Read Online Legends of the Martial Arts Masters by Susan Lynn Peterson - Free Book Online
Authors: Susan Lynn Peterson
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handed to bowl back to the shopkeeper.
“Come see me fight,” he said. “I will be fighting Seijuro Sensei tomorrow morning in the field on the north end of town. Come watch. And tell your friends.”
All afternoon he roamed the village, asking people what they knew about Seijuro, inviting them to the duel. “Come watch me fight Seijuro Sensei,” he said to the innkeeper from whom he purchased an empty sake bottle, “tomorrow morning in the field on the north end of town.” The next morning Musashi rose well before dawn, paid his bill at the inn, and left for the field on the north end of town.
Seijuro, too, was busy readying himself. At his dojo, accompanied by his students, he checked his equipment. Carefully he inspected his sword, handling the blade with a polishing cloth. In a straight line before him, his students knelt, watching their master’s every move. Seijuro sheathed his sword and tied it carefully to his belt. Bowing to his senior student, Seijuro appointed him “second,” his assistant, the man who would help end his life should he be mortally wounded.
When all was ready, he turned his attention to his students. “A duel is not a mere matter of fighting,” he said to them. “It is a matter of honor. A true warrior meets an enemy with quiet courage. The way he conducts himself on the field of battle is the measure of his worth as an honorable human being.” With those words, he strode out the door to meet Musashi.
Seijuro, followed by his second and his students, made his way across the village to the edge of town. The sun had been up for almost an hour. Seijuro figured that it was proper that the young upstart Musashi wait for him. As he rounded a corner and looked out over the field, he saw that a crowd had gathered.
“Musashi,” he thought disgustedly. “He doesn’t even have the decency to realize that a duel is not a circus.” The crowd cheered Seijuro as he entered their midst. Seijuro raised his chin and tried to ignore them. He looked around. Musashi was nowhere to be seen. “Where is he?” he whispered gruffly to his second, who had arranged the time and place.
“I don’t know, Sensei,” his second replied. “He said he would be here at sunrise.”
“Well, I don’t see him. Do you?” Seijuro’s voice rose almost to a shout. His students took a few steps back. They all knew their teacher’s anger far too well.
People in the crowd began to whisper between themselves. A laugh rose from somewhere near the back. Seijuro’s face was red with anger.
“I’m not waiting for some young upstart who thinks he can arrive anytime he wants to,” Seijuro bellowed. “He has insulted me by his tardiness.” He turned to leave.
“Seijuro,” a voice rose from the middle of the crowd. “Seijuro, where have you been? I’ve been here since before sunrise.” A man swaggered forward, elbowing his way through the crowd, tossing aside an empty sake bottle. It was Musashi.
Seijuro turned to face him. Musashi’s clothes were damp and wrinkled. In his belt was not a katana, but a bokken, a wooden practice sword.
“Sorry about the mess,” Musashi said, brushing some dry grass from his lapel. I didn’t want to miss the fight, so I slept out here last night.” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear and grinned. “You ready?” Seijuro’s eyes flared with anger. “You insult me with your dirty clothes and your poor attitude.”
“Then perhaps you would like to challenge me to a duel,” Musashi replied, still grinning.
“Back up,” Seijuro ordered the crowd, swinging his arm in a wide arc. “Back up, I said!”
Musashi moved in close, his hand on the handle of his bokken. His eyes were calm, steady. The noise of the crowd seemed to drop away as Musashi brought his mind to focus on Seijuro and Seijuro alone.
With a roar Seijuro drew his sword. The anger shot from his eyes. Musashi saw that his plan had worked. Seijuro had let his anger get the best of him.
“Come see me fight,” he said. “I will be fighting Seijuro Sensei tomorrow morning in the field on the north end of town. Come watch. And tell your friends.”
All afternoon he roamed the village, asking people what they knew about Seijuro, inviting them to the duel. “Come watch me fight Seijuro Sensei,” he said to the innkeeper from whom he purchased an empty sake bottle, “tomorrow morning in the field on the north end of town.” The next morning Musashi rose well before dawn, paid his bill at the inn, and left for the field on the north end of town.
Seijuro, too, was busy readying himself. At his dojo, accompanied by his students, he checked his equipment. Carefully he inspected his sword, handling the blade with a polishing cloth. In a straight line before him, his students knelt, watching their master’s every move. Seijuro sheathed his sword and tied it carefully to his belt. Bowing to his senior student, Seijuro appointed him “second,” his assistant, the man who would help end his life should he be mortally wounded.
When all was ready, he turned his attention to his students. “A duel is not a mere matter of fighting,” he said to them. “It is a matter of honor. A true warrior meets an enemy with quiet courage. The way he conducts himself on the field of battle is the measure of his worth as an honorable human being.” With those words, he strode out the door to meet Musashi.
Seijuro, followed by his second and his students, made his way across the village to the edge of town. The sun had been up for almost an hour. Seijuro figured that it was proper that the young upstart Musashi wait for him. As he rounded a corner and looked out over the field, he saw that a crowd had gathered.
“Musashi,” he thought disgustedly. “He doesn’t even have the decency to realize that a duel is not a circus.” The crowd cheered Seijuro as he entered their midst. Seijuro raised his chin and tried to ignore them. He looked around. Musashi was nowhere to be seen. “Where is he?” he whispered gruffly to his second, who had arranged the time and place.
“I don’t know, Sensei,” his second replied. “He said he would be here at sunrise.”
“Well, I don’t see him. Do you?” Seijuro’s voice rose almost to a shout. His students took a few steps back. They all knew their teacher’s anger far too well.
People in the crowd began to whisper between themselves. A laugh rose from somewhere near the back. Seijuro’s face was red with anger.
“I’m not waiting for some young upstart who thinks he can arrive anytime he wants to,” Seijuro bellowed. “He has insulted me by his tardiness.” He turned to leave.
“Seijuro,” a voice rose from the middle of the crowd. “Seijuro, where have you been? I’ve been here since before sunrise.” A man swaggered forward, elbowing his way through the crowd, tossing aside an empty sake bottle. It was Musashi.
Seijuro turned to face him. Musashi’s clothes were damp and wrinkled. In his belt was not a katana, but a bokken, a wooden practice sword.
“Sorry about the mess,” Musashi said, brushing some dry grass from his lapel. I didn’t want to miss the fight, so I slept out here last night.” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear and grinned. “You ready?” Seijuro’s eyes flared with anger. “You insult me with your dirty clothes and your poor attitude.”
“Then perhaps you would like to challenge me to a duel,” Musashi replied, still grinning.
“Back up,” Seijuro ordered the crowd, swinging his arm in a wide arc. “Back up, I said!”
Musashi moved in close, his hand on the handle of his bokken. His eyes were calm, steady. The noise of the crowd seemed to drop away as Musashi brought his mind to focus on Seijuro and Seijuro alone.
With a roar Seijuro drew his sword. The anger shot from his eyes. Musashi saw that his plan had worked. Seijuro had let his anger get the best of him.
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