Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [621]
“Even if I do lose, I promise to do it bravely.”
“But if you think you might, couldn’t you just go away somewhere for a while?”
“There’s always a germ of truth in the worst of gossip, Iori. I may have made a mistake, but now that it’s gone this far, to run away would be to forsake the Way of the Samurai. That would bring dishonor not only on me but on many others as well.”
“But didn’t you say I should hang on to my life and guard it carefully?” “Yes, I did, and if they bury me on Funashima, let that be a lesson to you and avoid getting into fights that may end in your throwing your life away.” Sensing that he was overdoing it, he changed the subject. “I’ve already asked that my respects be conveyed to Nagaoka Sado. I want you to convey them too, and tell him that I’ll see him on Funashima.”
Musashi gently shook himself free of the boy. As he walked toward the gate, Iori clung to the basket hat in his hand. “Don’t … Wait … ” was all he could say. He put his other hand to his face. His shoulders were shaking.
Nuinosuke came through a door beside the gate and introduced himself to Musashi. “Iori seems reluctant to let you go, and I’m inclined to sympathize with him. I’m sure you have other things to do, but couldn’t you just stay over here one night?”
Musashi, returning his bow, said, “It’s good of you to ask, but I don’t think I should. In a couple of days I may be asleep for good. I don’t think it’d be right for me to burden others now. It might prove to be an embarrassment later on.”
“That’s very considerate of you, but I’m afraid the master will be furious with us for letting you go.”
“I’ll send him a note explaining everything. I only came today to pay my respects. I think I should be leaving now.”
Outside the gate, he turned toward the beach, but before he’d got halfway there, he heard voices calling from behind. Looking back, he saw a handful of elderly-looking samurai from the House of Hosokawa, two of whom had gray hair. Not recognizing any of them, he assumed they were shouting to someone else and walked on.
Upon reaching the shore, he stood and gazed out over the water. A number of fishing boats rested at anchor in the offing, their furled sails ashen in the misty light of early evening. Beyond the larger mass of Hikojima, the outline of Funashima was barely visible.
“Musashi!”
“You are Miyamoto Musashi, aren’t you?”
Musashi turned to face them, wondering what business these aged warriors could have with him.
“You don’t remember us, do you? Didn’t think you would. It’s been too long. My name’s Utsumi Magobeinojō. All six of us are from Mimasaka. We used to be in the service of the House of Shimmen at Takeyama Castle.”
“And I’m Koyama Handayū. Magobeinojō and I were close friends of your father’s.”
Musashi smiled broadly. “Well, this is a surprise!” Their drawl, unmistakably that of his native village, stirred up many childhood memories. After bowing to each of them, he said, “It’s good to see you. But tell me, how does it happen you’re all here together, so far from home?”
“Well, as you know, the House of Shimmen was disbanded after the Battle of Sekigahara. We became rōnin and fled to Kyushu, came here to Buzen Province. For a while, to keep body and soul together, we wove straw horseshoes. Later, we had a stroke of good luck.”
“Is that so? Well, I must say, I never expected to meet friends of my father’s in Kokura.”
“It’s an unexpected pleasure for us too. You’re a fine-looking samurai, Musashi. Too bad your father isn’t here to see you now.”
For a few minutes they commented to one another on Musashi’s fine appearance. Then Magobeinojō said, “Stupid of me; I’m forgetting what we came after you for. We just missed you at Sado’s house. Our plan was to spend an evening with you. It’s all been arranged with Sado.”
Handayū chimed in, “That’s right. It was very rude of you to come as far as the front door and leave without seeing Sado; you’re the son of Shimmen Munisai. You should know better. Now come back with us.” Apparently he felt that having been a friend of Musashi