Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [494]
“Perfectly.”
Though neither Lord Tadatoshi nor his men spoke, their piercing eyes told Gorōji to go ahead. If the stranger had the gall to ask for it, why not run him through?
“In that case …” Gorōji tore off the wrapping and advanced holding the lance midway along the shaft. “I’m happy to comply, but if I use a naked blade, I want you to use a real sword.”
“This wooden one’s fine.”
“No; I can’t agree to that.”
“Certainly you wouldn’t expect me, an outsider, to have the audacity to employ a real sword in the presence of his lordship.”
“But—”
With a touch of impatience, Lord Tadatoshi said, “Go ahead, Okatani. Nobody will consider you cowardly for complying with the man’s request.” It was obvious Kojirō’s attitude had affected him.
The two men, faces flushed with determination, exchanged greetings with their eyes. Gorōji made the first move, leaping to the side, but Kojirō, like a bird stuck to a limed fowling pole, slipped under the lance and struck directly at his chest. Lacking time to thrust, the lancer whirled sideways and tried to jab the nape of Kojirō’s neck with the butt of his weapon. With a resounding crack, the lance flew back up into the air, as Kojirō’s sword bit into Gorōji’s ribs, which had been exposed by the momentum of the rising lance. Gorōji slid to one side, then leapt away, but the attack continued without letup. With no time to catch his breath, he jumped aside again, then again and again. The first few dodges were successful, but he was like a peregrine falcon trying to fend off an eagle. Hounded by the raging sword, the lance shaft snapped in two. At the same instant, Gorōji emitted a cry; it sounded as though his soul was being torn from his body.
The brief battle was ended. Kojirō had hoped to take on four or five men, but Tadatoshi said that he had seen enough.
When Kakubei came home that evening, Kojirō asked him, “Did I go a little too far? In front of his lordship, I mean.”
“No, it was a magnificent performance.” Kakubei felt rather ill at ease. Now that he could assess the full extent of Kojirō’s ability, he felt like a man who had hugged a tiny bird to his chest, only to see it grow up to be an eagle.
“Did Lord Tadatoshi say anything?”
“Nothing in particular.”
“Come now, he must have said something.”
“No; he left the archery range without a word.”
“Hmm.” Kojirō looked disappointed but said, “Oh, it doesn’t matter. He impressed me as a greater man than he’s usually made out to be. I was thinking if I had to serve anyone, it might as well be him. But of course I have no control over how things turn out.” He didn’t reveal how carefully he had thought about the situation. After the Date, Kuroda, Shimazu and Mōri clans, the Hosokawa was the most prestigious and secure. He felt sure this would continue to be true so long as Lord Sansai held the Buzen fief. And sooner or later, Edo and Osaka would clash once and for all. There was no way of predicting the outcome; a samurai who had chosen the wrong master might easily find himself a rōnin again, his whole life sacrificed for a few months’ stipend.
The day after the bout, word came that Gorōji had survive& though his pelvis or left thighbone had been smashed. Kojirō accepted the news calmly, telling himself that even if he did not receive a position, he had given a good enough account of himself.
A few days later he abruptly announced he was going to pay a call on Gorōji. Offering no explanation for this sudden display of kindness, he set out alone and on foot for Gorōji’s house near Tokiwa Bridge.
The unexpected visitor was received cordially by the injured man.
“A match is a match,” said Gorōji, a smile on his lips and moistness in his eyes. “I may deplore my own lack of skill, but I certainly hold nothing against you. It was good of you to come to see me. Thank you.”
After Kojirō left, Gorōji remarked to a friend, “Now, there’s a samurai I can admire. I thought