Hideyoshi and Rikyū

by Nogami Yaeko

  Sōji had given up. Unlike the day before, he was in a pleasant mood, and it prevented him from worrying whether or not he would be able to go back to Odawara. Still, in his mind, meeting with Hideyoshi and going back to Odawara were two different things.

  The change in mood was brought about by Rikyū’s praise as Sōji had made tea for him the night before. “To tell the truth, I was worried that your being in the country for so long would affect your way of making tea. But I see that you’ve acquired excellent taste. You always had it, but now it’s improved more than ever. If you keep going like this, even I won’t be able to match you.”

  Sōji would rather have heard those words than be given a castle and a country to rule over. The idea that nobody in the world but Rikyū could recognize or evaluate his tea made his heart bound with joy. It was the core of the student–teacher relationship, and to share that with Rikyū was the most wonderful thing he could imagine.

  By noon, Kisaku still had not returned. Sōji decided to prepare just in case. He asked the old man who lived out back to shave his head again, even though it had been shaved just before his escape. Then, his rough head cleanly shaven, Sōji followed a personal custom. He filled the water basin in the kitchen and dipped his head in it as if he were going to do a headstand, rubbing his scalp clean. Next, he stripped to the waist and washed his torso, enjoying the coolness and the feeling of being clean. Everything would be decided at the castle, he thought.

  But secretly, another strong wish was born. He thought about having tea with Rikyū twice in a day and a night, and suddenly he wanted to see the teahouses Rikyū had built while he was away. The desire was overwhelming, like a child’s.

  In late afternoon, Kisaku finally returned to fetch Sōji. Together they hurried to the castle. From Hakone Road, they crossed the Hayakawa River and saw the flags of the vanguard, Hashiba Saemon Hori Hidemasa and Ikeda Sanemon Terumasa, on the side of the mountain. The mountain road, created when the castle was built, was wide enough for ten warriors riding across. It formed a steep zigzag like a lightning bolt across the face of Mount Ishigaki. Along the side of the road, the pine and cedar trees had been thinned out, and the forest was divided into short sections to give the soldiers cover.

  Passing out of the woods, they took a sharp turn and came to the upper hill slope. Beyond that was another patch of woods, where the strong, hot rays of the afternoon sun filtered through the areas where the trees had been removed. There were cool breezes here that didn’t touch the hot plains at the foot of the mountain. Even the sound of the same cicadas was more refreshing here.

  The mountain road was the biggest one leading to the castle, so the street was as busy as any in Kyōto. Among the travelers were soldiers in half-arms shouting in unknown dialects and two merchants, probably coming back from making an offering, with a laborer carrying their big, long chest. Sōji heard the merchants speaking in the dialect of his hometown, and turned back to look at them with fond recollection.

  He had heard that the splendor and dignity of Mount Ishigaki Castle rivaled Ōsaka Castle and Jurakudai, although he had never seen Jurakudai because of his exile. So when he reached the top of the mountain and saw the castle rising into the blue sky, resplendent with its three-layered roof, shining tower, and the endless white stone walls, his eyes went wide.

  He noticed immediately the contrast with Ōsaka Castle. The stones used at Ōsaka were big, but the stones used to build Mount Ishigaki Castle were thirty to sixty feet wide. In order to build the castle on the flat mountaintop, these gigantic rocks had been used to artificially create a steep slope. The moat around the ramparts was empty, another difference from Ōsaka Castle. Here, the Hayakawa River served as an outer moat.

  “Kampaku-sama has done a tremendous thing,” Sōji said to Kisaku, astonished. He told the other man how amazed the Odawara side had been when the castle had appeared on top of the mountain in one night.

  Going through an area enclosed by earthwork and walking toward the rear gate of the castle, they heard the clear, rising sound of a bell striking two o’clock. The sound came from a turret near the well. There was a bell at the door that originally had belonged to Hokkeji Temple in Mishima. Hideyoshi had liked the sound, and had had it carried up here when Mount Ishigaki Castle had first opened to use for the army. Sōji didn’t know any of that, of course. But as he listened to the sound of the bell, he suddenly felt like he was back in Ōsaka Castle as a tea master earning five hundred koku per year, hurrying to meet Hideyoshi.

  The illusion stayed with him inside the castle. He followed Kisaku down the long corridor and into the waiting room near the guardhouse.

  “Oh, Sōji.” It was Imai Sōkyū. The feeling of being back in Ōsaka Castle grew even stronger. There was a mill beside Sōkyū, near the screen at the back of the room; he must have been grinding tea leaves. “It’s been a long time.”

  Sōji went over to him. Although Sōji hadn’t been as close to Imai Sōkyū as he had to Tsuda Sōgyū, he was still delighted to see him. Imai Sōkyū’s bald head, with his shiny forehead and his round nose red from drinking too much sake, was a sharp reminder of the good old days.

  “How many years has it been?” Sōji stammered.

  “I’m glad to see that you look well.”

  “You, too. You haven’t changed at all.”

  “I’m just not as energetic as I used to be,” Sōkyū told him. “Listen, I heard everything from Eki-san. You were so brave to escape like that. Just to think of how much effort you made! And of course, we’re all so anxious to get you permission to meet with Kampaku-sama.” As Sōkyū continued, “I’m so glad that everything went well,” his servant put the mill away. As soon as he had left, Sōkyū put his right thumb up and added quietly, “Lately he gets irritated easily.” Sōji knew he was talking about Hideyoshi—that’s what the thumb meant, a secret sign language used among the tea masters when they didn’t want others to know who they were talking about.

  Hideyoshi had recently rebuked Sōkyū, and Sōkyū was still burning with anger. Just in time, his old friend Sōji arrived, and Sōkyū let loose a fast whisper. Once Sōkyū got started, he had a tendency to be very talkative. Now, he made a circle with his little finger, indicating Yodo-dono, and then he pointed his index finger, referring to Hideyoshi’s wife. He went on, “Because of this, he gets ill-tempered and capricious.” He described Hideyoshi’s recent mood swings, the ones that Rikyū had been so careful not to mention. With an air of superiority, Sōkyū finished by advising Sōji, whose obstinacy was well known, to watch his step. “So, Sōji, you should keep your thoughts to yourself and don’t be stubborn. All we can do is bow to his will.” Even though he was speaking in a whisper, Sōkyū didn’t notice Sōji’s sad, distraught face.

  Just at that moment, Rikyū hurried into the room. “Well, Sōji, you’ve been called,” he said authoritatively. “Let’s go.”

  They walked up the corridor and made several turns. The building where Hideyoshi was sitting was different from a typical wooden building. It had a connecting corridor that looked like a bridge, including a railing with gold beads attached to the top. As they crossed part of the garden, Rikyū glanced back at Sōji. “Did Sōkyū say anything to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Today Kampaku-sama is in a good mood.”

  As if to support Rikyū’s words, Hideyoshi’s cheerful, laughing voice rang out across the garden. He was sitting on his dais, as usual, with Ōmura Yūki in front of him. Besides him, there were only two pages, sitting back a proper distance. Yūki had been ordered to write a letter to the Imperial court so that the imperial envoy, who was returning to Kyōto, could take it with him. He showed the letter to Hideyoshi and then, official business concluded, began talking about other things. He repeated the rumor that Hideyoshi spent so much time at Gorōbei Estate in Enoura so he could have drinking parties and watch beautiful women dance and sing with golden fans rather than having tea in the tearooms or holding celebration
s. Yūki could get away with saying things like that in a way other retainers couldn’t. Hideyoshi’s laughter showed that he really enjoyed it.

  Rikyū was already on the porch, kneeling before Hideyoshi. He told Hideyoshi that Sōji was there to see him.

  “Oh, I see,” Hideyoshi replied.

  Sōji was ten or twelve feet behind Rikyū, his forehead pressing against the wooden floor. But from where Hideyoshi was sitting, Sōji appeared to be behind a pillar, and Hideyoshi would have to lean across his armrest to see him. He wasn’t inclined to do it. Instead, he asked Rikyū how the party for the envoy had gone.

  “He seemed to enjoy the food very much. He is resting now, and I will serve tea after we move to a different tearoom.”

  “I see. Then I will join you after tea.”

  “I think that would be fine.” Although Hideyoshi treated the envoy with the respect due to an imperial representative, Hideyoshi didn’t want to sit at the end of the line of guests, a low-ranking spot. Rikyū’s response acknowledged the unspoken preference.

  The arrangements made, Hideyoshi ordered Rikyū to go and see to the tea.

  On his way out, Rikyū glanced meaningfully at Sōji. Sōji finally raised his face.

  As if on signal, Hideyoshi called him with a high voice. “Sōji, welcome back. It’s been a long time.”

  “Yes, Kampaku-sama.”

  “Come forward and show your face.”

  “Yes, Kampaku-sama.” Sōji slid forward on his knees into the spot that Rikyū had vacated and gave the customary greeting, congratulating Hideyoshi on his good health.

  Hideyoshi responded that Sōji didn’t seem to have changed. Indeed, Sōji had always looked like an old man with his pitted skin, even in the prime of his youth. Therefore, he didn’t seem to age at all.

  Still relaxed from talking to Yūki, Hideyoshi did not speak to Sōji as he would a man returning from exile. “Well, how about it, Sōji? I’m sure that the commoners know that Odawara is as good as finished, don’t they?”

  “Yes.”

  “At any rate, it’s good that even though you wandered there, you never worked for Ujimasa. And you took a big risk to escape. It’s commendable. I’ll give you credit for that.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  “In recognition of your good behavior, I will pardon your exile, and re-hire you as a tea master at your former salary, five hundred koku. You should be ready for that.”

  Sōji pressed his big head to the floor once more, but the words of grateful acceptance that Hideyoshi expected to hear didn’t come. On the contrary, Sōji was trying hard not to say them. He tightened both corners of his mouth, and his face swelled as if he were disgruntled.

  Hideyoshi’s left eyebrow drew down to his nose and he stared dubiously at Sōji, who still said nothing even though he had raised his head. “You’re not satisfied with five hundred koku?”

  “No, no, that’s not what I meant.” Sōji tried to deny it in a flurry of words, but his tongue, which up until now had been working smoothly, tripped him up. Being in front of Hideyoshi just made him more confounded, and the more he tried to speak, the harder it was for him to say anything. The words got tangled up like small birds in a net. Finally, he managed to stutter, almost incoherently, that he would never dream of complaining about a salary of five hundred koku, but he couldn’t accept Hideyoshi’s offer.

  “What! You don’t want to be hired as a tea master?”

  Sōji stayed quiet.

  “Tell me the reason. What is it?”

  Sōji didn’t say anything.

  “Sōji!”

  Hideyoshi’s easy manner had completely disappeared. He turned with the armrest toward the corridor and looked with the outer corner of his keen left eye at the unruly man before him, who had learned nothing from his two exiles.

  Under this scrutiny, Sōji became childlike. But having said this much, he couldn’t change his mind. He explained to Hideyoshi that he had promised to go back to Odawara, and he wanted to keep his promise.

  “I heard from Rikyū that you were teaching tea to Genan, an old man, but what’s the purpose of going back to Odawara? Why come all the way here if you weren’t planning to stay?”

  To answer that truthfully, Sōji would have had to confess that his only motivation was to see Rikyū again, that he hadn’t even been thinking of Hideyoshi or of coming back to work for him. Hideyoshi would not react well to that. Sōji was at a loss. He sat with Rikyū’s thin black silk garment overwhelming his smaller frame, quiet as a stone.

  But to Hideyoshi, Sōji’s attitude looked more like sulking and impudence than perplexity. And it only made Hideyoshi more irritated when men did not answer him promptly.

  “Sōji, why don’t you answer me? Are you a spy from Hōjō?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “Well, I don’t care if you are a spy, or why you came back here. I’ve ordered you to be my tea master again, and you will not refuse.”

  At one time, Hideyoshi had thought about using Sōji as a spy, but he knew Sōji wasn’t suited for that kind of work. It was because of Sōji’s irreverence and lack of respect for authority that he had been banished. Forcing Sōji to serve as his tea master again would be worse punishment than being exiled again. Hideyoshi gained some satisfaction just from thinking about it.

  Sōji regretted everything. He should never have come here, not even to see Rikyū one last time. He raised his face in fear and trembling, like a wild rabbit looking for a way to escape. But before Hideyoshi’s piercing look, he crouched down again weakly. He was angry at his blunder. That anger surged within him, a counter to Hideyoshi’s force. Hideyoshi had never understood anything. He thought that power and politics were the most important things in the world. He had never risen above his petty desire to possess things—and people. Hideyoshi might be Kampaku-sama, commander of the emperor’s armies, but to Sōji he was less of a man than the noble Genan. At the same time, Sōji’s habituated fear held him captive. As he struggled frantically to free himself from the paralyzing emotion, an unusual power rose within him. In that moment, Sōji knew that he could not be Hideyoshi’s servant again. The knowledge took him beyond himself and released his tongue.

  “Please forgive me,” Sōji appealed in a voice that was free of stutters but strangely out of tune. “I must go back to Odawara at all costs. Please let me go. I was only able to come here because of that promise. If I betray it—”

  “Be quiet!” Hideyoshi snapped. “Is that promise to Genan more important than my order?”

  “Never, Kampaku-sama,” he lied.

  “No, I don’t believe you. Ujimasa’s big uncle is more important to you than I am. Sōji, you listen to me. Odawara is now mine. What are you going to do when you get back? When the castle falls, do you want to be killed with the rest?” Hideyoshi’s anger boiled over. Hideyoshi had just finished showing his power to the imperial envoy, who even now was taking tea in the teahouse. It tore at his pride that Sōji gave old Genan, his enemy, more respect than Hideyoshi. He glared at Sōji and grabbed one end of his armrest in his right hand, which trembled with rage. But he didn’t send the armrest soaring over the shaved head into the corridor—this was not because he was stopping himself, but because his rage stiffened his muscles.

  Before this ferocity, Sōji seemed to have totally capitulated. But the truth was that Hideyoshi’s rage had become Sōji’s. The sorrow, anger, and reproach that had soaked into Sōji’s very bones during his exiles, his helplessness at not being able to defend himself, exploded now into rage. He didn’t care what might happen. He wanted to defy Hideyoshi, tell him that he would rather die than serve him again. But he couldn’t. Instead he raised his dark, pitted face and stared at Hideyoshi as if he was possessed by an evil spirit.

  Hideyoshi made a strangled noise, words stifled by his rage. He thrust the armrest to one side instead of hurling it through the air. He flew down from the dais, the toes of his gold brocade socks flashing over ten green grass mats in a s
econd. With one swift movement, he kicked Sōji’s body from the corridor like a ball. It hit the stepping stone and rolled into the garden like the bamboo flower container had a month before.

  At the time, Rikyū was still in the tearoom, and knew nothing about it. On his way to see Hideyoshi, to inform him that the tea gathering had concluded successfully, Ōmura Yūki intercepted him and whispered urgently in his ear. But by that time, Sōji’s head was already separated from his torso, lying in the corner of the stone wall.

  13

  At the beginning of August, Ujimasa and his brother Ujiteru were ordered to commit suicide. Ujimasa’s son, Ujinao, was saved through the intercession of Tokugawa Ieyasu. Ujinao was ordered to go to the monastery at Mount Kōya and become a monk.

  After the victory at Odawara, Hideyoshi spent another month traveling through Aizu and Ōu in the north, cleaning up the remaining pockets of resistance. Yodo-dono, the other concubines, and the retainers who weren’t directly involved in the battles were sent home.

  Rikyū was among this group. This gave him a month to rest before Hideyoshi returned to Jurakudai—more time off than Rikyū had had in a long time. However, he was kept busy by a constant flow of visitors. Even though Rikyū hadn’t been near the combat, curiosity-seekers wanted to hear more about the battle.

  Torigai Yahei was one of the first to come and see Rikyū. He was at the house almost every day. Kisaburō noticed quickly that Yahei didn’t say much to Rikyū about his new relationship with Kurematsu Shinkurō. But Yahei was Yahei, and he chattered endlessly about the rumors that were circulating about Odawara. Ever since the merchants had started returning from Hayakawa, Sakai was filled with talk about what had happened in Odawara. But Yahei didn’t ask Rikyū whether or not any of it was true. He just repeated the stories with his high-pitched, belly-shaking laugh.