Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [564]
have doubts about his character. I don’t think we should let Otsū go on to Edo
without telling her.”
“I’ll go.”
“No. I’ll go myself.”
With a nod to Ushinosuke, Hyōgo left the dōjō and went directly to the stable.
He was halfway to Uji when he began to have second thoughts. Musashi’s not receiving the appointment would make no difference to Otsū; she was thinking of the man himself, not his status. Even if Hyōgo managed to persuade her to stay a while longer in Koyagyū, she would no doubt want to go on to Edo. Why spoil her journey by telling her the bad news?
He turned back toward Koyagyū and slowed down to a trot. Though he appeared to be at peace with the world, a fierce battle raged in his heart. If only he could see Otsū once more! While he had to admit to himself this was the real reason for going after her, he would not have admitted it to anyone else.
Hyōgo tried to rein in his emotions. Warriors had weak moments, foolish moments, like everybody else. Still, his duty, that of every samurai, was clear: to persevere until he reached a state of stoic balance. Once he had crossed the barrier of illusion, his soul would be light and free, his eyes open to the green willows around him, to every blade of grass. Love was not the only emotion capable of firing a samurai’s heart. His was another world. In an age hungry for young men of talent, this was no time to be distracted by a flower along the wayside. What was important, as Hyōgo saw it, was to be in the right place to ride the wave of the times.
“Quite a crowd, isn’t it?” Hyōgo remarked lightheartedly.
“Yes; Nara doesn’t have many days as fine as this,” replied Sukekurō. “It’s like an outing.”
Following a few steps behind them was Ushinosuke, for whom Hyōgo was developing quite a fondness. The boy came to the castle more frequently now and was on his way to becoming a regular attendant. He carried their lunches on his back and had an extra pair of sandals for Hyōgo tied to his obi.
They were in an open field in the middle of town. On one side, the five-story pagoda of the Kōfukuji rose above the surrounding woods; visible across the field were the houses of the Buddhist and Shinto priests. Though the day was bright and the air springlike, a thin mist hung over the lower areas, where townsmen lived. The crowd, numbering between four and five hundred people, did not seem that large because of the vastness of the field. Some of the deer, for which Nara was famous, were nosing their way among the spectators, sniffing out tasty morsels of food here and there.
“They haven’t finished already, have they?” asked Hyōgo.
“No,” said Sukekurō. “They seem to be taking time off for lunch.” “So even priests have to eat!”
Sukekurō laughed.
The occasion was a show of sorts. The larger cities had theaters, but in Nara and the smaller towns, shows were held in the open air. Magicians, dancers, puppeteers, as well as archers and swordsmen, all performed outdoors. Today’s attraction was more than mere entertainment, though. Each year the lancer-priests of the Hōzōin held a tournament, at which they decided the order of seating at the temple. Since they were performing in public, the competitors fought hard, and the bouts were often violent and spectacular. There was a sign in front of the Kōfukuji, clearly stating that the tournament was open to all who were devoted to the martial arts, but the outsiders who dared face the lancer-priests were very, very few.
“Why don’t we sit down somewhere and have our lunch?” said Hyōgo. “We seem to have plenty of time.”
“Where would be a good spot?” said Sukekurō, looking around.
“Over here,” called Ushinosuke. “You can sit on this.” He indicated a piece of reed matting he had picked up somewhere and spread on a pleasant knoll. Hyōgo admired the boy’s resourcefulness and, in general, was pleased by the way his needs were looked after, although he did not regard solicitousness as an ideal quality for a future samurai.
After they had arranged themselves, Ushinosuke passed out their simple fare: balls of unpolished