Taiko. Part 88

As proof, Shinshi cited the military command given to Mitsuhide by n.o.bunaga on the nineteenth day of the month, and then he turned away in a fury. He need not have explained. The order had angered Mitsuhide and every one of his retainers. It read as follows: In order for you to act as rear guard in b.i.t.c.hu, you should set out from your own province in the next few days and thereby precede me to the battlefield. There you should wait for Hideyoshi's instructions.

This letter, circulated to all the generals and retainers of the Oda clan, was clearly written under n.o.bunaga's direction, so when it was brought to the warriors of the Akechi clan, their anger moved them to tears of rage. It had been customary to consider the Akechi clan superior to the Ikeda and the Hori, and as on the same level as Hideyoshi's Hashiba and the Shibata. Nevertheless, their lord's name had been recorded beneath those commanders' names in addition to his being put under Hideyoshi's command.

A lack of respect for one's rank was the greatest insult to a samurai. The shame of the banquet incident had been compounded in a military order. The men were outraged once again. By that time it was twilight, and the setting sun played over the walls. No one spoke, but tears stained the men's cheeks. Just then, the footsteps of several samurai could be heard in the corridor. Guessing that their lord was now returning, the men all scrambled out to meet him.

Only Shinshi, still in his travel clothes, held back waiting to be summoned. Mitsuhide, who had just returned from Mount Hiei, did not call Shinshi until after he had taken a bath and eaten.

No one was with him at that time but Mitsuharu, and Shinshi delivered a report that he had not given to the other retainers, which was that n.o.bunaga had made his decision and was preparing to set out from Azuchi on the twenty-ninth of the month. He would spend one night in Kyoto and then immediately go west.

Mitsuhide listened attentively. His eyes reflected his clear and observant intellect. He nodded at Shinshi's every word.

"How many will be accompanying him?" he asked.

"He will be accompanied by a few retainers and thirty or forty pages."

"What! He'll be going to Kyoto with so small an entourage?"

Mitsuharu had remained quietly in the background, but now that Mitsuhide, too, had sunk into silence, he dismissed Shinshi.

After Shinshi left, Mitsuharu and Mitsuhide were alone. Mitsuhide looked as though he wanted to open his heart to his cousin, but in the end, Mitsuharu did not give him the chance. Instead, Mitsuharu spoke of loyalty to n.o.bunaga and urged Mitsuhide to hasten to the western provinces so as not to offend his lord.

The upright character his cousin displayed was characterized by a strong and loving quality upon which Mitsuhide had relied for the last forty years, and he had faith in him now as the most dependable man in his clan. Therefore, even though Mitsuharu's att.i.tude was not in tune with Mitsuhide's own innermost feelings, he was unable to be angry with him or try to pressure him.

After some moments of utter silence Mitsuhide suddenly said, "Let's send an advance party tonight to my retainers at Kameyama and have them prepare for the campaign as quickly as possible. Would you arrange that, Mitsuharu?"

Mitsuharu stood up happily.

That night, a small party of men hurried toward Kameyama Castle.

At about the fourth watch, Mitsuhide suddenly sat up. Had he been dreaming? Or had he been considering something and had decided against it? A little while later he pulled the coverlet over himself again, buried his face in the pillow, and tried to get back sleep.

Was it mist or rain? The sound of the waves in the lake, or the wind blowing down Mount Hiei? The wind from the mountain did not stop playing through the eaves of the mansion all night. Although it did not find its way inside, the candle at Mitsuhide's pillow flickered as though it were being shaken by an evil spirit.

Mitsuhide turned over. Although it was the season of short nights, to him it seemed that the morning was long in coming. Finally, just as his breathing had become deep and even, once again he suddenly pushed away his covers and sat up with a start.

"Is anyone there?" he called toward the pages' quarters.

Sliding doors were opened far away. The page on night watch silently entered and prostrated himself.

"Tell Matabei to come right away," Mitsuhide ordered.

Everyone in the samurai quarters was asleep, but as several of Mitsuhide's retainers had left for Kameyama the previous evening, those who had stayed behind were tense, not knowing when their lord, Mitsuhide, might himself depart. Each man had gone to bed that evening with his traveling clothes next to his pillow.

"Did you summon me, my lord?"

Yomoda Matabei had quickly appeared. He was a robust young man who had caught Misuhide's eye. Mitsuhide motioned him closer and whispered an order to him.

Upon receiving secret orders from Mitsuhide, the young man's face registered strong emotion.

"I'll go at once!" he answered, responding to his lord's trust with his entire being.

"You'll be recognized as an Akechi samurai, so go quickly-before dawn breaks. Have your wits about you, and don't blunder."

After Matabei had withdrawn, there was still some time before it would begin to grow light and it was only now that Mitsuhide was able to sleep soundly. Contrary to his usual practice, he did not leave his room until broad daylight. Many of his retainers had guessed that the departure for Kameyama would take place that day and had expected an early announcement to that effect. They were quite surprised when they discovered that their lord was sleeping so uncommonly late.

At about noon, Mitsuhide's relaxed voice could be heard in the hall.

"I spent the entire day walking around the mountain yesterday and slept better last night than I have for a long time. Maybe that's why I feel so good today. I seem to have completely recovered from my cold."

A look of congratulations that might as well have reflected on their own improved health circulated among his retainers. Soon after that Mitsuhide issued a command to his attendants.

"This evening in the second half of the Hour of the Rooster, we will depart Sakamoto, cross the Shirakawa River, pa.s.s through northern Kyoto, and return to Kameyama. Make sure that all of the preparations are complete."

More than three thousand warriors were to accompany him to Kameyama. Evening was approaching, Mitsuhide dressed in his traveling clothes and then went to find Mitsuharu.

"Since I will be going to the western provinces, I have no idea when I will be back. This evening I'd like to sit down and eat dinner with you and your family."

And so they were once again altogether as a family circle until Mitsuhide departed.

The eldest person at the banquet was Mitsuhide's eccentric uncle, Chokansai, a man who had taken holy orders. Sixty-six years old that year and free from any illness, he was given to telling jokes. He sat next to Mitsuharu's seven-year-old son, teasing him good-naturedly.

But the sociable old man was the only one who smiled from beginning to end. Ignorant of the hidden reefs now threatening the Akechi clan, he simply entrusted his remaining years to the ship that pa.s.sed over the spring sea, and looked as peaceful as ever.

"It's so lively here, I feel as though I've returned home again. Old man, give this cup to Mitsutada."

Mitsuhide had already drunk two or three cups and now pa.s.sed the cup on to Chokansai, who in turn handed it to Mitsutada.

Mitsutada was the commander of Hachijo Castle and so had just arrived today. He was the youngest of the three cousins.

Mitsutada drank the sake and, moving over in front of Mitsuhide, returned the cup to him. Mitsuharu's wife held the sake bottle and poured, and just at that moment Mitsuhide's hand began to tremble in alarm. Ordinarily he was not the kind of man to be surprised by a sound, but now, as a warrior started to beat a drum in front of the castle, the color seemed to recede slightly from his face.

Chokansai turned to Mitsuhide and said, "It will soon be the Hour of the Rooster, so that must be the drum summoning your troops to the a.s.sembly ground."

Mitsuhide's mood seemed to sink even more. "I know," he said in what sounded like a bitter tone of voice, and he drained the last cup.

He was mounted within the hour. Beneath a sky of pale stars, three thousand men carrying torches left the lakeside castle in a meandering line and disappeared into the foothills of Shimeigatake. It was the evening of the twenty-sixth.

From the top of the castle Mitsuharu watched them go. He would form a regiment made up only of retainers from Sakamoto, and go on to join the main army at Kameyama later.

The army under Mitsuhide walked on without stopping. It was exactly midnight when the men looked from just south of Shimeigatake and saw the sleeping city of Kyoto.

To cross the Shirakawa River, they would descend the ridge of Mount Uriyu and come out on the road south of the Ichijo Temple. They had been climbing steadily, but from that point on the path would be all downhill.

"Take a rest!"

Mitsutada pa.s.sed Mitsuhide's command on to the troops.

Mitsuhide dismounted as well and rested for a short while. If it had been daytime, he would have been able to look out over the various streets of the capital. But now the contours of the city were sunk in darkness, and only the distinctive features of the temple roofs and paG.o.das and the large river could be distinguished.

"Hasn't Yomoda Matabei overtaken us?"

"I haven't seen him since last night. Did you send him off on some mission, my lord?"

"That's right."

"Where did he go?"

"You'll know soon enough. If he comes back, send him to me. Even if we're en route."

"Yes, my lord."

In the second he fell silent, Mitsuhide's eyes were again looking eagerly out over the black roofs of the capital. Perhaps because the night mist would keep thickening and then thinning out, or because his eyes were becoming used to the night, he was gradually able to distinguish the buildings in the capital. The white walls of the Nijo Palace were brighter than anything else.

Naturally, Mitsuhide's gaze was captured by this one white point. It was there that n.o.bunaga's son, n.o.butada, was staying. There also was Tokugawa Ieyasu, who had left Azuchi some days before and gone to the capital.

Lord Ieyasu has probably left the capital already, Mitsuhide thought.

Finally he quickly stood up, making all his generals jump.

"Let's go. My horse."

The dismay of his subordinates was like a wave that rippled out from the fitful actions of his isolated mind. For the last few days he had periodically secluded himself from his retainers, and he had behaved more like an orphan than like the leader of a samurai clan.

Although the soldiers who followed Mitsuhide had difficulty finding their way in the dark-surrounding him and yelling warnings back and forth-they gradually descended and approached the outskirts of the capital.

When the line of three thousand men and horses arrived at the Kamo River and paused momentarily, the soldiers all turned and looked to the rear, and Mitsuhide did the same: having observed the red waves on the river, they knew that the morning sun was rising over the ridges behind them.

The officer in charge of the army's provisions came up to Mitsutada and asked him about breakfast. "Shall we make the morning's preparations here or go on to Nishijin?"

Mitsutada was going to ask Mitsuhide what his intentions were, but at that moment Yomoda Masataka had pulled his horse alongside of Mitsuhide's, and the two men seemed to be gazing steadily at the Shirakawa, which they had crossed. Mitsutada held back for a moment.

"Masataka, is that Matabei?"

"I believe it is."

Mitsuhide and Masataka were watching a horseman hurriedly approaching through the morning mist.

"Matabei." While Mitsuhide waited right where he was for the man he had been expecing, he turned and spoke to the commanders around him. "Go ahead and cross the river. I'll follow you momentarily."

The advance guard had already waded across the shallows of the Kamo to the far bank. As the other commanders left Mitsuhide's side, their horses kicked up a white foam in the middle of the clear water. One by one they crossed the stream.

Mitsutada took this opportunity to ask, "Where shall we have our meal? Would it be convenient to have it at Nishijin?"

"Everyone's stomach must be empty, but we shouldn't stop in the city limits. Let's go as far as Kitano," Mitsuhide replied.

At a distance of about twenty yards, the approaching Yomoda Matabei dismounted and wound his horse's reins around a piling in the riverbed.

"Mitsutada and Masataka, the two of you cross the river as well, and wait for me on the other side. I'll follow soon."

After these last two men had gone some distance, Mitsuhide turned in the direction of Matabei for the first time and beckoned him over with a look.

"Yes, my lord!"

"What's going on in Azuchi?"

"The report you heard previously from Amano Genemon seems to be without error."

"The reason I sent you a second time was to get positive information on Lord n.o.bunaga's departure for the capital on the twenty-ninth, and on what kind of force he was taking with him. To give me some vague response about there being no mistakes in a former report is worthless. Make a clear report: was it reliable information or not?"

"It is certain that he will leave Azuchi on the twenty-ninth. I couldn't get the names of the main generals who will accompany him, and it was announced that forty or fifty pages and close attendants will be with him."

"What about his lodgings in the capital?"

"He'll be at the Honno Temple."

"What! The Honno Temple?

"Yes, my lord."

"Not Nijo Palace?"

"All of the reports said that he would be staying at the Honno Temple," Matabei answered quite clearly, careful to avoid being scolded again.

The Shrine of the Fire G.o.d There was a huge gate at the very center of the compound's mud wall, and each of the sub-temples had its own enclosure and gate. The pine forest seemed to have been swept clean, and itself looked like a Zen garden. Birdsong, and the sunlight streaming through the treetops, added to the peace of the scene.

After tethering their horses, Mitsuhide and his retainers ate the meals they had packed for both breakfast and lunch. Although they had planned on having breakfast near the Kamo River, they had waited to eat until they had arrived at Kitano.

The soldiers carried a day's worth of provisions: a simple meal of uncooked bean paste, pickled plums, and brown rice. They had not eaten since the night before, and they now breakfasted happily.

Three or four monks from the nearby Myoshin Temple, who had recognized the men as members of the Akechi clan, had invited them into the temple compound.

Mitsuhide was sitting on a camp stool in the shadow of the curtain his attendants had set up. He had finished his meal and was dictating a letter to his secretary.

"The priests of the Myoshin Temple... they'd make perfect messengers! Call them back!" he ordered a page. When the priests had returned, Mitsuhide entrusted them with the letter his secretary had just written. "Would you please take this letter quickly to the residence of the poet Shoha?"

Immediately afterward he got up and walked back to his horse, telling the monks, "I'm afraid that we have no spare time on this trip. I'll have to forgo meeting the abbot. Please give him my regards."

The afternoon grew hot. The road to Saga was extraordinarily dry, and the horses' hooves kicked clouds of dust into the air. Mitsuhide rode in silence, thinking through a plan in his characteristically careful way, weighing its feasibility, the likely public reaction, and the possibility of failure. Like a horsefly that always comes back no matter how often it is brushed away, the scheme had become an obsession that Mitsuhide could not drive from his mind. A nightmare had sneaked into him and filled his entire body with poison. He had already lost his power to reason.

In all of his fifty-four years, Mitsuhide had never relied on his own wisdom the way he was doing now. Although objectively he would have had every reason to doubt his own judgment, subjectively he felt exactly the opposite. I haven't made the smallest mistake, Mitsuhide said to himself. No one could suspect what's on my mind.

While he had been in Sakamoto, he had wavered: Should he go ahead with the plan or sc.r.a.p it? But this morning, when he heard the second report, his hair had suddenly stood on end. In his heart he had resolved that the time was now, and that heaven had sent him this opportunity. n.o.bunaga, accompanied by only forty or fifty lightly armed men, was staying at the Honno Temple in Kyoto. The demon that possessed Mitsuhide whispered to him that it was a unique opportunity.

His decision was not a positive act of his own will, but rather a reaction to external circ.u.mstances. Men like to believe that they live and act according to their own wills, but the grim truth is that outside events actually stir them to action. So while Mitsuhide believed that heaven was his ally in the present opportunity, part of him was beset by the fear as he rode along the road to Saga that heaven really was judging his every action.

Mitsuhide crossed the Katsura River and arrived at Kameyama Castle in the evening just as the sun dropped below the horizon. Having been informed of their lord's return the townspeople of Kameyama welcomed him home with bonfires that lit up the night sky. He was a popular ruler who had won the affection of the people as a result of his wise administration.

The number of days in a year that Mitsuhide spent with his family could be counted on the fingers of one hand. During long campaigns, he might not come home for two or three years. For that reason, those rare days he could be at home were animated by the delight of seeing his wife and children, and being a husband and father.