Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [606]
“No!” she exclaimed decisively. “No more weeping and moaning. Maybe… maybe she’s not dead. If I try, maybe I can nurse her back to life. She’s still young. Her life is still ahead of her.”
Gently she laid Otsū back on the ground and crawled out of the cave into the blinding sunlight. She shut her eyes and cupped her hands to her mouth. “Where is everybody? You people from the village, come here! Help!” Opening her eyes, she ran forward a few steps, still shouting.
There was some movement in the cryptomeria grove, then a shout: “She’s here. She’s all right after all!”
About ten members of the Hon’iden clan came out of the grove. After hearing the story told by the blood-smeared survivor of the fight with Jōtarō the night before, they had organized a search party and set out immediately, despite the blinding rain. Still wearing their rain capes, they had a bedraggled look about them.
“Ah, you’re safe,” exulted the first man to reach Osugi. They gathered around her, their faces reflecting their immense relief.
“Don’t worry about me,” Osugi commanded. “Quick, go and see if you can do something for that girl in the cave. She’s been unconscious for hours. If we don’t give her some medicine right away …” Her voice was thick. Almost in a trance, she pointed toward the cave. Perhaps not since Uncle Gon’s death had the tears she’d shed been those of grief.
The Tides of Life
Autumn passed. And winter.
On a day early in the fourth month of 1612, passengers were arranging themselves on the deck of the regular ship from Sakai in Izumi Province to Shimonoseki in Nagato.
Informed the ship was ready to leave, Musashi got up from a bench in Kobayashi Tarōzaemon’s shop and bowed to the people who had come to see him off.
“Keep your spirits up,” they urged as they joined him for the short walk to the pier.
Hon’ami Kōetsu’s face was among those present. His good friend Haiya Shōyū had been unable to come because of illness, but he was represented by his son Shōeki. With Shōeki was his wife, a woman whose dazzling beauty turned heads wherever she went.
“That’s Yoshino, isn’t it?” a man whispered, tugging at his companion’s sleeve.
“From Yanagimachi?”
“Umm. Yoshino Dayū of the Ogiya.”
Shōeki had introduced her to Musashi without mentioning her former name. Her face was unfamiliar to Musashi, of course, for this was the second Yoshino Dayū. Nobody knew what had happened to the first one, where she was now, whether she was married or single. People had long since stopped talking about her great beauty. Flowers bloomed and flowers fell. In the floating world of the licensed quarter, time passed rapidly.
Yoshino Dayū. The name would have evoked memories of snowy nights, of a fire made of peony wood, of a broken lute.
“It’s been eight years now since we first met,” remarked Kōetsu.
“Yes, eight years,” echoed Musashi, wondering where the years could have gone. He had the feeling his boarding the ship today marked the close of one phase of his life.
Matahachi was among the well-wishers, as were several samurai from the Hosokawa residence in Kyoto. Other samurai conveyed best wishes from Lord Karasumaru Mitsuhiro, and there was a group of between twenty and thirty swordsmen who, despite Musashi’s protest, had been led by their acquaintance with him in Kyoto to regard themselves as his followers.
He was going to Kokura in the province of Buzen, where he would face Sasaki Kojirō in a test of skill and maturity. Due to the efforts of Nagaoka Sado, the fateful confrontation, so long in the making, was finally to take place. Negotiations had been long and difficult, necessitating the dispatch of many couriers and letters. Even after Sado had ascertained the previous autumn that Musashi was at Hon’ami Kōetsu’s house, completion of the arrangements had required another half year.
Though he knew it was coming, Musashi had not in his wildest dreams been able to imagine what it would be like to set forth as the champion of a huge number of followers and admirers. The size of the crowd was an embarrassment. It also made