Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [443]
The temple bell tolled in the distance. Iori watched horrified as the flames rising from the village dyed the river a bloody red. The sound of babies crying and women wailing came closer and closer. Then wheels rumbled onto the bridge. Half a dozen of the bandits were leading oxcarts and horses loaded with loot.
“Filthy scum!” screamed a masculine voice.
“Give me back my wife!”
The scuffle on the bridge was brief but fierce. Men shouted, metal clanged, a shriek went up, and a bloody corpse landed at Iori’s feet. A second body splashed into the river, spraying his face with blood and water. One by one farmers fell from the bridge, six of them in all. The bodies rose to the surface and floated slowly downstream, but one man, not quite dead, grasped at the reeds and clawed the earth until he had pulled himself halfway out of the water.
“You!” cried Iori. “Untie this rope. I’ll go for help. I’ll see that you get your revenge.” Then his voice rose to a bellow. “Come on. Untie me. I’ve got to save the village.”
The man lay motionless.
Straining at his bonds with all his might, Iori finally loosened them enough to squirm down and kick the man in the shoulder.
The face that turned toward his was blotched with mud and gore, the eyes dull and uncomprehending.
The man crawled painfully closer; with his last ounce of strength, he undid the knots. As the rope fell loose, he collapsed and died.
Iori looked cautiously up at the bridge and bit his lip. There were more bodies up there. But luck was with him. A cartwheel had broken through a rotten plank. The thieves, hurrying to pull it out, didn’t notice his escape.
Realizing he couldn’t make it to the temple, Iori tiptoed along in the shadows until he reached a place shallow enough to cross. When he gained the other bank, he was on the edge of Hōtengahara. He covered the remaining mile to the cabin as though lightning was nipping at his heels.
As he neared the knoll where the cabin stood, he saw that Musashi was standing outside, looking at the sky. “Come quick!” he shouted.
“What happened?”
“We have to go to the village.”
“Is that where the fire is?”
“Yes. The mountain devils have come again.”
“Devils? … Bandits?”
“Yes, at least forty of them. Please hurry. We have to rescue the villagers.” Musashi ducked into the cabin and emerged with his swords. While he was tying his sandals, Iori said, “Follow me. I’ll show you the way.”
“No. You stay here.”
Iori couldn’t believe his ears.
“It’s too dangerous.”
“I’m not scared.”
“You’d be in the way.”
“You don’t even know the shortest way there!”
“The fire’s all the guide I need. Now just be a good boy and stay right here.”
“Yes, sir.” Iori nodded obediently, but with deep misgivings. He turned his head toward the village and watched somberly as Musashi streaked off in the direction of the red glow.
The bandits had tied their female captives, moaning and screaming, in a row and were pulling them mercilessly toward the bridge.
“Stop your squawking!” shouted one bandit.
“You act like you don’t know how to walk. Move!”
When the women held back, the ruffians lashed them with whips. One woman fell, dragging down others. Seizing the rope and forcing them back on their feet, one man snarled, “Stubborn bitches! What have you got to groan about? Stay here and you work like slaves the rest of your lives, all for a bit of millet. Look at you, nothing but skin and bones! You’ll be a lot better off having fun with us.”
Picking one of the healthier-looking animals, which were all heavily loaded with booty, they tied the rope to it and gave it a sharp slap on the rump. The slack in the rope was snapped up suddenly and fresh shrieks rent the air as the women were yanked forward again. Those who fell were dragged along, with their faces scraping the ground.
“Stop!” screamed one. “My arms’re coming off!”
A wave of raucous laughter swept through the brigands.
At that moment, horse and women came to a dead halt.
“What’s going on?