She squatted back and watched him.
“It’s you!” he shrieked, trying to claw his way backward up the stream bank, facing her with the hatchet brandished. “The Wild Woman!”
“Wild woman? I’m a cultured, educated woman, the handmaiden of a noble lady.”
Confusion played across his face. “Get away!”
“You promised to show me to the road! I must go home.”
She grabbed him and squeezed until parts of him fell off and he stopped screaming.
“Now, look what you made me do!” She bashed his skull a few times with a rock until it cracked open like a melon. She scooped out some juicy pulp and ate it.
Then she sat down and sobbed for a while, because she could not remember which direction he said Hita town was.
Eventually hunger overcame the bout of sobbing, but at least she had something to eat now. Unfortunately the leftovers would not fit in her sack, but she stuffed as much in there as she could, gorged herself on the rest, patted her overstuffed belly, and then returned to her cave for a long nap. It would be days before she was hungry again.
“A monk cannot fulfill the Buddhist Way if he does not manifest compassion without and persistently store up courage within. And if a warrior does not manifest courage on the outside and hold enough compassion within his heart to burst his chest, he cannot become a [lord’s] retainer. Therefore, the monk pursues courage with the warrior as his model, and the warrior pursues the compassion of the monk.”
—Zen priest Tannen, Hagakure, Book of the Samurai
A great procession assembled at the gates of the castle as Yasutoki made preparations to depart for Kamakura, home of the bakufu. Twelve mounted yojimbo, some of the most elite warriors of Tsunetomo’s house, including Captain Yamada, captain of the house guard, all clad in their most ornate armor, plus bearers for Yasutoki’s palanquin, attendants, and servants, all formed a dual column.
Kazuko watched this from a high window. Yasutoki’s presence made the servants fearful and furtive, as if a dark fog permeated the air itself. Perhaps his departure—with Hatsumi gone as well—would allow the castle to breathe again.
The detachment of bodyguards for Yasutoki’s journey seemed a bit extravagant, but Yasutoki was the third-ranked man in the largest Otomo house on Kyushu, and Kamakura was a long journey. It was as much about appearances as practical protection. If they traveled overland, the journey would take the procession through domains unfriendly to the Otomo clan. Instead, they had chosen to travel by sea, embarking from Moji to sail east toward Kamakura. A dozen hardened warriors should be enough to defend against the pirates known to haunt the seas around Shikoku and eastward. She did not wish the yojimbo harm, but she would not lament any fatal mishap befalling Yasutoki.
“My lady,” came the voice of the new valet from a polite distance behind her. “Please forgive the intrusion.” Naozane had come from one of the clan’s loyal servant families, with ancestors who had served the Otomo for generations.
She faced him.
Naozane said, “There is a woman from Takeshita village who requests an audience with you. I would have conveyed her message to you myself, but she looks very earnest, and says she has news of...” The man had to swallow something to produce the name. “...of Miss Hatsumi.”
A chill sickness trickled into her belly. “Very well. See her into the meeting hall.”
The steward departed, and Kazuko took a moment to collect herself.
She had wished more than anything that Hatsumi be caught by one of the many search parties, or that she be killed somehow. Every time a search party returned unsuccessful, Kazuko remembered the horror of Hakamadare. Stories filtered in from the countryside about the Wild Woman who stole food and terrorized villagers. She was blamed for several unexplained deaths, but no witnesses still lived. The descriptions of her varied widely. Some said she had horns; others, great gnashing fangs; others, four arms and four legs. It was all so outlandish, except that Kazuko had once seen such a creature with her own eyes. Ever since, she did not like to think about where the boundaries were between truth and fabrication.
In the great hall, she found a middle-aged peasant woman waiting, graying hair tied into a simple bun, wearing simple gray-brown homespun, with hands gnarled and shoulders hunched by labor. At Kazuko’s entrance, the peasant woman pressed her forehead to the floor.
Kazuko settled herself on the dais, and Naozane sat between the peasant woman and the dais.
The steward addressed the peasant woman. “You may speak.”
“Oh, Lady Otomo,” the woman breathed, “your beauty far surpasses the wildest stories!”
“Your kindness does me honor, good woman, but today I more resemble an old geta.”
“Lady Otomo is too modest.”
“What is your name? What is your village?”
“I am Otsugi from Takeshita village. My husband was a woodsman.”
“Was?”
The woman’s lips trembled. “Yes, my lady. He was...killed.”
“Is this why you have come?”
The woman bowed low again. “Yes, my lady. I...I saw her!”
“Whom did you see?”
“The Wild Woman! She killed my Shuntaro. And she ate him like a beast!”
Kazuko’s memory of Hakamadare biting a great clunk of flesh from the severed arm of one of her yojimbo leaped into her mind, and the cold dread in her belly began to froth. “Tell me your story.”
“My Shuntaro was gone a little too long. He was a woodsman, as I said, and he was up on the mountain. Night came, and he did not return. I was not too worried right away. Sometimes he liked to fill his rack and go drinking at night after he came back to the village. But he was gone all night, and that was very strange, so I went looking for him. I asked after him all over town, and no one knew of his whereabouts. So I took my brother and we went looking for him up on the mountain. People had been hearing howls up there late, late at night. They said it was the Wild Woman. We looked all up and down the mountain for three days, and...” Her voice choked, but she cleared her throat and recovered. “And then we found him.... We thought it was him. But there was so little.... It was like...what a fox leaves of a rabbit. I thought, this could not be him, this could not be my Shuntaro. But then I saw his rack sitting by the stream. I know it was his rack, because I helped him make it, and he would never just leave it like that.”
Kazuko said. “Such a terrible pity! I am very sorry to hear about your husband.”
The woman bowed low again, and tears streamed down her cheeks. “He was just a woodsman, my lady, but he was the best man I ever knew.”
“What makes you think the Wild Woman is to blame, and not a bear or some other wild creature?” Naozane asked.
The woman’s eyes blazed wide. “Because I saw her! You will think my head touched by the gods if I tell you what she looked like, but I saw her!”
“What did you see?” Kazuko’s heart skipped into a faster rhythm.
“We were there by the riverbank, looking at...everything, when I happened to look up the slope. And I saw this shape looking at me from inside a small cave. I thought, ‘Who is that person up there?’ And the more I looked, the more I thought the shape looked like a woman, with long hair and such, and fine robes. I know good weaving, my lady, yes, I do. And those clothes were...not peasant clothes. Very soiled, but fine threads and bright colors. The stories about the Wild Woman say...”
“You may speak freely,” Kazuko said.
“They say the Wild Woman was your servant who went mad. Some say she was cursed. That’s why I came to you, my lady. I thought you would want to know. I know there were searches before, but...”
A pang of guilt shot through Kazuko’s breast. “If the Wild Woman had been found, your husband would still be alive. Be assured, the hunt for her will recommence. Takeshita village is far, so I thank you for traveling this far to bring me this tale—”
The woman’s eyes bulged again. “But that is no
t all, my lady! Oh, I pray to all the gods that it were!” Sobs seized her speech.
Naozane opened his mouth to spur her tale onward, but Kazuko raised a hand and shook her head.
When Otsugi regained control of herself. “My poor brother, you see... She...she...came...down...” Sobs wracked her. “In one big jump. Like a monkey jumping from a tree. And...he screamed at me to run, my poor brother did. And...and so...I did. I ran for the road as fast as I could. I thought he would be behind me. But she came out of the sky and landed on him like a hawk on a mouse, squashed him. And I saw her. And she...killed him. And I ran. I left him there!” Her barely intelligible words erupted into a keening wail.
Kazuko and Naozane waited quietly, awkwardly, as the woman’s anguish spilled out of her, until it finally spent itself.
The woman sniffled and wiped her face with both hands, composing herself. “Please forgive my outburst. My lady, you are kind, and you are just. I beg of you. Destroy her before she kills anyone else. Send an army after her. I can show you the cave.”
Kazuko wiped at her own tears with her sleeve and swallowed hard. “Are you certain of this cave?”
“Yes, my lady. I have lived my entire life in the shadow of that mountain. My grandfather used to say that cave was an old bear’s den. It is her den now. There was a well-beaten track on the slope up to the cave.”
“Very well,” Kazuko said. “I will see that this is done. And please, accept my deepest sympathies.”
The woman shuddered with relief. “Thank you, my lady. You are nothing less than an Empress.” The woman bowed her way out, guided by the steward’s hand.
When Naozane returned, Kazuko told him, “Give her money enough to sustain her. She has lost her entire family. I must speak with Lord Tsunetomo.”
The steward’s face was pale, his eyes haunted. “Yes, my lady.”
“For a samurai, a single word is important no matter where he may be. By just one single word martial valor can be made apparent. In peaceful times words show one’s bravery. In troubled times, too, one knows that by a single word his strength or cowardice can be seen. This single word is the flower of one’s heart. It is not something said simply with one’s mouth.”
—Hagakure, Book of the Samurai
“She is an oni now,” Kazuko said. “There can be no doubt, husband. And she must be stopped. We must not relent this time.”
Over their dinner together, arranged between them on a black-lacquered meal service, Kazuko poured him a fresh cup of tea. Sparrows sang in the eaves right outside the open windows. A sweet-smelling spring breeze wafted through the castle’s uppermost chamber.
“I understand, my dear,” Tsunetomo said, “and I agree. She must be destroyed. However, the difficult part is this. Finding one person, even an oni, up in the mountains is not the same as sending twenty men on a boar hunt, because we are looking for a particular boar. And she is far more cunning than any boar. She can move faster and hide in places a party of men cannot easily look. This is why old Hakamadare was able to run free for so long. Horses are useless up there. It must be done by men on foot. I was forced to call off the search in the winter because I have too many new recruits in need of proper training. Many of them are not true samurai, but I need their feet on the ground and spears in their hands. And I need my best warriors to train them.”
“The villagers are too frightened to hunt her themselves. Might we send only two or three experienced hunters? They could steal upon the cave, wait for her to appear....”
He put down his rice bowl and took a drink of tea. “Perhaps that would be more effective than an entire regiment.”
“I feel responsible, husband,” Kazuko said, her voice quavering. “I should have sent her away long ago. Then perhaps this would not have happened.”
“You must not feel responsible. It is Hatsumi’s evil that has become her undoing. She was a foul creature from the moment I first met her, though I am sorry to say that to you. You were blinded by your love for her. Sometimes we grow to love someone, truly and rightfully, and then they become something else. Love takes away our ability to see their evil.” His voice grew quiet and earnest, his gaze turning inward, the voice of experience.
She knew almost nothing of his life before he had married her. What lost loves and failed ambitions lurked in his past? In this moment, she sensed her advantage. “Would you mind terribly, husband, if I saw to this personally?”
“You are not going into the forest after her.”
“I have killed an oni before. I am much more skilled with the naginata now.”
“But you had aid. Would that that ronin were around to help you again. He would be the perfect hunter. Besides, do you think Hatsumi will come running to embrace you if you have a naginata in hand?”
“I could offer myself as bait. My presence could draw her out.”
“Bait? Absolutely not!”
“Husband, am I not trained to be a warrior? Am I not born of a warrior house? Do you not tell me I am Tomoe Gozen reborn? Are you saying that I am less of a warrior because I am a woman? Must the villagers in the mountains continue to be prey for her? She is eating them, husband!”
Tsunetomo’s brow furrowed. “Your life is worth more to me than a host of peasants.”
“No, Husband, that is not the Way. To be samurai means to put oneself in the path of evil and protect those weaker. You are a great lord, and I am your wife. Hatsumi has become a blight upon the land, a canker that reflects upon you. For many years, the people of this province have revered you. You are strong and just. You are a kind husband to me. But now they are whispering that a curse has fallen upon our house. That I am the source of this curse. I cannot bear you an heir, and my handmaid has gone mad. I will not be an anchor around your neck, Husband. If Hatsumi kills me, you are free to find a fertile wife. Your lands will not have to pass to Ishitaka. If I succeed, then the blight has been wiped away.”
Tsunetomo stood abruptly. “No.” Then he stalked out of the room, his face pinched, fists clenched.
* * *
After another long day of practice in horse archery, Ken’ishi’s muscles were in need of rest, and the men of Barrack Six felt the same. Even though he had moved into the quarters formerly occupied by Sergeant Hiromasa, he still made a point to observe the men. Tonight they were subdued, already preparing their bunks.
Ushihara sat on his bunk, head in his hands, a stricken, fearful look in his eyes.
Ken’ishi stopped near Ushihara’s bunk and addressed him. “Do you have a problem?”
Ushihara wiped his face, attempting to distract from his expression, but without success. “It’s nothing, Sergeant.”
If something was amiss, responsibility lay with Ken’ishi, so he asked again more sternly.
Ushihara’s posture and face hardened. “Nothing, Sergeant.”
Michizane, Ushihara’s unit leader, approached. “He fell off his horse today, Sergeant Ken’ishi.”
Ushihara’s face blazed with anger at Michizane, then the stricken expression re-emerged. “And broke my bow.”
No wonder, then, that Ushihara was so troubled. Without real samurai rank, he lived and died by his own prowess, and his supply of prowess was meager.
“Then perhaps you belong among the spearmen,” Ken’ishi said, “It is an honorable post.”
“Yes, Sergeant,” Ushihara said, but his tone suggested disagreement.
“Sergeant Ken’ishi! A word, please,” a voice called from the door of the barracks. Ishitaka stood there at attention, his pate freshly shaved and his topknot immaculately arranged. But there was something dire in his gaze, his face pale. The nearby troops bowed to him.
“Ushihara,” Ken’ishi said, “you’ll have another bow, and more practice, for now.”
Ushihara dropped to his knees and bowed low. “Thank you, Sergeant!”
Ken’ishi excused himself and joined Ishitaka, who led him out into the practice yard.
Ishitaka’s whisper was tight, half-str
angled. “She’s gone!”
Only one possibility could elicit such passion and anguish. “Yuri is gone,” Ken’ishi said. “To where?”
“I don’t know! Her house is empty. Her clothes are gone. I went to the Roasted Acorn, and the proprietor told me that she left town with her father, and that she won’t be back for a long time. She wouldn’t say how long.” Ishitaka’s voice was haunted, faint, as if spoken through a screen.
“And she left no word for you?”
“Nothing.”
“Perhaps she left in a hurry and there wasn’t time. Can she read and write?”
“I...I don’t know. She’s just a peasant girl. Who would teach her?”
Ken’ishi clasped Ishitaka on the shoulder. “Perhaps she will be back soon.”
“Her house was empty. As if she were nothing but a sweet, lovely dream. And I can’t go asking after her all around town. Word will get back to my father. I once asked him what he thought of samurai marrying peasants, and he laughed at the idea. He said that might be all right for a bumpkin samurai, but not for high-ranked Otomo retainers. What am I to do, Ken’ishi?”
Ken’ishi sighed. He had walked his own lovelorn road for too many days to lie to Ishitaka and say he would feel better soon. If Yuri was truly gone, Ishitaka would drive himself into the depths of despair. The young, foolish, besotted Ken’ishi had been able at least to say goodbye. There had been no mystery, only the final, brutal truncation of it, like the chop of an axe. But this...
“I have to find her!” Ishitaka’s voice grew shrill.
“Brace up,” Ken’ishi said. “The men might hear you.”
“Yes, you’re right. Yes. Brace up.” Ishitaka swallowed hard and seemed to gather his courage. “Good night, my friend.” He bowed and turned to depart.
“Where are you going?”
“To look for her.”
“You won’t find her.”
“Perhaps not, but it will save me from thinking about how she is not here.”
This made no sense to Ken’ishi, but he let Ishitaka go. The nonsensical nature of love would not be countermanded.
Spirit of the Ronin Page 16
