In the tiled courtyard, Yabu's spear whipped through another complex figure-eight as he practiced his kata. His stomach cut was healing nicely.
Panting, he stopped and stretched. His lean body was stronger than it looked, but he was no longer young. Grey hair stippling his temples and scars on his body and limbs showed his age. Every year it took longer to regain conditioning after a wound, and every year he felt the grip of aging more tightly around his throat.
He examined his yari. Like him, it showed the marks of many battles. It was worn, but still keen enough. The blade is the soul of the samurai, he thought. Then, from the depths of memory, he spoke the words of a poem he had written long ago.
"Surrounded by foemen,
My yari is the wind
whistling through the bamboo,
shedding crimson raindrops."
"Your technique is excellent, Yabu-san." Jiro knelt on the far side of the courtyard, watching Yabu's kata. His naginata rested beside him, blade sheathed. Standing, he bowed, "I am in awe of your skill." Yabu straightened. "You do me too much honour, Jiro-san." He glanced around, a little disconcerted by being observed. "My skill is not worthy of such high regard." He returned the bow politely and returned to seiza.
Returning to his orginal kneeling position, Jiro toyed with the haft of his naginata before looking back over at Yabu, "Where did you perfect your skills? Have you seen many battles?"
"Many?" Yabu looked up at the bare limbs of the plum tree, waiting patiently for spring. "I suppose so. Ronin are only hired when battle is expected, and dismissed soon thereafter." His voice was mostly tired, holding only a touch of bitterness. "I have been a ronin for much of my life. I have seen many more battles than I should wish."
"I see..." Jiro was quiet for a moment, before returning his attention to Yabu. "What was it like, to fight in these wars?"
Yabu thought long before speaking, and replied in verse:
"Broken stone.
As far as all horizons
Walls lie in terrifying ruin.
Everywhere one looks
The eye is pained.
Each report bears worse news,
The smoke of burning villages
Charcoaled across bitter winds.
"Sendai
In all her beauty
Is in flames.
"Drums roll
Like the pounding of hearts,
Pipes call retreats that cost
Uncounted sons.
"When a battle takes a lifetime
War is endless.
"Hunger's forays
Leave as many in the field
As any battle,
Women, children
Fall to their silent enemy."
Yabu stopped speaking, looking up into the gaunt limbs of the bare tree. Horse-tail clouds stippled the high airs, and a chill wind made him cough.
Jiro was silent as he considered Yabu's words. Finally, he spoke. "Perhaps the land will know peace, and you will no longer have to see such wars. But, I don't think that will be so, as our encounter with the shinobi proved."
Yabu looked sternly at the younger man. "You are young yet, so perhaps you do not realize that you have insulted me. Do not think that I am unready, or unwilling, to fight."
Jiro's reaction was immediate, falling to the ground, he knelt before the older ronin, "Forgive me Yabu-san, I did not mean to give offense. Your skill is beyond question, your victory over the shinobi has proved that beyond all doubt."
Yabu continued to look sternly for a moment, but then his visage softened. "Ah, Jiro-san, you should be careful of your words. But I see that you did not mean to be insulting. You have the haste of your youth. But you should understand why I took affront, lest you offend without intending.
"To question a samurai's skill is a small thing, easy to ignore. To question a samurai's willingness to die is much worse, and many duels are fought over less. You did not question my skill, and if you had I would have ignored it -- skill is not important. But do not think that I am unwilling to face death, just because I tell you that war has little glory. Glory is not the only reason to fight.
"Death is lighter than a feather; duty is heavier than a mountain. It is a samurai's place to fight, and to die. You asked me what war was like; I have told you, in the words of a poet of Kodan. It is garrison duty, and burning villages. It is retreating, and starvation for peasants. It is not what you think, battles and glory. It is duty."
Looking up, Jiro nodded, "I am a samurai, I exist only to serve."
Yabu nodded, but looked away. "Without meaning to offend, Jiro-san, you are a young samurai. Young samurai dream of glory in battle above all things. Glory, and skill-at-arms. Forgive me if I speak too bluntly."
"I do not understand, Yabu-san. How better to serve one's lord than through skill at arms?"
"How worse to serve one's lord than through skill at arms? You dream of winning undying fame in battle. If your lord asks you to commit seppuku on the day of a battle, it is not your place to decide to seek out death in combat -- your duty is clear. Skill-at-arms is easy. We spend our lives practicing; our constant hope is to find an honorable death in battle. So what you ask is merely this: `how better to serve one's lord than by the easiest way?'
"Answer me this, Jiro-san. Which is more honorable: to serve a fair and honorable lord obediently, or to obey the orders of a liege-lord who is a rapacious and treacherous tyrant?"
"To obey the orders of the treacherous lord, for a samurai's duty is to serve and his honor is maintained by doing so unquestioningly."
"Exactly. It is easier to serve a fair and just Lord, but more honour is gained by serving through difficulty and adversity. You asked how better to serve a lord than through skill at arms. Such service is only the easiest part of a samurai's duty. The most honour is not gained by such service, but rather by doing what you would prefer to avoid, simply because it is your duty to obey."
Jiro nodded, "That is so. Then I should count myself lucky, in that my service is given to Arai-sama, who is a just man."
Yabu nodded, but he looked away and spoke no further.