A Matter of Honor

A Matter of Honor

By Thegn Eadwynne of Runedun

In Medieval Japan two men came together in a matter of honor. Many have speculated on what that matter was, but in the end it does not matter. It was a matter of honor and that is enough.

The Master, a samurai of renown, and his faithful second arrived at the break of day. The doors of the young man’s home was opened to them and the young man greeted them with a deep bow. Both men were fully dressed, with swords ready at their sides. The Master looked out the window at the long but shortening shadows of early morning, and asked, “Have you eaten?” The young man answered, “Breakfast would make death more welcome.” The Master nodded and said, “I will return when the sun has risen higher.” Both men bowed and the Master and his second left the room.

The young man’s servants rushed to prepare a breakfast, but he would only accept a cup of rice and a small serving of fish. His retainers wept for they knew his opponent was strong, and this was likely to be the last meal they would serve him. When the young man finished, his eldest retainer, tears in his eyes, said, “Your father once said that a man is measured by the sword, both in the giving and in the receiving.” Being reminded of his late father, the young man wanted to join in the tears. But he did not. Instead he began to sing. He sang of the beauty of the seasons, of the sweetness of his mother and the kindness of his father. He sang of a girl whose beauty was that of the blossoms of spring. And he sang of all his hopes and dreams and then bid them all goodbye. For this was his death song.

When the song was ended his servants once again opened the doors. The Master and his retainer re-entered the room. The Master said, “Your song was strong.” The young man replied, “And the silence stronger.” The Master raised an eyebrow and then nodded in agreement. The young man then asked, “You allowed me a courtesy, may I offer you tea?” The Master simply said, “Yoshi!” and knelt down on the floor. The young man dismissed his servants, save for the eldest who remained as his second. The young man blew life into the hearth fire and put on a kettle. The Master removed his katana and set it carefully next to him. The then removed his wakizashi and set it gently to his other side. Just as the kettle reached the boil, the young man removed it from the fire and poured just enough water for two cups into a waiting earthenware bowl. With a large bamboo spoon he withdrew two scoops of ocha and placed it in the bowl. He set down the spoon carefully at his side. He then took up a whisk and frothed the tea until its fragrance filled the air. He then dipped it in water and set it gently to his other side. He then poured the tea into two cups. These cups had been in his family for over one hundred years. They had been uniquely formed on the elbows of a master craftsman. And somewhere in their history they had been broken and then stitched together with finest gold so that the cracks themselves became part of their design. The young man offered one of these cups to the Master.

The Master accepted the cup. They both breathed in deeply of the steam rising. They drank from the cups. The Master then looked deeply at his empty cup, admiring every flaw that made it beautiful. Then he returned the cup. They sat for a long moment in silence. Then together they stood, retrieved their swords, and with their seconds they walked outside.

They both knelt on the ground, and well within sword range they faced each other. Without a word they leapt from the ground. The young man’s left thumb pushed his sword from its sheath, and his right pulled it swiftly forward towards his opponent. It was a move he had practiced every day since childhood. The Master mirrored the move but struck so strongly that the young man’s sword bounced away. The Master then flipped his grip, turning the sword and brought it to his opponent. The young man had no time to think, but dipped the point of his blade and drew up his hands to block. The blow was so strong that the Master’s sword, though stopped, touched the young man’s neck, leaving a thin crimson line of blood. Thus in the very first strokes, first blood been achieved.

The dance continued stroke after stroke. Where some expected that the contest would only last for a few short blows, it lasted instead for ten or perhaps twenty. Sometimes the young man initiated and other times the Master. Then the Master whipped his sword into a great and deadly arc. Rather than block, the young man knelt low. The Master’s blade cut the air above the young man’s head. The young man’s sword dashed quickly forward. The Master’s blade was out of position, so he leaned back away from the attack. The young man’s sword caught him ever so slightly just under the chin, leaving a thin crimson line of blood.

The Master stepped back. He bowed and said, “Honor has been satisfied.” The young man returned the bow and said, “Honor has been satisfied.” They each returned their swords to their scabbards, bowed low to each the other, and walked away in silence.

This is not yet the end of the story. As they walked, the Master’s second observed, “You could have killed him three times or more.” The Master replied, “Each blow I struck would have killed him had he not responded appropriately.” His second continued, “But I saw you slow your hand and angle your blade. And at the end, had you leaned ever so slightly further, he could not have touched you.” The Master smiled and replied, “Had I not accepted that blow, honor would not have been satisfied.” The eyes of the Master’s second opened wide, and then he said, “I understand.” They then continued walking in silence.