by Tom Hoobler
Seikei looked back at the ruby glittering in the sun. At the end of the day, the Shinto priests would gather it up with the other offerings. Perhaps if he could find Judge Ooka, there would still be a way to recover it.
Seikei wanted to hurry, but the crowd was so thick that it was impossible. A steady stream of people was still moving forward to the shrine. Those who had already visited it were going in the other direction, toward the sacred grove of trees. Little strips of paper fluttered from the branches of dozens of tall cedars next to the shrine. People wrote messages on these, asking for favors from Amaterasu.
Amaterasu! Seikei remembered suddenly that she had granted his wish. He turned to face the shrine again, clapping his hands. “Amaterasu,” he called out. “Thank you. Thank you for helping me to save my honor.”
13: A Hard Path to Follow
Seikei finally made his way back through the torii. He ran down the hill toward the town. The streets were unfamiliar, and it took him some time to find the one where the teahouse was. He kicked off his sandals at the entrance and ran inside.
Seikei headed for the corridor that led to the room where he and the judge had stayed. But the owner suddenly appeared and blocked his way.
“I’m staying with Judge Ooka,” Seikei explained.
The man shook his head firmly. “The judge has departed. He left this for you.” He held out a folded piece of paper, and Seikei opened it.
It read: “Follow the correct path.”
Seikei stared at the paper, turning it over to see if it contained anything else. Nothing, not even the judge’s name or seal.
“When did the judge leave?” Seikei asked the man.
“Very early,” he said. “You must hurry if you want to catch up with him.”
Seikei went outside and stood in the street, puzzled. Was the judge angry? Then he thought: the horses! The judge must have left Seikei’s horse for him, so that he could follow.
He lost more time looking for the stables. This must be a lesson to me, he thought. I should be more observant, notice everything. With every step, he grew more worried. It was past noon now, and he had to tell the judge about the jewel before nightfall, when the gifts were taken into the temple. What could have happened to make him leave?
Finally, he found the right place. But the stable keeper shook his head. “The samurai took both horses, riding one, leading the other.”
“Was he in a hurry?” Seikei asked. The man shrugged.
Seikei pondered the judge’s instructions. What was the correct path? It must be the highway leading to Edo. He remembered the judge telling his father that he would return Seikei safely to him there. Seikei tightened his obi and began to walk.
He kept asking himself why the judge had abandoned him. Perhaps he was angry when Seikei did not return the night before. But if he thought Seikei was in danger, why did he not look for him? Seikei began to feel resentful. Then the words of the book by the famous samurai Daidoji Yuzan sprang into his mind: “There must be no relaxation of the duty of a warrior to respect his lord.” Seikei straightened his spine and mentally apologized to Judge Ooka. He would follow the path, without question or complaint.
Later in the afternoon, he reached the fork where the road from Ise met the Tokaido Road. He turned northeast, toward Edo. There was no possibility of losing his way. The main road was filled with people going in both directions, as it always was during the day.
Seikei realized that it would take him at least two days to reach Edo on foot. Where would he stay at night? It was dangerous to sleep on the road. Bandits and robbers roamed it at night, preying on the weak and the helpless. He touched his sword. He would defend himself if attacked, but he bitterly reminded himself that last night, an actor armed only with a play sword had taken it away from him.
Seikei looked up at the sky, seeing that the sun was closer to the horizon. How far was it to the next town? He wished he had paid more attention when his father had shown him the map of the road. He studied the faces of the people he passed, looking for someone trustworthy. He saw a young couple who carried a wooden box suspended on a pole over their shoulders. It probably held wares that the couple hoped to sell.
“Excuse me,” Seikei said. “Would you tell me how far it is to the next town?”
The man gave him a strange look. “Two ri, ”he said. His wife murmured something in his ear, and he nodded. The couple began to quicken their steps, and Seikei followed after them. He wanted to find out if the town had a Buddhist temple where he could stay.
But as Seikei strode alongside, the man looked back over his shoulder. He nudged his wife and they stopped. “We must rest,” the man muttered.
Seikei looked back. A gang of rough-looking carpenters were coming up behind them, their tools slung over their shoulders. The couple stood in the road until the carpenters caught up. The man said something to them, and the carpenters stared at Seikei. One of them took a heavy wooden mallet from his belt and smacked it against his palm.
“Go on, now,” the carpenter said to Seikei. “You won’t get anything from these good people.”
Seikei was astonished. They thought he was a thief! He drew himself up with dignity. “I am in the service of the samurai Judge Ooka,” he announced.
The carpenters laughed. “What would he do with the likes of you? Go find honest work, like us.” They went on, leaving Seikei staring numbly at them.
He looked down at himself, realizing that his clothing was soiled and wrinkled from his encounter with Tomomi in the pleasure-house. His coat and leggings made him look like one of the masterless samurai who wandered Japan and sometimes turned to crime when they could not find a daimyo to employ them. He rubbed his face, realizing he had not washed that morning. He felt ashamed.
He trudged on. Two ri was not so far. Traveling in a kago, he and father could cover more than ten ri in a day. Father’s words came back to him: “It is much safer and more comfortable to ride in a kago. If you ever had to walk any great distance, you would appreciate it more.”
Well, Seikei thought, here is the chance I wanted— to see the countryside on foot. I might as well make the most of it. The road here wound through farmland, and he could see people working in the fields, their cone-shaped straw hats shielding them from the sun. It was a peaceful sight, helping Seikei to forget his troubles.
Then one of his sandals began to flop. He looked down and saw that a strap had broken. Sighing, he tried to tie it together, but he was too clumsy and his knot wouldn’t hold.
He removed the other sandal and began to walk barefoot. But very soon, the rocks embedded in the road had scraped the bottoms of his feet raw. He reminded himself that a samurai will endure any hardship for his master, and forced himself to go on. Yet each step became more painful than the last, and he looked down to see that his feet were bleeding.
He sat down under a tree by the side of the road. By now the sun had set and there were fewer people on the road. He pulled up a handful of grass and wiped his feet. The grass was cool and soothing. Seikei lay back and rested his head on the ground. He couldn’t get much dirtier than he was. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so dangerous to sleep here. He could conceal himself in the field next to the road.
Just then, he heard the sound of a flute. He sat up and saw the basket-headed komuso approaching. Was it the same man he had seen before? It was impossible to tell. When the man reached Seikei, he stopped and looked down at him. The tune he played was lively and merry.
Seikei had the feeling that the man was mocking him. He forced himself to get on his feet again. “Who are you?” he demanded. “What do you want?”
The komuso stopped playing for a moment, and pointed down the road. Then he turned his back on Seikei and walked away. Seikei started to run after him, but his feet pained him again as soon as he touched the road.
“Why don’t you help me?” Seikei called. But the komuso paid no attention.
Seikei found that he could walk slowly if he stayed in the g
rass alongside the road. But there were many trees there also, and walking around them made his progress slow. He heard a dog barking in the field off to his right where rows of millet were growing. Seikei realized it was coming closer. Suddenly, it jumped out of the millet field and stood in front of Seikei, barking ferociously.
Seikei froze. He took a step toward the road to go around the dog, but the animal growled and bared its teeth. Slowly, Seikei reached for his sword, wondering if he could strike the animal before it bit him. Before he drew it, however, he heard a boy’s voice calling, “Inu! Inu!”
The boy appeared and threw his arm around the dog’s neck. He looked anxiously at Seikei. “I apologize,” he said. “Inu is trained to guard the fields. Somedmes thieves try to take our millet.” He paused, and Seikei could feel the boy look at his filthy clothes. “What happened to your feet?” the boy asked. His grip on the dog seemed to loosen, and the animal responded by straining forward and growling at Seikei.
“My sandal broke,” Seikei explained. He looked at the wooden clogs that the boy wore. “Would you trade your geta for my sandals?” he asked.
The boy looked suspicious, as if Seikei were trying to trick him. Father said that farmers thought that all people who lived in towns were thieves. This made it very difficult to buy their crops at a fair price. “My sandals are leather,” Seikei said. He held the good one out to show the boy. “They’re worth much more than your geta.”
The boy took Seikei’s sandal and examined it. He handed it back. “I would have no use for them,” he said. “You could not use these for farm work. Besides,” he said with a knowing smile, “you said one of them was broken.”
“This is the broken one,” Seikei said, showing the other sandal. “You could mend it easily. It’s only the strap that’s broken.”
“In that case,” the boy said, “why don’t you fix it?”
Seikei hung his head. “Because I am too stupid to know how to tie a proper knot.”
The boy laughed, and Seikei’s face reddened. “Let me see it,” said the boy. He patted the dog’s head, saying, “Quiet, Inu,” and in a moment he had tied the broken strap together. “That should hold for a while,” he said as he handed the sandal back.
Seikei slipped the sandal on and tested it. It was secure. He bowed. “I am in your debt,” he said, “but unfortunately I have nothing to give you.”
The boy eyed Seikei’s sword, obviously thinking that anyone who carried one had money as well, but he only shrugged. “You’d better hurry,” he said. “There are many thieves on the road at night, and they will take your clothes and sword if you have nothing else.”
Seikei needed no urging. His feet still hurt, but the sandals made it possible for him to walk faster. Even so, two ri turned out to be a greater distance on foot than in a kago. He reached the town long after darkness had fallen, but as he reached the crest of a hill, he saw the comforting lights of the inns and houses.
As he drew closer he heard the sounds of drums and gongs. A troupe of entertainers was performing in the main street. Seikei saw bright objects spinning and flashing in the lantern lights. Someone was juggling swords.
Seikei moved around to the edge of the watching crowd. People were laughing and applauding. Suddenly, he felt someone clap his shoulder. “Is that really you, Seikei?”
It was Kazuo. “You look terrible,” he said. “What happened to you? Tomomi wouldn’t tell me. I thought you must have gone back to your master.”
“I’m following the path—I mean, following my master,” Seikei explained weakly. His knees trembled, and he realized that he was nearly starving. “Kazuo, please, could you give me something to eat?”
“Ha!” Kazuo snorted. “What kind of a master lets his servants go hungry? Come on, but you’ll have to earn your keep if you travel with us.”
14: A New Role
The actors had set up camp in back of a stable, for this small town had no temple offering shelter. Everyone shared a large pot of warm rice and sea bream. Seikei thought it was the best meal he had ever eaten. As soon as his bowl was empty, he lay back and listened to the actors talking and singing. He looked up and saw the stars overhead. Then his eyes closed, and the next thing he knew Kazuo was shaking him.
The stars had disappeared and the sky was now streaked pink from the rising sun. Though Seikei’s feet still pained him and his legs were stiff, he followed Kazuo to a nearby stream. Kazuo stripped off his clothes and jumped into the water. Seikei quickly joined him. The stream was freezing cold, but he washed off the dust of the road with relief.
Kazuo rinsed some of the actors’ costumes in the water and spread them on rocks to dry. “This town is too small to make it worthwhile to put on a play,” he explained. “We’re just picking up a few coins by performing tricks and such. But in a few days we’ll be in Edo, and the bon festival will be starting. Tomomi says he’ll have a brand-new play for us to perform.”
“He’s writing it?” said Seikei.
“He writes all our plays. The most popular one is The Forty-Seven Ronin, of course. Many kabuki troupes perform some version of that story. But Tomomi’s is best, don’t you think?”
“It’s the best one I’ve ever seen,” Seikei said. He didn’t mention it was the only one he’d seen. “What is the new play about?”
“Tomomi won’t tell anyone yet. He likes surprises. He’s been rehearsing the actors separately, so that nobody knows the whole play. Of course, he’ll give himself the main role. He always does.”
Seikei clambered out of the water and dried himself. As he put on his clothes, Kazuo said, “I see you got your sword back. What did you have to do for it?”
Seikei hesitated. How much did Kazuo know about the theft of the ruby? “I watched him make an offering at the shrine of Amaterasu,” he explained.
Kazuo gave him a skeptical look. “Is that all?”
Seikei shrugged.
“Well, maybe he wanted to prove he wasn’t a Kirishitan,” Kazuo suggested. “Is that why this judge, your master, has his eye on Tomomi?”
The question made Seikei uncomfortable. He remembered the reason why Judge Ooka had told him to investigate Tomomi—to see why he became a bent tree. “No,” he said. He looked at Kazuo, and decided that he was so open and honest that he could not possibly have anything to do with the theft.
“Were you with Tomomi at the checkpoint outside the town of Kameyama?” Seikei asked. “Did you see what he did?”
Kazuo wrinkled his brow. “Kameyama? How many days ago was that?”
Seikei counted. “Three.” Was it only three days ago? So much seemed to have happened since then.
“Oh, I remember,” said Kazuo. “Tomomi was in one of his crazy moods. He pretended to be a beggar, and stood in front of a daimyo’s procession. We were all terrified, because we thought he’d lose his head for sure.”
“That was it,” said Seikei. “What happened that night, in the town? Do you remember? Was there anything strange?”
“Let’s see. We put on a love-suicide play. You know, one of those where two people are in love but their families forbid them to marry, so they kill themselves. I can never understand why they don’t just agree to marry the people their families picked out for them. Do you?”
“But afterward,” urged Seikei. “What happened after the play?”
“Well, we slept in the Buddhist monastery. We had a good meal too. Lots of shrimp, because some boatman had donated so much to the monastery that the monks distributed it to the travelers.”
“I mean Tomomi. What did he do?”
Kazuo shrugged, and put his finger to his nose. “I remember. He went to see a friend of his—he knows lots of people along the road—and he wore his costume as usual, but when he came back, it was covered with mud. I thought it was ruined, but I managed to clean it off. Good thing too. He plans to use it in the new play.”
Covered with mud, thought Seikei. He remembered his trip through the tunnel underneath the inn. It was alm
ost certain that Tomomi had taken the jewel. But why, if his intention was only to offer it at the Ise shrine? Seikei wished he could find the judge and tell him what he’d discovered.
When the costumes were dry, Seikei helped Kazuo fold them neatly. They returned to the actors, who were preparing to leave. Tomomi spotted Seikei and walked over. “I thought I told you to return to your master,” he said. “Did you tell him what you saw?”
Seikei shook his head. “He has gone on without me,” he confessed. “May I travel with you?”
Tomomi laughed. “Why not? Kazuo needs a helper, and perhaps we can find some other use for you.” Seikei wondered uneasily what that might be. Kazuo gave him some straw sandals that were better for walking, and as the sun rose higher in the sky Seikei’s stiffness soon wore off. Traveling with the troupe made the journey easier. The actors had one old horse that they loaded with the trunks that held their props and costumes. As they marched along, they passed the time by singing, telling jokes, and practicing scenes from their plays.
At midday, they came upon one of the food stands that dotted the road. Tomomi offered to pay for their meal by displaying his acrobatic skill. The man who owned the stand shook his head. “I’ve seen enough acrobats,” he said. “Dozens of them have passed by on their way to Edo these past few days.”
“How about a sword fight?” Tomomi suggested. The man’s eyes lit up. “That would be good to see,” he said.
Tomomi nodded to Kazuo, who quickly opened the box that held the swords. Tomomi handed them out to several of the other actors. “Now,” he said to the owner of the stand, “these five men will be your loyal samurai. They will defend you against my attack. But if I fight my way through, you will serve us soup.”
The man laughed. “They will allow you to win.”
Tomomi bowed. “You will be the judge of that.”