by Barry Sadler
Trying to affect the more refined speech of the nobles he answered stiffly, "I am Jinto Muramasa, my lady. May I inquire as to your name?" He bowed deeply with respect.
Gracefully she responded in kind, inclining her head delicately, showing the nape of her neck to be as long and graceful as the swans that swam in the lily ponds of the Emperor's palace at Heian Kyo. "With pleasure, good sir. And may I say that your name, War Sword, is most apt." She knew now that he had killed samurai of the Taira, he could not betray her to them without losing his own head. She said demurely, "I am Yoshiko no Hirimoto."
"Ahhh!" He hissed between his teeth. So that was it. Her father, Oe no Hirimoto, was known to be a noble and an important advisor to the Minamoto. If she could be taken hostage, it would be very difficult for her family, even if she was never ransomed or set free. The shugo were after her.
Casca coughed politely. He didn't know what was going on, but he didn't want to be left out of this. Let Muramasa take his pick of horses and clothes, but this was something different.
Muramasa frowned at his companion's ill manner, but he felt he did owe him at least an introduction to a great lady of a noble house. It would further his education greatly. Bowing again, he asked, "If it would not offend you, Yoshiko no Hirimoto-san, I would like to present my traveling companion. He is a most curious man, but as you have just witnessed, sometimes a most useful person."
She smiled at the big pale man as she would one of her father's pet dogs. She had never seen anything like him. He was so ugly that he was almost attractive in a perverted way. Her face flushed at such an indelicate thought. "Is he an Ainu?"
"No, my lady, he is from somewhere else, very far away. That is all I have been able to find out about him. He comes from beyond the lands of the great Khan. He is called Casca-san."
Casca bowed at the mention of his name, but he never took his eyes off the woman called Yoshiko. Politely, but not too politely as she remembered her position, she said, "Domo arigato gozai mashte. I thank you Casca-san for your aid this day." Looking at Muramasa, she continued, "I assure you that my family will be most appreciative of your valuable services to them this day and in the days to come."
Muramasa knew she was sucking him in and didn't mind it. His karma was good this day. She was the daughter of Oe no Hirimoto, a most important supporter of Yoritomo Minamoto in their struggle with the Taira. Most important. This onna, woman, could be their admission to the highborn Minamotos, where they would be noticed and rewarded for their services to her. Ahh yes. He was most pleased for the opportunity to render this lady his services. For now it would be best if they said nothing of their own problems with the Taira.
"Ah so desu, Yoshiko-san. I feel the gods have brought us together so that I may be of service to you. For I have long served the cause of the Minamoto against the tyrant Taira. It will be a great honor for such poor men as we to be of service to the daughter of Oe no Hirimoto. We," he indicated Casca, "will see to you and your servant's safety to the extent of our lives."
Casca didn't have the faintest idea of what Muramasa was getting them into and wouldn't have argued about it anyway. As was their now normal practice, they stripped the bodies naked and pushed them over the side, after taking what they wished and stuffing it into their packs. The women did not seem to be the least bit embarrassed at the sight of naked dead men. A tough race! Even the flowers, Casca thought, have thorns.
The crossing was an easy one. The bargeman tacked back and forth with practiced skills from his long years of making this crossing every day, the weather permitting. It was two hours before nightfall when they made land on the island of Honshu. In the event that word of their flight from Kyushu had been sent by carrier pigeon or some other means, Muramasa had the bargeman maneuver them a bit to the east where they would not have to go through any villages immediately.
Leading the horses ashore, they gave up their seats to the women, knowing they would make better time. Yoshiko rode well, although her maid tended to wobble a bit even when the horse was standing still. Muramasa took the reins of Yoshiko's borrowed horse and called back to Casca, "Isogi, we must hurry!" Then he took off without another look back.
The bargeman looked at the three silver coins in his hand with relief. He had been certain that he would not live to see another day brought to glory by the sacred light of Ameratsu. Perhaps his karma would carry him through the next days in safety, especially if he did not push it too much and stayed out of sight for a month or two. That thought did not displease him greatly. His wife was famous for having a sharp and unforgiving tongue.
Muramasa led the way, taking them along several different winding trails but always leading them to the north. It was four hours after landing when Lady Yoshiko finally pleaded with him, "Dozo ga matsu."
Muramasa was glad that she had called for a halt first. He was growing weary, but it would have been unseemly for him to admit it without losing face in front of the lady and the barbarian. One must always set the example as well as the pace.
That night they pulled off the trail to take shelter in a glen surrounded by high willows. Beside the tallest willow rested a small stone shrine spotted with greenish white lichens with signs of recent offerings on the small pedestal at its base. All but Casca bowed respectfully when they first neared the shrine. But then they paid no further attention to it.
He and Muramasa took turns on guard, letting the women catch their sleep. They would probably have need of it in the coming days. He and Muramasa talked for a few moments, Casca adding to his list of words and phrases while Muramasa shook his head in disbelief at the half understood tales Casca told him of the outside world. He told him of the great cities of the Genghis, of Rome and the legions, Byzantium and Sarmatia, and Persia and the Vandals. It was too much for Muramasa to believe that anywhere in the world there could be a greater or richer city than that of the Son of Heaven, who, though just a boy of eight years, was still by divine right a direct descendant from the immortal gods. Ahhh, surely, this long nosed ugly one was a great storyteller and was simply trying to be amusing in his clumsy fashion.
Through the night, they took their turns, letting the coals of the fire die down after they had eaten. There was no sense in advertising their presence if it could be avoided. Muramasa took first watch, using the time to set the scale of his life and future in balance. He knew that he had failed in many things, but now he had the chance to succeed. Or did he? Was what to become of him now more in the length of the cold shining steel he called Well Drinker than himself? Would it one day drink from his blood also?
Ahhh, well, if it did, then that, too, was his karma. Until then he would play the great game against all who came. It had been a most unusual series of events that had happened to him since he had found the long nosed one on the beach. Perhaps he was a spirit form or possibly he was possessed by one. The scars on his knotted body were enough to give one nightmares. Muramasa was a warrior and knew the meaning of many of those wounds he had seen. The man should have died several times over or at the least have been a pathetic cripple with amputated limbs. Perhaps the gods were keeping him alive to do their bidding and somehow aid Muramasa to realize his ambitions.
CHAPTER NINE
Eyes watched the ronin by the shrine several times during the night, though not the eyes of bandits or samurai of the Taira. They were the eyes of Yoshiko no Hirimoto. She slept as a warrior did. Every sound, no matter how slight, was instantly registered. When one was not identified by the subconscious, her eyes would instantly snap open as her hand tightened on the handle of the namban-bo. When she did wake, there were always doubts about her fortune to nag her. Was she lucky to be in the company of two such as these? They did look disreputable and the big barbarian was frightening in the extreme by his very difference.
But they had killed the Taira, that was not in doubt. And what would her chances be to reach Kamakura without them? There were still many days to go, and her chances of making it without an escort
were very slim indeed. She had to make it. Much depended on her reaching Kamakura. From there her message could be sent directly and safely to Yoritomo.
Aiie, it would be good when she could put down the weight of her responsibility. For now only she was free and able to bring Yoritomo the information that the Kwanto was his when he was ready to move against the Taira. The passes leading to and from the eight provinces would be controlled by those who would rally to him once he was in position to threaten and take Heian Kyo – if he made it that far. First he would have many battles to fight and win before he advanced to the Kwanto. But if he did, then he would not be resisted and the passes to the city of the Emperor would be open to him, as well as having at least three of the most powerful barons of the Kwanto throw their forces in with his.
If she did not manage to get the message to Yoritomo, then who could say what alignments might occur if he did not move rapidly enough to secure the fealty of the lords of the Kwanto now that it was proffered. If he hesitated, they could change their minds, and the passes would be closed to him. He might, it was true, go around or come in from the south. But to do so would cost him more men than he could comfortably spare.
There were at this time no alternatives. She had to concentrate on one day at a time. The farther north they went, the safer they were. Here in Suo Province they were in constant danger. The spies and scouts of Taira would be looking for her on all roads and paths. They knew she carried a message of great import that could change the course of the war. Just what it was, they did not know and would without the slightest hesitation kill thousands if need be to find out. That was all the torturers of Munemori no Taira, brother to Shigimori, could find out from her mother before she died. That was all she knew. It was a great sadness that her mother had not found the courage to take her own life when the soldiers of Taira came for her. She would have saved herself great pain and not have put her family in jeopardy. Yoshiko hoped that her uncle would be able to have proper funeral rites performed for her spirit so that it might rest.
First light found the small party taking the ridge trail from Suo to Akia, then on to Bitchu where Yoshiko said they might find aid from a relative of her family. That would be welcome news for all. They were running short of everything. Food would be needed soon, and to go into any of the villages was to invite disaster. For Muramasa and Casca were certain that by now the Taira would be after them with a vengeance, and their descriptions, especially Casca's, would surely doom them if he was seen.
To counter this as best he could, Casca took to wearing a scarf tied tightly about his head to conceal his hair and tried as much as possible to keep his features from casual view. He hid them under a wide brimmed straw hat he had picked up when a traveling farmer saw the party approach and ran away rather than meet them, leaving his hat behind.
He and Muramasa each led one of the animals. Returning the better clothes they had taken from the dead to their packs, they tried to look as much like simple porters and servants as they could. Each kept his weapons close to hand, for they both felt that somewhere on the road, if their luck held true, they would have need of them again. Casca did regret having to leave the naginata behind at their last stop, but there was no way to conceal it among their goods. But they did have their bows if they had time to get them out and in use.
Wishing they were able, even for a short time, to visit some of the cities they passed on the way, Casca reconciled himself to trying to remain as anonymous as possible. It wasn't easy. He was much larger and broader than most of the native population and would stand out in any crowd. He had heard the people of Chin refer to the inhabitants of these islands as dwarfs. That was not exactly true. There were some they'd met, as he had found among the samurai, who were taller and heavier boned. It was probably diet. As usual, nobles ate much better than the people who grew the food for them.
Their first two days travel on Honshu were uneventful except for the whining of the maid who saw swords in every shadow. She wished fervently that she had stayed in her home fishing village and had married the old man who had asked her father for her. By now he would be dead and she would be the owner of two fine boats instead of on this terrible journey with these barbarians and savages who might ravish her and her mistress. Tears came to her eyes when she thought of the humiliation, but also a warming to her loins.
Near noon they ran into their first stroke of bad luck – six men on foot wearing the colors of Taira. Only one was samurai, the others common soldiers with poor weapons and simple breastplates of lacquered wood for armor.
Casca tried to shrink and make himself smaller as he moved closer to the rear of the horse with the maid mounted on it, his hand unobtrusively moving near the concealed handle of his sword among their packs. Muramasa did the same. Acting startled and frightened by the presence of soldiers, he bowed his way to the rear of his horse where Well Drinker lay in wait.
Casca had a feeling that they might have a remote chance to get away if Muramasa kept the sword in its sheath. Every time he drew the thing, killing started. He wished he knew what it was about the blade that had frightened old Hama-san and, driven him out of their camp so fast. That there was something, he had no doubt, but Muramasa had not spoken to him of it, and he didn't know how to ask properly.
The samurai in charge of the patrol was a broad shouldered, bow legged man with good, if not expensive, robes. He raised his hand in front of them, calling both the travelers and his soldiers to a halt.
Striding forward a few paces in front of his men, he tried to peer under the broad brimmed tasseled hat of the woman on horseback. His eyes missed nothing. He took his time before addressing her, noting the manner in which she held her body, the carefully tended nails of her hands. Everything about her said this was a lady of quality. He was looking for a lady with another older woman and two men who were fierce fighters. All looked to be such, except the men were not so very dangerous looking to his eyes. They kowtowed and backed away, bowing in subservience as was their due, something no true warrior would do. But the lady was the mystery.
Unless they were on some errand requiring secrecy, they would have traveled the main roads, which were much safer and patrolled by the warriors of Taira who kept the order and drove the bandits into these very hills. That the woman was here was most suspicious. But there could be another answer. He hoped for such. The woman beneath the tasseled hat was very beautiful.
Casca could see the glint of lust in the shave pated samurai's eyes, which was why he hoped once more that wishful thinking would overrule intelligence.
With the automatic contempt his class held for those beneath them, he ignored the two porters, giving them hardly a glance. That they were obviously cowed was normal. No mere serf would dare to raise his eyes to a samurai without permission. These two did everything except urinate down their legs. That he also took as his due, for he was indeed a most fearsome and powerful warrior.
Peasants should be frightened of him. Twice he had performed tsujugiri in the streets of his city.
This he did not do randomly but waited for one who offended him by his manners or lack of them. Only then did he test the new sword blade on the body of the offender. "Greeting, lady. I am Jochiku Murakami, captain of guards, and I care for those who travel these trails and roads. May I inquire as to your name and destination?" He bowed politely, keeping his spine straight to show his martial spirit, his attention locked on the dark eyes with such incredibly long lashes that looked at him with certain interest. A chill of iced fire raced down from his stomach into his loins. It had been long since he had pillowed with a lady of quality, especially one with such bold eyes.
It was obvious that he impressed her greatly by the manner in which she moved her head so that the nape of her long graceful neck was best exposed to, his view when she returned his bow from her saddle. His pulse raced as he came closer to her sword hand touching the reins of her horse. His soldiers stayed back. They would not come closer until they were bidden.
He had always insisted on great discipline among his lessers. All should know their place in the structure of life at all times.
He was prepared to make the gentle opening moves of offering his protection for part of her journey when the spell of her eyes was broken by a hysterical sob from the maid. The tension was too much for her. Her bowels let loose as the samurai neared her lady. She couldn't control herself. A wail started from deep inside and broke out of her open mouth, startling the jays in the tops of the pine trees.
Before Casca or Muramasa could draw their swords from out of the pack, Yoshiko had already drawn her dagger and plunged the chiseled point straight into the officer's right eye. The razor sharp tip cut easily through the bone in the occipital orb to reach the softer brain tissue behind. Jochiku Murakami's jerking head nearly twisted the knife out of her hand as he died.
Muramasa had Well Drinker out first and was rushing toward the startled soldiers when Casca came up close behind him. Yoshiko turned her horse off the trail to give them fighting room.
The common soldiers of Jochiku did not share the samurai view of noble death. Without him to lash them on, they had little taste for combat. Most of their efforts were in trying to get enough room to get away and run for help.
Muramasa took two of them, slicing the hardwood haft of one's naginata in twain with the same stroke that took the rest of his arm off at the shoulder. Then, whipping around, he dodged under a half-hearted thrust of a second soldier and sank Well Drinker deep into the man's armpit. Twisting the hungry blade to free it, he was going for the next one when Casca caught up to him in time to block a sideways slice of one of the long spears. Blocking the thrust with his sword, he stepped close inside to where the spear was nearly useless. Keeping the pressure on the haft of the spear, he smashed the man in the groin with a full swing of his knee and cut his throat as he fell to the earth, holding his crotch with anguished hands.