Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [294]
Musashi nodded as he listened, but his attention was distracted by the feel of his sleeves. While the right one was waving lightly in the breeze, the left did not move at all. Slipping his hand in, he drew out an object enough to see what it was—a well-tanned purple leather thong of the type warriors used to tie up their sleeves when fighting. “Myōshū,” he thought. “Only she could have put it there.”
He looked backed and smiled at the men behind them, who, as he was already aware, had been trailing along at a discreet distance ever since he and Kōetsu had turned out of Hon’ami Lane.
His smile seemed to relieve the three men. They whispered a few words to each other and began taking longer strides.
Coming to the Haiya house, Kōetsu sounded the clapper on the gate, and a servant carrying a broom came to admit them. Kōetsu was through the gate and in the front garden before he noticed Musashi was not with him. Turning back toward the gate, he called, “Come in, Musashi. There’s nothing to be hesitant about.”
Having closed in on Musashi, the three samurai had their elbows thrust out and their hands on their swords. Kōetsu couldn’t catch what they said to Musashi, nor the latter’s soft reply.
Musashi told him not to wait, and Kōetsu answered with an air of complete calm. “All right, I’ll be in the house. Join me as soon as you’ve finished your business.”
“We’re not here,” one of the men said, “to argue about whether you ran away to hide or not. I’m Otaguro Hyōsuke. I’m one of the Ten Swordsmen of the House of Yoshioka. I’ve brought a letter from Seijūrō’s younger brother, Denshichirō.” Taking the letter out, he held it up for Musashi to see. “Read it and give us your answer immediately.”
Opening the letter in an offhand manner, Musashi read it quickly and said, “I accept.”
Hyōsuke looked at him suspiciously. “Are you sure?”
Musashi nodded. “Absolutely sure.”
Musashi’s casualness took them off guard.
“If you don’t keep your word, you’ll never be able to show your face in Kyoto again. We’ll see to that!”
Musashi’s stare was accompanied by a slight smile, but he said nothing. “Are you satisfied with the conditions? There’s not much time left to prepare yourself.”
“I’m quite ready,” Musashi answered calmly.
“Then we’ll see you later this evening.”
As Musashi started through the gate, Hyōsuke approached him again and asked, “Will you be here until the time agreed on?”
“No. My host is taking me to the licensed quarter near Rokujō Avenue.”
“The licensed quarter?” Hyōsuke was surprised. “Well, I assume you’ll be either here or there. If you’re late, I’ll send someone for you. I trust you won’t try any tricks.”
Musashi had already turned his back and entered the front garden, a step that took him into a different world.
The irregularly shaped, artlessly spaced stepping-stones of the garden path appeared to have been put there by nature. On either side were moist clumps of low fernlike bamboo, interspersed with taller bamboo shoots, no thicker than a writing brush. As he walked on, the roof of the main house came into view, then the front entrance, a small separate house and a garden bower, each contributing to the atmosphere of venerable age and long tradition. Around the buildings, tall pines suggested wealth and comfort.
He could hear people playing the game of kickball called kemari, a soft sporadic thump, often heard from behind the walls of the mansions of court nobles. Hearing it in a merchant’s establishment surprised him.
Once in the house, he was shown into a room looking out onto the garden. Two servants entered with tea and cakes, one informing them that their host would be with them shortly. Musashi could tell from the servants’ manner that they were impeccably trained.
Kōetsu murmured, “It’s quite cold, isn’t it, now that the sun’s gone down?” He wanted to have the shoji closed but didn’t ask because Musashi