Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [622]
Musashi, on the point of accompanying them, stopped himself.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t think I should go. I apologize for being so rude, but I think it’d be wrong for me to join you.”
Everyone came to a halt, and Magobeinojō said, “Wrong? What’s wrong about it? We want to give you a proper welcome—same village and all that, you know.”
“Sado’s looking forward to it too. You don’t want to offend him, do you?” Magobeinojō, sounding resentful, added, “What’s the matter? Angry about something?”
“I’d like to go,” Musashi said politely, “but there are other things to consider. Though it’s probably just a rumor, I’ve heard that my bout with Kojirō is a source of friction between the two oldest retainers in the House of Hosokawa, Nagaoka Sado and Iwama Kakubei. They say Iwama’s side has the approval of Lord Tadatoshi, and Nagaoka is trying to strengthen his own faction by opposing Kojirō.”
This was met with murmurs of surprise.
“I feel sure,” Musashi continued, “that it’s no more than idle speculation, but still, public talk is a dangerous thing. What happens to a rōnin like myself doesn’t matter much, but I wouldn’t want to do anything to fan the rumors and raise suspicions about either Sado or Kakubei. They’re both valuable men in the fief.”
“I see,” said Magobeinojō.
Musashi smiled. “Well, at least that’s my excuse. To tell the truth, being a country boy, it’s difficult for me to have to sit around and be polite all evening. I’d just like to relax.”
Impressed with Musashi’s consideration for others but still reluctant to part with him, they put their heads together and discussed the situation.
“This is the eleventh day of the fourth month,” said Handayū. “For the past ten years, the six of us have been getting together on this date. We have an ironclad rule against inviting outsiders, but you’re from the same village, you’re Munisai’s son, so we’d like to ask you to join us. It may not be the sort of entertainment we should provide, but you won’t have to worry about having to be polite, or being seen or talked about.”
“If you put it that way,” said Musashi, “I don’t see how I can refuse.”
The answer pleased the old samurai immensely. After another short huddle, it was arranged that Musashi would meet one of them, a man named Kinami Kagashirō, a couple of hours later in front of a tea shop, and they went their separate ways.
Musashi met Kagashirō at the appointed hour, and they walked about a mile and a half from the center of town to a place near Itatsu Bridge. Musashi saw no samurai houses or restaurants, nothing but the lights of a solitary drinking shop and a cheap inn, both some distance away. Ever on the alert, he began turning possibilities over in his mind. There was nothing suspicious about their story; they looked the right age and their dialect fit in with their story. But why an out-of-the-way place like this?
Kagashirō left him and went toward the riverbank. Then he called Musashi, saying, “They’re all here. Come on down,” and led the way along the narrow path on the dike.
“Maybe the party’s on a boat,” thought Musashi, smiling at his own excessive cautiousness. But there was no boat. He found them sitting on reed mats in formal style.
“Forgive us for bringing you to a place like this,” said Magobeinojō. “This is where we hold our meeting. We feel some special good fortune has brought you to be with us. Sit down and rest awhile.” His manner grave enough to be welcoming an honored guest into a fine parlor with silver-covered shoji, he pushed a strip of matting forward for Musashi.
Musashi wondered if this was their idea of elegant restraint or if there was some particular reason for not meeting in a more public place. But as a guest, he felt constrained to act as one. Bowing, he seated himself formally on the mat.
“Make yourself comfortable,” urged Magobeinojō. “We’ll have a little party later, but first we have to perform our ceremony. It won’t take long.”