The temple bells were ringing the length and breadth of Kyoto, filling the warm night air with a glad clamoring sound. Uncounted voices were raised, singing a song of welcome and unbridled joy. Musashi nodded to himself, scratching at his stubbled, gray beard, and turned away from the huge mass of people thronging the courtyard. He passed under an orange tree whose branches were filled with chattering, laughing children-all peering wide-eyed at the steps leading up into the hall of Shishinden, hoping for a glimpse of the new Emperor-and then forced his way against the press of citizens flowing into the royal complex from the streets. Once beyond the Imperial precincts, the traffic eased and he sighed with relief. He shrugged his shoulders, loosening his muscles, tucked both arms inside his kimono, and found his feet on the great Nara road, heading west. The night sky was clear, showing the moon in quarter-crescent, and the stars were twinkling like jewels strewn on black velvet.
Breathing deeply, feeling free for the first time in a decade, the old man started home.