by Nogami Yaeko
“Eki-san, I heard that Yamanoue Sōji is probably in Odawara.”
“Sōji is in Odawara?” Rikyū’s response was quick, unlike his usual measured tone. On another day, even Yahei would have noticed the odd reaction, but today his mind was occupied with his Noh meeting.
“Apparently the information came from a monk at Nanshūji Temple who traveled to Kamakura for training,” he told Rikyū casually. “There was a rumor that he met Yamanoue Sōji. Monks don’t lie, so it must be true.”
“I see.” Rikyū recovered quickly, and restrained himself from asking any more. Who was this monk? Did he meet Sōji in Odawara? Yahei was not the person to ask.
Once Yahei had left, Rikyū impatiently sent a servant to Nanshūji Temple, his family temple, where he had studied Zen when he was young. In his message, he told the head monk that he had come back from Jurakudai the day before and he wanted to visit his family grave and also inquire about something. He added that he would appreciate it if the monk would be at the temple the next morning.
Most of the temples were built to the northeast of the city, far away from the center of the town, so they formed a safe retreat if the city was attacked. But Nanshūji Temple was close to Rikyū’s house. Rikyū’s servant hurried to the temple just as the evening bell of the nearby Jyōrakuji Temple struck six. When he finally got back to Rikyū’s house, he told Riki that the head monk, whose name was Jyōteki Oshō, wasn’t there. He had gone to Daitokuji Temple the morning before.
After supper, when Rikyū was alone in the tearoom, Riki conveyed the message.
“I see,” he said. “I guess we missed each other,” he said.
Riki could tell he was troubled by the tone of his voice. The candle near the alcove lit an area of his face smaller than his index finger, leaving the rest of it in deep shadow. She knew that he wasn’t sitting in the tearoom just to sip tea. Usually when he was in one of these moods, she did not enter the room. Rikyū hadn’t invited her in, but he hadn’t asked her to leave, either.
“Since Hideyoshi banished Yamanoue Sōji, he can live anywhere he wants to,” Rikyū told her, as if the thoughts were spilling out of his mind. “Why would he choose Odawara? If Hideyoshi attacks Odawara, Sōji will be in enemy territory.”
He had not been planning to go to Nanshūji Temple the next morning just to visit his family grave. But the next day—not even three days after his arrival—he received a sudden order from Hideyoshi to return to Kyōto. He had missed his chance to see the head monk.
2
Lately, Hideyoshi preferred the newly built Jurakudai in Kyōto to Ōsaka Castle. Although Ōsaka Castle was much grander, its primary function was that of a military fort.
Ōsaka Castle was a symbol of Hideyoshi’s authority over the realm. Home to unique treasures from Japan, China, India, and even Europe, it looked like a museum in some places, but if an attack came, it had to transform quickly into a military headquarters.
The castle was embellished with dazzling flourishes—paintings and sculptures of tigers and cranes, symbolizing courage, invincibility, and a thousand years of prosperity. The highest of the castle’s five stories had railings around its outer walkways. Even though the beautifully painted upper level of the tower shone like a crown, it would become a watchtower if enemies attacked. The tower’s windows—one scalloped around the edges and one rectangular—became the slits through which archers would fire guns and flaming arrows.
Jurakudai, on the other hand, was free from the nightmares of battle. It wasn’t as high as Ōsaka Castle, the stone walls around the turrets were not as massive, and the moat was not as wide, but the defenses were sufficient. Hideyoshi had Chinese-style gates decorated with sculptures built to the north, south, east, and west, giving the entrances a more elegant and pleasant appearance than the usual white walls and black tile roofs.
Hideyoshi had finally subdued Lord Shimazu in Kyūshū, gaining the titles of grand minister of state and imperial regent. Now he wanted to enjoy the peaceful life, and he had built Jurakudai as the embodiment of that desire. At the same time, he had to satisfy his childish vanity, so he built on the site of the former imperial court—but made Jurakudai twice as big.
Every morning he woke up in his European-style bed before the hands of the European silver clock, sitting on an adjacent lacquered shelf, had reached five. The clock had a deep, bowl-shaped oil container that could be burned as a lamp at night. Even as the sun rose, the candlelight still reflected off the round glass cover of the clock face, illuminating the Roman numerals painted inside. The clock was European and exotic, and except for the V and the X, people could easily interpret the numbers. They were the same as Japanese numbers, except the lines were vertical instead of horizontal.
Everything European had become more popular since the ships from Portugal had brought Christianity to Japan’s shores. Even people who weren’t Christian wore crosses or medals with icons of the Virgin Mary. Many lords and wealthy merchants wore Portuguese clothes and wide-brimmed wool hats, carried embroidered linen handkerchiefs, and competed to be more exotic than the next person. The shrewd Catholic priests took advantage of the popularity of European fashion to spread Christianity to the people in power. They imported rare and interesting furniture, utensils, clothing, medicine, candies, cakes, and wines from Europe and used them as gifts.
Hideyoshi’s bed in Jurakudai was also a gift. Its mahogany frame was seven feet long and five feet wide, and decorated with carvings plated in precious metal. The pillow, as wide as the bed, was made of cardinal-red velvet, and the bedcover of woven purple silk with a dragon in gold and silver thread. Next to the bed was a side table—another gift—so that he could easily reach out to grasp his sword.
He had other European beds in Ōsaka Castle, each in a different design, which he had bought from a Portuguese merchant. He liked the one in Jurakudai the best because it was a double bed.
He had several mistresses, both at Jurakudai and in Ōsaka Castle. One of his favorites was Nobunaga’s beautiful niece, Cha Cha.
He treated his women well, especially his wife, who handled household matters. He had vowed to her that even though he had many mistresses, she was his only real partner. He had known her since she was fourteen, and he showed her how much he loved her in many ways. She was the only one who enjoyed the privilege of sleeping with him until morning, and she was the only woman whose room he visited at night.
Next to Hideyoshi’s bedroom was the room where the nun Kōzōsu, the well-respected chief of the female servants, slept. If she was not there, other servants would take her place. Because of the way the rooms were laid out, if one of Hideyoshi’s mistresses came to visit him, the mistress would have to pass through the room where Kōzōsu slept.
As Hideyoshi’s household became more like the imperial court, court customs were increasingly observed. One of those was to have two older female servants present when Hideyoshi was visited by a mistress. They took off her beautiful kimono and replaced it with white silk nightwear, and then helped her back into the kimono when it was time for her to leave. They kept candles lit by the head and the foot of the bed. They had other important duties, also; they recorded which woman came to sleep with Hideyoshi, the time of her arrival, how long the encounter lasted, and what time she left.
All of those private moments had to be public for Hideyoshi. No matter how beautiful the women were, they were merely sexual tools. If a new life started to grow inside them, there had to be a way to know whether or not it was Hideyoshi’s child, because wombs cannot speak.
Hideyoshi didn’t mind if there was someone in the room; he was comfortable in the traditional court costume he had to wear, and he was quite open. However, he slept with only one woman per night. After she left, he would be comfortably tired. Undistracted by the memory of soft skin and the scent of cosmetics, he would stretch his whole body before going back to sleep.
His official rising time was six. When he was young, he had jumped out of bed as soon as he
opened his eyes, but his habits had to change now that he was grand minister of state. Three servants slept just outside the door to his bedroom. Before the two hands of the European clock were straight up and down, he was not supposed to disturb anybody unless he had very urgent business. If he raised his voice even a little bit, Kōzōsu and the servants who slept nearby would wake up, and she would come quickly into his room.
Hideyoshi lay back on the long velvet pillow. With the purple cover pulled up to his chest, he laced his fingers and placed them on top of his head. From start to finish, he spent his days being watched by others. He liked to take time in the morning to be alone. Soon dawn’s light came through the upper half of the scalloped window, passing over the wooden carvings on the transom before it entered the room, pale as moonlight. The metal decorations on the black lacquered beams that latticed the ceiling reflected the light in flashes of gold. Night still lingered in the room. The fading flame in the clock’s oil lamp became a red dot, like a woman’s lips, and the scent of oil blended with the fragrance of incense drifting through the room. Time seemed to take on physical form, the ticking of the clock carving out each second.
He lay without moving but his eyes were wide open. He seemed to be listening quietly to the clock, but he wasn’t really hearing anything. His mind was busy, and the passion of his warrior nature began to fill his body. In those moments, he was purely a warrior, and the fire inside him was so strong that it drowned out everything else.
Japan was too small for his endless thirst for conquest. So far, he had achieved total victory in every battle. For Hideyoshi, to fight was to win. Now he was setting his sights on further shores, dreaming of sending his troops to China and of the glorious victory that would ensue.
First, though, he had to finish the task of uniting Japan. Like scattered grains of mercury drawing together to become one, the flow of his consciousness was concentrated on the day he would attack Lord Hōjō in Odawara.
The flower-petal designs on each wooden ceiling tile and the colorful paintings on the sliding doors became more vivid as the sun inched its way across the room. Hideyoshi could hear the faint sound of the drum on the castle’s northwest turret being struck six times. The drumbeat was an oddly warlike sound in the midst of Jurakudai’s elegance, echoing the way Hideyoshi’s lifestyle had become an uneven mixture of soldier and noble. The sound of the drum marked the beginning of a day that revolved around Hideyoshi.
He got out of bed and got dressed, then went onto the porch of an adjacent room, one facing the garden, to wash his face.
The washing basin was ready and waiting for him. There was an armrest in front of the basin to hold back his long sleeves so they wouldn’t get too close to the water. Using an armrest in this way was a custom among the nobility, as was dyeing his teeth black, shaving his face, and arranging his hair in a particular fashion. Each morning, Hideyoshi’s grooming was taken care of by his waiting maids.
Next, Dr. Genpaku from Jyumyōin Temple came for Hideyoshi’s morning check-up. The doctor took his pulse, checked the color and dryness of his tongue, reached through the wide openings of Hideyoshi’s kimono sleeves to rub his chest and abdomen, and then pronounced him to be in excellent health.
After Hideyoshi’s morning routine was completed, about eight o’clock, breakfast was served. Hideyoshi liked his miso soup so hot that it almost burned his stomach, but the kitchen and the taster were so far away from the room where he ate that the soup was usually lukewarm by the time it arrived. The same was true for the other dishes. The rice was the only food that came prepared to his taste—cooked hard like the millet and wheat he used to eat growing up. Without that, he felt as if he hadn’t eaten anything. Used to living among soldiers and horses, he ate quickly, hardly chewing his rice before he swallowed.
He was slowly reconciling his old warrior’s life with the life of a nobleman. He had finally grown accustomed to his morning routine, although he was just as happy to sleep with his wife so he could be free in the mornings. When he slept with his wife, he went to her quarters, where his servants could not enforce the morning routine. Sometimes he would skip the doctor’s visit and go to Rikyū’s house before breakfast with only three or four attendants. He would claim that it was important business, or that he wanted to surprise Rikyū, although Rikyū saw through those excuses. Hideyoshi just enjoyed breaking the rules. Besides, he didn’t believe in doctors; he thought any sickness could be cured by burning the herb moxa on the skin, a traditional remedy.
Rikyū’s residence in Jurakudai looked like a different world. The low gate had a double-layered tile roof, very different from the gates of the other houses, which were adorned with carvings and bright metals. Inside the gate, Rikyū’s house had the ambience of a temple, quiet and somewhat deserted. The large, formal sitting room had gray walls and a white sliding door; it led into a smaller room that also had gray walls. The only decoration in either room was an inkbrush landscape painting by Hasegawa Tōhaku, a good friend of Rikyū’s, on the paper of the sliding door.
On a cloudy day the grass roof of his teahouse, Fushinan, blended with the sky. The wicket in the tea garden was made out of branches and twigs. The window, the fresh water in the stone basin, the cedar ladle on top—all of those reminded Hideyoshi of the house in Owari, the village where he had grown up. Rikyū’s grasshut tea appealed to that nostalgic memory of the rustic, simple life he had had in that village.
He would take a naughty boy’s pleasure in taking his sandals off and putting them away by himself rather than waiting for a servant to assist him. He savored the unusual experience of crawling through the tiny entrance of the tearoom. Inside, he saw a space filled with strict order, moderation, and an almost nihilistic tranquility. Hideyoshi spent too much time surrounded by splendid artwork, fluttering servants, and bowing and scraping lords and warriors. Even when he asked his followers for good advice, he never got a wise, honest answer. The tearoom offered him a refreshing, simple, private pleasure.
In that tearoom, he was served by the best tea master and drank the finest tea out of a big bowl that was reserved just for him, one with a red-orange glaze with just a hint of green and yellow. If he wanted, he could have breakfast in the tearoom, his special country-style miso soup, piping hot, with radish, taro, and other vegetables. Rikyū would serve him while he ate his breakfast casually.
In the tearoom, where Hideyoshi could satisfy his most primitive desires, he had a feeling of warm affection that went beyond his rivalry with his old tea master, who was fourteen years his senior. It was different from the way he felt when he was taking a lesson or consulting politically with Rikyū.
He never stayed long in Fushinan, however: after ten o’clock he had to attend to political affairs.
A young boy, one of the servants, came into his audience room now. “Ishida-sama is here,” he said in a clear, high voice.
He left, but Ishida Mitsunari did not appear immediately. The palace was large, and it took time to get from the guardroom down the long hallways and through the garden to the audience room.
It was several minutes before Mitsunari finally arrived. He had a slender figure. Distinctively thick eyebrows, perched over long eyes, stood out on his thin, white face. His ears stuck out from below the shiny black hair at his temples, and his sharp Adam’s apple bobbed under the thin flesh of his jaw. He was wearing a flashy outfit, an indigo blue silk kimono with a bellflower crest, short kimono trousers, and a yellow-green satin jacket.
He looked like the nervous type, but there was great dignity in the way he nodded to Hideyoshi’s secretary as he passed by to give his morning greetings to Hideyoshi on his dais. Even though he was only thirty, Mitsunari was the most intelligent of all of Hideyoshi’s entourage, and he had been promoted more quickly than any of Hideyoshi’s other magistrates.
According to the complex system of hierarchy in the court, Mitsunari ranked below Dainagon Hidenaga, Hideyoshi’s younger half-brother, who was respected not only because he wa
s related to Hideyoshi, but because he was a gentle and considerate person. Hideyoshi loved and trusted Hidenaga, and it was well known that Hideyoshi did not make any important decisions without consulting him.
Unfortunately, Hidenaga had tuberculosis and didn’t go to the battlefield, or even outside if he could help it. Mitsunari, on the other hand, was healthy and energetic, and a good fighter. Moreover, he had a talent for management that made him good at his job, and he loved it.
Mitsunari told Hideyoshi that with the successful introduction of copper and silver coins the previous year, they were preparing to issue large and small gold coins as planned. But Hideyoshi was more interested in Mitsunari’s report on how the “sword hunting” had gone in certain provinces. Hideyoshi had ordained that only warriors who were employed by a lord could own weapons, and he had ordered his provincial lords to confiscate weapons from everyone else in an effort to prevent rebellion.
“As we saw last year at Mount Kōya and Tōnomine, the monks and temple workers are being obedient, but we need to be more forceful with the farmers.”
“You need to tighten control in areas where there are a lot of blacksmiths and metal workers,” Hideyoshi responded immediately.
Hoes, sickles, and plows were made everywhere. The same forges that produced them could make weapons, given the opportunity and the right amount of money. Masterless samurai were taking root in the villages and encouraging unrest among the farmers who were discontent with taxation and rice production quotas. Sometimes the farmers would riot, and the masterless samurai would join them.
The purpose of “sword hunting” was to keep the farmers and these masterless samurai apart. Hideyoshi had prohibited farmers from changing their profession or leaving their land. He believed that farmers were permanent, but the masterless samurai were transient. The farmers could be controlled, but the masterless samurai still had their fighting spirit.
