Musashi: Bushido Code (117 page)

They seemed willing to accept this role, Munenori observing that Musashi was old enough to have a family and Ujikatsu saying that he had reached a satisfactorily high level of training.

Munenori suggested that one of these days Otsū should be summoned back from Koyagyū and given in marriage to Musashi. Then Musashi could set himself up in Edo, where his house, along with those of Ono Tadaaki and Yagyū Munenori, would form a triumvirate of the sword and usher in a golden age of swordsmanship in the new capital. Both Takuan and Ujikatsu concurred.

Specifically, Lord Ujikatsu, eager to reward Musashi for his kindness to Shinzō, wanted to recommend him as a tutor to the shōgun, an idea the three of them had explored before sending Shinzō for Musashi. And having seen how Musashi reacted to their test, Munenori himself was now ready to give his approval to the plan.

There were difficulties to be overcome, one being that a teacher in the shōgun's household also had to be a member of the honor guard. Since many of its members were faithful vassals of the Tokugawas from the days when Ieyasu had held the Mikawa fief, there was a reluctance to appoint new people, and all candidates were investigated with great thoroughness. However, it was felt that with recommendations from Ujikatsu and Munenori, together with a letter of guarantee from Takuan, Musashi would get by.

The sticky point was his ancestry. There was no written record tracing his ancestry back to Hirata Shōgen of the Akamatsu clan, nor even a genealogical chart to prove he was of good samurai stock. He assuredly had no family connections with the Tokugawas. On the contrary, it was an undeniable fact that as a callow youth of seventeen he had fought against the Tokugawa forces at Sekigahara. Still, there was a chance; other rōnin from former enemy clans had joined the House of Tokugawa after Sekigahara. Even Ono Tadaaki, a rōnin from the Kitabatake clan, which was at present in hiding in Ise Matsuzaka, held an appointment as tutor to the shōgun despite his undesirable connections.

After the three men had again gone over the pros and cons, Takuan said, "All right then, let's recommend him. But perhaps we should find out what he himself thinks about it."

The question was put to Musashi, who replied mildly, "It's kind and generous of you to suggest this, but I'm nothing but an immature young man."

"Don't think of it in that way," said Takuan with an air of candor. "What we're advising you to do is become mature. Will you establish a house of your own, or do you plan to make Otsū go on indefinitely living as she is now?"

Musashi felt hemmed in. Otsū had said she was willing to bear any hardship, but this would in no way lessen Musashi's responsibility for any grief that might befall her. While it was acceptable for a woman to act in accordance with her own feelings, if the outcome was not a happy one, the man would be blamed.

Not that Musashi was unwilling to accept the responsibility. On the whole, he yearned to accept. Otsū had been guided by love, and the onus of that love belonged to him as much as to her. Nevertheless, he felt it was still too early to marry and have a family. The long, hard Way of the Sword stretched before him yet; his desire to follow it was undiminished.

It did not simplify matters that his attitude toward the sword had changed. Since Hōtengahara, the sword of the conqueror and the sword of the killer were things of the past, no longer of any use or meaning.

Nor did being a technician, even one who gave instruction to men of the shōgun's retinue, excite his interest. The Way of the Sword, as he had come to see it, must have specific objectives: to establish order, to protect and refine the spirit. The Way had to be one men could cherish as they did their lives, until their dying day. If such a Way existed, could it not be employed to bring peace to the world and happiness to all?

When he had answered Sukekurō's letter with a challenge to Lord Munenori, his motive had not been the shallow urge to score a victory that had led him to challenge Sekishūsai. Now his wish was to be engaged in the business of governing. Not on any grand scale, of course; a small, insignificant fief would suffice for the activities he imagined would promote the cause of good government.

But he lacked the confidence to express these ideas, feeling that other swordsmen would dismiss his youthful ambitions as being absurd. Or, if they took him seriously, they would feel compelled to warn him: politics leads to destruction; by going into government he would sully his beloved sword. They would do this out of genuine concern for his soul.

He even believed that if he spoke his mind truthfully, the two warriors and the priest would react either with laughter or with alarm.

When he did get around to speaking, it was to protest—he was too young, too immature, his training was inadequate... .

At length, Takuan cut him off, saying, "Leave it to us."

Lord Ujikatsu added, "We'll see that it turns out all right for you." The matter was decided.

Coming in periodically to trim the lamp, Shinzō had caught the gist of the conversation. He quietly let his father and the guests know that what he had heard pleased him immensely.

The Locust Tree

Matahachi opened his eyes and looked around, got up and poked his head out the back door.

"Akemi!" he called.

There was no answer.

Something prompted him to open the closet. She had recently finished making a new kimono. It was gone.

Going next door first, to Umpei's, he then walked through the alley toward the street, anxiously asking everyone he met if they'd seen her.

"I saw her this morning," said the charcoal vendor's wife.

"You did? Where?"

"She was all dressed up. I asked her where she was off to, and she said to see relatives in Shinagawa."

"Shinagawa?"

"Doesn't she have relatives there?" she asked skeptically.

He started to say no, but caught himself. "Uh, yes, of course. That's where she's gone."

Run after her? In truth, his attachment to her was not particularly strong, and he was more annoyed than anything else. Her disappearance left a bittersweet taste.

He spat and gave vent to an oath or two, then strolled down to the beach, just on the other side of the Shibaura highroad. A little back from the water stood a scattering of fishermen's houses. It was his habit to come here every morning while Akemi was cooking rice and look for fish. Usually at least five or six had fallen from the nets, and he would return just in time to have them cooked for breakfast. Today he ignored the fish.

"What's the matter, Matahachi?" The pawnbroker from the main street tapped him on the shoulder.

"Good morning," said Matahachi.

"It's nice to be out early, isn't it? I'm glad to see you come out for a walk every morning. Great for your health!"

"You're joking, I suppose. Maybe if I was rich like you, I'd be walking for my health. For me, walking's work."

"You don't look too well. Something happen?"

Matahachi picked up a handful of sand and cast it bit by bit into the wind. Both he and Akemi were well acquainted with the pawnbroker, who had tided them over several emergencies.

Undaunted, the man continued: "You know, there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about, but I never seem to have the chance. Are you going out to work today?"

"Why bother? It's not much of a living, selling watermelons."

"Come fishing with me."

Matahachi scratched his head and looked apologetic. "Thanks, but I really don't like to fish."

"Well, you don't have to fish if you don't want to. But come along anyway. It'll make you feel better. That's my boat over there. You can scull a boat, can't you?"

"I guess so."

"Come along. I'm going to tell you how to make a lot of money—maybe a thousand pieces of gold. How would you like that?"

Suddenly Matahachi had a great interest in going fishing.

About a thousand yards offshore, the water was still shallow enough to touch bottom with the scull. Letting the boat drift, Matahachi asked, "Just how do I go about making this money?"

"I'll tell you soon enough." The pawnbroker readjusted his bulky frame on the seat at the waist of the boat. "I'd appreciate it if you'd hold a fishing pole out over the water."

"Why?"

"It's better if people think we're fishing. Two people rowing out this far just to talk would look suspicious."

"How's this?"

"Fine." He took out a pipe with a ceramic bowl, packed it with expensive tobacco and lit it. "Before I tell you what I have in mind, let me ask you a question. What do your neighbors say about me?"

"About you?"

"Yes, about Daizō of Narai."

"Well, pawnbrokers are supposed to be skinflints, but everybody says you're very good about lending money. They say you're a man who understands life."

"I don't mean my business practices. I want to know their opinion of me personally."

"They think you're a good man, a man with a heart. I'm not just flattering you. That's really what they say."

"Don't they ever comment on what a religious man I am?"

"Oh, yes, of course. Everybody's amazed at how charitable you are."

"Have men from the magistrate's office ever come around inquiring about me?"

"No. Why should they?"

Daizō gave a little laugh. "I suppose you think my questions are foolish, but the truth of the matter is that I'm not really a pawnbroker."

"What?"

"Matahachi, you may never have another chance to make so much money all at once."

"You're probably right."

"Do you want to catch hold?"

"Of what?"

"The money vine."

"Wh-what do I have to do?"

"Make a promise to me and carry it out."

"That's all?"

"That's all, but if you change your mind later, you're as good as dead. I know the money interests you, but think hard before you give your final answer."

"Just what do I have to do?" Matahachi asked suspiciously.

"You have to become a well digger. There's nothing to it."

"At Edo Castle?"

Daizō gazed out over the bay. Cargo boats loaded with building materials and bearing the flags of several great clans—Tōdō, Arima, Katō, Date, Hosokawa—were lined up almost prow to stern.

"You catch on quick, Matahachi." The pawnbroker refilled his pipe. "Edo Castle is precisely what I have in mind. If I'm not mistaken, Umpei's been trying to persuade you to dig wells for him. It'd be perfectly natural for you to decide to take him up on the offer."

"That's all I have to do? ... How is becoming a well digger going to bring me that much money?"

"Be patient. I'll tell you all about it."

When they returned to shore, Matahachi was euphoric. They parted with a promise. That evening he was to slip away unobserved and go to Daizō's house to receive an advance payment of thirty pieces of gold.

He went home, took a nap and awoke a few hours later with the image of the vast sum that would soon be his dancing before his eyes.

Money, a fantastic amount, enough to compensate for all the bad luck he had had up till then. Enough to last him for the rest of his life. Even more exciting was the prospect of being able to show people that they were wrong, that he had what it took after all.

With the money fever upon him, he could not calm down. His mouth still felt dry, even a little numb. Going outside, he stood in the deserted alleyway facing the bamboo grove behind the house and thought: "Who is he, anyway? Just what is he up to?" Then he began to go over the conversation with Daizō. The well diggers were presently working at the Goshinjō, the new castle in the western encirclement. Daizō had told him, "You're to bide your time until the chance presents itself, and then you're to shoot the new shōgun with a musket." The gun and ammunition would be on the castle grounds, under a huge, centuries-old locust tree near the back gate at the bottom of Momiji Hill.

Needless to say, the laborers were under close surveillance, but Hidetada liked going around with his attendants to inspect the work. It would be simple enough to accomplish the objective. In the ensuing uproar, Matahachi could escape by jumping into the outer moat, from which Daizō's accomplices would rescue him—"without fail," he had said.

Back in his room, Matahachi stared at the ceiling. He seemed to hear Daizō's voice whispering certain words over and over and recalled how his own lips had trembled when he'd said, "Yes, I'll do it." His skin covered with goose pimples, he jumped to his feet. "This is awful! I'm going over there right now and tell him I don't want any part of it."

Then he remembered something else Daizō had said: "Now that I've told you all this, you're committed. I'd hate to see anything happen to you, but if you try to back out, my friends will have your head within—oh, three days at the outside." Daizō's piercing stare as he had said this flashed before Matahachi's eyes.

Matahachi walked the short distance down Nishikubo Lane to the corner of the Takanawa highroad, where the pawnshop stood. The bay, cloaked in darkness, was at the end of a side street. He entered the alley alongside the familiar storehouse, went to the inconspicuous back door of the shop and knocked softly.

"It's not locked," came the immediate response.

"Daizō?"

"Yes. Glad you came. Let's go into the storehouse."

A rain shutter had been left open. Matahachi went into the outer corridor and followed the pawnbroker.

"Sit down," said Daizō, placing a candle on a long wooden clothes chest. Sitting down himself and crossing his arms, he asked, "Did you see Umpei?" "Yes."

"When will he take you to the castle?"

"The day after tomorrow, when he has to bring ten new laborers. He said he'd include me."

"Then everything's set?"

"Well, we still have to get the district headman and the five-man neighborhood association to put their seals on the documents."

"No problem. It so happens I'm a member of the association."

"Really? You?"

"What's so surprising about that? I'm one of the more influential businessmen in the neighborhood. Last spring, the headman insisted I join."

"Oh, I wasn't surprised. I ... I just didn't know, that's all."

"Ha, ha. I know exactly what you thought. You thought it was scandalous for a man like me to be on the committee that looks after neighborhood affairs. Well, let me tell you, if you have money, everybody'll say you're a fine man. You can't avoid becoming a local leader even if you try. Think, Matahachi. Before long you're going to have lots of money too."

"Y-y-yes," stammered Matahachi, unable to suppress a shiver. "W-w-will you give me the advance now?"

"Wait a minute."

Picking up the candle, he went to the rear of the storehouse. From a casket on the shelf, he counted out thirty pieces of gold. He came back and said, "Do you have anything to wrap them in?"

"No."

"Use this." He snatched a cotton rag from the floor and threw it to Matahachi. "You'd better put it in your stomach wrapper and make sure it's done up tight."

"Should I give you a receipt?"

"Receipt?" echoed Daizō with an involuntary laugh. "My, aren't you the honest one! But no, I don't need one. If you make a mistake, I'll confiscate your head."

Matahachi blinked and said, "I suppose I'd better be going now."

"Not so fast. Some obligations go with that money. Do you remember everything I told you this morning?"

"Yes. Well, there is one thing. You said the musket would be under the locust tree. Who's going to put it there?" Considering how difficult it was for ordinary workers to enter the castle grounds, he wondered how anyone could possibly manage to sneak in a musket and ammunition. And how could anyone without supernatural powers bury them so they'd be ready and waiting half a month from now?

"That doesn't concern you. You just do what you've agreed to do. You're nervous now because you're not used to the idea. After you've been there a couple of weeks, you'll be all right."

"I hope so."

"First you have to make up your mind you're going through with it. Then you have to be on the lookout for the right moment."

"I understand."

"Now, I don't want any slipups. Hide that money where no one can find it. And leave it there until after you've carried out your mission. When projects like this fall through, it's always because of money."

"Don't worry. I've thought about that already. But let me ask you this: How can I be sure that after I've done my job you won't refuse to pay me the rest?"

"Hmph! It may seem like bragging, but money's the least of my worries. Feast your eyes on those boxes." He held the candle up so Matahachi could see better. All over the room were boxes—for lacquered trays, for armor, for many other purposes. "Every one of them contains a thousand pieces of gold."

Without looking very closely, Matahachi said apologetically, "I don't doubt your word, of course."

The secret conversation went on for another hour or so. Matahachi, feeling somewhat more confident, left by the back way.

Daizō went to a nearby room and looked in. "Akemi, are you there?" he called. "I think he'll go straight from here to hide the money. You'd better follow him."

After a few visits to the pawnshop, Akemi, enthralled with Daizō's personality, had unburdened herself, complaining about her present circumstances and expressing her desire to move on to something better. A couple of days earlier, Daizō had remarked that he was in need of a woman to run his house. Akemi had shown up at his door very early this morning. When he'd let her in, he'd told her not to worry, he'd "take care of" Matahachi.

The prospective assassin, serenely unaware he was being followed, returned home. Hoe in hand, he then climbed through the dark grove behind the house to the top of Nishikubo Hill and buried his treasure.

Having observed all this, Akemi reported to Daizō, who immediately set out for Nishikubo Hill. It was almost dawn when he returned to the storehouse and counted the gold pieces he had dug up. He counted them a second time, and a third, but there was no mistake. Only twenty-eight.

Daizō cocked his head and frowned. He profoundly disliked people who stole his money.