Musashi: Bushido Code (116 page)

"What's that?" he thought.

The brightly shining eyes reminded him strongly of Musashi's eyes during practice sessions.

"Must be a possum." He had seen one several times, eating the wild grapes. The eyes were like agate, the eyes of a fierce hobgoblin.

"Beast!" cried Iori. "You think I don't have any courage, think even you can outstare me. Well, I'll show you! I'm not about to lose to you."

With grim determination, he tensed his elbows and glared back. The possum, whether out of stubbornness or curiosity, made no move to flee. Its eyes took on an even more lustrous brilliance.

The effort so absorbed Iori that he forgot to breathe. He swore again not to lose, not to this lowly beast. After what seemed like hours, he realized with a flash that he had triumphed. The leaves of the grapevine shook and the possum vanished.

"That'll show you!" exulted Iori. He was drenched with sweat, but he felt relieved and refreshed. He only hoped he would be able to repeat the performance the next time he confronted Musashi.

Having lowered a reed blind on the window and snuffed out the lamp, he went to bed. A bluish-white light reflected from the grass outside. He dozed off, but inside his head he seemed to see a tiny spot, shining like a jewel. In time, the spot grew into the vague outline of the possum's face.

Tossing and moaning, he was suddenly overwhelmed by the conviction that there were eyes at the foot of his pallet. He roused himself with difficulty. "Bastard," he cried, reaching for his sword. He took a murderous swing but ended up doing a somersault. The shadow of the possum was a moving spot on the blind. He slashed at it wildly, then ran outside and hacked fiercely at the grapevine. His eyes rose skyward in search of the eyes.

There came into focus, slowly, two large, bluish stars.

Four Sages with a Single Light

"Here we are," Shinzō said as they reached the foot of Akagi Hill.

From the flute music, which sounded like the accompaniment to a sacred shrine dance, and the bonfire visible through the woods, Musashi thought a night festival must be in progress. The trip to Ushigome had taken two hours.

On one side was the spacious compound of Akagi Shrine; across the sloping street stood the earthen wall of a large private residence and a gate of magnificent proportions. When they reached the gate, Musashi dismounted and handed the reins to Shinzō, thanking him as he did so.

Shinzō led the horse inside and handed the reins to one of a group of samurai waiting near the entrance with paper lanterns in their hands. They all came forward, welcomed him back and led the way through the trees to a clearing in front of the imposing entrance hall. Inside, servants holding lanterns were lined up on both sides of the hallway.

The chief steward greeted them, saying, "Come in. His lordship is expecting you. I'll show you the way."

"Thank you," replied Musashi. He followed the steward up a stairway and into a waiting room.

The design of the house was unusual; one stairway after another led to a series of apartments, which gave the impression of being stacked one above another all the way up Akagi Hill. As he seated himself, Musashi noted that the room was well up the slope. Beyond a drop at the edge of the garden, he could just make out the northern part of the castle moat and the woods framing the escarpment. He found himself thinking that the view from the room in the daytime must be breathtaking.

Noiselessly, the door in an arched doorway slid open. A beautiful serving girl came gracefully in and placed a tray bearing cakes, tea and tobacco in front of him. Then she slipped out as quietly as she had entered. It seemed as if her colorful kimono and obi had emerged from and melted into the wall itself. A faint fragrance lingered after her, and suddenly Musashi was reminded of the existence of women.

The master of the house appeared shortly after that, attended by a young samurai. Dispensing with formalities, he said, "Good of you to come." In good soldierly fashion, he seated himself cross-legged on a cushion spread by the attendant and said, "From what I hear, my son is much indebted to you. I hope you'll pardon my asking you to come here rather than visiting your house to express my thanks." With his hands resting lightly on the fan in his lap, he inclined his prominent forehead ever so slightly.

"I'm honored to be invited to meet you," said Musashi.

It was not easy to estimate Hōjō Ujikatsu's age. Three front teeth were missing, but his smooth, shiny skin testified to a determination never to grow old. The heavy black mustache, streaked with only a few white hairs, had been allowed to grow out on both sides to conceal any wrinkles resulting from the lack of teeth. Musashi's first impression was of a man who had many children and got along well with young people.

Sensing that his host wouldn't object, Musashi went straight to the point. "Your son tells me that you have a guest who knows me. Who might that be?" "Not one but two. You'll see them by and by."

"Two people?"

"Yes. They know each other very well, and both are good friends of mine. I happened to meet them at the castle today. They came back with me, and when Shinzō came in to greet them, we started chatting about you. One of them said he hadn't seen you for a long time and would like to. The other, who knows you only by reputation, expressed the desire to be introduced."

Smiling broadly, Musashi said, "I think I know. One is Takuan Sōhō, isn't it?"

"That's right," exclaimed Lord Ujikatsu, slapping his knee in surprise. "I haven't seen him since I came east several years ago."

Before Musashi had time to make a guess at who the other man was, his lordship said, "Come with me," and went out into the corridor.

They climbed a short stairway and walked down a long, dark corridor. Rain shutters were in place on one side. Suddenly Musashi lost sight of Lord Ujikatsu. He stopped and listened.

After a few moments, Ujikatsu called, "I'm down here." His voice seemed to come from a well-lit room that was situated across an open space from the corridor.

"I understand," Musashi called back. Instead of heading directly for the light, he stood where he was. The space outside the corridor was openly inviting, but something told him danger lurked in that stretch of darkness.

"What are you waiting for, Musashi? We're over here."

"Coming," answered Musashi. He was in no position to reply otherwise, but his sixth sense had warned him to be on the alert. Stealthily, he turned and walked back about ten paces to a small door, which let out onto the garden. Slipping on a pair of sandals, he made his way around the garden to the veranda of Lord Ujikatsu's parlor.

"Oh, you came that way, did you?" said his lordship, looking around from the other end of the room. He sounded disappointed.

"Takuan!" called Musashi as he entered the room, a radiant smile on his face. The priest, seated in front of the alcove, stood up to greet him. To meet again—and under the roof of Lord Hōjō Ujikatsu—seemed almost too fortuitous. Musashi had trouble convincing himself that it was really happening.

"We'll have to bring each other up to date," said Takuan. "Shall I begin?" He was clad in the plain robes he always wore. No finery, not so much as prayer beads. Yet he seemed mellower than before, more soft-spoken. Just as Musashi's rural upbringing had been leached out of him by strenuous attempts at self-discipline, Takuan, too, seemed to have had the sharper corners rounded off and to have become more deeply endowed with the wisdom of Zen. To be sure, he was no longer a youth. Eleven years older than Musashi, he was now approaching forty.

"Let's see. Kyoto, wasn't it? Ah, I remember. It was shortly before I went back to Tajima. After my mother died, I spent a year in mourning. Then I traveled for a while, spent some time at the Nansōji in Izumi, then at the Daitokuji. Later, I saw a good deal of Lord Karasumaru—composed poetry with him, had tea ceremonies, fended off the cares of this world. Before I knew it, I'd spent three years in Kyoto. Recently I became friendly with Lord Koide of Kishiwada Castle and came with him to have a look at Edo."

"Then you've been here only a short time?"

"Yes. Although I've met Hidetada twice at the Daitokuji and been summoned into Ieyasu's presence a number of times, this is my first trip to Edo. And what about you?"

"I've been here only since the beginning of this summer."

"It seems you've made quite a name for yourself in this part of the country." Musashi didn't try to justify himself. He hung his head and said, "I suppose you've heard about that."

Takuan stared at him for a few moments, seemingly comparing him with the Takezō of old. "Why worry about that? It'd be strange if a man your age had too good a reputation. So long as you haven't done anything disloyal or ignoble or rebellious, what does it matter? I'm more interested in hearing about your training."

Musashi gave a brief account of his recent experiences and ended by saying, "I'm afraid I'm still immature, imprudent—far from being truly enlightened. The more I travel, the longer the road becomes. I have the feeling I'm climbing an endless mountain path."

"That's the way it has to be," said Takuan, clearly pleased with the youth's integrity and humility. "If a man not yet thirty claims to know the least bit about the Way, it's an unmistakable sign his growth has stopped. Even I still shudder with embarrassment when anyone suggests that an uncouth priest like me could know the ultimate meaning of Zen. It's disconcerting, the way people are always asking me to tell them about the Buddhist Law or explain the true teachings. People try to look up to a priest as a living Buddha. Be thankful that others don't overestimate you, that you don't have to pay attention to appearances."

While the two men happily renewed their friendship, servants arrived with food and drink. Presently Takuan said, "Forgive me, your lordship. I'm afraid we're forgetting something. Why don't you call your other guest in?"

Musashi was certain now that he knew who the fourth person was, but elected to remain silent.

Hesitating slightly, Ujikatsu said, "Shall I call him?" Then, to Musashi, "I'll have to admit you saw through our little trick. As the one who planned it, I feel rather ashamed."

Takuan laughed. "Good for you! I'm glad to see you're up to admitting defeat. But why not? It was only a game to amuse everybody anyway, wasn't it? Certainly nothing for the master of the Hōjō Style to lose face over."

"Well, no doubt I was defeated," murmured Ujikatsu, reluctance still in his voice. "The truth is that although I've heard what sort of man you are, I had no way of knowing just how well trained and disciplined you are. I thought I'd see for myself, and my other guest agreed to cooperate. When you stopped in the passageway, he was waiting in ambush, ready to draw his sword." His lordship seemed to regret having had to put Musashi to the test. "But you perceived you were being lured into a trap and came across the garden." Looking directly at Musashi, he asked, "May I ask why you did that?"

Musashi merely grinned.

Takuan spoke up. "It's the difference, your lordship, between the military strategist and the swordsman."

"Is it, now?"

"It's a matter of instinctive responses—that of a military scholar, based on intellectual principles, versus that of a man who follows the Way of the Sword, based on the heart. You reasoned that if you led Musashi on, he'd follow. Yet without being able to actually see, or to put his finger on anything definite, Musashi sensed danger and moved to protect himself. His reaction was spontaneous, instinctive."

"Instinctive?"

"Like a Zen revelation."

"Do you have premonitions like that?"

"I can't really say."

"In any case, I've learned a lesson. The average samurai, sensing danger, might have lost his head, or perhaps seized upon the trap as an excuse to display his prowess with the sword. When I saw Musashi go back, put on the sandals and cross the garden, I was deeply impressed."

Musashi kept his silence, his face revealing no special pleasure at Lord Ujikatsu's words of praise. His thoughts turned to the man still standing outside in the dark, stranded by the victim's failure to fall into the trap.

Addressing his host, he said, "May I request that the Lord of Tajima take his place among us now?"

"What's that?" Ujikatsu was astonished, as was Takuan. "How did you know?"

Moving back to give Yagyū Munenori the place of honor, Musashi said, "Despite the darkness, I felt the presence of peerless swordsmanship. Taking into consideration the other faces present, I don't see how it could be anyone else."

"You've done it again!" Ujikatsu was amazed.

At a nod from him, Takuan said, "The Lord of Tajima. Quite right." Turning to the door, he called, "Your secret is out, Lord Munenori. Won't you join us?"

There was a loud laugh, and Munenori appeared in the doorway. Instead of arranging himself comfortably in front of the alcove, he knelt in front of Musashi and greeted him as an equal, saying, "My name is Mataemon Munenori. I hope you will remember me."

"It is an honor to meet you. I am a rōnin from Mimasaka, Miyamoto Musashi by name. I pray for your guidance in the future."

"Kimura Sukekurō mentioned you to me some months ago, but at the time I was busy because of my father's illness."

"How is Lord Sekishūsai?"

"Well, he's very old. There's no way of knowing . . ." After a brief pause, he continued with warm cordiality: "My father told me about you in a letter, and I've heard Takuan speak of you several times. I must say your reaction a few minutes ago was admirable. If you don't mind, I think we should regard the bout you requested as having taken place. I hope you're not offended by my unorthodox way of carrying it out."

Musashi's impression was of intelligence and maturity quite in accordance with the daimyō's reputation.

"I'm embarrassed by your thoughtfulness," he replied, bowing very low. His show of deference was natural, for Lord Munenori's status was so far above Musashi's as to put him virtually in another world. Though his fief amounted to only fifty thousand bushels, his family had been famous as provincial magistrates since the tenth century. To most people, it would have seemed odd to find one of the shōgun's tutors in the same room with Musashi, let alone talking to him in a friendly, informal fashion. It was a relief to Musashi to note that neither Ujikatsu, a scholar and member of the shōgun's banner guard, nor Takuan, a country priest by origin, felt any constraint because of Munenori's rank.

Warm sake was brought, cups were exchanged, talk and laughter ensued. Differences in age and class were forgotten. Musashi knew he was being accepted in this select circle not because of who he was. He was seeking the Way, just as they were. It was the Way that permitted such free camaraderie.

At one point, Takuan set down his cup and asked Musashi, "What's become of Otsū."

Reddening slightly, Musashi said he hadn't seen or heard anything of her for some time.

"Nothing at all?"

"Nothing."

"That's unfortunate. You can't leave her in the lurch forever, you know. It's not good for you, either."

"By Otsū," asked Munenori, "do you mean the girl who once stayed with my father in Koyagyū?"

"Yes," replied Takuan on Musashi's behalf.

"I know where she is. She went to Koyagyū with my nephew Hyōgo to help nurse my father."

With a noted military scientist and Takuan present, thought Musashi, they could be talking about strategy or discussing Zen. With both Munenori and Musashi present, the subject could have been swords.

With a nod of apology to Musashi, Takuan told the others about Otsū and her relationship with Musashi. "Sooner or later," he concluded, "someone will have to bring the two of you together again, but I fear it's no task for a priest. I ask the assistance of you two gentlemen." What he was actually suggesting was that Ujikatsu and Munenori act as Musashi's guardians.