Hideyoshi and Rikyū

by Nogami Yaeko

  Mitsunari also informed Hideyoshi that Lord Hōjō in Odawara was inviting masterless samurai from other provinces to come and serve him.

  “You may have heard about this already. Hōjō Ujimasa is taking advantage of the fact that you’re still negotiating with him to prepare for war against us. He’s extended the fortifications around his castle with a field of spiked poles to prevent the cavalry from coming too close, and the trenches have been redone. He’s not allowing arms, food, or even cotton thread or cloth to be taken out of his territory. He’s also counted the number of farmers, merchants, and craftsmen in case he needs them to fight for him. Those are just a rabble, nothing to worry about. But the masterless samurai are still warriors.”

  “That’s fine. The world is as kind as it is cruel.” Hideyoshi gave a short, dry laugh, as he always did when he was pretending not to be concerned.

  Mitsunari watched him intently with his narrow, sharp eyes. Even though Hideyoshi’s laugh held no humor, he didn’t look seriously angry. But when Mitsunari started to talk about Yamanoue Sōji, Hideyoshi’s face turned indignant.

  “What! Is Sōji in Odawara?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I believe that it’s true, since I heard it from Maeda Gen’i.”

  Maeda Gen’i was the magistrate in charge of Kyōto’s temples and shrines, and Mitsunari stressed that Gen’i was a reliable source of information. What Mitsunari told Hideyoshi was more than Rikyū had heard from Yahei. Apparently, the monk from Nanshūji Temple who had brought the news about Sōji to Kyōto had traveled from Kamakura and stopped by Ryūtakuji Temple in Mishima, which was famous as a center of the Rinzai sect of Zen Buddhism. He had gone to a tea gathering at the temple, and among the guests from Odawara, he had seen Yamanoue Sōji, who was invited because of his status as a well-known tea teacher locally. The monk hadn’t had much time to talk, but Sōji had stopped him to ask about the grand tea gathering at Kitano Shrine three years before. He had listened as if he wanted to absorb the information with his whole body.

  The gathering at Kitano had been beyond grand. Hideyoshi’s invitation had been a decree with seven clauses. He intended to ensure that no one had ever seen such a gathering before. First, Hideyoshi would show his entire collection of famous utensils to serious practitioners of tea ceremony. Second, all serious practitioners of tea ceremony, including warriors’ attendants, townspeople, and farmers, had to bring a kettle, a well bucket, and a drinking bowl. Third, those without powdered green tea would be accepted if they brought powdered roasted rice and parched salt. Fourth, the invitation was not limited to Japan, but extended to everyone who had a passion for tea ceremony, even people on the continent. Fifth, since Hideyoshi in his compassion had invited everyone, anyone who did not attend the gathering would not be permitted to make any type of tea, even tea made of powdered roasted rice. Sixth, anyone who visited the people who failed to attend would be punished. Seventh, Hideyoshi would personally prepare tea for all people who understood tea ceremony, even the ones from distant places.

  The Kitano tea gathering was supposed to last for ten days, but because of a riot in Saga—an area that Hideyoshi had granted to a warrior named Sassa Narimasa—the gathering ended after only one day. Nevertheless, about eight hundred people came on that day, and the same number of tea huts were lined up along the pine trees, each one containing famous tea utensils. Hideyoshi also set up four tearooms at the main shrine, and had Rikyū, Tsuda Sōgyū, and Imai Sōkyū make tea. He visited each tea setting, even the humble ones among the pine trees. Stories about this event had spread to the farthest villages.

  Yamanoue Sōji understood better than anybody that the event was more Rikyū’s doing than Hideyoshi’s. If Sōji had been there, he could have helped with the planning, shared creative ideas, or helped to cook up some other interesting scheme. Now he lived in a remote village, and those famous utensils—the kettle named Otogoze, the tea storage jars that cost forty koku, the slender flower containers, the Narashiba tea containers, the Korean tea bowls—were as distant as the moon and the stars. He longed for their dignity, beauty, and value, and wished he could see them again while he was alive. One can imagine how Yamanoue Sōji, exiled to Odawara, felt when he heard the monk’s account of the Kitano tea gathering.

  Of all Rikyū’s disciples, Sōji had kept the best records of tea gatherings, and wrote his remarks and impressions about each utensil in detail. His grief at missing the gathering in Kitano, and his helplessness because of his exile, were even greater than when he had heard about the death of his wife, whom he had left in Sakai.

  Hideyoshi had not forgotten about Sōji, who was so stubborn in his views about tea that he challenged even Rikyū. Sōji’s passion for and skill at tea ceremony were greater than any of Hideyoshi’s other tea practitioners. It was understandable that he showed such a keen desire to hear about Kitano. It must have been his most tragic moment.

  The wrinkles on Hideyoshi’s forehead did not disappear as he questioned Mitsunari as sharply as if Mitsunari were Sōji himself. “Is Sōji working as a town tea teacher, or is he employed by Hōjō Ujimasa?”

  “I am not sure. But I’ve heard that tea ceremony is very popular in Odawara. Considering that the Hōjōs have been preparing for war against you, and since they know you’re punishing Sōji, Ujimasa and his son might try to elevate their status by paying Sōji more than you paid him.”

  He watched Hideyoshi carefully as he spoke. Mitsunari’s voice could be rough and low on occasion, but it never got high or loud, even when he was upset. His answer was clever, as usual, and it cut through Hideyoshi’s consciousness. It was the second time Sōji had been exiled. While the first time was only a small incident, and it didn’t take him long to be forgiven and return to Hideyoshi’s service, this time the offense was far more serious.

  It had all started when Lord Maeda Toshiie in Kaga province had said he wanted to donate a piece of land worth one hundred koku to Daitokuji Temple as the price of a religious service for his deceased father. But it had been some time since the service had taken place, and Toshiie still had not made good on his promise. Sōji was asked by a tea friend and a monk who worked in the accounting section at Daitokuji Temple to be an intermediary and arrange for Toshiie to transfer the land. Fortunately, one of Sōji’s tea friends happened to have a cordial relationship with Toshiie, so Sōji had gone to Kaga with the friend to negotiate on behalf of the temple. Sōji and his friend had successfully arranged for the donation, and Toshiie had asked the two of them to be his agents in handling the transaction.

  This had happened four years ago, when Hideyoshi had just established his control over Shikoku, and was in the midst of fighting Lord Sassa in Etchū province. At that time, even Rikyū’s salary was only one thousand koku per year, and Sōji’s was only one hundred. Sōji had always believed that tea ceremony and Zen were one, and it made him unhappy that Rikyū and the other tea practitioners had to serve Hideyoshi. But he realized that he himself could not escape the same fate, because he relied on the extra income as much as the others. In this case, however, acting as Toshiie’s agent brought unexpected misfortune. Hideyoshi could not accept that Sōji had performed a service for another lord. Even though the circumstances were explained carefully to Hideyoshi, Sōji was exiled again. His friend, who was also employed by Hideyoshi, lost half his salary.

  If it was true that Sōji served Lord Hōjō, Hideyoshi would be furious. With Hideyoshi’s rise in status, the amount that he paid his tea masters had doubled or tripled. If Lord Hōjō knew that Sōji had received a salary of only one hundred koku from Hideyoshi and was deliberately paying him more, as Mitsunari speculated, it would be an insult to Hideyoshi. He couldn’t shrug that off with “The world is as kind as it is cruel” anymore.

  The muscles under Hideyoshi’s cheekbones stiffened, and he pursed his lips until his neatly trimmed, soft, black mustache touched the tip of his nose. Looking up and seeing his express
ion, Mitsunari continued to speak, keeping his voice casual, as if the topic were unimportant.

  “You know, Rikyū must have known about this.”

  “You mean, from Sōji?”

  “Yes. Their relationship as teacher and disciple was very close. It would be strange if they hadn’t corresponded these past few years.”

  “Hmmm.” Hideyoshi’s voice sounded as if it was coming out of his beard. His utterance could have been either positive or negative. Mitsunari’s hypothesis made sense, as usual, but Hideyoshi trusted Rikyū. If Rikyū had known where Sōji was, he would have told Hideyoshi.

  Rikyū knew that Hideyoshi’s anger was always short-lived, and so if Rikyū had known that Sōji was in Odawara, he would have begged Hideyoshi to forgive Sōji so that Sōji would not be trapped behind enemy lines during the impending attack. The fact that Rikyū hadn’t asked Hideyoshi to forgive Sōji surely meant that Rikyū didn’t know where Sōji was.

  On the other hand, what was this new information? The news had come through a monk at Nanshūji Temple, Rikyū’s family temple, where he had close ties to the monks. Surely Rikyū must have heard about this before Mitsunari and Maeda Gen’i?

  At that moment a brilliant idea occurred to Hideyoshi, as sudden as a galloping horse changing direction in mid-stride: he would use Rikyū in a political stratagem against Odawara, just as he had done a year ago when he attacked Lord Shimazu Yoshihisa in Kyūshū.

  Rikyū had been acquainted with Ijyūin Tadamune, one of Lord Shimazu’s principal retainers. Tadamune and Rikyū had met through tea practice, and Tadamune had been a great admirer of Rikyū’s. Lord Shimazu had learned through Tadamune that Rikyū was not only Hideyoshi’s tea instructor, but also his political advisor. So whenever Lord Shimazu had sent diplomatic gifts to Hideyoshi, he had also sent generous gifts to Rikyū, and would ask Rikyū to intercede with Hideyoshi on his behalf.

  Lord Shimazu had been the most powerful lord in Kyūshū and was close to controlling the entire region. His main rival was Lord Ōtomo, one of Hideyoshi’s allies. Hideyoshi thought that if he supported Ōtomo and enabled Ōtomo to gain control of Kyūshū, Ōtomo would submit to Hideyoshi’s authority, and Hideyoshi would control Kyūshū by extension. Hideyoshi gave Lord Shimazu an ultimatum: submit to Hideyoshi’s authority, or Hideyoshi would put his military weight behind Ōtomo, and Shimazu would lose everything. At the same time that Hideyoshi sent this ultimatum, he told Rikyū to write a letter to Tadamune asking Tadamune to urge Shimazu to submit. Even though Shimazu ultimately refused to bow to Hideyoshi, the connection with Tadamune had given Hideyoshi insight into what was happening with Shimazu’s family. It wasn’t the first time Hideyoshi had used this type of negotiation; he applied this strategy in many situations.

  Hideyoshi had already used his ally, Lord Tokugawa Ieyasu, whose daughter had married into the Hōjō family and could give them inside information on what was happening in Odawara. Hideyoshi could also make use of Rikyū’s tea connections, although until now he hadn’t thought of a good way to do so. But it might be convenient that Sōji was working for Hōjō.

  Hideyoshi winked and smiled mischievously, signaling that he was cheerful again. He rubbed his upper lip with his index finger and studied Mitsunari’s pale, thin face and thick eyebrows. Hideyoshi wasn’t going to tell him his plan right away, and not just because Maeda Gen’i, Asano Nagamasa, Mashita Nagamori, and Natsuka Masaie had just come into the room. Hideyoshi saw the ill will and jealousy that Mitsunari and these other high-ranking retainers had for Rikyū. Suddenly, he was looking forward to seeing his brother, whom he hadn’t seen in a while, but would visit this afternoon.

  Hidenaga had been sick in bed for two weeks. The thin veins in his temples betrayed his declining health, as did his feverish red cheeks. He had a beardless face and fine, fair skin, like a woman’s, his features more regal than Hideyoshi’s.

  When he heard his brother’s plan, he tilted his long face slightly. “Do you think we can get a message to Sōji?”

  “If we use a spy who travels frequently between Odawara, Ōsaka, and Kyōto, he will not arouse suspicion with the border guards, and we can easily get a letter from Rikyū to Sōji. It’s convenient for us that one of the monks at Mishima Temple likes tea.”

  “I’m not concerned about that. I wonder if Sōji will respond to us. He’s so stubborn. And Rikyū might hesitate to write the letter.”

  Hideyoshi licked his lower lip, showing his distinctive red tongue. He showed no sign of disappointment as he listened, but his eyes shifted from his brother to the nearby folding screen painted by Sanraku.

  On one side of the screen there was a blue-green painting of an old pine tree, and the other side had a wisteria branch reaching over the pine tree, an image taken from an old poem. The gold screen was filled with bunches of wisteria, like a sheet of flowers. Hideyoshi remembered another time the screen had been used: a spring evening at Ōsaka Castle, before Jurakudai had been built. Hideyoshi had wanted to enjoy the arrival of spring, so he had gathered tea masters to talk about tea utensils. As always, they began by talking about the art collection of the Ashikaga shōgunate, which was still revered as the epitome of Chinese aesthetics, and meandered into a discussion of tea bowls. They talked about the wonder of making tea bowls, how even though a craftsman used the same kiln, the same clay, and the same glaze, each bowl emerged differently. The color, the surface, the texture, the glaze, everything was unique, as if born with a mysterious life of its own. As they talked, the masters were all careful not to bring up black tea bowls, the same way they might purposefully avoid a puddle in the street. For some reason, Hideyoshi had never liked black tea bowls. Rikyū and the others tea masters knew it, and so they never used them at Hideyoshi’s tea gatherings.

  Sōji knew it as well as anyone. But as his fellow tea people started to talk about the way that the color of tea complemented certain bowls, he couldn’t help but bring up the black ones. He lovingly described the beauty and fragrance of gently whipped green tea rising in a fine foam in a black Korean bowl. Implied was criticism of Hideyoshi for not understanding the beauty of it. Also implied was that if Hideyoshi couldn’t understand that, he couldn’t truly understand the depth of the way of tea, either. It was this kind of attitude that had led to Sōji’s first exile from Hideyoshi’s court.

  “Ha! Ha! Ha!” Hideyoshi’s sudden laugh surprised his brother. He was recalling the discussion that night, Sōji’s pockmarked right cheek and his indomitable expression. Rikyū, Imai Sōkyū, and Tsuda Sōgyū had been so astonished at Sōji’s behavior that they had sat stunned, unable to stop him. “He was such a strange man.”

  Hidenaga had been aware of his brother’s quick temper since he was a child, and he knew that Hideyoshi’s feelings of joy and anger could rush and change direction like a rapid current. He realized that his brother was thinking about Sōji’s stubbornness, but that he wasn’t as upset about it as before. “You asked Sōeki to come back, didn’t you?” he asked.

  “I sent an express messenger.”

  “Then he’ll be back by tomorrow night at the latest.”

  “Why don’t you talk to him about this, too? You two have a good rapport.”

  “Sōeki cannot tell you exactly what he thinks because you’re too powerful now.”

  “But Mitsunari and my other advisors think that he leads me by the nose.”

  “They’re annoyed by Sōeki.”

  “They think he’s the one who is strict with me.” Hideyoshi’s tone made it clear that he was talking about more than tea practice. Hidenaga may have been the only one who understood the depth of the relationship between his brother and the country’s greatest tea master. Despite their respect, reliance, and devotion, sometimes these two extraordinary people simply clashed.

  But Hidenaga didn’t respond to the sourness in Hideyoshi’s words. As the sun in the autumn makes the sour grapes ripe and sweet, Hidenaga wisely decided to lift his brother’s spirits. He mentioned the new Noh play, Vengeance o
n Akechi, as if he had just thought about it.

  “Is Yūki finally going to be the one who writes it?” Hidenaga was talking about Ōmura Yūki, one of Hideyoshi’s secretaries and the best scholar of all his retainers.

  “I hear he’s complaining about it, since it’s not the same kind of work as writing letters and keeping records.”

  “I wonder how the play will turn out.”

  “Let’s have Hachirō do the choreography.”

  “That’s a good idea. He’ll make it interesting.”

  “You should tell him to do it.”

  “I will.”

  Kurematsu Shinkurō was Hideyoshi’s Noh instructor, and Konparu Tayū was Hidenaga’s, since Hidenaga’s home in Kōriyama was close to Tayū’s home in Nara.

  As they talked about Noh, Hideyoshi calmed down. He told Hidenaga that right after the Battle of Honnōji, when Hideyoshi had defeated Akechi Mitsuhide, the lord who had caused Nobunaga’s death, he had gotten the idea for Vengeance on Akechi. As he spoke, another idea hit him. “What about this—when we’re finally good enough to act on stage, why don’t we invite Owari to perform too?”

  Tokugawa Ieyasu—whom Hideyoshi referred to simply by the informal name “Owari”—had been promoted to chief councilor of state by the emperor, and had recently married Hideyoshi’s sister. The marriage was a demonstration of the renewed friendship between the two men after being on opposite sides of the struggle for power after Nobunaga’s death.

  Hideyoshi and Ieyasu were both fans of Noh, and whenever Ieyasu came to Kyōto they practiced together. The people who did the music and chorus for their practice gossiped that the two men weren’t making much progress. The differences in their personalities showed clearly when they were dancing. Hideyoshi performed with confidence even though he lacked skill, not caring if he forgot parts of the dance. Ieyasu, on the other hand, was careful to make every move correctly, but his movements weren’t interesting.