Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [560]
The reverse swing of the sword drove forcefully into the chest of one man. Otsū cried out, but her voice was drowned by the scream of the wounded man. He fell toward the ox, a geyser of blood spurting into the animal’s face. Terrified, the ox let out an indescribable shriek. Just then, Ushinosuke’s sword cut deeply into its rump. With another shriek, the ox set off at a near gallop.
The other two rōnin rushed at Ushinosuke, who was leaping nimbly from rock to rock in the stream bed. “I didn’t do anything wrong! It was you!” he shouted.
Realizing he was out of their reach, the two rōnin started after the ox. Ushinosuke jumped back onto the road and took after them, shouting, “Running away? You running away?”
One man stopped and half turned.
“You little bastard!”
“Leave him till later!” shouted the other man.
The ox, blind with fear, left the valley road and ran up a low hill, traveled a short distance along the crest and plunged down the other side. In a very short time, it covered a considerable distance, reaching a point not far from the Yagyū fief.
Otsū, her eyes shut in resignation, managed to keep from being thrown by clinging to the packsaddle. She could hear the voices of the people they were passing but was too stunned to utter a cry for help. Not that it would have done any good. None of the people commenting on the spectacle had the courage to stop the demented beast.
When they were almost to Hannya Plain, a man came from a side road into the middle of the main road, which, though very narrow, was the Kasagi highroad. He had a letter case slung from his shoulder and appeared to be a servant of some sort.
People were shouting, “Watch out! Get out of the way!” but he walked on, right in the path of the ox.
Then there was a terrible cracking sound.
“He’s been gored!”
“The idiot!”
But it wasn’t as the bystanders first thought. The sound they’d heard was not that of the ox striking the man but of the man landing a stunning blow on the side of the animal’s head. The ox lifted its heavy neck sideways, turned halfway around and started back the other way. It hadn’t gone ten feet before it came to a dead halt, saliva streaming from its mouth, its whole body shaking.
“Get down quick,” the man said to Otsū.
Onlookers crowded around excitedly, staring at the man’s foot, which was firmly planted on the rope.
Once she was safely on the ground, Otsū bowed to her rescuer, though she was still too dazed to know where she was or what she was doing.
“Why should a gentle animal like this go mad?” asked the man, as he led the ox to the side of the road and tied it to a tree. Catching sight of the blood on the animal’s legs, he said, “What’s this, now. Why, it’s been cut—with a sword!”
While he was examining the wound and muttering to himself, Kimura Sukekurō pushed through the ring of people and sent them on their way.
“Aren’t you Abbot Inshun’s attendant?” he asked, even before he’d had a chance to catch his breath.
“How fortunate to meet you here, sir. I have a letter for you from the abbot. If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you to read it immediately.” He took the letter from the case and handed it to Sukekurō.
“For me?” Sukekurō asked with surprise. Having ascertained there was no mistake, he opened it and read: “Regarding the samurai at Tsukigase, I have, since our conversation yesterday, verified that they are not Lord Tōdō’s men. They are riffraff, rōnin expelled from the cities, who have holed up there for the winter. I hasten to inform you of this unfortunate error on my part.”
“Thank you,” said Sukekurō. “This agrees with what I’ve learned from another source. Tell the abbot I am much relieved and trust that he is too.”
“Forgive me for delivering the letter in the middle of the road. I’ll convey your message to the abbot. Good-bye.”
“Wait a minute. How long have you been at the Hōzōin?”
“Not long.”
“What’s your name?”
“I’m called Toraz