Musashi bowed in veneration to the gods and even worshipped the Buddhist bodhisattvas, but the ever-practical swordsman had little patience with revelations or secrecy. These, he felt, were nothing more than impediments to self-reliance. As he lay dying years later, he wrote in “The Way of Walking Alone,” his last testament for his disciples, that one should “Respect the gods and buddhas, but do not rely on them.”
Musashi walked on and studied the topography on the way: the fork in the road that passed by the northern stretch of the Shirakawa River, the rice fields with narrow paths running between them, and even Mount Ichijoji and Mount Uryu at the back of the road. By dawn he was waiting to face the Yoshioka at the Spreading Pine.
Presently, Matashichiro and his accompanying “troops” arrived at the pine, carrying lamps and muttering that their opponent would probably be late again. Suddenly, Musashi jumped out from behind the pine and yelled, “Did I keep you waiting?”
Once again, his psychological tactic worked flawlessly. The Yoshioka were thrown into confusion, and, not yet able to see well in the half-light of dawn, each no doubt had the grim fear that Musashi might be just behind him. For his part, Musashi dashed straight into the crowd of men as they fumbled for their swords, found the cowering Matashichiro,13 and cut him through the middle. The shocked students slashed about, thrust their spears, and shot off arrows in total disarray. Taking advantage of the general panic, Musashi herded the frightened men together like so many cattle, cutting them down one after another before he finally withdrew along the route he had planned earlier.
It was a complete rout. The Yoshioka men who had somehow escaped with their lives now fled back to the capital, their disgrace so complete that no chance of recovery was possible. The last of the Yoshioka line had been cut down in the first moments of battle, and a single swordsman had put to naught a sword style that had been celebrated for generations. Although an arrow had pierced his sleeve, Musashi himself had received not a single wound.
Nothing remains of the Yoshioka style today, so it is difficult to know what it actually entailed. The Musashi koden states: “As for their martial art, either they had studied from Gion Toji, a man who had understood the mysteries of swordsmanship, and were continuing his line; or they were the descendants of the Eight Schools of Kyoto in the line of Kiichi Hogen.”
Both Gion Toji and Kiichi Hogen are legendary figures without clear historical origins, but the “Eight Schools of Kyoto” represent the Western style of swordsmanship and are often compared to the “Seven Schools of Kashima,” representing the Eastern tradition. In traditional accounts, at least, Hogen lived in the twelfth century at the Ichijo Canal in Kyoto and was a master of the esoteric study of the yin/yang. He is said to have taught the martial arts to the famous twelfth-century general and strategist Minamoto no Yoshitsune, but he imparted the truly secret skills of the sword only to the “Eight Priests of Kurama,” and it was with these that the Eight Schools began. Hogen was famous for his strategy, part of which is contained in his enigmatic saying:
If the opponent comes, then greet him; if he goes, then send him off. To five add five and make ten; to two add eight and make ten. By this, you create harmony. Judge the situation, know the heart; the great is beyond ten feet square, the small enters the tiniest atom. The action may be fierce, but when facing what is in front of you, do not move the mind.
According to a book circulated among the adherents of Hogen’s style during the Edo period, their swordsmanship was for the most part that of the Chujo-ryu. The tachi they used was short, and the distinctive feature of their martial technique was to press in close on the opponent’s chest. We will encounter this style again in connection with Musashi’s famous bout on a small island far to the southwest.
The famous school of the Yoshioka was closed, never to reopen. The remaining members of the clan went back to, or perhaps had never really left, their craft of dyed goods; and for some generations after these events, their store remained open in Kyoto’s Nishinotoin district, where they had once proudly traded upon their skill at a much different art.14
The dream of the first Yoshioka, Naomoto, had floated like a bubble along the Kamo River through the city of Kyoto, only to disappear with the flash of a new morning’s light.
At this point people were no doubt beginning to wonder and talk about the quality of that light.
But one who we can be sure was not interested in talking about that subject was Musashi himself. Musashi’s laconic style is well known: even about his famous fights with the Yoshioka he wrote nothing specific, but noted in The Book of Five Rings that “I went to the capital and met with many famous martial artists; and although I fought a number of matches, I was never unable to take the victory.”
SHARPENING HIS TOOLS
In the Earth chapter of The Book of Five Rings, Musashi compares the warrior to a carpenter, noting that “the carpenter skillfully prepares all the different kinds of tools, learns the best way of using each one, takes out his carpenter’s square, works correctly according to the plans, does his work unfailingly, and makes his way through the world.”
As we have seen, his father, Munisai, was an expert at the sword, the jitte, the proper use of armor, and even jujitsu. Thus, as was mentioned, Musashi must have been exposed at an early age to a great variety of weapons. Not long after his defeat of the Yoshioka clan, he turned his attention to other forms of the martial arts, and his steps toward the ancient capital of Nara.
The Buddhist monks at Nara had long been known for their prowess with military weapons and their willingness to use them in times of conflict. One of their favorite weapons was the spear, and the temple most closely associated with the spear was the Hozoin, a subtemple of the famous Kofukuji.
The first generation of the Hozoin style of spear technique was Kakuzenbo Hoin In’ei. Born in 1512 during the violent years of the Ashikaga shogunate, he first studied the spear under the martial artist Daizen Taibu Shigetada. Once In’ei was visited by the famous swordsman Kamiizumi Ise no kami, who soundly defeated him. Kamiizumi had already defeated In’ei’s friend, Yagyu Muneyoshi (Sekishusai), and so the two friends now became Kamiizumi’s disciples. In’ei became an expert with both the sword and the spear under Kamiizumi, but his specialty was the forked spear, which he would develop to great deadliness.
In’ei was from the famous Nakamikado clan, and was of the same generation as the famous generals Takeda Shingen and Uesugi Kenshin. This was a period of intense interest in the martial arts—and In’ei, although a priest, was at the vanguard of his times. Eventually banished from the Hozoin temple for his love of weaponry, he took the opportunity to wander the provinces and visit more than forty martial artists before he was allowed to return to the temple. One of those martial artists was the above-mentioned Daizen, from whose lessons In’ei developed his own kamayari, or sickle-spear, technique.
Priest-soldiers had traditionally used the halberd, which they considered a holy weapon for the protection of Buddhism, as opposed to the straight spear, the weapon of common soldiers. The innovative In’ei, however, found that fixing a sicklelike blade to the spear increased its efficiency. This was the kamayari. The secret poem that expressed the virtue of the weapon goes:
Thrust, and it’s a spear;
Hurl, and it’s a halberd;
Pull, and it’s a sickle.
In any and all events,
You should not miss.
This weapon was far more efficient than the regular spear or halberd. It was used not only for thrusting, but for sweeping, cutting, dragging, and striking. Because of this innovation, In’ei’s fame spread to the surrounding areas and he attracted many disciples.
By the time In’ei turned eighty-three in 1603, he had come to the realization that Buddhist priests should have nothing to do with instruments of violence and death. He closed the dojo that had once employed over forty teachers and forbade his successor, Kakuzenbo Inshun, to teach the martial arts. He died four years later, a
t age eighty-seven.
But the Hozoin spear tradition did not die with In’ei for, a few years after his death, it was reestablished by Inshun, who had become abbot of that temple. Born in 1589, Inshun was five years Musashi’s junior and was rumored to have been In’ei’s son. He continued studying spear technique from a Nichiren priest at the neighboring Ozoin temple who had also studied under In’ei.
It was this priest from the Ozoin—known to us only by the name of his temple—that Musashi met in a match not long after the fight at Ichijoji temple. The priest was armed with a kamayari, while Musashi stood his ground with a short wooden sword. Despite his apparent disadvantage, Musashi beat the man in both of two matches, showing no concern about being in a compound surrounded by warrior priests who very much wanted their man to win. For his part, the monk felt no rancor but, on the contrary, was so impressed that he had Musashi stay for a sumptuous meal. The two became so engaged in talk about the martial arts that the sun had risen before they became aware of the time. Then Musashi thanked his opponent-host and went on his way.15
After Musashi left Nara and the Hozoin, he disappeared from the written records for about three years. But there is little doubt that during that time he continued to live the life of a shugyosha, meeting other such men and wandering the country. Musashi, like other shugyosha, learned firsthand on his travels about nature, topography, local customs, and the character of men—especially of other swordsmen. He also no doubt learned about the characteristics and features of local castles, the production of local goods, and the cultures of the various provinces. This was exactly the sort of information that was valued by the feudal lords, who were happy to hire shugyosha with expertise in such matters. In turn, this was the outcome that most wandering swordsmen sought: a position as trusted servant of a prosperous master and a stipend worthy of his talents. Musashi, however, turned neither his knowledge nor his talent into practical security. His sights were set much higher.
In 1607, Musashi was passing through the province of Iga when he met a man known only by his family name, Shishido, who was a master of the sickle and chain, the kusarigama. This Shishido lived in a relatively isolated part of the mountains in Iga, where he farmed and ran an informal local smithy, making his own weapons. The sickle was originally a farming instrument, but according to the chronicles of the Genpei wars, it was used as a weapon called the naikama, or nagikama, as early as the twelfth century. The naikama was a sickle attached to a long handle and was used to cut the opponent’s feet and ankles with a sort of mowing motion. According to tradition, when used as a weapon in China, it was attached to a nine- or ten-foot chain. The chain was attached to either the upper or lower section of the sickle’s handle, which was a little over one-and-a-half feet long. The chain was then used to immobilize the opponent’s body or weapon, while the counterweight at the end was used to wound or kill him. The sickle was employed to finish him off.
The match between Musashi and Shishido took place in an open field, and once again Musashi had to fight while being watched closely by a number of his opponent’s disciples. After successfully arresting Musashi’s sword with the chain, Shishido moved slowly in to finish him off with the sickle, when Musashi suddenly unsheathed his wakizashi and, throwing it like a shuriken, fatally pierced the man’s chest. At this point, Shishido’s shocked disciples all drew their swords and slashed out at their leader’s assailant. Musashi, however, chased after them and they scattered, running “off in the four directions.”
Musashi was an expert at throwing blades. The Kokura Hibun states:
He either let fly with a real sword or threw a wooden one. But there was no way for either a fleeing or running person to avoid it. Its force was exactly like unleashing the strength of a bow made of stone: one hundred releases, one hundred hits. It cannot be thought that even Yang Yu-chi [a famous archer of the Spring and Autumn Period in China] had mysterious skill like this.
He also taught this skill to his disciples. According to the Watanabe koan taiwa, published about twenty-five years after Musashi’s death, Takemura Yoemon, who was either Musashi’s adopted child or his disciple, was no less expert with the shuriken than was Musashi himself. Yoemon, it notes, “could float a peach in the river and then pierce it to its core with a sixteen-inch knife.”
Tokugawa Ieyasu had politically unified Japan by December 1602. The following year, the imperial court awarded him the ancient title, Sei-I Tai-Shogun, or Great General Who Conquers the Western Barbarians, which gave tacit court approval to his assertion of ultimate authority. By February of the following year, he began rebuilding the castle at Edo (Tokyo), which was to be the new capital. By June he had declared that every daimyo, from fiefs around the country, would be required to leave members of his immediate family in Edo year-round, to ensure his “good intentions” toward the Tokugawa government; in other words, family members of all daimyo were effectively to be held hostage in the capital to prevent rebellions from starting in the countryside. To make sure that these hostages could live in dignity commensurate with the status of their clans, mansions were built, quarters for samurai were established, and roads were constructed. With the labor, materials, and supporting businesses involved in the reconstruction, Edo was quite suddenly transformed from a backwater town to the new center of politics, business, and, if not high culture, at least cultural activity. Money and power had come to town.
Swordsmen had also arrived in great numbers. Yagyu Munenori had become sword instructor to Ieyasu’s son Hidetada as early as 1601, and had now established his line of the Yagyu-ryu in the new capital. The Toda-ryu was there as well, and the Itto-ryu under Ono Tadaaki, who was also an instructor to the shogunate family. Edo had become a magnet for those shugyosha who hoped either to be noticed by a visiting daimyo or to meet other martial artists and sharpen their skills.
Musashi was in Edo by 1608 and, preceded by the reputation he had gained at Kyoto, met a number of talented men. To survive, he started his own small school and took on such students as Hatano Jirozaemon, who later had a number of disciples of his own. Another disciple was Ishikawa Sakyo, a retainer of Honda Masakatsu. Sakyo is said to have been skillful enough to combine the Unmoving Sword and the Diamond Sword techniques, and this synthesis was eventually added to the Musashi style. It is easy to imagine that Musashi’s dojo was a busy place, despite the fact that he was only twenty-five years old.
One day early on, a man by the name of Muso Gonnosuke walked into Musashi’s dojo accompanied by eight disciples and requested a match. Gonnosuke was a big man—well over six feet tall—who had learned the deepest secrets of the Shindo-ryu and was invested with the secrets of the Kashima-ryu’s One Sword technique. After further study in Hitachi under a Sakurai Yoshikatsu, he had toured the northern provinces wearing a haori that bore a large crest of a crimson sun on a white background. On his shoulders was embroidered in gold characters: “Greatest Martial Artist in the Realm, Founder of the Hinomoto-ryu, Muso Gonnosuke.”
It should be noted here that, while Gonnosuke may have had a flair for style, his dress and braggadocio were no more unusual for shugyosha than Arima Kihei’s self-promoting, gold-lettered placard. Flamboyantly dressed swordsmen were not rare during this time. Their clothes were a means of gaining attention, and carried two messages: “I’m a skillful swordsman ready to be hired by an appreciative lord,” and “Anyone, at any time, is welcome to test his skills against mine.” Clothes on occasion either made or unmade the man, depending on the relative skill of the swordsman who happened to notice him.
Musashi, on the other hand, did not conform to this style, and in fact did not comply with many of the sartorial rules of his day. He was an independent, and in large part a nonconformist. He dressed and bathed as he pleased. At any rate, Gonnosuke walked into Musashi’s dojo and requested a match, and one of his disciples produced a four-foot wooden sword from a brocade bag. Musashi, who at the time was carving a small willow bow, quickly accepted the challenge and took up a piece of
firewood as his only weapon. Gonnosuke attacked without further ado, and Musashi sent him tumbling with a single blow.
Gonnosuke was humiliated and left without a word,16 but he was a man of great determination and skill, and this would not be the end of the matter. Dismissing his disciples and retreating to Mount Homan in Chikuzen to pray and meditate over this defeat, he was answered one night in a dream with the words: “Know the reflection of the moon in the water with a log.”
Gonnosuke understood this “log” to be the five-foot staff, or jo, and the moon in the water to mean the center of his opponent’s chest. Soon thereafter he was employed by the Kuroda clan in the Fukuoka fief of Chikuzen for the jo technique he then originated. Much later, he returned to challenge his nemesis again, with the match this time resulting in the only draw of Musashi’s career. The technique that Gonnosuke created is called the Shindo Muso-ryu, and it is practiced to this day.
The Lone Samurai Page 4