Masato watched Gempei and all but three of his warriors leave and go into one of the buildings, then let his head drop. They had placed Jiro down into the cold mud next to him, but he had no heart to face his master. He had been left in charge of getting the young lord to safety, and he had failed. Worse, he had shown himself to be a coward in the process, and not worthy of the name of samurai.
At first, Jiro checked on Taro, seeing the boy’s swelling split lip, but the younger boy was healthy enough and the damage seemed superficial. Then, Masato felt Jiro’s eyes on him.
“How are you, lad?” He asked. “Have you been hurt?”
Masato made a noise to indicate he hadn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to meet his master’s eyes.
“What’s wrong, lad?” Jiro said, concern in his voice.
His heart filled with shame, Masato let his head drop into the mud in front of Jiro. His hands were tied behind his back, as were Jiro’s and Taro’s, so all he could do was splash his forehead into the mud.
Tears and dirt covering his face, he cried- “Sensei. Please forgive me. I failed to protect our young lord! I failed in the duty you gave me!”
The Kurokawa samurai, who were watching this with mild interest, began to laugh until a look from Jiro shut them up and made them turn away. A monk had appeared with food, and they began to eat eagerly.
“Yes, you failed me.” Said Jiro, looking from the young lord, and back to the crying Masato. “But, tell me, is the young lord still alive?”
“What?” Masato looked up at him with confused
bloodshot eyes. “What do you mean?
“Answer me!” Jiro barked. “Is the young lord still alive?”
“Uhhh.” Masato looked around, not sure what to say. He looked at Taro, who was looking at him with sympathy, then he looked back down at the ground, still not daring to look at his master. “Yes sensei, he is.”
“Then lad, you have not failed me,” his master told him. “Look at me Masato.”
With a little more coaxing, Masato did as he was told.
“Masato, I want you to remember what I’m going to tell you now.” Jiro said in a tone that made his seriousness clear. “You must remember this, do you understand?”
“Yes, sensei.” Masato bobbed his head. “I do.”
“For a true samurai,” said the master. “Living for your lord, is just as important as dying for your lord. A lord without men has no future, and that cannot be. You chose to live so that Taro would not be without servants, and that is the way of a true warrior. We must endure so that he can be returned home safely, and so that he will grow up knowing the kind of men who serve his family. That is what it is to be a samurai.”
Masato could feel that he had begun to cry again, but this time he felt they were tears of emotion, not self-pity. “Yes, sensei! I will remember it, sensei!” He knocked his head against the mud again a few times in respect to his teacher.
When at last he had calmed down, he felt a great stone had been moved from his heart, and his head was filled again with thoughts for the future.
In particular, “Sensei, what do we do next?”
Jiro, who had closed his eyes and laid back against the wall behind him, shook his head. “Just wait, lad.”
Wait? Thought Masato. That didn’t seem very productive.
Then the first of the guards fell over, followed by the second, and a moment later the third was also face-down in the mud. The monk who had brought their food stepped forward, shaking his head in contempt at the unseemly mess the men had made.
“Elder Ryosen sends you his greetings.” Said the monk to the three travellers.
* * *
The monk lead the trio to a nearby chamber where they found Ryosen nervously waiting for them. Jiro nodded to his old friend as he entered, and the elder allowed himself a quick nervous smile back.
“You’re safe,” said the elder. “That’s good. Very good.”
“No thanks to you!” Masato accused. “Sensei, this man lead the Kurokawa right to us! I saw him let them in!”
Jiro shook his head solemnly. “It’s okay, lad. The elder here just did what he had to do.”
“Huh?” Said Masato, looking at his master. “But…”
“Young man,” said Ryosen. “It was one of my subordinates that brought the Kurokawa here without my knowledge. When they came, I had to greet them as guests for the sake of the temple and those who live here. I have helped Jiro recover you, as I promised, and now I will help you escape. We do not have much time.”
Masato looked to his master, unsure of whether to believe what he had just heard, and Jiro indicated that it was indeed true. Then Masato looked at Taro, who merely shrugged, and both boys turned to Ryosen expectantly.
“Quickly,” the priest told them. “Come with me.”
With Ryosen in the lead, they slipped out through a hidden back door and into an alleyway. Rushing along the alley, they made several turns, and then came out at a gap near the river.
The mist of the waterfall was mixing with the morning fog to make a thick soup that made it hard to see more than a few metres ahead of you, even worse than it had been the night before. On a cloudy morning, there was no sun to burn away the fog, and Jiro thanked the seven lucky gods for that.
Under the cover of the mist, they were able to make their way along the river toward the sound of the rushing water. After a short distance, Ryosen put up his hand to indicate they needed to stop, and then disappeared into the greyness ahead of them.
A moments later, he returned shaking his head.
“Your hunter is more dangerous than I thought. He has left six of his own men guarding the bridge.”
Jiro frowned, it would be hard to get passed six trained men, especially since not one of the four were even armed. He said as much to Ryosen.
“Yes,” Ryosen agreed. “But there is a way. I will go and tell them that their company is leaving, and when they go we will slip across the bridge and away.”
“We?” Jiro asked, raising an eyebrow.
Ryosen gave a faded smile. “I’m sure the temple will do just fine without me. Rescuing the young lord here is quite a feat, and should bring a reward to live on. Besides, I miss the taste of meat so badly I could turn into a wolf.”
Both old men shared a chuckle at that, while the young ones looked puzzled, and then Ryosen said, “now follow me at a distance, and when you see them leave- come running.”
Jiro and the boys did exactly that, following the aging priest along the shoreline and then ducking behind the same scrubby bushes Jiro had used mere hours before for his own approach.
As they watched, Ryosen straightened and walked out of the fog to greet the soldiers, bowing politely with his prayer beads in hand. The lead soldier approached him, and they talked for a time, Ryosen gesturing back toward the temple.
“Something’s wrong,” Jiro told the boys. As they watched, the leader waved his hand “no”, and then pointed to one of his men who went running off into the foggy night.
“Sensei?” Masato asked, worried.
“He’s being smart, lad.” Jiro told him. “That samurai is checking with his commander before he leaves his post.” What Jiro didn’t tell the boy, however, was that in a few minutes that bridge entrance would be filled with enemy soldiers. Even worse, Ryosen could do nothing but wait until the Kurokawa returned- and when they did, he’d be killed.
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