Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [539]
“Come up here, Iori. You can see the red Fuji.” Shinzō’s voice came from a room high up on the hill.
With a great sense of relief, Iori ran off. “Mount Fuji?” The vision of the peak dyed crimson in the evening light emptied his mind of all other thoughts.
Shinzō, too, seemed to have forgotten his conversation with Osugi.
Land of Dreams
Ieyasu turned the office of shōgun over to Hidetada in 1605 but continued to govern from his castle in Suruga. Now that the work of laying the foundations for the new regime was largely completed, he was beginning to let Hidetada take over his rightful duties.
When he yielded his authority, Ieyasu had asked his son what he intended to do.
Hidetada’s reply, “I’m going to build,” was said to please the old shōgun immensely.
In contrast to Edo, Osaka was still preoccupied with preparations for the final battle. Illustrious generals laid secret plots, couriers carried messages to certain fiefs, displaced military leaders and rōnin were provided with solace and compensation. Ammunition was stockpiled, lances polished, moats deepened.
And more and more townsmen deserted the western cities for the booming city in the east, frequently changing loyalties, for the fear lingered that a Toyotomi victory might mean a reversion to chronic strife.
To the daimyō and higher-ranking vassals who had yet to decide whether to entrust the fate of their children and grandchildren to Edo or Osaka, the impressive construction program in Edo was an argument in favor of the Tokugawas.
Today, as on many other days, Hidetada was engaged in one of his favorite pastimes. Dressed as though for a country outing, he left the main encirclement and went to the hill at Fukiage to inspect the construction work.
At about the time the shōgun and his retinue of ministers, personal attendants and Buddhist priests stopped for a rest, a commotion broke out at the bottom of Momiji Hill.
“Stop the son of a bitch!”
“Catch him!”
A well digger was running around in circles, trying to shake off the carpenters who were chasing him. He darted like a hare between stacks of lumber and hid briefly behind a plasterers’ hut. Then he made a dash for the scaffolding on the outer wall and began climbing.
Cursing loudly, a couple of the carpenters climbed after him and caught hold of his feet. The well digger, arms waving frantically, fell back into a pile of shavings.
The carpenters fell on him, kicking and beating him from all sides. For some strange reason, he neither cried out nor attempted to resist, but clung as tightly as he could to the ground, as if that was his only hope.
The samurai in charge of the carpenters and the inspector of workmen came running up.
“What’s going on here?” asked the samurai.
“He stepped on my square, the filthy pig!” one carpenter whined. “A square is a carpenter’s soul!”
“Get hold of yourself.”
“What would you do if he walked on your sword?” demanded the carpenter.
“All right, that’s enough. The shōgun is resting up there on the hill.”
Hearing the shōgun mentioned, the first carpenter quieted down, but another man said, “He’s got to go wash. Then he’s got to bow to the square and apologize!”
“We’ll take care of the punishment,” said the inspector. “You men go back to work.”
He seized the prostrate man by the collar and said, “Lift your face.” “Yes, sir.”
“You’re one of the well diggers, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What are you doing down here? This isn’t where you work.”
“He was around here yesterday too,” said the carpenter.
“Was he?” said the inspector, staring at Matahachi’s pale face and noticing
that for a well digger he was a little too delicate, a little too refined.
He conferred with the samurai for a minute, then led Matahachi away. Matahachi was locked in a woodshed behind the Office of the Inspector of Workmen and for the next several days had nothing to look at