Musashi: Bushido Code (77 page)

The Death Trap

With the moon still high in the early morning sky, the shadows of the men climbing the white mountain path collided eerily, making the climbers feel even more uneasy.

"This isn't what I expected," said one.

"Me either. There are lots of faces missing. I thought for sure there'd be a hundred and fifty of us at least."

"Urn. Doesn't look like half that many."

"I guess when Genzaemon arrives with his men, we'll total about seventy in all."

"It's too bad. The House of Yoshioka certainly isn't what it used to be."

From another group: "Who cares about the ones who aren't here? With the dōjō closed, a lot of men have to think first about making a living. The proudest and most loyal are here. That's more important than numbers!"

"Right! If there were a hundred or two hundred men here, they'd just get in each other's way."

"Ha, ha! Talking brave again. Remember the Rengeōin. Twenty men standing around, and Musashi still got away!"

Mount Hiei and the other peaks were still fast asleep in the folds of the clouds. The men were gathered at the fork of a little country road, where one path led to the top of Hiei and the other branched off toward Ichijōji. The road was steep, rocky and deeply furrowed by gullies. Around the most prominent landmark, a great pine tree spreading out like a gigantic umbrella, was a group of the senior disciples. Seated on the ground like so many night-crawling crabs, they were discussing the terrain.

"The road has three branches, so the question is which one Musashi will use. The best strategy is to divide the men into three squads and station one at each approach. Then Genjirō and his father can stay here with a corps of about ten of our strongest men—Miike, Ueda and the others."

"No, the ground's too rugged to have a large number of men in one place. We should spread them out along the approaches and have them stay hidden until Musashi is halfway up. Then they can attack from front and rear simultaneously."

There was a good deal of coming and going among the groups, moving shadows appearing to be skewered on lances or long scabbards. Despite a tendency to underestimate their enemy, there were no cowards among them.

"He's coming!" a man on the outer rim shouted.

Shadows came to a dead standstill. An icy twinge ran through the veins of every samurai.

"Take it easy. It's only Genjirō."

"Why, he's riding in a palanquin!"

"Well, he's only a child!"

The slowly approaching lanterns, swinging to and fro in the chilly winds from Mount Hiei, seemed dull in comparison with the moonlight.

A few minutes later, Genzaemon alighted from his palanquin and declared, "I guess we're all here now."

Genjirō, a boy of thirteen, emerged from the next palanquin. Father and son both wore tightly tied white headbands and had their
hakama
hitched up high.

Genzaemon instructed his son to go and stand under the pine. The boy nodded silently as his father gave him an encouraging pat on the head, saying, "The battle is being carried out in your name, but the fighting will be done by the disciples. Since you're too young to take part, you don't have to do anything but stand there and watch."

Genjirō ran straight to the tree, where he assumed a pose as stiff and dignified as a samurai doll at the Boys' Festival.

"We're a little early," said Genzaemon. "The sun won't be up for a while." Fumbling around his waist, he pulled out a long pipe with a large bowl. "Does anyone have a light?" he asked casually, letting the others know that he was in complete command of himself.

A man stepped forward and said, "Sir, before you settle down for a smoke, don't you think we should decide how to divide up the men?"

"Yes, I guess we should. Let's station them quickly, so we'll be prepared. How are you going to do it?"

"There'll be a central force here by the tree. Other men will be hiding at intervals of about twenty paces on both sides of the three roads."

"Who'll be here by the tree?"

"You and I and about ten others. By being here, we can protect Genjirō and be ready to join in when the signal comes that Musashi has arrived."

"Wait just a minute," said Genzaemon, thinking over the strategy with judicious caution. "If the men are spread out like that, there'll be only about twenty in a position to attack him at the outset."

"True, but he'll be surrounded."

"Not necessarily. You can be sure he'll bring help. And you have to remember, he's as good at extracting himself from a tight spot as he is at fighting, if not better. Don't forget the Rengeōin. He might strike at a point where our men are thinly dispersed, wound three or four, then leave. Then he'd go around bragging he'd taken on more than seventy members of the Yoshioka School and come out the victor."

"We'll never let him get away with that."

"It'd be his word against ours. Even if he brings supporters, people are going to regard this match as being between him personally and the Yoshioka School as a whole. And their sympathies are going to be with the lone swordsman."

"I think," said Miike Jūrōzaemon, "it goes without saying that if he escapes again, we'll never live it down, no matter what we say. We're here to kill Musashi, and we can't be too fussy about how we do it. Dead men tell no tales."

Jūrōzaemon summoned four men in the nearest group to come forward. Three of them carried small bows, the fourth a musket. He had them face Genzaemon. "Perhaps you'd like to see what precautions we've taken."

"Ah! Flying weapons."

"We can station them on high ground or in trees."

"Won't people say we're using dirty tactics?"

"We care less about what people say than about making sure Musashi is dead."

"All right. If you're prepared to face the criticism, I have nothing more to add," the old man said meekly. "Even if Musashi brings along five or six men, he's not likely to escape when we have bows and arrows and a gun. Now, if we go on standing here, we may find ourselves taken by surprise. I leave the disposition of the men to you, but get them to their posts immediately."

The black shadows dispersed like wild geese in a marsh, some diving into copses of bamboo, others disappearing behind trees or flattening themselves out on the ridges between the rice paddies. The three archers ascended to a higher point overlooking the field. Below, the musketeer climbed into the upper branches of the spreading pine. As he squirmed about to conceal himself, pine needles and bark cascaded onto Genjirō.

Noticing the boy wriggling around, Genzaemon said reprovingly, "You're not nervous already, are you? Don't be such a coward!"

"It's not that. I've got pine needles down my back."

"Stand still and bear it. This will be a good experience for you. Watch closely when the actual fighting begins."

Along the easternmost approach, a great shout went up. "Stop, you crazy fool!"

The bamboo rustled loud enough to let any but the deaf know men were hiding all along the roads.

Genjirō cried, "I'm scared!" and hugged his father around the waist. Jūrōzaemon immediately set off toward the commotion, though somehow sensing that this was a false alarm.

Sasaki Kojirō was bawling out one of the Yoshioka men. "Haven't you got eyes? The idea of mistaking me for Musashi! I've come here to act as a witness, and you come running at me with a lance. What an ass!"

The Yoshioka men, too, were angry, some of them suspecting he might be spying on them. They held themselves back but continued to block his way.

As Jūrōzaemon broke through the circle, Kojirō lit into him. "I came here to stand as witness, but your men are treating me as an enemy. If they're acting on instructions from you, I'll be more than happy, clumsy swordsman that I am, to take you on. I have no reason to help Musashi, but I do have my honor to uphold. Besides, this would be a welcome opportunity for me to dampen my Drying Pole with some fresh blood, something I've neglected to do for some time now." He was a tiger spitting fire. Those of the Yoshioka men who had been deceived by his foppish appearance were taken aback by his sheer nerve.

Jūrōzaemon, determined to show that he was not frightened by Kojirō's tongue, laughed. "Ha, ha! You're really riled, aren't you? But tell me, just who asked you to be a witness? I don't remember any such request. Did Musashi?"

"Don't talk nonsense. When we posted the sign at Yanagimachi, I told both parties I would act as witness."

"I see.
You
said that. In other words, Musashi didn't ask you, nor did we. You took it upon yourself to be an observer. Well, the world is full of people who butt into affairs that don't concern them."

"That's an insult!" snapped Kojirō.

Spit flying from his mouth, Jūrōzaemon cried, "Go away! We're not here to put on
a
show."

Kojirō, blue with rage, deftly detached himself from the group and ran a short distance back down the path. "Watch out, you bastards!" he shouted, preparing to attack.

Genzaemon, who had trailed after Jūrōzaemon, said, "Wait, young man!"
"You
wait!" shouted Kojirō. "I have no business with you. But I'll show you what happens to people who insult me!"

The old man ran up to him. "Now, now, you're taking this too seriously! Our men are keyed up. I'm Seijūrō's uncle, and I heard from him that you're an outstanding swordsman. I'm sure there's been some mistake. I hope you'll forgive me personally for our men's conduct."

"I'm grateful to you for greeting me in this fashion. I've been on good terms with Seijūrō, and I wish the House of Yoshioka well, though I do not feel I can act as a second. But that is no reason for your men to insult me."

Kneeling in a formal bow, Genzaemon said, "You're quite right. I hope you'll forget what happened, for the sake of Seijūrō and Denshichirō." The old man chose his words tactfully, worried that Kojirō, if offended, might advertise the cowardly strategy they had adopted.

Kojirō's anger subsided. "Stand up, sir. I'm embarrassed to have an older man bow before me." In a swift about-face, the wielder of the Drying Pole now put his eloquent tongue to work encouraging the Yoshioka men and vilifying Musashi. "I have for some time been friendly with Seijūrō, and as I said before, I have no connection with Musashi. It is only natural that I favor the House of Yoshioka.

"I have seen many conflicts among warriors, but never have I witnessed a tragedy such as has befallen you. It is incredible that the house that served the Ashikaga shōguns as instructors in the martial arts should be brought into disrepute by a mere country bumpkin."

His words, spoken as though he were deliberately trying to make their ears burn, were received with rapt attention. On Jūrōzaemon's face was a look of regret for having spoken so rudely to a man who had nothing but goodwill for the House of Yoshioka.

The reaction was not lost on Kojirō. He picked up momentum. "In the future, I plan to establish a school of my own. It is therefore not out of curiosity that I make a practice of observing bouts and studying the tactics of other fighters. This is part of my education. I do not believe, however, that I've ever witnessed or heard of a bout that irritated me more than your two encounters with Musashi. Why, when so many of you were at the Rengeōin, and before that at the Rendaiji, did you allow Musashi to escape, so that he could swagger about the streets of Kyoto? This I cannot comprehend."

Licking his dry lips, he went on: "There's no doubt Musashi is a surprisingly tenacious fighter, as vagabond swordsmen go. I know that myself just from having seen him a couple of times. But at the risk of seeming meddlesome, I want to tell you what I've found out about Musashi." Without mentioning Akemi's name, he elaborated. "The first information came to me when I happened to meet a woman who had known him since he was seventeen. Filling out what she told me with other bits of information picked up here and there, I can give you a fairly complete outline of his life.

"He was born the son of a provincial samurai in Mimasaka Province. He ran away to the Battle of Sekigahara, and after returning home, committed so many atrocities that he was driven out of the village. Since then, he's been roaming about the countryside.

"Though he's a man of worthless character, he possesses a certain talent for the sword. And physically he's extremely strong. Moreover, he fights with no regard for his own life. Because of this, orthodox methods of swordsmanship are ineffective against him, just as reason is ineffective against insanity. You must trap him as you would a vicious animal, or you will fail. Now consider what your enemy is like and make your plans accordingly!"

Genzaemon, with great formality, thanked Kojirō and proceeded to describe the precautions that had been taken.

Kojirō nodded his approval. "If you've been that thorough, he probably hasn't a chance of getting away alive. Still, it seems to me you could devise a more effective trick."

"Trick?" repeated Genzaemon, taking a fresh and somewhat less admiring look at Kojirō's cocky face. "Thank you, but I think we've done enough already."

"No, my friend, you haven't. If Musashi comes walking up the path in an honest, straightforward manner, there's probably no way he can escape. But what if he should find out about your strategy in advance and not show up at all? Then all your planning will have been in vain, won't it?"

"If he does that, we only have to put up signs all over the city to make him the laughingstock of Kyoto."

"That would no doubt restore your face to some degree, but don't forget he'd still be free to go around saying your tactics were dirty. In that case, you wouldn't have cleared your master's name completely. Your preparations are meaningless unless you kill Musashi here today. To be sure of doing that, you must take steps to ensure that he actually comes here and falls into the death trap you have set."