Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [65]
Takuan summoned the captain of the guard. “I’ve brought him,” he announced. Handing Takezō over, the monk advised the man to take good care of him as previously instructed, but added, “Be careful. He’s a lion cub with fangs. He’s far from tamed. If you tease him, he bites.”
Takuan went through the second gate to the central compound, where the daimyō’s mansion was located. Apparently he knew the way well; he needed neither a guide nor directions. He barely raised his head as he walked and not a soul interrupted his progress.
Heeding Takuan’s instructions, the captain didn’t lay a finger on his charge. He simply asked Takezō to follow him. Takezō silently obeyed. They soon arrived at a bathhouse, and the captain instructed him to go in and get cleaned up. At this point Takezō’s spine stiffened, for he remembered all too well his last bath, at Osugi’s house, and the trap from which he had narrowly escaped. He folded his arms and tried to think, stalling for time and inspecting the surroundings. It was all so peaceful—an island of tranquility where a daimyō could, when not plotting strategies, enjoy the luxuries of life. Soon a servant bearing a black cotton kimono and hakama arrived, bowing and saying politely, “I’ll lay these here. You can put them on when you come out.”
Takezō nearly wept. The outfit included not only a folding fan and some tissue paper, but a pair of long and short samurai swords. Everything was simple and inexpensive, but nothing was lacking. He was being treated like a human being again and wanted to lift the clean cotton to his face, rub it to his cheek and inhale its freshness. He turned and entered the bathhouse.
Ikeda Terumasa, lord of the castle, leaned on an armrest and gazed out into the garden. He was a short man, with a cleanly shaven head and dark pockmarks lining his face. Although not dressed in formal attire, his countenance was stern and dignified.
“Is that him?” he asked Takuan, pointing his folding fan.
“Yes, that’s him,” answered the monk with a deferential bow.
“He has a good face. You did well to save him.”
“He owes his life to you, your lordship. Not me.”
“That’s not so, Takuan, and you know it. If I just had a handful of men like you under my command, no doubt a lot of useful people would be saved, and the world would be the better for it.” The daimyō sighed. “My trouble is that all my men think their sole duty is to tie people up or behead them.”
An hour later, Takezō was seated in the garden beyond the veranda, his head bowed and his hands resting flat on his knees in an attitude of respectful attentiveness.
“Your name is Shimmen Takezō, isn’t it?” Lord Ikeda asked.
Takezō glanced up quickly to see the face of the famous man, then respectfully cast his eyes downward again.
“Yes, sir,” he answered clearly.
“The House of Shimmen is a branch of the Akamatsu family, and Akamatsu Masanori, as you well know, was once lord of this castle.”
Takezō’s throat went dry. He was, for once, at a loss for words. Having always thought of himself as the black sheep of the Shimmen family, with no particular feelings of respect or awe for the daimyō, he was nonetheless filled with shame at having brought such complete dishonor on his ancestors and his family name. His face burned.
“What you have done is inexcusable,” continued Terumasa in a sterner tone. “Yes, sir.”
“And I am going to have to punish you for it.” Turning to Takuan, he asked, “Is it true that my retainer, Aoki Tanzaemon, without my leave, promised you that if you captured this man, you could