Musashi: Bushido Code (112 page)

Book VI • SUN AND MOON

A Chat with the Men

Before having breakfast, Lord Hosokawa Tadatoshi began his day with the study of the Confucian classics. Official duties, which often required his attendance at Edo Castle, consumed most of his time, but when he could fit it into his schedule, he practiced the martial arts. Evenings, whenever possible, he liked to spend in the company of the young samurai in his service.

The atmosphere was rather like that of a harmonious family seated around its patriarch, not completely informal, to be sure, for the idea that his lordship was just one of the boys was not encouraged, but the usually rigorous etiquette was relaxed a bit. Tadatoshi, lounging in a lightweight hemp kimono, encouraged an exchange of views, which often included the latest gossip.

"Okatani," said his lordship, singling out one of the more robust men.

"Yes, sir."

"I hear you're pretty good with the lance now."

"That's right. Very good, in fact."

"Ha, ha. You certainly don't suffer from false modesty."

"Well, sir, with everybody else saying so, why should I deny it?"

"One of these days I'll find out for myself how advanced your technique really is."

"I've been looking forward to that day, but it never seems to come." "You're lucky it doesn't."

"Tell me, sir, have you heard the song everybody's singing?"

"What's that?"

"It goes like this:

There're lancers and lancers,

All sorts of lancers,

But the greatest one of all is

Okatani Gorōji—"

Tadatoshi laughed. "You can't take me in that easily. That song's about Nagoya Sanzō."

The others joined in the laughter.

"Oh, you knew?"

"You'd be surprised at what I know." He was on the verge of giving further evidence of this but thought better of it. He enjoyed hearing what his men were thinking and talking about and considered it his duty to keep himself well informed, but it would hardly do to reveal just how much he actually knew. Instead he asked, "How many of you are specializing in the lance, how many in the sword?"

Out of seven, five were studying the lance, only two the sword. "Why do so many of you prefer the lance?" asked Tadatoshi.

The consensus among the lancers was that it was more effective in battle. "And what do the swordsmen think about that?"

One of the two replied, "The sword is better. Swordsmanship prepares you for peace as well as for war."

This was a perennial subject for discussion and the debate was usually lively.

One of the lancers asserted, "The longer the lance is, the better, provided it's not too long to handle efficiently. The lance can be used for striking, thrusting or slicing, and if you fail with it, you can always fall back on your sword. If you have only a sword and it gets broken, that's it."

"That may be true," rejoined an exponent of sword fighting, "but a samurai's work isn't limited to the battlefield. The sword is his soul. To practice its art is to refine and discipline your spirit. In the broadest sense, the sword is the basis for all military training, whatever drawbacks it may have in battle. If you master the inner meaning of the Way of the Samurai, the discipline can be applied to the use of the lance, or even guns. If you know the sword, you don't make silly mistakes or get taken unawares. Swordsmanship is an art with universal applications."

The argument might have gone on indefinitely, had not Tadatoshi, who had been listening without taking sides, said, "Mainosuke, what you just said sounds to me like something you heard somebody else say."

Matsushita Mainosuke grew defensive. "No, sir. That's my own opinion." "Come now, be honest."

"Well, to tell the truth, I heard something similar when I was visiting Kakubei recently. Sasaki Kojirō said about the same thing. But it fitted in so well with my own idea ... I wasn't trying to deceive anyone. Sasaki just put it into words better than I could."

"I thought as much," said Tadatoshi with a knowing smile. The mention of Kojirō's name reminded him that he had not yet made a decision as to whether to accept Kakubei's recommendation.

Kakubei had suggested that since Kojirō was not very old, he might be offered a thousand bushels or so. But much more than the matter of the stipend was involved. Tadatoshi had been told by his father many times that it was of prime importance to first exercise good judgment in hiring samurai and then to treat them well. Before accepting a candidate, it was imperative to assess not only his skills but also his character. No matter how desirable a man might seem to be, if he could not work together with the retainers who had made the House of Hosokawa what it was today, he would be virtually useless.

A fief, the elder Hosokawa had advised, was like a castle wall built of many rocks. A rock that could not be cut to fit in comfortably with the others would weaken the whole structure, even though the rock itself might be of admirable size and quality. The daimyō of the new age left the unsuitable rocks in the mountains and fields, for there was an abundance of them. The great challenge was to find one great rock that would make an outstanding contribution to one's own wall. Thought of in this way, Tadatoshi felt, Kojirō's youth was in his favor. He was still in his formative years and consequently susceptible to a certain amount of molding.

Tadatoshi was also reminded of the other rōnin. Nagaoka Sado had first mentioned Musashi at one of these evening get-togethers. Though Sado had allowed Musashi to slip through his fingers, Tadatoshi had not forgotten him. If Sado's information was accurate, Musashi was both a better fighter than Kojirō and a man of sufficient breadth to be valuable in government.

As he compared the two, he had to admit that most daimyō would prefer Kojirō. He came from a good family and had studied the Art of War thoroughly. Despite his youth, he had developed a formidable style of his own, and he had gained considerable fame as a fighter. The story of his "brilliant" defeat of men from the Obata Academy on the banks of the Sumida River and again at the dike on the Kanda River was already well known.

Nothing had been heard of Musashi for some time. His victory at Ichijōji had made his reputation. But that had been years ago, and soon afterward word had spread that the story was exaggerated, that Musashi was a seeker after fame who had trumped up the fight, made a flashy attack and then fled to Mount Hiei. Every time Musashi did something praiseworthy, a spate of rumors followed, denigrating his character and ability. It had reached the point where even the mention of his name usually met with critical remarks. Or else people ignored him entirely. As the son of a nameless warrior in the mountains of Mimasaka, his lineage was insignificant. Though other men of humble origin—most notably Toyotomi Hideyoshi, who came from Nakamura in Owari Province—had risen to glory in recent memory, people were on the whole class-conscious and not given to paying much heed to a man of Musashi's background.

As Tadatoshi mulled over the question, he looked around and asked, "Do any of you know of a samurai named Miyamoto Musashi?"

"Musashi?" replied a surprised voice "It'd be impossible not to hear of him. His name's all over town." It was evident that they were all familiar with the name.

"Why is that?" A look of anticipation came over Tadatoshi's face.

"There are signs up about him," offered one young man, with a slight air of reticence.

Another man, whose name was Mori, chimed in, "People were copying the signs, so I did too. I've got it with me now. Shall I read it?"

"Please do."

"Ah, here it is," said Mori, unfolding a crumpled scrap of paper. " 'Here's a word to Miyamoto Musashi, who turned tail and ran—' "

Eyebrows were raised and smiles began to appear, but Tadatoshi's face was grave. "Is that all?"

"No." He read the rest of it and said, "The signs were put up by a gang from the carpenters' district. People find it amusing because it's a case of street ruffians tweaking the nose of a samurai."

Tadatoshi frowned slightly, feeling that the words maligning Musashi called his own judgment into question. This was a far cry from the image he had formed of Musashi. Still, he was not ready to accept what he had heard at face value. "Hmm," he murmured. "I wonder if Musashi is really that sort of man."

"I gather he's a worthless lout," volunteered Mori, whose opinion was shared by the others. "Or at least a coward. If he wasn't, why would he allow his name to be dragged through the mud?"

The clock struck, and the men departed, but Tadatoshi sat on, thinking: "There's something interesting about this man." Not one to be swayed by the prevailing opinion, he was curious to know Musashi's side of the story.

The next morning, after listening to a lecture on the Chinese classics, he emerged from his study onto the veranda and caught sight of Sado in the garden. "Good morning, my elderly friend," he called.

Sado turned and politely bowed his morning greeting.

"Are you still on the lookout?" asked Tadatoshi.

Puzzled by the question, Sado merely stared back.

"I mean, are you still keeping an eye out for Miyamoto Musashi?" "Yes, my lord." Sado lowered his eyes.

"If you do find him, bring him here. I want to see what he's like."

Shortly after noon on the same day, Kakubei approached Tadatoshi at the archery range and pressed his recommendation of Kojirō.

As he picked up his bow, the Young Lord said quietly, "Sorry, I'd forgotten. Bring him any time you wish. I'd like to have a look at him. Whether he becomes a retainer or not is another matter, as you well know."

Buzzing Insects

Seated in a back room of the small house Kakubei had lent him, Kojirō was examining the Drying Pole. After the incident with Hōjō Shinzō, he had requested Kakubei to press the craftsman for the return of the weapon. It had come back this morning.

"It won't be polished, of course," Kojirō had predicted, but in fact the sword had been worked on with an attention and care that were beyond his wildest hopes. From the blue-black metal, rippling like the current of a deep-running stream, there now sprang a brilliant white glow, the light of centuries past. The rust spots, which had seemed like leprous blemishes, were gone; the wavy tempering pattern between the blade's edge and the ridge line, hitherto smudged with bloodstains, was now as serenely beautiful as a misty moon floating in the sky.

"It's like seeing it for the first time," marveled Kojirō. Unable to take his eyes from the sword, he didn't hear the visitor calling from the front of the house: "Are you here? ... Kojirō?"

This part of the hill had been given the name Tsukinomisaki because of the magnificent view it afforded of the rising moon. From his sitting room, Kojirō could see the stretch of bay from Shiba to Shinagawa. Across the bay, frothy clouds appeared to be on a level with his eyes. At this moment, the white of the distant hills and the greenish blue of the water seemed fused with the blade.

"Kojirō! Isn't anybody here?" This time the voice came from the grass-woven side gate.

Coming out of his reverie, he shouted, "Who is it?" and returned the sword to its scabbard. "I'm in the back. If you want to see me, come around to the veranda."

"Oh, here you are," said Osugi, walking around to where she could see into the house.

"Well, this is a surprise," said Kojirō cordially. "What brings you out on a hot day like this?"

"Just a minute. Let me wash my feet. Then we can talk."

"The well's over there. Be careful. It's quite deep. You, boy—go with her and see she doesn't fall in." The man addressed as "boy" was a low-ranking member of Hangawara's gang who had been sent along to guide Osugi.

After washing her sweaty face and rinsing her feet, Osugi entered the house and exchanged a few words of greeting. Noticing the pleasant breeze coming off the bay, she squinted and said, "The house is nice and cool. Aren't you afraid you'll get lazy, staying in a comfortable place like this?"

Kojirō laughed. "I'm not like Matahachi."

The old woman blinked her eyes sadly but ignored the barb. "Sorry I didn't bring you a real gift," she said. "In place of one I'll give you a sutra I copied." As she handed him the
Sutra on the Great Love of Parents,
she added, "Please read it when you have time."

After a perfunctory glance at her handiwork, Kojirō turned to her guide and said, "That reminds me. Did you put up the signs I wrote for you?"

"The ones telling Musashi to come out of hiding?"

"Yes, those."

"It took us two whole days, but we put one up at almost every important intersection."

Osugi said, "We passed some on the way here. Everywhere they're posted, people are standing around gossiping. It made me feel good to hear the things they're saying about Musashi."

"If he doesn't answer the challenge, he's finished as a samurai. The whole country'll be laughing at him. That should be ample revenge for you, Granny."

"Not on your life. Being laughed at isn't going to get through to him. He's shameless. And it won't satisfy me either. I want to see him punished once and for all."

"Ha, ha," laughed Kojirō, amused by her tenacity. "You get older, but you never give up, do you? By the way, did you come about anything in particular?"

The old lady rearranged herself and explained that after more than two years with Hangawara she felt she should be moving on. It was not right for her to live on Yajibei's hospitality indefinitely; besides, she was tired of mothering a houseful of roughnecks. She had seen a nice little place for rent in the vicinity of Yoroi Ferry.

"What do you think?" Her face was serious, questioning. "It doesn't look like I'll find Musashi soon. And I have a feeling Matahachi's somewhere in Edo. I think I should have some money sent from home and stay on for a while. But by myself, as I said."

There being no reason for Kojirō to object, he quickly agreed with her. His own connection with the Hangawara ménage, entertaining and useful at the beginning, was now a little embarrassing. It was certainly no asset to a rōnin looking for a master. He had already decided to discontinue the practice sessions.

Kojirō summoned one of Kakubei's subordinates and had him bring a watermelon from the patch behind the house. They chatted while it was being cut and served, but before long he showed his guest out, his manner rather suggesting he preferred to have her out of the way before sundown.

When they had left, he himself swept his rooms and sprinkled the garden with well water. The morning glory and yam vines growing on the fence had reached the top and returned to the ground again, threatening to ensnare the foot of the stone water basin. Their white flowers waved in the evening breeze.

In his room again, he lay down and wondered idly if his host would be on duty that night at the Hosokawa house. The lamp, which would probably have been blown out by the wind anyway, was unlit. The light of the moon, rising beyond the bay, was already on his face.

At the bottom of the hill, a young samurai was breaking through the cemetery fence.

Kakubei stabled the horse he rode to and from the Hosokawa mansion at a florist's shop at the foot of Isarago Hill.

This evening, curiously enough, there was no sign of the florist, who always came out promptly to take charge of the animal. Not seeing him inside the shop, Kakubei went around to the back and started to tether his horse to a tree. As he did so, the florist came running out from behind the temple.

Taking the reins from Kakubei's hands, he panted, "Sorry, sir. There was a strange man in the cemetery, on his way up the hill. I shouted, told him there was no pathway there. He turned and stared at me—angry he was—then disappeared." He paused for a moment, peered up into the dark trees and added worriedly, "Do you think he could be a burglar? They say a lot of daimyō houses have been broken into recently."

Kakubei had heard the rumors, but he replied with a short laugh, "That's all talk, nothing more. If the man you saw was a burglar, I daresay he was a petty thief or one of the rōnin who waylay people on the streets."

"Well, we're right here at the entrance to the Tōkaidō, and lots of travelers have been attacked by men fleeing to other provinces. It makes me nervous when I see suspicious-looking men around at night."

"If anything happens, run up the hill and knock at my gate. The man staying with me is chafing at the bit, always complaining there's never any action around here."

"You mean Sasaki Kojirō? He's got quite a reputation as a swordsman here in the neighborhood."

Hearing this did Kakubei's self-esteem no harm. Apart from liking young people, he knew quite well that it was regarded as both admirable and wise for established samurai like himself to take on promising younger men as protégés. Should an emergency arise, there could be no more persuasive proof of his loyalty than to be able to furnish his lord with good fighters. And if one of them turned out to be outstanding, due credit would be given to the retainer who had recommended him. One of Kakubei's beliefs was that self-interest was an undesirable trait in a vassal; nevertheless, he was realistic. In a large fief, there were few retainers willing to disregard their own interests entirely.

Despite the fact that he held his position through heredity, Kakubei was as loyal to Lord Tadatoshi as the other retainers, without being the sort who would strive to outdo others in demonstrating his fealty. For purposes of routine administration, men of his type were on the whole much more satisfactory than the firebrands who sought to perform spectacular feats.

"I'm back," he called on entering the gate to his house. The hill was quite steep, and he was always a little winded when he reached this point. Since he had left his wife in the country and the house was populated mostly by men, with only a few woman servants, feminine touches tended to be lacking. Yet on evenings when he had no night duty, he invariably found the stone path from the red gate to the entrance inviting, for it had been freshly watered down in anticipation of his return. And no matter how late the hour, someone always came to the front door to greet him.

"Is Kojirō here?" he asked.

"He's been in all day," replied the servant. "He's lying down in his room, enjoying the breeze."

"Good. Get some sake ready and ask him to come in to see me."

While preparations were being made, Kakubei took off his sweaty clothes and relaxed in the bath. Then, donning a light kimono, he entered his sitting room, where Kojirō sat waving a fan.

The sake was brought in. Kakubei poured, saying, "I called you because something encouraging happened today that I wanted to tell you about." "Good news?"

"Since I mentioned your name to Lord Tadatoshi, he seems to have heard of you from other sources as well. Today he told me to bring you to see him sometime soon. As you know, it's not easy to arrange these matters. There are dozens of retainers with someone they want to suggest." His expectation that Kojirō would be immensely pleased showed clearly in his tone and manner.

Kojirō put his cup to his lips and drank. When he did speak, his expression was unchanged and he said only, "Let me pour you one now."

Kakubei, far from being put out, admired the young man for being able to conceal his emotions. "This means I've been successful in carrying out what you requested of me. I think that calls for a celebration. Have another."

Kojirō bowed his head slightly and mumbled, "I'm grateful for your kindness."

"I was only doing my duty, of course," Kakubei replied modestly. "When a man is as capable and talented as you, I owe it to my lord to see that you're given consideration."

"Please don't overestimate me. And let me reemphasize one point. It's not the stipend I'm interested in. I simply think the House of Hosokawa is a very good one for a samurai to serve. It's had three outstanding men in a row." The three men were Tadatoshi and his father and grandfather, Sansai and Yūsai.

"You needn't think I've talked you up to the high heavens. I didn't have to. The name Sasaki Kojirō is known throughout the capital."

"How could I be famous when all I do is loaf around here all day long? I don't see that I'm outstanding in any way. It's just that there are so many fakes around."

"I was told that I could bring you anytime. When would you like to go?" "Any time suits me too."

"How about tomorrow?"

"That's all right with me." His face revealed no eagerness, no anxiety, only calm self-confidence.

Kakubei, even more impressed at his sangfroid, chose this time to say matter-of-factly, "You understand, of course, his lordship won't be able to make a final decision until he's seen you. You needn't let that worry you. It's only a matter of form. I have no doubt but what the position will be offered."

Kojirō set his cup down on the table and stared straight into Kakubei's face. Then, very coldly and defiantly, he said, "I've changed my mind. Sorry to have put you to so much trouble." Blood seemed about to burst from his earlobes, already bright red from the drink.

"Wh-what?" stammered Kakubei. "You mean you're giving up the chance for a position with the House of Hosokawa?"

"I don't like the idea," answered his guest curtly, offering no further explanation. His pride told him there was no reason for him to submit to an inspection; dozens of other daimyō would snap him up sight unseen for fifteen hundred, even twenty-five hundred, bushels.

Kakubei's puzzled disappointment seemed to make no impression on him whatsoever, nor did it matter that he would be regarded as a willful ingrate. Without the least suggestion of doubt or repentance, he finished off his food in silence and returned to his own quarters.

The moonlight fell softly on the tatami. Stretching out drunkenly on the floor, arms under his head, he began to laugh quietly to himself. "Honest man, that Kakubei. Good, old, honest Kakubei." He knew his host would be at a loss to explain this sudden shift to Tadatoshi, but he knew also that Kakubei would not be angry at him for very long, no matter how outrageously he behaved.

While he had piously denied interest in the stipend, he was in fact consumed with ambition. He wanted a stipend and much more—every ounce of fame and success he could possibly achieve. Otherwise, what would be the purpose of persevering through years of arduous training?

Kojirō's ambition was different from that of other men only by dint of its magnitude. He wanted to be known throughout the country as a great and successful man, to bring glory to his home in Iwakuni, to enjoy every one of the benefits that can possibly derive from being born human. The quickest road to fame and riches was to excel in the martial arts. He was fortunate in having a natural talent for the sword; he knew this and derived no small measure of self-satisfaction from it. He had planned his course intelligently and with remarkable foresight. Every action of his was calculated to put him closer to his goal. To his way of thinking, Kakubei, though his senior, was naive and a little sentimental.

He fell asleep dreaming of his brilliant future.

Later, when the moonlight had edged a foot across the tatami, a voice no louder than the breeze whispering through the bamboo said, "Now." A shadowy form, crouching among the mosquitoes, crept forward like a frog to the eaves of the unlighted house.

The mysterious man seen earlier at the foot of the hill advanced slowly, silently, until he reached the veranda, where he stopped and peered into the room. Stooping in the shadows, out of the moonlight, he might have remained undiscovered indefinitely had he himself made no sound.