Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [28]
“How can I do that? He isn’t here.”
“That’s a black lie!” she shrieked. “You must know where he is!”
“But I tell you I don’t!” Ogin protested. Her voice quivered and her eyes
filled with tears. She bent over, wishing with all her might her father were
still alive.
Suddenly, from the door opening onto the veranda, came a cracking noise, followed by the sound of running feet.
Osugi’s eyes flashed, and Otsū started to stand up, but the next sound was a hair-raising scream—as close to an animal’s howl as the human voice is capable of producing.
A man shouted, “Catch him!”
Then came the sound of more feet, several more, running around the house, accompanied by the snapping of twigs and the rustling of bamboo.
“It’s Takezō!” cried Osugi. Jumping to her feet, she glared at the kneeling Ogin and spat out her words. “I knew he was here,” she said ferociously. “It was as clear to me as the nose on your face. I don’t know why you’ve tried to hide him from me, but bear in mind, I’ll never forget this.”
She rushed to the door and slid it open with a bang. What she saw outside turned her already pale face even whiter. A young man wearing shin plates was lying face up on the ground, obviously dead but with fresh blood still streaming from his eyes and nose. Judging from the appearance of his shattered skull, someone had killed him with a single blow of a wooden sword.
“There’s … there’s a dead … a dead man out there!” she stammered.
Otsū brought the light to the veranda and stood beside Osugi, who was staring terror-stricken at the corpse. It was neither Takezō’s nor Matahachi’s, but that of a samurai neither of them recognized.
Osugi murmured, “Who could’ve done this?” Turning swiftly to Otsū, she said, “Let’s go home before we get mixed up in something.”
Otsū couldn’t bring herself to leave. The old woman had said a lot of vicious things. It would be unfair to Ogin to leave before putting salve on the wounds. If Ogin had been lying, Otsū felt she must doubtless have had good reason. Feeling she should stay behind to comfort Ogin, she told Osugi she would be along later.
“Do as you please,” snapped Osugi, as she made her departure.
Ogin graciously offered her a lantern, but Osugi was proudly defiant in her refusal. “I’ll have you know that the head of the Hon’iden family is not so senile that she needs a light to walk by.” She tucked up her kimono hems, left the house and walked resolutely into the thickening mist.
Not far from the house, a man called her to a halt. He had his sword drawn, and his arms and legs were protected by armor. He was obviously a professional samurai of a type not ordinarily encountered in the village.
“Didn’t you just come from the Shimmen house?” he asked.
“Yes, but—”
“Are you a member of the Shimmen household?”
“Certainly not!” Osugi snapped, waving her hand in protest. “I am the head of the samurai house across the river.”
“Does that mean you are the mother of Hon’iden Matahachi, who went with Shimmen Takezō to the Battle of Sekigahara?”
“Well, yes, but my son didn’t go because he wanted to. He was tricked into going by that young demon.”
“Demon?”
“That … Takezō!”
“I gather this Takezō is not too well thought of in the village.”
“Well thought of? That’s a laugh. You never saw such a hoodlum! You can’t
imagine the trouble we’ve had at my house since my son took up with him.” “Your son seems to have died at Sekigahara. I’m—”
“Matahachi! Dead?”
“Well, actually, I’m not sure, but perhaps it’ll be some comfort to you in your grief to know that I’ll do everything possible to help you take revenge.” Osugi eyed him skeptically. “Just who are you?”
“I’m with the Tokugawa garrison. We came to Himeji Castle after the battle. On orders from my lord, I’ve set up a barrier on the Harima Province border to screen everyone who crosses.
“This Takezō, from that house back there,” he continued, pointing, “broke through the barrier and fled toward Miyamoto. We chased him all the way here. He’s a tough one, all right. We thought