Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [599]
Still Osugi did not speak.
“Don’t you ever tire of hating? It’d be easy to slice you in two, but fortunately for you, I’m no longer the son of a wayward samurai. My father, Aoki Tanzaemon, has returned to Himeji and, since last spring, is serving the House of Ikeda. To avoid bringing dishonor on him, I shall refrain from killing you.”
Jōtarō took a couple of steps toward her. Not knowing whether to believe him or not, Osugi moved back and cast about for a way to escape. Thinking she saw one, she bolted toward the path the men had taken. Jōtarō caught up with her in one leap and grabbed her by the neck.
She opened her mouth wide and cried, “What do you think you’re doing?” She turned around and drew her sword in the same motion, struck at him and missed.
While dodging, Jōtarō pushed her violently forward. Her head struck hard against the ground.
“So you’ve learned a thing or two, have you?” she moaned, her face half buried in the grass. She seemed unable to dislodge from her mind the idea that Jōtarō was still a child.
With a growl, he placed his foot on her spine, which seemed very fragile, and pitilessly wrenched her arm around her back.
Dragging her in front of the shrine, he pinned her down with his foot, but couldn’t decide what to do with her.
There was Otsū to think about. Where was she? He had come to know of her presence in Shikama largely by accident, though it may have been because their karmas were intertwined. Along with his father’s reinstatement, Jōtarō had been given an appointment. It was while he was on one of his errands that he had caught a glimpse through a gap in the fence of a woman who looked like Otsū. Returning to the beach two days ago, he had verified his impression.
While he was grateful to the gods for leading him to Otsū, his long-dormant hatred of Osugi for the way she had persecuted Otsū had been rekindled. If the old woman was not disposed of, it would be impossible for Otsū to live in peace. The temptation was there. But killing her would embroil his father in a dispute with a family of country samurai. They were troublesome people at the best of times; if offended by a daimyō’s direct vassal, they were certain to cause trouble.
Finally, he decided the best way was to punish Osugi quickly and then turn his attention to rescuing Otsū.
“I know the place for you,” he said. “Come along.”
Osugi clung fiercely to the ground, despite his attempts to yank her along. Seizing her by the waist, he carried her under his arm around to the back of the shrine. The hillside had been shaved off when the shrine was built, and there was a small cave there, the entrance to which was just big enough for a person to crawl through.
Otsū could see a single light in the distance. Otherwise, everything was pitch black—mountains, fields, streams, Mikazuki Pass, which they had just crossed by a rocky path. The two men in front were leading her by a rope, as they would a criminal.
When they neared the Sayo River, the man behind her said, “Stop a minute. What do you suppose happened to the old woman? She said she’d be right along.”
“Yeah; she should have caught up by now.”
“We could stop here a few minutes. Or go on to Sayo and wait at the teahouse. They’re probably all in bed, but we could wake them up.”
“Let’s go there and wait. We can have a cup or two of sake.”
They searched along the river for a shallow place and had started to cross when they heard a voice hailing them from a distance. It came again a minute or two later, from much nearer.
“The old woman?”
“No; it sounds like a man’s voice.”
“It can’t have anything to do with us.”
The water was as chillingly cold as a sword blade, especially for Otsū. By the time they heard the sound of running feet, their pursuer was almost upon them. With great splashes, he beat them to the other bank and confronted them.
“Otsū?” called Jōtarō.
Shivering from