“No one is the greatest,” Matsuda said. “There will always be another greater than you or with greater potential. All my energy and years of my life had gone into one thing-to become an expert in the art of death. It is a terrible thing to imagine oneself the greatest: it gives rise to pride in oneself, envy in others. Young men sought me out to challenge me. I became tired of their foolishness and their courage.” He fell silent. The night insects droned loudly; frogs croaked.
“I killed once too often. I did not want to feel that regret again. I came to Terayama ten years ago, at this same time of year. I never left. I did not want to live in the world any longer. But the world does not leave us alone. It is always calling at the door. Only the Enlightened One led a life free of error. The rest of us make mistakes and then have to live with them. Now, go to bed.”
“I will sit with you and keep you and the dead company,” Shigeru said. “If you will permit it.”
Matsuda smiled and nodded, then dowsed the lamp. They sat silently without moving as the vast starry heaven wheeled above them.
12
After these conversations, in the days following, master and pupil resumed their silent routine. It was the time of the greatest heat, but Shigeru learned to ignore the sticky discomfort of the body just as Matsuda did. The spring ran cool throughout the hottest days, and he often stripped off his clothes at the end of the day and bathed in the pool. He had grown during the summer and had reached his full height, well above average, and the constant exercise and discipline had built up his muscles and burned away the last vestiges of childhood. He knew he had become a man, and he was often impatient to return to the world, especially when his thoughts turned to the tensions between the clans and the untrustworthiness of his uncles, but he accepted that he still had the lessons of patience and self-control to learn.
A vixen sometimes trotted through the clearing at dusk, and once Shigeru surprised the cubs playing in a hollow. Deer and rabbits occasionally came to graze on the summer grass. Apart from the villagers, who returned, when the Festival of the Dead was over, with offerings of cucumbers, apricots, and summer vegetables, they saw no human being.
However, one day at sunset, when they had taken advantage of the cool of the evening to fight a bout with the wooden poles, they heard the unusual sound of horses coming up the track. Matsuda made a sign to Shigeru to halt; they both turned to see two men on horseback cantering up to the hut.
Shigeru had not seen a horse since he had left his own to walk to the temple. There was something astonishing about the two snorting creatures with warriors on their backs. They were both dark bay with black legs, manes, and tails. The riders wore chest armor laced with black and gold, and on their backs was the triple oak leaf of the Tohan.
The leader reined his horse in and called out a greeting. Matsuda returned it calmly. Shigeru, knowing his teacher’s moods so well, saw him tense slightly. His feet balanced themselves on the ground, and his grasp on the pole tightened.
“I am Miura Naomichi,” the man continued, “from the Tohan at Inuyama. My companion is Inaba Atsushi. I am looking for Matsuda Shingen.”
“You have found him,” Matsuda said evenly. “Dismount and tell me your business.”
Miura did so, leaping agilely down; his companion also dismounted and took the reins of both horses while Miura stepped forward and bowed slightly.
“Lord Matsuda. I am glad to have found you engaged in instruction. We were led to believe in Inuyama that you had given up teaching. There seemed no other explanation when Lord Iida, head of the Tohan, expressly commanded you to come to teach his son.”
“I am grateful for Lord Iida’s opinion of my ability, but I am under no obligation to obey any command from him. It is well known that my allegiance has always been to the Otori. Besides, Lord Sadamu is a little old for my instruction, and I am sure he has already benefited from Inuyama’s greatest swordsmen, such as Lord Miura himself.”
“I am flattered that you know me. But you must also know that my reputation is nothing in the Three Countries compared to your own.”
Shigeru heard arrogance behind false humility. He does not believe what he says. He believes himself to be better than Matsuda; he feels slighted because Iida approached Matsuda. He has come here to challenge him. There can be no other reason.
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Matsuda said, apparently affably. “We live very simply here, but you are welcome to share whatever we have…”
Miura interrupted him. “I have not come all this way to drink tea and compose poems. I have come to challenge you: first, because you insult the Tohan clan by refusing my master’s invitation, and second, because if I defeat you, Lord Iida will know he does not have to look for teachers among the Otori.”
“I am no longer a warrior,” Matsuda said. “Just a monk who does not fight anymore. I have no weapon here, apart from the training poles. No insult was intended.”
“Take my sword, and I will fight with Inaba’s; that will make us equal.” Miura unsheathed the sword and took a step forward. “Either we fight or I cut you down now, you and your pupil. Fight me and whatever the outcome, I will spare him.”
It was clear the warrior was not going to be dissuaded. Shigeru felt his heartbeat pick up. He tightened his grip on the pole and moved his feet slightly so the setting sun fell over his shoulder.
Matsuda said, “Since you show such consideration for my pupil, you may fight him.”
Miura sneered. “I don’t challenge boys or novices.”
Matsuda addressed Shigeru formally. “Lord Otori, take Lord Miura’s sword.”
Shigeru bowed equally formally, handed the pole to his teacher and stepped forward. There was a moment when he felt his own complete vulnerability, unarmed before Miura’s sword. He masked it by gazing calmly at the warrior, assessing him.
Miura was a little shorter than he was, ten or fifteen years older, and much broader in the shoulders. His arms and legs were solid with muscle. Shigeru guessed his technique would be grounded in power rather than speed. His reach would be limited. His strength would be greater, but he had not been taught by Matsuda Shingen.
“Lord Otori?” Miura said, taken aback. “The oldest son? Shigeru?”
“Lord Otori is the only man who has ever bested me,” Matsuda said calmly.
And there was another advantage. Miura was disconcerted by the situation that now presented itself, into which his own blustering had led him. To challenge Matsuda and kill him was one thing; to kill the heir to the Otori clan was quite another. It might be Sadayoshi and Sadamu’s secret desire, but it could never be condoned by them publicly or forgiven by the Otori. It would plunge the Three Countries into immediate war. Miura’s life and the lives of his family would be forfeit.
Good, Shigeru thought. The sooner we fight the Tohan, the more likely we are to defeat them. My father has another son. It seemed suddenly, in that moment, a good death, and he chose it steadfastly, neither looking at the future nor dwelling on the past.
“Give me your sword,” he said.
“You will let a boy fight in your place?” Miura attempted to browbeat Matsuda.
“As I said, Lord Otori is my better. Defeat him and you defeat me. You may then take my life, worthless as it is. All the insults you imagine will be wiped out. And I certainly will not have to go to Inuyama. Give your sword to Lord Otori as you suggest. It seems quite fair to me, unless you often practice with your companion’s sword.”
“I have never held it in my hands till now,” Miura replied.
The exchange of swords was made. Shigeru took Miura’s in both hands and, stepping to one side, looked at it carefully. The cutting edge was unblemished, the curved steel perfectly honed. It was a little heavier than his own, suiting Miura’s greater bulk, but its balance was good and it responded to his grip. He made a couple of swift passes through the air and heard the steel sing as the sword came to life. He deliberately chose simple, basic exercises, knowing Miura would be watching him, hoping to maintain the disconcertion, hoping to lull him into overconfidence.