The Dragon Scroll (2 page)

INCIDENT IN FUJISAWA

On the Tokaido:

Gods-Absent Month (November), the same year

he Tokaido, great imperial highway to the eastern provinces, was both heavily traveled and unsafe. The government had established checkpoints or barriers, staffed with military guard contingents, to examine travelers’ documents and patrol the surrounding area, but they were few and far between, and highway robbery was a way of life for desperate men.

The two travelers from the capital had come far on their post horses. A tall young man in a faded hunting robe and plain twill trousers rode in front. The fact that he carried a sword marked him as one of the “good people.” His servant, a slight old man in a plain dark robe, followed on a packhorse.

The young nobleman was Akitada, impecunious descendant of the famous but ill-fated Sugawara clan, twenty-five years old and recently a mere junior clerk in the imperial Ministry of Justice, a position he had won only because he had placed first in the university examination. Now he was on an official commission to investigate missing tax shipments from Kazusa province, an assignment that filled him with extraordinary excitement not only because was it his first journey from the capital, but also because he regarded it as an honor beyond his wildest dreams.

Seimei, who had served Akitada’s family all his life, privately thought his young master worthy of any honor but kept this to himself. He was skilled at bookkeeping, had a great knowledge of herbal medicines, and prided himself on his familiarity with the works of Confucius, whom he often quoted to Akitada in his role of fatherly adviser.

His confidence in young Akitada’s prospects was about to be severely tested.

Akitada was smiling dreamily, his eyes on a distant blue mountain range while he contemplated the honors awaiting him after the successful completion of his assignment, when a large rock struck his horse on its hindquarters. The animal screamed, tossed its rider into the dirt, and galloped off. Akitada hit the ground so hard, he nearly blacked out.

Instantly, two muscular bearded men, armed with long, stout cudgels, burst from the shrubbery by the side of the road and seized the bridle of Seimei’s horse, ordering him down. The old man obeyed, shaking with shock and helpless fury, while his young master sat up, holding his head and gauging the distance to his sword, which was still attached to the saddle. One of the bandits raised his cudgel and made for Akitada. Seimei shrieked a warning and kicked the other bandit in the groin. The man doubled over, howling with pain.

Dazed, Akitada crouched and prepared to defend himself bare-handed against his attacker. He barely dodged the first swing of the cudgel and realized that an ignoble death here by the side of the road might end his chance to prove his talents as an imperial investigator.

At the moment when the other bandit recovered and raised his cudgel against Seimei, another ragged man arrived on the scene. Taking in the situation at once, he swept up a fallen branch and struck the bandit’s forearm with such force that he broke it. He caught the man’s weapon as it tumbled from his hand and turned toward Akitada’s robber.

This man abandoned Akitada to help his friend, but the newcomer now had a comparable weapon and met the other man’s whirling cudgel with such skill that Akitada watched in amazement. He had never before seen men engage in a bout of stick fighting, and while the rough cudgels were not quite as handy, long, or light as bamboo poles, both men were skilled fighters. But the new man was better. He parried even the fastest slashes, seemed to jump quicker than a grasshopper, and feinted so successfully that he inflicted several painful jabs before he saw his opening and struck his opponent’s forehead with a backhanded slice, knocking him senseless. At this point the other attacker fled, and the ragged young man tied up his opponent with a piece of rope the bandit had worn around his waist.

“That was fine work you did,” cried Akitada, walking up quickly. “We owe you our lives ...” He stopped in dismay when their rescuer straightened up. He smiled quite cheerfully, but a vicious slash had barely missed his eye and opened his cheek. The blood ran freely. “Seimei,” Akitada called. “Quick, your medicine box.”

The young man shook his head, still grinning with a perfect set of teeth, and dashed the blood away with the back of his hand. “Don’t trouble yourselves. It’s nothing. I’ll get your horse for you, sir.” He ran off and returned a minute later, leading Akitada’s mount. “If you don’t mind the advice, sir,” he said, “you should wear your sword. It might at least make the next robber think twice before jumping you.”

Akitada flushed. For a vagrant, this young man was amazingly impudent. But he was right, and Akitada swallowed his anger. “Yes. Thank you again. I was careless. Please let Seimei tend to your face.” The man’s face already bore assorted bruises, but it must be handsome under ordinary circumstances. Akitada wondered if their rescuer made a habit of fighting.

But the stranger shook his head stubbornly and backed away from Seimei and his box of ointments and powders.

Akitada said reassuringly, “Don’t worry. He is quite gentle.”

The stranger shot him a glance and submitted.

“I suppose you live nearby. What is your name?” Akitada asked, watching the operation.

“No, I don’t. I was on my way to look for farm work. You can call me Tora.”

“The harvest is over.” Akitada regarded him thoughtfully. “This may be a fortunate coincidence, Tora,” he said. “We are indebted to you, and I need a servant. Your skill with that stick was impressive. Would you be willing to travel with us to Kazusa province?”

Seimei dropped a jar of ointment and looked at his master open mouthed. The young man thought for a moment, then nodded. “Why not. I’ll give it a try. You two need someone to look after you, and if you suit me, I suppose Kazusa is as good a place to go as any.” He flashed his smile again.

Seimei gasped. “Sir, you cannot seriously think of taking this person along.”

“I suppose you mean him, old man?” Tora, purposely misunderstanding, gestured to the trussed-up bandit. “Don’t worry. He’s not going anywhere. We’ll send the warden from the next village for him. He’ll be glad to earn the head money.”

It seemed a very fair bargain to Akitada. They had an escort and willing servant who expected no more than food and a few coppers to pay for his trouble. And, with Tora running alongside their horses at a steady pace, they made almost as good time as without him.

Crossing Narumi Bay by ferry, they reached the town of Futakawa toward evening and stopped before a large Buddhist temple with a famous Inari shrine to the fox god sacred to rice farmers. A roofed message board for the posting of official messages stood beside the temple gate.

“Look.” Akitada chuckled and pointed to a fresh sheet of paper with large black characters.” ‘Mountain Tiger Wanted Dead or Alive for Murder and Robbery—Bandit is seven feet tall, of gruesome appearance and hairy body, and has the strength of a dragon!’ Apparently there is a gang of robbers working the highway.”

Tora grinned widely. “Is that what it says?” He flexed his muscles. “The strength of a dragon? That’s very flattering.”

Akitada turned to him, astonished. “You are this Mountain Tiger? Of course, ‘Tora’ means tiger.”

“Well, in a manner of speaking it may be me,” the young man said, flushing slightly. “But it was all a mistake.”

“What? So now he’s a wanted man?” Seimei cried. “A bandit and a murderer, even if he’s not seven feet tall or very hairy. Pull your sword, sir! We’ll turn him in.”

“Whoever he is, he just saved our lives,” Akitada reminded him and turned back to Tora. “Are you one of the Mountain Tigers or not?”

“No.” The young man met his eyes squarely. “You don’t have to believe me, but I got caught taking shelter in a cave with them. The soldiers tore up my papers, saying they were stolen. Before I knew it, they were putting chains on everyone and talking about chopping my head off. I grabbed the officer’s sword and made a run for it.” He waited defiantly for Akitada’s decision.

Akitada looked hard at him. “Did you kill anyone while trying to escape?”

“No. Once I had the sword, they wouldn’t come near me. I ran as hard as I could down the mountain, and in the next village I left the sword leaning against the warden’s house.”

Akitada sighed. “Very well. I believe you. But I had better get you some papers before we reach the next barrier.”

Tora looked rebellious. “I’m not setting foot in any tribunal.”

“Nonsense,” said Akitada. “You offered to serve me. I cannot travel with a wanted man.”

Seimei muttered darkly, “You’ll be sorry, sir, if it turns out to be a pack of lies. A hawk does not become a nightingale, and in the service of His August Majesty one does not employ highway robbers.”

Akitada ignored him.

Getting papers for their dubious companion proved surprisingly simple. The local magistrate was awed by Akitada’s credentials and did not question his sudden need to hire an additional servant with the astonishing name of Tora and the appearance of a ruffian.

Tora expressed his gratitude through cheerful and eager service. He looked after the increasingly weary Seimei and found them the best lodgings at the lowest rates. This last was important, for though Akitada traveled on the emperor’s business, he could not afford the usual escort of armed men and was forced to manage with a very small amount of silver and several bags of rice for provision and barter.

But the best part of the bargain for Akitada was that Tora began or ended each day of travel with a lesson in stick fighting. His belief in their new servant’s good character grew by leaps and bounds.

Seimei was scandalized by these lessons, protesting that no gentleman fought with such a weapon. Ignored, he took refuge in grumbling and criticizing Tora’s lack of respect at every opportunity.

The day they caught their first distant glimpse of Mount Fuji, Akitada stopped his horse in wonder. Hazy and ethereal, the great snowcapped cone swam into sight as on a cloud. His heart filled with such awe and pride in his homeland that he could not speak.

Seimei remarked that there seemed to be smoke coming from the mountain’s top.

“Ha, ha!” Tora laughed. “You should see the great spirit at night. He spits fire like a dragon.”

“Fire and snow,” marveled Akitada, his eyes moist with emotion. “It must be very high.”

“Oh, it reaches all the way to the sky,” said Tora, stretching up an arm to illustrate. “People who climb to the top never return. They go directly to heaven.”

“There is no medicine against foolishness,” snapped Seimei, irritated beyond forbearance by the reprobate servant’s know-it-all manner and lack of decorum. “Keep your tongue between your teeth until you learn who your betters are.”

Tora looked hurt. “What? Don’t you believe in the gods in that great capital of yours?”

Seimei did not bother to answer.

At Mishima they began the long ascent to Hakone. This mountain pass was the longest and highest on the Tokaido. The skies clouded over and a heavy silence seemed to hang in the air among the dark pines and cryptomerias.