Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [332]
The slowly approaching lanterns, swinging to and fro in the chilly winds from Mount Hiei, seemed dull in comparison with the moonlight.
A few minutes later, Genzaemon alighted from his palanquin and declared, “I guess we’re all here now.”
Genjirō, a boy of thirteen, emerged from the next palanquin. Father and son both wore tightly tied white headbands and had their hakama hitched up high.
Genzaemon instructed his son to go and stand under the pine. The boy nodded silently as his father gave him an encouraging pat on the head, saying, “The battle is being carried out in your name, but the fighting will be done by the disciples. Since you’re too young to take part, you don’t have to do anything but stand there and watch.”
Genjirō ran straight to the tree, where he assumed a pose as stiff and dignified as a samurai doll at the Boys’ Festival.
“We’re a little early,” said Genzaemon. “The sun won’t be up for a while.” Fumbling around his waist, he pulled out a long pipe with a large bowl. “Does anyone have a light?” he asked casually, letting the others know that he was in complete command of himself.
A man stepped forward and said, “Sir, before you settle down for a smoke, don’t you think we should decide how to divide up the men?”
“Yes, I guess we should. Let’s station them quickly, so we’ll be prepared. How are you going to do it?”
“There’ll be a central force here by the tree. Other men will be hiding at intervals of about twenty paces on both sides of the three roads.”
“Who’ll be here by the tree?”
“You and I and about ten others. By being here, we can protect Genjirō and be ready to join in when the signal comes that Musashi has arrived.”
“Wait just a minute,” said Genzaemon, thinking over the strategy with judicious caution. “If the men are spread out like that, there’ll be only about twenty in a position to attack him at the outset.”
“True, but he’ll be surrounded.”
“Not necessarily. You can be sure he’ll bring help. And you have to remember, he’s as good at extracting himself from a tight spot as he is at fighting, if not better. Don’t forget the Rengeōin. He might strike at a point where our men are thinly dispersed, wound three or four, then leave. Then he’d go around bragging he’d taken on more than seventy members of the Yoshioka School and come out the victor.”
“We’ll never let him get away with that.”
“It’d be his word against ours. Even if he brings supporters, people are going to regard this match as being between him personally and the Yoshioka School as a whole. And their sympathies are going to be with the lone swordsman.”
“I think,” said Miike Jūrōzaemon, “it goes without saying that if he escapes again, we’ll never live it down, no matter what we say. We’re here to kill Musashi, and we can’t be too fussy about how we do it. Dead men tell no tales.”
Jūrōzaemon summoned four men in the nearest group to come forward. Three of them carried small bows, the fourth a musket. He had them face Genzaemon. “Perhaps you’d like to see what precautions we’ve taken.”
“Ah! Flying weapons.”
“We can station them on high ground or in trees.”
“Won’t people say we’re using dirty tactics?”
“We care less about what people say than about making sure Musashi is dead.”
“All right. If you’re prepared to face the criticism, I have nothing more to add,” the old man said meekly. “Even if Musashi brings along five or six men, he’s not likely to escape when we have bows and arrows and a gun. Now, if we go on standing here, we may find ourselves taken by surprise. I leave the disposition of the men to you, but get them to their posts immediately.”
The black shadows dispersed like wild geese in a marsh, some diving into copses of bamboo, others disappearing behind trees or flattening themselves out on the ridges between the rice paddies. The three archers ascended to a higher point overlooking the field. Below, the musketeer climbed into the upper branches of the spreading pine. As he squirmed about to conceal himself, pine needles and bark cascaded onto Genjirō.
Noticing the boy wriggling around, Genzaemon