Taiko. Part 89

Mitsuhide had been blessed with an exceptionally large family of seven daughters and twelve sons. Two-thirds of them were married or had been adopted by other families, but several of the younger ones, as well as children of his kinsmen and their grandchildren, were still living at the castle.

His wife, Teruko, always said, "How old will I be when I no longer have to look after children?" She took in the children of clan members who had died in battle and even raised the children her husband had fathered with other women. This gentle, wise woman was contented with her lot, and although she was already fifty, she put up with the children and their mischief.

Since leaving Azuchi, Mitsuhide had not found a comfort equal to being at home, and he slept peacefully that night. Even on the next day, his children's cheerfulness and his faithful wife's smile soothed his heart.

It might be supposed that spending such a night would cause him to change his mind. But he did not waver in the least. On the contrary, he now had the courage to realize an even more secret ambition that lodged in his heart.

Teruko had been with him from the time he had had no lord to serve. Happy with her present estate, she had no other thoughts than to be a mother to her children. Looking at her now, Mitsuhide formed silent words in his breast. Your husband is not going to be like this forever. Everyone will soon be looking up to you as the wife of the next shogun. And as he gazed at the children and other members of his large household, for a moment he was caught up in his own fantasy. I'm going to move you all from this provincial castle to a palace even more elevated than Azuchi. How much happier you will then!

Later that day, Mitsuhide left the castle, accompanied by a few attendants. He was lightly dressed and was not being waited upon by his usual retainers. Though there had been no official announcement, even the soldiers at the castle gate knew that their lord was going to spend the night at Atago Shrine.

Before departing for the west, Mitsuhide was going to the shrine to pray for good luck in battle. Accompanied by a few of his closest friends, he would stay in the shrine to hold a poetry party and would return the following day.

When he said that he was going to a shrine to pray for victory in battle, and that he was inviting some friends from the capital for a party, n.o.body suspected what was really Mitsuhide's mind.

The twenty servants and half a dozen mounted retainers were dressed more lightly than they would have been had they been going hawking. On the day before, the monks of Itokuin Temple and the priests of Atago Shrine had been informed of the visit, so they were waiting to welcome their lord. As soon as he had dismounted, Mitsuhide asked for a monk by the name of Gyoyu.

"Is Shoha coming?" Mitsuhide asked the monk. When Gyoyu replied that the famous poet was already there waiting for him, Mitsuhide exclaimed, "What? Here already? Well, that's perfect. Has he brought other poets from the capital?"

"It seems that Master Shoha had very little time to prepare himself. He received your invitation yesterday evening, and found that whoever he tried to invite was unable to attend at such short notice. Along with his son, Shinzen, he was only able to bring two others: a disciple by the name of Kennyo, and a relative called Shos.h.i.tsu."

"Is that so?" Mitsuhide laughed. "Did he complain? I knew it was an unreasonable request, but after honoring him time and time again by sending palanquins and escorts, this time I thought it would be much more elegant-and more enjoyable-if he was the one who went to some trouble to meet me. That's why I invited him to this place so suddenly. But just as you might expect, Shoha didn't even feign illness. He scurried up the mountain at once."

With the two monks walking ahead and his attendants behind, Mitsuhide climbed a flight of high stone stairs. Just when it seemed as though there would be flat ground to walk on for a while, the stairs would begin again. As they climbed, the dark green of the cypress trees deepened even more, and the dark violet of the summer sky edged into evening. They felt the night approaching quickly. With every step, their skin could feel the sudden drop in temperature; it was considerably colder at the summit than it had been at the foot of the mountain.

"Master Shoha sends his apologies," Gyoyu told Mitsuhide when they had reached the guest room of the temple. "He would have come to meet you, but since he thought you would probably pray first at the temples and shrines on the way, he said he would greet you after your devotions."

Mitsuhide nodded silently. Then, after drinking a cup of water, he asked for a guide. "Before anything else, I'd like to offer a prayer to the patron deity, and then I'll visit the Atago Shrine while there's still some light."

The shrine priest led the way along a neatly swept path. He climbed the stairs of the outer shrine and lit the sacred candles. Mitsuhide bowed low, and stood in prayer for some time. Three times the priest whisked a branch of the sacred tree over Mitsuhide's head, and then offered him an earthen cup of sacred sake.

"I've heard that this shrine is dedicated to the fire G.o.d. Is that true?" Mitsuhide asked afterward.

"That is true, my lord," the priest replied.

"And I've heard that if you pray to this G.o.d and abstain from using fire, your prayers will be answered."

"That has been said since ancient times." The priest avoided giving a clear answer to the question, and turned it back on Mitsuhide. "I wonder how that tradition originated?" Then, changing the subject, he began to talk about the history of the shrine.

Bored by the priest's monologue, Mitsuhide gazed at the holy lamps in the outer shrine. Finally he stood up silendy and descended the stairs. It was already dark when he walked to the Atago Shrine. Leaving the monks, he went alone to the nearby Temple of the Shogun Jizo. There he drew his fortune, but the first lot he pulled predicted bad luck. He drew again, and that one too read "Bad luck." For a moment, Mitsuhide stood as silent as stone. Picking up the box that held the fortunes, he lifted it reverentiy to his forehead, closed his eyes, and drew for the third time. This time the answer was "Great good fortune."

Mitsuhide turned and walked toward his waiting attendants. They had watched him from afar as he drew his fortune, imagining that he was only indulging a fancy. Mitsuhide was, after all, a man who prided himself on his intellect and who was, above all else, rational. He was hardly the kind of man who would use fortune-telling to reach a decision, The flickering lamps of the guest room shone through the young leaves. For Shoha and his fellow poets, it would be a night of grinding ink on the inkstones as they recorded their own verses.

The night's entertainment began with a banquet at which Mitsuhide was the guest of honor. The guests bantered and laughed and drank many rounds of sake, and they were so engrossed in their conversation that they seemed to have forgotten all about poetry.

"The summer nights are short," their host, the abbot, announced. "It's getting late and I'm afraid it's going to be light before we finish our hundred linked verses."

In another room, poetry mats had been arranged. Paper and an inkstone had been set in front of each cushion as though to encourage the partic.i.p.ants to write elegant verses.

Shoha and Shos.h.i.tsu were both accomplished poets. Shoha was regarded affectionately by n.o.bunaga and was on familiar terms with Hideyoshi and the leading tea master of the day. He was a man who had a large circle of acquaintances.

"Well, my lord, would you give us the first verse," Shoha requested.

Mitsuhide, however, did not touch the paper in front of him. His elbow was still on the armrest, and he seemed to be looking out into the darkness of the garden where the leaves were stirring.

"It seems that you're racking your brains for your verse, my lord," Shoha teased Mitsuhide.

Mitsuhide picked up his brush and wrote: The whole country knows The time is now, In the Fifth Month.

At a party like this, once the first verse was composed, the partic.i.p.ants added verses in turn until anywhere from fifty to a hundred linked stanzas had been added. The party had begun with a verse by Mitsuhide. The closing verse that tied the work together was also composed by Mitsuhide: Time for the provinces To be at peace.

After the monks had extinguished the lamps and withdrawn, Mitsuhide appeared to fall asleep immediately. As he finally lay his head on the pillow, the mountain wind outside shook the trees and howled through the eaves of the roof as strangely as if that mythical, long-nosed monster, Tengu, were raising a fearful cry. Mitsuhide suddenly recalled the story he had heard from the priest at the shrine of the fire G.o.d. In his head he imagined Tengu rampaging through the jet black sky.

Tengu gnaws on fire and then flies up into the sky. A huge Tengu, and smaller Tengus without number, turned into fire and mounted the black wind. As the fires fell to earth, the shrine of the fire G.o.d immediately became a ma.s.s of firebrands.

He wanted to sleep. He wanted terribly to sleep. But Mitsuhide was not dreaming; he was thinking. And his brain could not stop the illusion in his mind. He turned over and started to think about the coming day. He knew that on the morrow n.o.bunaga would leave Azuchi for Kyoto.

And then the borderline between wakefulness and dream began to blur. And in this state, the difference between himself and Tengu disappeared. Tengu stood on the clouds and looked over the nation. Everything he saw was to his own advantage. In the west, Hideyoshi was nailed down at Takamatsu Castle, grappling with the armies of the Mori. If he could collude with the Mori and take the advantage, the army under Hideyoshi, which had spent so many wearisome years on the campaign, would be buried in the west and would never again see the capital.

Tokugawa Ieyasu, who was in Osaka, was a clever survivor. Once he saw that n.o.bunga was dead, his att.i.tude would depend entirely on what Mitsuhide offered. Hosokawa Fujitaka would no doubt be momentarily indignant, but his son had married Mitsuhide's daughter, and he had been a devoted friend for many years. He would not be unwilling to cooperate.

Mitsuhide's muscles and blood were tingling. In fact, his ears burned with such intensity that he felt young again. Tengu turned over. Mitsuhide let out a groan.

"My lord?" In the next room, Shoha rose a little and called out, "What's the matter, my lord?"

Mitsuhide was dimly aware of Shoha's question but intentionally gave no answer. Shoha quickly went back to sleep.

The short night was soon over. Upon arising, Mitsuhide bade farewell to the others and descended the mountain while it was still shrouded in a thick morning mist.

On the thirtieth day of the month Mitsuharu arrived at Kameyama and joined forces with Mitsuhide. Members of the Akechi clan had been coming in from the entire province, swelling the already significant army from Sakamoto. Thus the castle town was crowded with horses and men; carts of military supplies jammed every intersection, and the streets had become nearly impa.s.sable. The sun shone down brightly, and it was suddenly almost like midsummer: porters filled the shops and argued with their mouths full of food; outside, the foot soldiers squeezing between the oxcarts yelled back and forth. Along the streets, flies buzzed and swarmed over the droppings left by the horses and oxen.

"Has your health held up?" Mitsuharu asked Mitsuhide.

"Just as you see." Mitsuhide smiled. He was much more amiable than he had been at Sakamoto, and the color had returned to his face.

"When do you plan to leave?"

"I've decided to wait it just a little, until the first day of Sixth Month."

"Well, what about Azuchi?"

"I've informed them, but I think Lord n.o.bunaga is already in Kyoto."

"The report is that he arrived there without incident last night. Lord n.o.butada is staying at the Myokaku Temple, while Lord n.o.bunaga is at the Honno Temple."

"Yes, I've heard that." Mitsuhide's words trailed off into silence.

Mitsuharu suddenly got up. "I haven't seen your wife and children for a long time. Perhaps I'll go pay my respects."

Mitsuhide watched his cousin walk away. A moment later he looked as though his chest were so congested that he could neither spit nor swallow.

Two rooms away, Mitsuhide's retainer Saito Toshimitsu was conferring with other generals, studying military charts and discussing tactics. He left the room to talk with Mitsuhide.

"Are you going to send the supply train to the Sanin ahead of us?"

"The supply train? Hm... well, we don't need to send it ahead."

Suddenly Mitsuhide's uncle, Chokansai, who had just now arrived with Mitsuharu, looked in.

"Hey, he's not here. Where did the lord of Sakamoto go? Anybody here know?"

He looked around, goggle-eyed. Although he was an old man, he was so sunny and cheerful that he drove others to distraction. Even if the generals were about to leave on a campaign, Chokansai seemed as cheerful as usual. He turned in another direction. When he casually showed up at the ladies' apartments in the citadel, however, the women and their many children ran up to him.

"Oh, Lord Jester has come!" the children cried.

"Lord Jester! When did you get here?"

Whether he stood or sat, the happy voices around him did not cease.

"Are you staying overnight, Lord Jester?"

"Lord Jester, have you eaten yet?"

"Lift me up, Lord Jester!"

"Sing us a song!"

"Show us a dance!"

They jumped up on his lap. They played with him. They clung to him. They looked into his ears.

"Lord Jester! There's hair growing out of your ears!"

"One, two."

"Three, four." Singing out the numbers, little girls pulled out the hairs while a little boy sat astride his back, pushing down his old head.

"Play horsy! Play horsy and whinny!"

Chokansai crawled around submissively, and when he suddenly sneezed, the little boy fell off his back. The ladies-in-waiting and attendants laughed so hard they held their sides.

Even as night fell, the laughter and hubbub did not stop. The atmosphere of the ladies' apartments was as different from that of Mitsuhide's room in the main citadel as a meadow in spring might be from a snow-covered moor.

"Uncle, now that you're getting on in years," Mitsuharu said, "I'd be grateful if you'd stay here and take care of the family rather than coming with us on the campaign. I think I should tell our lord that."

Chokansai looked at his nephew and laughed. "My final role may have to be something like that. These little ones just won't leave me alone." Night had fallen, and they were badgering him to tell them one of his famous stories.

This was the last day left before the departure for the campaign. Mitsuharu had expected that there would be a general conference that evening, but as the main citadel was quiet, he went over to the second citadel and slept.

The next day Mitsuharu waited in antic.i.p.ation all day, but no orders were forthcoming. Even when night fell, there was no movement in the main citadel. When he sent one his retainers to ask about the situation, the answer came back that Mitsuhide had already gone to bed and was asleep. Mitsuharu was suspicious, but there was nothing he could do except go to sleep himself.

At about midnight Mitsuharu was awakened by the sound of whispering coming from the guardroom two doors down the hallway. Footsteps approached, and the door of his room slid open noiselessly.

"What is it?" Mitsuharu asked.

The guard, who must have thought Mitsuharu would be asleep, hesitated for a moment. Then he hurriedly prostrated himself and said, "Lord Mitsuhide is waiting for you in the main citadel."

Mitsuharu got up and began to dress; he asked what time it was.

"The first half of the Hour of the Rat," the guard replied.

Mitsuharu went out into the ink-black corridor. When he saw that Saito Toshimitsu was kneeling by the doorway, waiting for him, Mitsuharu wondered what the reason was for this unexpected summons in the middle of the night.

Toshimitsu walked ahead, holding a candle. They met no one during their long walk down the winding corridor. Almost everyone was peacefully asleep in the main citadel but an unusual atmosphere permeated this one part of the building, and it seemed that men were up and about in two or three rooms.

"Where is His Lordship?"

"In his sleeping quarters."

Toshimitsu put out the candle at the entrance to the corridor leading to Mitsuhide's bedroom. With a look, he invited Mitsuharu to enter, and opened the heavy door. As soon as Mitsuharu had gone in, Toshimitsu shut the door behind him. It was only from the farthest room in the corridor-Mitsuhide's bedroom-that the faint light of a lamp leaked out.

When Mitsuharu looked into the room, he could see neither attendants nor pages. Mitsuhide was alone, dressed in a summer kimono of white gauze, his long sword beside him, his hand on an armrest at his side.

The light of the lamp was particularly pale because it was filtered through the green gossamer mosquito netting that hung around Mitsuhide. When he slept, the netting surrounded him on all four sides, but now the front was held up by a strip of bamboo.

"Come in, Mitsuharu," Mitsuhide said.

"What is this all about?" his cousin asked, after kneeling in front of Mitsuhide.

"Mitsuharu, would you risk your life for me?"

Mitsuharu knelt in silence, looking as though he had forgotten how to speak. Mitsuhide's eyes were ablaze with a strange light. His question had been simple and direct-the very words Mitsuharu had been afraid of hearing since Sakamoto. Now Mitsuhide had finally spoken, and though Mitsuharu was not surprised, the blood in his veins felt as though it had turned into ice.

"Are you against me, Mitsuharu?"

Still he did not answer. Mitsuhide, too, fell silent. His face displayed a certain paleness that was not due to the green netting or the guttering of the lamp, but to the reflection of some emotion in his heart.

Mitsuharu knew, almost by intuition, that Mitsuhide had prepared a contingency plan to use if he opposed him. Built into the wall beyond the mosquito netting, in the corner of a large alcove, was a secret chamber that could conceal an armed man. The flecks of gold on the surface of the hidden door shone ominously, as if glinting with the bloodthirsty intent of the hidden a.s.sa.s.sin.

To Mitsuharu's right was a large sliding door. He could hear nothing from behind it, but he could sense the presence of Saito Toshimitsu and several other men who had their weapons drawn, just waiting for Mitsuhide's word. Mitsuharu could not resent Mitsuide's heartless and underhanded behavior; pity came before that. Had the intelligent man he had known since his youth disappeared? He felt as though he were looking at nothing but the wreck of that man now.

"Mitsuharu, what is your answer?" Mitsuhide asked, edging closer.

Mitsuharu felt his cousin's hot breath burning like the fever of a sick man. "Why do you want me to risk my life?" he finally asked in reply. He knew very well what Mitsuhide was planning to do, so he was now deliberately feigning ignorance. He held on to the hope that somehow he could pull his cousin back from the brink.

At Mitsuharu's words, the veins on Mitsuhide's temples stood out even more. His voice became unusually husky as he said, "Mitsuharu, don't you know that something has been gnawing at me since I left Azuchi?"