Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [278]
Nampo Yoichibei spoke up. “There’s no question about your ability. We all have confidence in that, but still …”
“But still what? What’s on your mind?”
“Well, your brother seems to be of the opinion that Musashi isn’t important. He’s right, isn’t he? Think of the risk—”
“Risk?” howled Denshichirō.
“I didn’t mean it that way! I take it back,” stammered Yoichibei.
But the damage was done. Denshichirō, jumping up and seizing him by the scruff of the neck, threw him violently against the wall.
“Get out of here! Coward!”
“It was a slip of the tongue. I didn’t mean to—”
“Shut up! Out! Weaklings aren’t fit to drink with me.”
Yoichibei turned pale, then quietly sank to his knees, facing the others. “I thank you all for letting me stay among you so long,” he said simply. He went to the small Shinto shrine in the back of the room, bowed and left.
Without so much as a glance in his direction, Denshichirō said, “Now let’s all drink together. After that, I want you to find Musashi. I doubt that he’s left Kyoto yet. He’s probably swaggering around town boasting of his victory.
“And another thing. We’re going to put some life back into this dōjō. I want each of you to practice hard and see that your fellow students do too. As soon as I’ve had a rest, I’ll start practicing myself. And remember one thing. I’m not soft like my brother. I want even the youngest to go at it for all they’re worth.”
Exactly a week later, one of the younger students came running into the dōjō with the news: “I’ve found him!”
Denshichirō, true to his word, had been training relentlessly day after day. His seemingly inexhaustible energy came as a surprise to the disciples, a group of whom were now watching him take care of Ōtaguro, one of the most experienced among them, as though he were a child.
“We’ll stop now,” said Denshichirō, withdrawing his sword and sitting down at the edge of the practice area. “You say you’ve found him?”
“Yes.” The student came and knelt before Denshichirō.
“Where?”
“East of Jissōin, in Hon’ami Lane. Musashi’s staying at the house of Hon’ami Kōetsu. I’m sure of it.”
“Strange. How would a rustic like Musashi get to know a man like Kōetsu?” “I don’t know, but that’s where he is.”
“All right, let’s go after him. Now!” barked Denshichirō, striding off to make his preparations. Ōtaguro and Ueda, trailing along behind, tried to dissuade him.
“Taking him by surprise would make it look like a common brawl. People would disapprove, even if we carried it off.”
“Never mind. Etiquette is for the dōjō. In a real battle, he who wins, wins!”
“True, but that isn’t the way that oaf defeated your brother. Don’t you think it would be more befitting a swordsman to send him a letter specifying the time and place, then beat him fair and square?”
“Urn, maybe you’re right. All right, we’ll do it that way. In the meantime I don’t want any of you to let my brother talk you into opposing me. I’ll fight Musashi whatever Seijūrō or anybody else says.”
“We’ve gotten rid of all the men who disagreed with you, as well as the ingrates who wanted to leave.”
“Good! We’re that much stronger. We have no need of crooks like Gion Tōji or timid souls like Nampo Yoichibei.”
“Should we mention it to your brother before sending the letter?” “Not you, no! I’ll do it myself.”
As he went off toward Seijūrō’s room, the others prayed there wouldn’t be another fraternal clash; neither brother had budged an inch on the question of Musashi. When after a time no loud voices were heard, the students took up the matter of time and place for this second confrontation with their mortal foe.
Then Denshichirō’s voice rang out. “Ueda! Miike! Ōtaguro … all of you! Come here!”
Denshichirō was standing in the middle of the room with a clouded look on his face and tears in his eyes. No one had ever seen him like this.
“Take a look at this, all of you.”
He held up a long, long letter and said, with forced