Hideyoshi and Rikyū

by Nogami Yaeko

  “Where is Sōeki?” “Call Sōeki.” Hideyoshi’s vigorous voice rang out impatiently, over and over, the endings of the words high-pitched with annoyance.

  Hideyoshi’s ambition was to unite the solid Ōsaka Castle with the splendid Jurakudai in Mount Ishigaki. From the top of that mountain, he had a beautiful view of the countryside spread out below, stretching between the clear Sakawagawa and Hayakawa rivers to the ocean, with the Enoshima and Ōshima islands beyond, and the Bōsō mountain range in the other direction. It was a garden of forests and springs like nothing at Ōsaka Castle or Jurakudai. This view inspired Hideyoshi.

  From a military standpoint, adding the extra buildings and decorative flourishes was not necessary, but there was another reason why Hideyoshi pushed the workers to rush construction so those fine details could be included.

  At that time, Hideyoshi was splitting his time between Sōunji Temple and the castle. Since the workers had finished his living quarters, it was more convenient for Hideyoshi to direct the work and meet with his retainers at Mount Ishigaki rather than at Sōunji Temple, where there was not enough space. But visiting Hideyoshi in two different places was not so convenient for the retainers, including the tea masters. Each time they followed Hideyoshi, guarded by his soldiers, to a different location, the retainers had to take their koshi palanquins up and down the steep slope. Rain or shine, the sweating soldiers had to carry them back and forth between the temple gate, where Hideyoshi’s golden flags with their gourd emblems flew, to the new castle more than half a mile away.

  One particular day, warm rain had been spitting from the heavens since the morning. Rikyū had been resting in the temple—he was feeling weak from the heat—but in the afternoon he prepared to take the long kago palanquin ride up the hill to see Hideyoshi. Rikyū had been ill, and so it had been a few days since he’d visited his lord. He wanted to tell Hideyoshi that he had found the perfect piece of persimmon wood to use as a pillar in the tearoom. The log was dried just right.

  Rikyū had also promised to make Hideyoshi a bamboo flower vase. He had gotten the idea from watching a gun unit at a recent battle; they had been wearing bundles of bamboo as shields. Because the gun units were fighting on the front lines, ahead of the arrow and spear units, there were quite a few shields made of local Hakone-region bamboo. Rikyū was planning to go into the bamboo forest to find a piece of the right thickness, but it would be difficult until he recovered fully.

  “Sōeki, how is your health?” Hideyoshi, seated in a private room, asked solicitously as Rikyū kneeled and bowed respectfully at the doorsill. “Are you still having diarrhea?”

  “That has stopped, thank you.”

  “That’s great. But if you would listen to me and have a moxa treatment, you wouldn’t be sick at all. You’re just like Hidenaga, the way you avoid moxa,” Hideyoshi scolded affectionately.

  “Speaking of Hidenaga-sama, how is he?” Rikyū asked. Etiquette forbade him from inquiring unless Hideyoshi broached the topic first. “I’m worried about him.”

  Hidenaga’s health was bad, as usual, so he was unable to travel to the front with the others. He remained at Ōsaka Castle, making sure everything ran smoothly.

  “I really wish I could make him well,” said Hideyoshi mournfully.

  “Have you heard anything about him?” It was not just idle curiosity on Rikyū’s part, or the note of pity in Hideyoshi’s voice as he spoke of his invalid brother. There was a lacquered letterbox nearby with Hideyoshi’s crest, three paulownia leaves with five stalks of flowers, on top. It contained a letter from his wife. Hideyoshi must have gotten some news from Jurakudai.

  “She didn’t say anything about Hidenaga,” Hideyoshi said, his voice still full of sorrow for his brother. But suddenly he looked carefree, as if he had shed one skin to reveal another. “Sōeki, the women are all coming together.”

  “Yodo-sama is not the only one coming?” Rikyū asked, using a respectful honorific to refer to Cha Cha, the mother of Hideyoshi’s son Tsurumatsu.

  “No! My wife is also sending Sannomaru, Dainagon, and some other concubines.”

  “Your wife must think you need cheering up.”

  “Hmmmm.” He laughed tonelessly, making wrinkles appear on his cheeks. When Hideyoshi had realized he would be in for a long siege, he had written to his wife asking her to send Cha Cha, saying, “Aside from you, she’s the only woman who accepts my requests without complaint.” He had excused himself for the request by adding that he had given his generals permission to bring their wives.

  Hideyoshi and his wife were still as in love as they had been the day they were married, when he was a twenty-six-year-old warrior in the service of Nobunaga and she was only fourteen. He trusted her just as he loved her, and so he would talk with her openly about war, politics, and even personal matters. He left all the arrangements with the concubines to her. As he rose in rank, managing his concubines had become more complicated, and giving his wife the responsibility of managing them was a clever and convenient way to show his respect for her. She created the rules, keeping her dignity and pride, and so Hideyoshi did not have to see his concubines in secret. He was very good at writing letters and expressing his effusive affection in a simple and honest way, and he must have used that skill in asking her to send Cha Cha to Odawara.

  But his wife had matched his cunning with her own subtlety: she had fulfilled his request obediently, but had sent three other concubines along with Cha Cha. She returned triple what she was asked for, and instead of complaining, Hideyoshi had to express three times the gratitude.

  Rikyū’s comment hit the mark. Even so, Hideyoshi loved gaiety, and it was better to have more than less.

  However, he could not put them all in the same room, not even for one night. Hideyoshi decided that when the women arrived, he would send them all to the Hakone hot springs, and then have them return to Kyōto. While they visited, they could be separated, with some staying in the temple and some in the castle. Kyōgoku-dono, in particular, who had been with Hideyoshi since the beginning of the campaign, tended to be rather frail: she would be staying in the temple. She had grown up in Kyōto, and the harsh weather in Kantō was too much for her health.

  The reason they were rushing to finish room after room with sumptuous decorations and suitably impressive gardens was not just to please the women: there were other battles going on besides the main one in Odawara. The combined armies of Uesugi Kagekatsu and Maeda Toshiie had already gone to the Ueno and Musashi areas to attack Hachigata Castle. Other armies had gone in different directions, busily attacking the castles loyal to Hōjō in the Kantō region. Hideyoshi had decreed that if the lords didn’t surrender, their castle would be destroyed and the inhabitants beheaded. Ever since that pronouncement had been made, the powerful clans in the northern part of Japan, Dewa and Ōshū—who before had had no contact with Hideyoshi or his allies—were now eager to come to Odawara and pay tribute to him. In order to impress them with his strength and gain their loyalty, Hideyoshi had to be able to greet them formally. He wanted to have a magnificent place to sit rather than the dais at Sōunji Temple.

  A servant carried an armrest over to Hideyoshi. Hideyoshi placed it in front of him and rested both of his elbows on it, his face on his hands. His palms looked like hinged lids that were flipped up to create a resting spot for his chin. The posture showed he was in an especially good mood, and he conversed lightheartedly, probably excited that the women were coming.

  The private room where he was sitting was called Ishi-Kura. It had walls that resembled plaster, but since one whole side of the room was facing the garden, there was still plenty of light. Outside, the rain was coming down harder than ever. The endless sky was the color of a gleaming pearl, and the water poured out of it as if the skin of the heavens had torn. Newly planted trees had been propped up with stakes and some additional rocks, but the driving rain had scattered them around the garden. The rain-pummeled plants only added to the air of incompleteness.


  Hideyoshi sat up, and the servant immediately moved his armrest out of the way. Watching the rain, Hideyoshi’s smile disappeared. Even his prestige and authority could not control the downpour, and it was causing problems. The scene in the garden made him click his tongue, and his dissatisfaction brought something else to mind.

  “Sōeki.” Hideyoshi’s voice lost its sweetness as he looked at Rikyū. “Did Kimura tell you about Masamune?”

  Masamune, of course, was Date Masamune, and Kimura Kichikiyo was an aide to Ishida Mitsunari, who was away on a diplomatic mission at Musashi Oshi-jō Castle. Rikyū replied that Kimura had consulted with him two or three times. “I’m sure Masamune meant no offense by taking so long to come here. His residence is an isolated place, and he was afraid that Hōjō might stop him on the way to Odawara. That is why he asked Kimura to tell you the reason for his delay and to ask sincerely for your forgiveness.”

  “That excuse makes sense,” Hideyoshi conceded. “But what were his real intentions? He must have been waiting to see which way the cat would jump. He thought that his trip here would be a good chance for him to judge which side will win and which side will be defeated. Well, let him sit and watch for a while. Soon this war will come to an end.”

  Hideyoshi smirked at Rikyū as if he were Masamune. It was a hard thing for Masamune to come and submit to Hideyoshi, even after the neighboring lords Sōma and Satake paid their tribute. As Hideyoshi suspected, he had been playing for time, waiting to see what would happen. But that was not the only reason he had delayed his trip to Mount Ishigaki. In his native Ōshū region, he was a conqueror in his own right, and after seeing Nobunaga’s ambition of uniting Japan under one ruler, he had started taking precautions against powers from the west.

  But regardless of the reason for the delay, Masamune did finally come to pay tribute to Hideyoshi. In later years, even though he would be permitted to visit Hideyoshi in Jurakudai, Masamune refused to follow custom and take off his long sword with its red-orange sheath when entering a tearoom. He used the excuse that he was from the rugged outer regions. But it showed that for Masamune, coming to visit Hideyoshi meant being prepared to die.

  Hideyoshi had refused to see him at first, offended by the delay. Finally, Masamune lowered himself to ask the magistrate Kimura to intercede with Hideyoshi. But before he did anything, Kimura consulted with Rikyū. Whether in Ōsaka Castle or on the front lines of a war, Rikyū’s role was the same.

  “Kimura has quite a high opinion of Masamune,” Hideyoshi mused. “He says there is not anyone like him in the entire Ōshū region. He says that I should have him on my side to prepare for the future. You also heard what he told me, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” Rikyū said.

  “I don’t pay attention to other people’s speculation. I’m not that afraid of Ieyasu.”

  Rikyū knew very well what that meant. Kimura was Ishida Mitsunari’s spokesman. No matter what the situation, they always had one eye on Ieyasu. They doubted that Ieyasu truly fought for Hideyoshi, or that he truly fought against his son-in-law, a prominent member of the Hōjō family. But as long as Ieyasu remained loyal to Hideyoshi and did his duty, when the war ended he would be rewarded suitably and his power extended in the eastern region. This, of course, meant that once Hōjō was eliminated, Ieyasu would be capable of becoming the next threat to Hideyoshi’s power. That is what worried Mitsunari and his friends. They advised Hideyoshi to reconcile with Masamune so that when the time came, Masamune would be a diversion on the other side of Ieyasu’s territory.

  Sometimes a sickness lurks beneath even when a person looks healthy at first glance. Kimura knew about the conflict between Mitsunari and Rikyū, even though they remained polite on the surface. Still, Hideyoshi chose to place his trust in Rikyū as a consultant. Rikyū never allowed his private concerns to interfere in an important matter. He demonstrated his clear sight by saying right was right and wrong was wrong. It was this ability that made him more than a tea master to Hideyoshi, and why Hidenaga thought of him as irreplaceable.

  In Masamune’s case, however, Rikyū had no opinion. If Hideyoshi asked for his advice, Rikyū would say that his opinion was the same as Kimura’s.

  Hideyoshi had no intention of sending Masamune away without seeing him. The first reason that he kept Masamune waiting was to punish him for the delay. Another reason was so that Masamune would not think Hideyoshi had been waiting for him. Masamune could not leave without losing face in front of his own soldiers. Soon the big hall would be completed, and Hideyoshi had decided that would be a more effective time to receive him.

  Hideyoshi was also considering how to deal with Ieyasu. He wanted to be generous to his retainer. Once, he had told his brother that if you feed a horse well, then the horse remains quiet in the stable—you don’t need to let it run wild out in the field. Hideyoshi still believed that, and Ieyasu knew it well. Ieyasu always performed his duties flawlessly, even this battle against his daughter and his son-in-law. But Hideyoshi knew it was not enough simply to treat him well. Sooner or later, Ieyasu would seek to run wild. When that day came, if Hideyoshi held Ieyasu’s neck in an iron grasp, he could twist Ieyasu’s head toward himself.

  Thunder joined the rain. The sound crossed Mount Fuji in the far Hakone mountain range, leaping over Odawara. The lighting tore through the dark, drab sky, casting its light under the darkest eaves like a thrown torch in a night attack, brightening the golden wall paintings. The thunder kept rolling, multiplying the sound tenfold and making it sound very close, like the guns firing less than two miles away. But as if the outcome of the battle were decided in a single blow, the thunder stopped right then and a crack of blue sky appeared. Cicadas started to cry.

  Hideyoshi changed the subject as if he had been reminded of something by the sound. “I’ve heard that Ieyasu plans to take his daughter back.” He was referring to Toku-hime, who was married to Hōjō’s son, Ujinao. “Have you heard that rumor?”

  “Not at all.”

  “He sent his daughter off to be married when she was very small. Look what’s happening now.”

  “I heard she was married at the age of nine. Now she is …”

  “Sixteen.”

  “That was seven years ago.”

  That Hideyoshi could tell Rikyū her age so quickly was a sign of how significant the alliance by marriage between the Hōjō and Tokugawa families was to Hideyoshi’s battle strategy.

  Seven years ago, fresh from his defeat of Akechi, Hideyoshi had won victory over the allied forces of lords Shibata and Sakuma and first established the possibility of reaching the status of imperial regent. In those days, Ieyasu had been his enemy, and had even fought him in the battles of Komaki and Nagakute.

  Ieyasu had coveted a relationship with someone like Hōjō Ujimasa, whose family had been the most wealthy and powerful in the eastern region since the days of Hōjō Sōun. The Hōjō family had even invited Ming Dynasty trade ships to come to Sagami Bay. For his part, Hōjō had anticipated the upcoming battle with Hideyoshi and had hoped to use Ieyasu to shield his forward border. Ieyasu thought of Hōjō as his rear guard. But that plan had failed, and, as Hideyoshi said, “Look what’s happening now.” Hideyoshi could sneer, but he also felt sympathy for Ieyasu, who had sent his beloved daughter to be an enemy’s young wife.

  “I heard that of all his daughters, Toku-hime was the most tender-hearted and beautiful, and she was his favorite,” Hideyoshi continued. “So he has pity on her. If he lets her stay at Hōjō’s castle, there will be no way he can help her. I am sure Ieyasu will be careful about any strategies he puts into motion. I hope he can get her back safely.”

  Hideyoshi often boasted about how cruel he could be, as when he had allowed his enemies to starve to death during the battles of Miki and Toba. He used every conceivable means in order to win and put all his heart into wiping out every enemy. On the other hand, in certain matters he changed in an instant from cruel to generous and deeply considerate. He had become even more sentimental
since Tsurumatsu’s birth. Before, he had adopted nephews often and even adopted Maeda Toshiie’s daughter. Hideyoshi had treated them affectionately, but this was the first time he had truly experienced fatherly love. He could feel Ieyasu’s pain as if it were his own.

  The hands that were exposed under the unlined silk sleeves looked rough and bony, once hardened by swords and spears but now smooth with white, thin nails. Hideyoshi rested one elbow on the armrest and put his forehead on his hand. After he dismissed Rikyū, he looked like he was simply sitting alone, looking at the garden. But his mind wasn’t on the green bushes that still had scattered drops from the heavy rain, or on the floating, gray-silver clouds that indicated the good weather would not last long. His eyes were searching beyond the mountains and rivers, searching earnestly for Tsurumatsu. Hideyoshi could visualize his son’s white, chubby limbs, see him crawling vigorously, crying for a breast with his mouth open so wide it looked like the only thing on his face. Hideyoshi remembered putting Tsurumatsu on his knees, the baby jumping with joy and laughing and finally wetting his short silk over-kimono with his urine.

  Hideyoshi’s mother said that Tsurumatsu’s face, with its bright black eyes, looked like Hideyoshi’s when he was a baby. This was truly his own child, and he was devoted to Tsurumatsu beyond measure. In his mind’s eye, he was already holding the baby, kissing the baby’s cheeks and caressing his body. Hideyoshi was so infatuated with his son that even physical contact did not even seem to satisfy him. His affection ran so deep, as he confided to his wife, that he loved Cha Cha not just for her youthful, fragrant skin, but as an extension of Tsurumatsu. Having not seen them for almost a hundred days, he was consumed with impatience, a vision dancing before his eyes of Cha Cha holding Tsurumatsu in her arms, coming to see him in a koshi palanquin.

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