Musashi: Bushido Code (118 page)

Tadaaki’s Madness

Osugi was not one to be driven to despair by the sorrows and bitter disappointments of unrequited maternal devotion, but here, with the insects singing amid the lespedeza and eulalia plants, with the great river flowing slowly by, she was not unmoved by feelings of nostalgia and the impermanence of life.

"Are you home?" The rough voice sounded harsh in the still evening air. "Who is it?" she called.

"I'm from Hangawara's. A lot of fresh vegetables came in from Katsushika. The boss told me to bring you some."

"Yajibei's always so thoughtful."

She was seated at a low table, candle beside her and writing brush in hand, copying the
Sutra on the Great Love of Parents.
She had moved into a small rented house in the sparsely populated district of Hamachō and was making a reasonably comfortable living treating other people's aches and pains with moxa. She had no physical complaints to speak of. Since the beginning of autumn, she had felt quite young again.

"Say, Granny, did a young man come to see you earlier this evening?" "For a moxa treatment, you mean?"

"Unh-unh. He came to Yajibei's, seemed to have something important on his mind. He asked where you were living now, and we told him."

"How old was he?"

"Twenty-seven or -eight, I guess."

"What did he look like?"

"Sort of round-faced. Not very tall."

"Mm, I wonder...."

"He had an accent like yours. I thought maybe he came from the same place. Well, I'll be going. Good night."

As the footsteps faded, the voices of the insects rose again like the sound of drizzling rain. Putting down her brush, Osugi gazed at the candle, thinking of the days when she was young and people had read portents in the halo of the candlelight. Those left behind had no way of knowing how husbands, sons and brothers who'd gone off to war were faring, or what fate might lie in their own uncertain futures. A bright halo was taken as a sign of good fortune, purplish shadows as an indication that someone had died. When the flame crackled like pine needles, a person they were expecting was sure to come.

Osugi had forgotten how to interpret the omens, but tonight the cheerful halo, as colorfully beautiful as a rainbow, suggested something splendid in the offing.

Could it have been Matahachi? Her hand reached toward the brush once but drew back. As though entranced, she forgot herself and her surroundings and for the next hour or two thought only of her son's face, which seemed to float about in the darkness of the room.

A rustling noise at the back entrance brought her out of her reverie. Wondering if a weasel was playing havoc with her kitchen, she took the candle and went to investigate.

The sack of vegetables was by the sink; on top of the sack was a white object. Picking it up, she found it was heavy—as heavy as two pieces of gold. On the white paper in which they were wrapped, Matahachi had written: "I still don't have the heart to face you. Please forgive me if I neglect you for another six months. I'll just leave this note, without coming in."

A samurai with murder in his eyes was crashing through the tall grass to reach two men standing on the riverbank. Gasping for breath, he called, "Hamada, was it him?"

"No," groaned Hamada. "Wrong man." But his eyes sparkled as he continued to survey the surroundings.

"I'm sure it was."

"It wasn't. It was a boatman."

"Are you sure?"

"When I ran after him, he climbed into that boat over there."

"That doesn't make him a boatman."

"I checked."

"I must say, he's fast on his feet."

Turning away from the river, they started back through the fields of Hamachō.

"Matahachi ... Matahachi!"

At first, the sound barely rose above the murmuring of the river, but as it was repeated and became unmistakable, they stopped and looked at one another in astonishment.

"Somebody's calling him! How could that be?"

"Sounds like an old woman."

With Hamada in the lead, they quickly traced the sound to its source, and when Osugi heard their footsteps, she ran toward them.

"Matahachi? Is one of you—"

They surrounded her and pinioned her arms behind her.

"What are you doing to me?" Puffing up like an enraged blowfish, she shouted, "Who are you anyway?"

"We're students of the Ono School."

"I don't know anybody named Ono."

"You never heard of Ono Tadaaki, tutor to the shōgun?"

"Never."

"Why, you old—"

"Wait. Let's see what she knows about Matahachi."

"I'm his mother."

"You're the mother of Matahachi, the melon vendor?"

"What do you mean, you pig! Melon vendor! Matahachi is a descendant of the House of Hon'iden, and that's an important family in the province of Mimasaka. I'll have you know the Hon'idens are high-ranking retainers of Shimmen Munetsura, lord of Takeyama Castle in Yoshino."

"Enough of this," said one man.

"What should we do?"

"Pick her up and carry her."

"Hostage? Do you think it'll work?"

"If she's his mother, he'll have to come for her."

Osugi pulled her scrawny body together and fought like a cornered tigress, but to no avail.

Bored and dissatisfied these past several weeks, Kojirō had fallen into the habit of sleeping a lot, in the daytime as well as at night. At the moment, he was lying on his back, grumbling to himself, hugging his sword to his chest.

"It's enough to make my Drying Pole weep. A sword like this, a swordsman like myself—rotting away in another man's house!"

There was a loud click and a metallic flash.

"Stupid fool!"

Striking in a great arc above him, the weapon slithered back into its scabbard like a living creature.

"Splendid!" cried a servant from the edge of the veranda. "Are you practicing a technique for striking from a supine position?"

"Don't be silly," sniffed Kojirō. He turned over onto his stomach, picked up two specks and flicked them toward the veranda. "It was making a nuisance of itself."

The servant's eyes widened. The insect, resembling a moth, had had both its soft wings and tiny body sliced neatly in two.

"Are you here to lay out my bedding?" asked Kojirō.

"Oh, no! Sorry! There's a letter for you."

Kojirō unhurriedly unfolded the letter and began to read. As he read, a touch of excitement came to his face. According to Yajibei, Osugi had been missing since the night before. Kojirō was requested to come at once and confer on a course of action.

The letter explained in some detail how they had learned where she was. Yajibei had had all his men out searching for her all day long, but the crux of the matter was the message Kojirō had left at the Donjiki. It had been crossed out and beside it was written: "To Sasaki Kojirō: The person holding Matahachi's mother in custody is Hamada Toranosuke of the House of Ono."

"Finally," said Kojirō, the words coming from deep in his throat. At the time he'd rescued Matahachi, he'd suspected that the two samurai he cut down had some connection with the Ono School.

He chuckled and said, "Just what I was waiting for." Standing on the veranda, he glanced up at the night sky. There were clouds, but it didn't look like rain.

Very shortly afterward, he was seen riding up the Takanawa highroad on a rented packhorse. It was late when he reached the Hangawara house. After questioning Yajibei in detail, he made up his mind to spend the night there and move into action the next morning.

Ono Tadaaki had received his new name not long after the Battle of Sekigahara. It was as Mikogami Tenzen that he'd been summoned to Hidetada's encampment to lecture on swordsmanship, which he did with distinction. Along with bestowal of the name came his appointment as a direct vassal of the Tokugawas and the granting of a new residence on Kanda Hill in Edo.

Since the hill afforded an excellent view of Mount Fuji, the shogunate designated it as a residential district for retainers from Suruga, the province in which Fuji was situated.

"I was told the house is on Saikachi Slope," said Kojirō.

He and one of Hangawara's men were at the top of the hill. In the deep valley below them, they could see Ochanomizu, a section of river from which water for the shōgun's tea was said to be drawn.

"Wait here," said Kojirō's guide. "I'll see where it is." He returned shortly with the information that they had already passed it.

"I don't remember any place that looked as though it might belong to the shōgun's tutor."

"Neither did I. I thought he'd have a big mansion, like Yagyū Munenori. But his house is that old one we saw on the right. I've heard it used to belong to the shōgun's stable keeper."

"I suppose it's nothing to be surprised about. Ono's only worth fifteen hundred bushels. Most of Munenori's income was earned by his ancestors."

"This is it," said the guide, pointing.

Kojirō stopped to inspect the general layout of the buildings. The old earthen wall extended back from the middle section of the slope to a thicket on a hill beyond. The compound appeared to be quite large. From the doorless gate he could see, beyond the main house, a building he took to be the dōjō and an annex, apparently of more recent construction.

"You can go back now," said Kojirō. "And tell Yajibei if I don't return with the old lady by evening, he can assume I've been killed."

"Yes, sir." The man ran swiftly down Saikachi Slope, stopping several times to look back.

Kojirō hadn't wasted any time trying to get near Yagyū Munenori. There was no way to defeat him and thereby take for himself the other man's glory, for the Yagyū Style was the one actually employed by the Tokugawas. That in itself was sufficient excuse for Munenori to refuse to take on ambitious rōnin. Tadaaki was inclined to take on all corners.

Compared with the Yagyū Style, Ono's was more practical, the aim being not to make a great display of skill but to actually kill. Kojirō had heard of no one who had succeeded in attacking the House of Ono and putting it to shame. While Munenori was in general the more highly respected, Tadaaki was considered the stronger.

Ever since coming to Edo and learning of this situation, Kojirō had told himself that one of these days he would be knocking on the Ono gate.

Numata Kajūrō glanced out the window of the dōjō's dressing room. He did a double take and his eyes swept the room, looking for Toranosuke. Spotting him in the middle of the room, giving a lesson to a younger student, he ran to his side and, in a low voice, sputtered, "He's here! Out there, in the front yard!"

Toranosuke, his wooden sword poised in front of him, shouted to the student, "On guard." Then he pressed forward, his footsteps resounding sharply on the floor. Just as the two reached the north corner, the student did a somersault and his wooden sword went sailing through the air.

Toranosuke turned and said, "Who are you talking about? Kojirō?" "Yes, he's just inside the gate. He'll be here any minute."

"Much sooner than I expected. Taking the old lady hostage was a good idea."

"What do you plan to do now? Who's going to greet him? It should be someone who's prepared for anything. If he has the nerve to come here alone, he may try a surprise move."

"Have him brought to the dōjō. I'll greet him myself. The rest of you stay in the background and keep quiet."

"At least there're plenty of us here," said Kajūrō. Looking around, he was encouraged to see the faces of stalwarts like Kamei Hyōsuke, Negoro Hachikurō and Itō Magobei. There were also about twenty others; they had no idea of Kojirō's way of thinking, but they all knew why Toranosuke wanted him here.

One of the two men Kojirō had killed near the Donjiki was Toranosuke's elder brother. Though he was a good-for-nothing, not well thought of at school, his death nevertheless had to be avenged because of the blood relationship.

Despite his youth and his modest income, Toranosuke was a samurai to be reckoned with in Edo. Like the Tokugawas, he came originally from Mikawa Province, and his family was numbered among the oldest of the shōgun's hereditary vassals. He was also one of the "four generals of Saikachi Slope," the others being Kamei, Negoro and Itō.

When Toranosuke had come home the night before with Osugi, the consensus was that he had scored a noteworthy coup. Now it would be difficult for Kojirō not to show his face. The men vowed that if he did appear, they would beat him within an inch of his life, cut off his nose and hang him on a tree by the Kanda River for all to see. But they were by no means certain he'd show up; in fact, they had placed wagers on it, the majority betting that he wouldn't.

Assembling in the main room of the dōjō, they left the floor space open in the middle and waited anxiously.

After a time, one man asked Kajūrō, "Are you sure it was Kojirō you saw?" "Absolutely sure."

They sat in formidable array. Their faces, woodenly stiff at first, were now showing signs of strain. Some feared that if this kept up much longer, they would fall victim to their own tenseness. Just as the breaking point seemed near, the rapid patter of sandals came to a halt outside the dressing room, and the face of another student, standing on tiptoe, appeared in the window.

"Listen! There's no sense in waiting here. Kojirō's not coming."

"What do you mean? Kajūrō just saw him."