated on the floor of the dōjō, with Ueda Ryōhei and Miike Jūrōzaemon, Nampo Yoichibei, Ōtaguro Hyōsuke and a few more of the senior disciples.
One was asking, “Have you seen the Young Master?”
“Mm. I just came from his room.”
“He must have been happy to see you.”
“He didn’t seem too pleased. Until I went to his room, I’d been eager to see him. But he was dejected and cross, so I said what I had to say. We got into a quarrel, as usual.”
“You argued with him? You shouldn’t have done that. He’s only just beginning to recover.”
“Wait till you hear the whole story.”
Denshichirō and the senior disciples were like old chums. He grabbed the reproachful Ryōhei by the shoulder and shook him in a friendly way.
“Listen to what my brother said,” he began. “He said I shouldn’t try to clear his name by fighting Musashi, because I couldn’t win! And if I was defeated, the House of Yoshioka would be ruined. He told me he’d retire and accept sole responsibility for the disgrace. He doesn’t expect me to do any more than carry on in his place and work hard to put the school back on its feet.”
“I see.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Ryōhei didn’t answer.
As they sat there in silence, the student came in and said to Denshichirō, “The Young Master wants you to come back to his room.”
Denshichirō scowled. “What happened to the sake?” he snapped. “I left it in Seijūrō’s room.”
“Well, bring it here!”
“What about your brother?”
“He seems to be suffering from a case of the jitters. Do as I say.”
The protestations of the others that they did not want any, that this was no time to be drinking, annoyed Denshichirō and he lashed out at them. “What’s the matter with all of you? Are you afraid of Musashi too?”
Shock, pain and bitterness were evident in their faces. To their dying day, they would remember how with a single blow of a wooden sword their master had been crippled and the school disgraced. Still, they had been unable to agree on a plan of action. Every discussion over the past three days had split them into two factions, some favoring a second challenge, others arguing for leaving bad enough alone. Now a few of the older men looked approvingly at Denshichirō, but the rest, Ryōhei included, were inclined to agree with their defeated master. Unfortunately, it was one thing for Seijūrō to urge forbearance and quite another for the students to agree, particularly in the presence of this hotheaded younger brother.
Denshichirō, observing their hesitancy, declared, “Even if my brother is injured, he has no business behaving like a coward. Just like a woman! How could I be expected to listen, let alone agree?”
The sake had been brought, and he proceeded to pour each man a cup. Now that he was going to be running things, he intended to set the tone he himself liked: this would be a real man’s outfit.
“This is what I’m going to do,” he announced. “I’ll fight Musashi and defeat him! It doesn’t matter what my brother says. If he thinks we should let