Holding his long sword with the other hand, he took an ineffectual slice at Kaze, one Kaze easily blocked. Kaze stood back and assured himself that the cut he delivered was mortal. He looked at Okubo’s face and saw pain and fear painted across it. He should have stepped forward to deliver a blow to Okubo’s neck, taking his head and putting Okubo out of his misery. Instead, Kaze turned on his heel and started walking out of the grove. Behind him, he heard Okubo give a gasp of pain. Kaze looked over his shoulder and saw Okubo take two staggering steps, and then crumple to the ground, like a rotting leaf falling off a branch. Lying on the ground, Okubo looked up and his tearful eyes caught Kaze’s for a brief instant.
“I’ll see you at the gates of hell,” Okubo said, before the pain caused him to suck in his breath sharply and say no more.
“Perhaps,” Kaze answered. “I’ve killed too many men not to make hell a possibility. But everyone I’ve killed had an equal chance of killing me. More important, most that I’ve killed have made the world a better place by leaving it. You, on the other hand, have always sought out the weak and helpless to kill. You relished making their death as slow and painful as possible. You’re one of those twisted men who take pleasure in the pain of others. If I were a truly good man, I’d come over there and take your head, putting an end to your suffering as you spill your life and guts on the ground. But, unfortunately, Okubo, I am not that good. For what you’ve done, it would take a Buddha to want to ease your passage into the void. For the deaths I’ve caused and the suffering I’m putting you through, my karma may lead me to hell. But you’ll be going before me.”
Kaze left the grove, leaving his enemy to die a slow and agonizing death. When he approached Ieyasu, the Shogun knew how the duel had gone.
“It’s a pity,” Ieyasu said.
Kaze wasn’t quite sure what Ieyasu meant by that. Maybe he thought it was a pity that a ronin killed a daimyo. Perhaps he thought it was a pity that it was the human condition to fight. Maybe he just thought Kaze was a fool for taking Okubo instead of the other rewards offered him.
Ieyasu didn’t elaborate, and instead, seeing the wound on Kaze’s arm, he ordered a retainer to bring Kaze a bandage. As the bandage was being tied, Ieyasu said conversationally, “I saw you the last time you fought Okubo at Hideyoshi’s great sword exhibition. I enjoyed that. I would have liked seeing you this time, too, to see if your skills have diminished.”
“You would have seen a poor exhibition,” Kaze said frankly. “I let anger control my sword, not righteousness. Until righteousness controlled my sword, I was losing.”
Ieyasu nodded. “Anger is an enemy.”
When the bandage was tied tight, Kaze stood and gave a stiff, formal bow to the Shogun.
“Thank you for having my wound bandaged, Ieyasu-sama.”
“Are you sure you won’t reconsider joining me?” Ieyasu asked. “Yagyu is my fencing master, but I can always use a sharp blade like yours.”
“Perhaps my blade is too sharp, Ieyasu-sama, for I find I must balance on it as best I can. I mean no disrespect, Ieyasu-sama, but if I should change my loyalty so easily, then I would surely fall off that blade, tumbling to one side or the other, and never able to get back to a state of equilibrium.”
Ieyasu looked at the ronin. Matsuyama was tired from his recent bout with Okubo, but he showed modesty, restraint, and a lack of exaltation in his victory over his enemy. Ieyasu was a patient man. He would not have obtained the Shogunate if he were not. He stored away this man’s face and his new name of Matsuyama Kaze, feeling that, if he remained patient, somehow in the future he might get this remarkable swordsman to serve him.
Expressing none of this, Ieyasu walked to his horse and, despite his potbelly, swung up to his saddle with the ease brought by over fifty years of riding.
“I’ll take your name off the list of wanted men,” Ieyasu said to Kaze. He glanced at Okubo’s retainers, who were still confused about what was happening. “I can’t promise that Okubo’s clan or that Yoshida’s clan will not want revenge for what has happened today, but I won’t allow them to register an official vendetta against you.” He gave a curt nod of his head and galloped off, his surprised retainers scrambling to gain their own saddles and catch up with the man who was the ruler of Japan.
CHAPTER 22
One path is finished.
Another path looms ahead.
The cycle of life.
That night Ieyasu had a Noh performance to celebrate the smashing of the assassination plot. He ate rice gruel and vegetables, as was his preference. Honda joined his master in the simple fare with relish, but Ieyasu noticed that others didn’t appreciate culinary simplicity. Toyama especially curled his lip at the food served and seemed to force himself to eat it. Ieyasu had already decided that Toyama, although from an ancient family, was a fool; too much of a fool to leave in charge of such a lucrative fief. Toyama would be invited to trade his current fief for one a tenth its size on the island of Shikoku. If he didn’t accept this invitation, he would then be invited to slit his belly, and acceptance of this second invitation would be mandatory. Either way, that would remove Toyama from both the capital and national life.
After several flasks of sakè, Ieyasu was in a sufficiently good mood that he decided to take a part in the kyogen that added buffoonish comic relief between acts of the Noh drama.
Ieyasu chose Kane no kane, a kyogen that revolved around the Japanese love of puns. A Lord wants to check the price of silver in the city, so he asks his bailiff to go into the city to check on the price of money (kane). The bailiff confuses the Lord’s desire with a curiosity about the bells (kane) of the city. The humor is generated as the Lord and the bailiff discuss the trip, with the resulting confusion as one is talking about money and the other is talking about bells.
Ieyasu played the part of the bailiff. As with many kyogen, this one was a bit subversive about authority, and the pompous Lord was the butt of most of the jokes, so Ieyasu selected the role that allowed him to generate most of the laughter. He was astounded when Honda offered to play the part of the Lord. Despite their decades of association, Ieyasu had never seen Honda take a part in Noh.
“This is a new talent, Honda,” Ieyasu remarked.
The old warrior glowered, then almost blushed. “I’ve been taking lessons,” he said gruffly.
“That is a surprise.”
Honda, a warrior who had faced charging hordes of enemy samurai and literally laughed, actually looked at the ground in embarrassment. “I’ve been taking the lessons in secret,” he admitted. “We’re at peace. We have one big problem still to fix,” he said, clearly making reference to Hideyoshi’s heir, still strongly ensconced in Osaka Castle, “but until you finally decide to remove that threat, even an old warrior like me has to figure out how to fit into this new society you’re building. I thought I’d start with Noh.”
Ieyasu motioned Honda to join him in the kyogen. Unlike Noh, kyogen didn’t use masks or elaborate costumes, so the two men just stood and took their places in the torch-lit square that formed the Noh stage. Although Honda stumbled through his lines and stage movements, Ieyasu, who was an experienced performer, still managed to evoke laughter with his antics as the bailiff.
After the kyogen was finished, the Noh proceeded. Ieyasu could have taken a role in the formal Noh, but decided he would rather pour drinks for Honda, proud that an old warhorse was willing to adapt to the new order.