Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [300]
“Sake, now?”
“Yes, now. I’m cold.” Moving closer to the fire, Denshichirō squatted, almost hugging it.
Since no one could remember a time, morning, noon or night, when he had appeared at the dōjō not smelling of alcohol, his drinking had come to be accepted as a matter of course. Though the fate of the whole Yoshioka School was at stake, one man wondered fuzzily if it wouldn’t be better for him to warm his body with a little sake than to try to wield the sword with freezing arms and legs. Another quietly pointed out that it would be risky to disobey him, even for his own good, and a couple of the men ran off to the teahouse. The sake they brought was piping hot.
“Good!” said Denshichirō. “My very best friend and ally.”
They watched nervously as he imbibed, praying he wouldn’t consume as much as usual. Denshichirō, however, stopped well short of his normal quota. Despite his show of nonchalance, he well knew that his life was in the balance.
“Listen! Could that be Musashi?”
Ears pricked up.
As the men around the fire rapidly got to their feet, a dark figure appeared around the corner of the building. He waved his hand and shouted, “Don’t worry; it’s only me.”
Though gallantly attired, with his hakama tucked up for running, he could not disguise his age. His back was bent into the shape of a bow. When the men could see him more clearly, they informed each other that it was only the “old man from Mibu,” and the excitement died down. The old man was Yoshioka Genzaemon, Kempō’s brother and Denshichirō’s uncle.
“Why, if it isn’t Uncle Gen! What brings you here?” exclaimed Denshichirō. It had not occurred to him that his uncle might consider his assistance needed tonight.
“Ah, Denshichirō,” said Genzaemon, “you’re really going through with it. I’m relieved to find you here.”
“I meant to go and discuss the matter with you first, but—”
“Discuss? What is there to discuss? The Yoshioka name has been dragged through the mud, your brother’s been made a cripple! If you’d taken no action, you’d have had me to answer to!”
“There’s nothing to worry about. I’m not weak-kneed like my brother.”
“I’ll take your word for that. And I know you’ll win, but I thought I’d better come and give you some encouragement. I ran all the way from Mibu. Denshichirō, let me warn you, you shouldn’t take this opponent too lightly, from what I hear.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Don’t be in too much of a hurry to win. Be calm, leave it to the gods. If by any chance you get killed, I’ll take care of your body.”
“Ha, ha, ha, ha! Come, Uncle Gen, warm yourself by the fire.”
The old man silently drank a cup of sake, then addressed the others reproachfully. “What are you doing here? Certainly you don’t intend to back him up with your swords, do you? This match is between one swordsman and another, and it looks cowardly to have a lot of supporters around. It’s almost time now. Come with me, all of you. We’ll go far enough away so it doesn’t look as though we were planning a mass attack.”
The men did as they were commanded, leaving Denshichirō alone. He sat close to the fire, thinking: “When I heard the bells, it was eight o’clock. It must be nine by now. Musashi’s late.”
The only trace of his disciples was their black footprints in the snow; the only sound, the crack of icicles breaking off the eaves of the temple. Once, the branch of a tree snapped under the weight of the snow. Each time the silence was disturbed, Denshichirō’s eyes darted about like a falcon’s.
And like a falcon, a man came kicking through the snow.
Nervous and panting, Hyōsuke said between breaths, “He’s coming.”
Denshichirō knew the message before he heard it and was already on his feet. “He’s coming?” he asked parrotlike, but his feet were automatically stamping out the last embers of the fire.
Hyōsuke reported that Musashi had taken his time after leaving the Ōgiya, as if oblivious of the heavy snowfall. “Just a few minutes ago he climbed the stone steps of the Gion Shrine. I took a back street and came as fast as I could, but