Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [557]
“Really? I don’t recall ever hearing of any such thing.”
“According to In’ei, Sekishūsai told Kiyomasa that since Hyōgo was extremely quick-tempered, his lordship would have to promise in advance that if Hyōgo committed any capital offenses, he would pardon the first three. Sekishūsai was never known to condone impetuosity. He must have had rather a special feeling about Hyōgo.”
This came as such a surprise that Sukekurō was still at a loss for words when Otsū entered. She smiled at the abbot and said, “How good to see you again. Unfortunately, Hyōgo is tied up preparing a report which must be sent to Edo immediately, but he asked me to convey his apologies at not being able to see you this time.” She busied herself serving tea and cakes to Inshun and the two young priests attending him.
The abbot looked disappointed, though he politely ignored the discrepancy between Sukekurō’s excuse and Otsū’s. “I’m sorry to hear that. I had some important information for him.”
“I’ll be happy to pass it on,” said Sukekurō, “and you can rest assured Hyōgo’s ears alone will hear it.”
“Oh, I’m sure of that,” said the old priest. “I just wanted to warn Hyōgo in person.”
Inshun then repeated a rumor he’d heard about some samurai from Ueno Castle in Iga Province. The dividing line between Koyagyū and the castle lay in a sparsely inhabited area about two miles to the east, and ever since Ieyasu had confiscated it from the Christian daimyō Tsutsui Sadatsugu and reassigned it to Tōdō Takatora, many changes had been taking place. Takatora had, since taking up residence the previous year, repaired the castle, revised the tax system, improved the irrigation facilities and carried out other measures to consolidate his holdings. All this was common knowledge. What In-shun had got wind of was that Takatora was in the process of trying to expand his lands by pushing back the boundary line.
According to the reports, Takatora had dispatched a number of samurai to Tsukigase, where they were building houses, cutting down plum trees, waylaying travelers and openly trespassing on Lord Yagyū’s property.
“It could be,” observed Inshun, “Lord Takatora is taking advantage of your being in mourning. You may think I’m an alarmist, but it looks as though he’s planning to push the boundary back in this direction and put up a new fence. If he is, it’d be a lot easier to attend to things now than after he’s finished. If you sit back and do nothing, you’ll regret it later, I’m afraid.”
Speaking as one of the senior retainers, Sukekurō thanked Inshun for the information. “I’ll have the situation investigated, and lodge a complaint if one is warranted.” Expressing thanks on behalf of Hyōgo, Sukekurō bowed as the abbot took his leave.
When Sukekurō went to inform Hyōgo of the rumors, Hyōgo just laughed. “Let it be,” he said. “When my uncle gets back, he can look into it.”
Sukekurō, who knew the importance of guarding every foot of land, wasn’t quite satisfied with Hyōgo’s attitude. He conferred with the other ranking samurai and together they agreed that, though discretion was called for, something should be done. Tōdō Takatora was one of the most powerful daimyō in the country.
The following morning, as Sukekurō was leaving the dōjō above the Shinkagedō after sword practice, he ran into a boy of thirteen or fourteen.
The lad bowed to Sukekurō, who said jovially, “Hello there, Ushinosuke. Peeking into the dōjō again? Did you bring me a present? Let’s see … wild potatoes?” He was only half teasing, since Ushinosuke’s potatoes were always better than anyone else’s. The boy lived with his mother in the isolated mountain village of Araki and often came to the castle to sell charcoal, boar meat and other things.
“No potatoes today, but I brought this for Otsū.” He held up a package wrapped in straw.
“What’s that, now—rhubarb?”
“No, it’s alive! In Tsukigase, I sometimes hear nightingales singing. I caught one!”
“Hmm, you always come by way of Tsukigase, don’t you?”
“That’s right. That’s the only road.”
“Let me ask you a question.