Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [84]
The majority, not only concerned about the school’s fate but uncomfortably aware of Seijūrō’s shortcomings as a fighter, concluded that it would be unwise to let him face Musashi man to man, then and there. With two dead and several wounded, if Seijūrō were to lose, the crisis facing the school would become extraordinarily grave. It was too great a risk to take.
The unspoken opinion of most of the men was that if Denshichirō were present, there would be little cause for alarm. In general, it was thought that he would have been better suited than Seijūrō to carry on his father’s work, but being the second son and having no serious responsibilities, he was an exceedingly easygoing type. That morning he had left the house with friends to go to Ise and hadn’t even bothered to say when he’d return.
Tōji approached Seijūrō and said, “We’ve reached a conclusion.”
As Seijūrō listened to the whispered report, his face grew more and more indignant, until finally he gasped with barely controlled fury, “Trick him?”
Tōji tried to silence him with his eyes, but Seijūrō was not to be silenced. “I can’t agree to anything like that! It’s cowardly. What if word got out that the Yoshioka School was so afraid of an unknown warrior that it hid and ambushed him?”
“Calm down,” Tōji pleaded, but Sequa continued to protest. Drowning him out, Tōji said loudly, “Leave it to us. We’ll take care of it.”
But Seijūrō would have none of it. “Do you think that I, Yoshioka Seijūrō, would lose to this Musashi, or whatever his name is?”
“Oh, no, it’s not that at all,” lied Tōji. “It’s just that we don’t see how you would gain any honor by defeating him. You’re of much too high a status to take on a brazen vagabond like that. Anyway, there’s no reason why anybody outside this house should know anything about it, is there? Only one thing is important—not to let him get away alive.”
Even while they argued, the number of men in the hall shrank by more than half. As quietly as cats, they were disappearing into the garden, toward the back door and into the inner rooms, fading almost imperceptibly into the darkness.
“Young Master, we can’t put it off any longer,” Tōji said firmly, and blew out the lamp. He loosened his sword in its scabbard and raised his kimono sleeves.
Seijūrō remained seated. Though to some extent relieved at not having to fight the stranger, he was by no means happy. The implication, as he saw it, was that his disciples had a low opinion of his ability. He thought back on how he had neglected practice since his father’s death, and the thought made him despondent.
The house grew as cold and quiet as the bottom of a well. Unable to sit still, Seijūrō got up and stood by the window. Through the paper-covered doors of the room given Musashi, he could see the softly flickering light of the lamp. That was the only light anywhere.
Quite a number of other eyes were peering in the same direction. The attackers, their swords on the ground in front of them, held their breath and listened intently for any sound that might tell them what Musashi was up to.
Tōji, whatever his shortcomings, had experienced the training of a samurai. He was trying desperately to figure out what Musashi might do. “He’s completely unknown in the capital, but he’s a great fighter. Could he just be sitting silently in that room? Our approach has been quiet enough, but with this many people pressing in on him, he must have noticed. Anyone trying to make it through life as a warrior would notice; otherwise he’d be dead by now.
“Mm, maybe he’s dozed off. It rather looks that way. After all, he’s been waiting a long time.
“On the other hand, he’s already proved he’s clever. He’s probably standing there fully prepared for battle, leaving the lamp lit to put us off guard, just waiting for the first man to attack.