Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [545]
The rumors meant nothing to Takuan. Though he cared very much about the welfare of the nation, it made little difference to him whether the gaudy flowers of the time—the castles at Edo and Osaka—blossomed or fell.
A few thin rays of sunlight filtered through the clouds; the voice of the quail was audible again. Neither of the forms moved for quite some time, though neither had completely lost consciousness.
Finally Akemi mumbled, “Matahachi, look—water.” Before them were two wooden pails of water, each with a dipper, placed there as evidence that the Office of the Commissioner was not entirely heartless.
After gulping down several mouthfuls, Akemi offered the dipper to Matahachi. When he failed to respond, she asked, “What’s the matter? Don’t you want any?”
Slowly he reached out and took the dipper. Once it touched his lips, he drank ravenously.
“Matahachi, have you become a priest?”
“Huh? … Is that all?”
“Is what all?”
“Is the punishment over? They haven’t cut off our heads yet.”
“They weren’t supposed to. Didn’t you hear the man read the sentences?” “What did he say?”
“He said we were to be banished from Edo.”
“I’m alive!” he shrieked. Almost insane with joy, he jumped up and walked away without so much as a backward glance at Akemi.
She put her hands to her head and began to fuss with her hair. Then she adjusted her kimono and tightened her obi. “Shameless,” she muttered through crooked lips. Matahachi was only a speck on the horizon.
The Challenge
Iori was bored after only a few days at the Hōjō residence. There was nothing to do but play.
“When’s Takuan coming back?” he asked Shinzō one morning, really wanting to know what had happened to Musashi.
“My father is still at the castle, so I suppose Takuan is too,” said Shinzō. “They’ll be back sooner or later. Why don’t you amuse yourself with the horses?”
Iori raced to the stable and threw a lacquer and mother-of-pearl saddle on his favorite steed. He had ridden the horse both the day before and the day before that without telling Shinzō. Receiving permission made him feel proud. He mounted and tore out the back gate at full gallop.
The houses of daimyō, the paths through the fields, the rice paddies, the forests—the sights came at him in rapid succession and were left behind just as rapidly. Bright red snake gourds and russet grass proclaimed that autumn was at its height. The Chichibu Range rose beyond Musashino Plain. “He’s in those mountains somewhere,” thought Iori. He envisioned his beloved master in jail, and the tears on his cheeks made the wind feel soothingly cool.
Why not go see Musashi? Without giving the matter further thought, he whipped the horse, and horse and rider surged through the silvery sea of fluffy eulalia.
After covering a mile at breakneck speed, he reined in the horse, thinking: “Maybe he’s gone back to the house.”
He found the new house finished but unlived in. At the nearest paddy, he called out to the farmers harvesting their rice, “Has anyone seen my teacher?” They shook their heads sadly in reply.
Then it had to be Chichibu. On horseback, he could make the journey in a day.
After a time he came to the village of Nobidome. The entrance to the village was virtually blocked by samurai’s mounts, packhorses, traveling chests, palanquins and between forty and fifty samurai having their lunch. He turned around to look for a way around the village.
Three or four samurai’s attendants came running after him.
“Hey, you rascal, wait!”
“What’re you calling me?” Iori asked angrily.
“Off the horse!” They were on either side of him now.
“Why? I don’t even know you.”
“Just keep your mouth shut and get off.”
“No! You can’t make me!”
Before he knew what was happening, one of the men lifted Iori’s right leg high in the air, tumbling him off the other side of the horse.
“Someone wants to see you. Come along with me.” He took hold of Iori’s collar and pulled him toward a roadside teahouse.
Osugi stood outside, a cane in one hand. With a wave of her other