Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [355]
“Let’s go,” said the boy impatiently.
As they started to walk on, one of the priests from the Mudōji came running after them. “Seinen!” he called to the boy. “Where are you going?”
“To the main hall. He wants to see a statue of Kannon.”
“Couldn’t you take him some other time?”
“Forgive me for bringing the boy with me when he probably has work to do,” said Musashi. “By all means take him back with you. I can go to the main hall anytime.”
“I didn’t come for him. I’d like you to come back with me, if you don’t mind.”
“Me?”
“Yes, I’m sorry to bother you, but … “
“Has somebody come looking for me?” asked Musashi, not at all surprised. “Well, yes. I told them you weren’t in, but they said they’d just seen you with Seinen. They insisted I come and get you.”
On the way back to the Mudōji, Musashi asked the priest who his visitors were and learned that they were from the Sannōin, another of the subsidiary temples.
There were about ten of them, dressed in black robes and wearing brown headbands. Their angry faces might well have belonged to the dreaded warrior-priests of old, a haughty race of bullies in clerical robes who had had their wings clipped but apparently had rebuilt their nest. Those who had failed to profit from Nobunaga’s lesson swaggered about with great swords at their sides, lording it over others, calling themselves scholars of the Buddhist Law but being in fact intellectual ruffians.
“There he is,” said one.
“Him?” asked another contemptuously.
They stared with undisguised hostility.
A burly priest, motioning to Musashi’s guides with his lance, said, “Thanks. You’re not needed. Go inside the temple!” Then, very gruffly, “Are you Miyamoto Musashi?”
There was no courtesy in the words. Musashi replied curtly, without bowing.
Another priest, appearing from behind the first, declaimed, as though reading from a text, “I shall convey to you the decision handed down by the tribunal of the Enryakuji. It is this: ‘Mount Hiei is a pure and sacred precinct, which must not be used as a haven by those who harbor enmities and grudges. Nor can it be offered as a refuge to base men who have engaged in dishonorable conflicts. The Mudōji has been instructed to send you away from the mountain immediately. If you disobey, you shall be strictly punished in accordance with the laws of the monastery.”’
“I shall do as the monastery directs,” Musashi replied in a mild tone. “But since it is well past midday and I’ve made no preparations, I should like to ask that you permit me to stay until tomorrow morning. Also, I’d like to inquire whether this decision came from the civil authorities or from the clergy itself. The Mudōji reported my arrival. I was told there was no objection to my staying. I don’t understand why this has changed so suddenly.”
“If you really want to know,” the first priest replied, “I’ll tell you. At first we were glad to extend our hospitality because you fought alone against a large number of men. Later, however, we received bad reports concerning you, which forced us to reconsider. We decided we could no longer afford to provide refuge for you.”
“Bad reports?” Musashi thought resentfully. He might have expected that. It required no stretch of the imagination to guess that the Yoshioka School would be vilifying him all over Kyoto. But he saw no point in trying to defend himself. “Very well,” he said coldly. “I shall leave tomorrow morning, without fail.”
As he entered the temple gate, the priests started to malign him. “Look at him, the evil wretch!”
“He’s a monster!”
“Monster? Simple-minded is what he is!”
Turning and glaring at the men, Musashi asked sharply, “What did you say?”
“Oh, you heard, did you?” asked a priest defiantly.
“Yes. And there’s one thing I would like you to know. I’ll comply with the wishes of the priesthood, but I’m not going to put up with abuse from the likes of you. Are you looking for a fight?”
“As servants of the Buddha, we do