Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [530]
“There they are!”
“Inside the Oinu!”
The cries attracted a still larger mob, armed with bamboo spears, boar guns, sticks and rocks. In no time it seemed that the whole village was surrounding the teahouse, thirsty for blood.
Gonnosuke and Iori ducked out the back and for the next several hours were driven from hiding place to hiding place. But now they had an explanation: Musashi had been arrested not for the “crime” he was about to confess but as a thief. It was not until they reached Shōmaru Pass that they shook off the last of the search parties.
“You can see Musashino Plain from here,” said Iori. “I wonder if my teacher’s all right.”
“Hmm. I imagine he’s in prison by now and being questioned.” “Isn’t there any way to save him?”
“There must be.”
“Please do something. Please.”
“You don’t have to beg. He’s like a teacher to me too. But, Iori, there’s not much you can do here. Can you make it back home by yourself?”
“I suppose so, if I have to.”
“Good.”
“What about you?”
“I’m going back to Chichibu. If they refuse to release Musashi, I’ll get him out some way. Even if I have to tear the prison down.” For emphasis, he thumped the ground once with his staff. Iori, who had seen the power of this weapon, quickly nodded his agreement. “That’s a boy. You go back and watch over things until I bring Musashi home safe and sound.” Placing his staff under his arm, he turned back toward Chichibu.
Iori didn’t feel lonely or afraid, nor did he worry about getting lost. But he was dreadfully sleepy, and as he walked along under the warm sun, he could hardly keep his eyes open. At Sakamoto, he saw a stone Buddha by the wayside and lay down in its shadow.
The evening light was fading when he awoke and heard soft voices on the other side of the statue. Feeling rather guilty about eavesdropping, he pretended he was still asleep.
There were two of them, one sitting on a tree stump, the other on a rock. Tied to a tree a little distance away were two horses with lacquered boxes suspended from both sides of their saddles. A wooden tag attached to one of the boxes said: “From Shimotsuke Province. For use in the construction of the west encirclement. Lacquerware Supplier to the Shōgun.”
To Iori, who now peeked around the statue, they did not look like the normal run of well-fed castle officials. Their eyes were too sharp, their bodies too muscular. The older one was a vigorous-looking man of more than fifty. The last rays of the sun reflected strongly from his bonnetlike hat, which came down over both ears and projected out in front, concealing his features.
His companion was a slender, wiry youth wearing a forelock that suited his boyish face. His head was covered with a Suō-dyed hand towel, tied beneath his chin.
“How about the lacquerware boxes?” the younger one asked. “That was pretty good, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, that was clever, making people think we’re connected with the work going on at the castle. I wouldn’t have thought of that myself.”
“I’ll have to teach you these things little by little.”
“Careful now. Don’t start making fun of your elders. But who knows? Maybe in four or five years, old Daizō will be taking orders from you.”
“Well, young people do grow up. Old people just get older, no matter how hard they work at staying young.”
“Do you think that’s what I’m doing?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it? You’re always thinking of your age, and that’s what makes you so devoted to seeing your mission accomplished.”
“You know me pretty well, I guess.”
“Shouldn’t we be going?”
“Yes; night’s catching up with us.”
“I don’t like the idea of being caught up with.”
“Ha, ha. If you scare easily, you can’t have much confidence in what you’re doing.”
“I haven’t been at this business very long. Even the sound of the wind makes me nervous sometimes.”
“That’s because you still think of yourself as an ordinary thief. If you keep in mind that you’re doing it for the good of the country, you’ll be all