Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [85]
“That must be it. That is it!”
The men were edgily cautious, for the target of their murderous intent would be just as eager to slay them. They exchanged glances, silently asking who would be the first to run forward and risk his life.
Finally the wily Tōji, who was just outside Musashi’s room, called out, “Musashi! Sorry to have kept you waiting! Could I see you for a moment?”
There being no answer, Tōji concluded that Musashi was indeed ready and waiting for the attack. Vowing not to let him escape, Tōji signaled to right and left, then aimed a kick at the shoji. Dislodged from its groove by the blow, the bottom of the door slid about two feet into the room. At the sound, the men who were supposed to storm into the room unintentionally fell back a pace. But in a matter of seconds, someone shouted for the attack, and all the other doors of the room clattered open.
“He’s not here!”
“The room’s empty!”
Voices full of restored courage muttered disbelievingly. Musashi had been sitting there just a short while ago, when someone had brought him the lamp. The lamp still burned, the cushion he had been sitting on was still there, the brazier still had a good fire in it, and there was a cup of untouched tea. But no Musashi!
One man ran out on the veranda and let the others know that he had gotten away. From under the veranda and from dark spots in the garden, students and retainers assembled, stamping the ground angrily and cursing the men who had been standing guard on the small room. The guards, however, insisted that Musashi could not have gotten away. He had walked down to the toilet less than an hour earlier but had returned to the room immediately. There was no way he could have gotten out without being seen.
“Are you saying he’s invisible, like the wind?” one man asked scornfully. Just then a man who had been poking around in a closet shouted, “Here’s how he got away! See, these floorboards have been ripped up.”
“It hasn’t been very long since the lamp was trimmed. He can’t have gone far!”
“After him!’
If Musashi had indeed fled, he must at heart be a coward! The thought fired his pursuers with the fighting spirit that had been so notably lacking a bit earlier. They were streaming out the front, back and side gates when someone yelled, “There he is!”
Near the back gate, a figure shot out of the shadows, crossed the street and entered a dark alley on the other side. Running like a hare, it swerved off to one side when it reached the wall at the end of the alley. Two or three of the students caught up with the man on the road between the Kūyadō and the burned ruins of the Honnōji.
“Coward!”
“Run away, will you?”
“After what you did today?”
There was the sound of heavy scuffling and kicking, and a defiant howl. The captured man had regained his strength and was turning on his captors. In an instant, the three men who had been dragging him by the back of his neck plummeted to the ground. The man’s sword was about to descend on them when a fourth man ran up and shouted, “Wait! It’s a mistake! He’s not the one we’re after.”
Matahachi lowered his sword and the men got to their feet.
“Hey, you’re right! That’s not Musashi.”
As they were standing there looking perplexed, Tōji arrived on the scene. “Did you catch him?” he asked.
“Uh, wrong man—not the one who caused all the trouble.”
Tōji took a closer look at the captive and said with astonishment, “Is that the man you were chasing?”
“Yes. You know him?’
“I saw him just today at the Yomogi Teahouse.”
While they eyed Matahachi silently and suspiciously, he calmly straightened his tousled hair and brushed off his kimono.
“Is he the master of the Yomogi?”
“No, the mistress of the place told me he wasn’t. He seems to be just a hanger-on of some sort.”
“He looks shady, all right. What was he doing around the gate? Spying?”
But Tōji had already started to move on. “If we waste time with him, we’ll lose Musashi. Split up and get moving. If nothing else, we can at least find out where he’s staying.”
There was a murmur of assent and