Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [531]
“You always say that. I believe you, but something keeps telling me I’m not doing the right thing.”
“You have to have the courage of your convictions.” But the admonition sounded slightly unconvincing, as though Daizō was reassuring himself.
The youth jumped lightly into the saddle and rode on ahead. “Keep your eye on me,” he called back over his shoulder. “If I see anything, I’ll signal.”
The road made a long descent to the south. Iori watched from behind the stone Buddha for a minute, then decided to follow them. Somehow the idea had formed in his mind that these were the treasure house thieves.
Once or twice they looked back cautiously. Apparently finding nothing to warrant alarm, they seemed to forget about him after a time. Before long, the evening glow was gone, and it was too dark to see more than a few yards ahead.
The two riders were almost at the edge of Musashino Plain when the youth pointed and said, “There, Chief, you can see the lights of Ogimachiya.” The road was flattening out. A short distance ahead, the Iruma River, twisting like a discarded obi, shone silvery in the moonlight.
Iori was now being careful to remain inconspicuous. His idea that these men were the thieves had become a conviction, and he knew all about bandits from his days in Hōtengahara. Bandits were vicious men who would commit mayhem over a single egg or a handful of red beans. Unprovoked murder was nothing to them.
By and by, they entered the town of Ogimachiya. Daizō lifted his arm and said, “Jōta, we’ll stop here and have a bite to eat. The horses have to be fed, and I’d like a smoke.”
They tied the horses in front of a dimly lit shop and went inside. Jōta stationed himself by the door, keeping his eyes on the boxes the whole time he was eating. When he was finished, he went out and fed the horses.
Iori went into a food shop across the street, and when the two men rode off, he grabbed the last handful of his rice and ate it as he walked.
They rode side by side now; the road was dark but level.
“Jōta, did you send a courier to Kiso?”
“Yes, I took care of that.”
“What time did you tell them?”
“Midnight. We should be there on schedule.”
In the still night, Iori caught enough of their conversation to know that Daizō called his companion by a boy’s name, while Jōta addressed the older man as “Chief.” This might mean nothing more than that he was the head of a gang, but somehow Iori got the impression they were father and son. This made them not mere bandits but hereditary bandits, very dangerous men he would never be able to capture by himself. But if he could stick with them long enough, he could report their whereabouts to the officials.
The town of Kawagoe was fast asleep, as soundless as a swamp in the dead of night. Having passed rows of darkened houses, the two riders turned off the highway and began climbing a hill. A stone marker at the bottom said: “Forest of the Head-burying Mound—Above.”
Climbing up through the bushes alongside the path, Iori reached the top first. There was a lone pine tree of great size, to which a horse was tied. Squatting at the base were three men dressed like rōnin, arms folded on their knees, looking expectantly toward the path.
Iori had hardly ensconced himself in a hiding place before one of the men stood up and said, “It’s Daizō, all right.” All three ran forward and exchanged jovial salutations. Daizō and his confederates had not met for nearly four years.
Before long, they got down to work. Under Daizō’s direction, they rolled a huge stone aside and began digging. Dirt was piled to one side, a great store of gold and silver to the other. Jōta unloaded the boxes from the horses and dumped out their contents, which, as Iori had suspected, consisted of the missing treasure from Mitsumine Shrine. Added to the previous cache, the total booty must have had a value of many tens of thousands of ryō.
The precious metals were poured into plain straw sacks and loaded on three horses. The empty lacquered boxes, along with other objects that had served their purpose, were dumped