Hideyoshi and Rikyū

by Nogami Yaeko

  With someone else, Rikyū could put a gloss on the words, explain them away. But he felt uneasy about Yahei, who talked too much. It was especially worrisome that Yahei had a direct connection to Mitsunari through Shinkurō, a connection that Yahei had inexplicably been trying to hide. In another time and place, Rikyū’s words might have gotten buried under Yahei’s endless chatter and passed away unnoticed. But now that the seed had been planted, depending on the wind and the soil, it might sprout. The thought made Rikyū afraid.

  Yahei did not notice the serious meaning behind Rikyū’s words. But thinking about it, Rikyū’s statement that attacking China would not be as easy as defeating Akechi made sense to him. His only reply to Rikyū’s negation was, “I see, I see.”

  Conveniently for Rikyū, they were interrupted just then, so he didn’t have to continue the conversation. Miwa, the head maid, bowed gracefully at the entrance to the room and informed them that a messenger had come with swan meat from the kitchen at Jurakudai. This swan had been captured at Lake Biwa, and when the weather turned cold the swan meat became tender. Hideyoshi had ordered his servant to get it before he left for Yodo Castle. Swans were a rare and special cuisine, and even at tea gatherings their meat was a special treat.

  “We’ll take it,” Rikyū said.

  “I’ll let them know.”

  Yahei gave Miwa an oily smile, thinking to himself that she didn’t seem to age, even if Rikyū didn’t appear to notice. Miwa was quite good-looking, and as the woman who managed the servants she was also an important part of the household. Although she was careful to behave in accordance with her social status, she wore a trendy purple kimono sash, and kept herself neat. For Yahei, Miwa’s presence was convenient. Whenever Yahei had a problem with one of his women, being around Riki made him feel uncomfortable, but having Miwa around made Rikyū generous.

  Yahei’s new woman could handle a knife well, and Yahei enjoyed the unusual food she made, so different from Ochika’s southern cooking. But swan was beyond her range. “I’ve heard that it’s best to eat swan meat raw. Or what about a soup? How is it compared to crane?”

  “I think it’s up to different people’s preferences.”

  “I don’t know Kyōto style. Personally, I like pheasant soup rather than crane. It has more body.” For Yahei, who enjoyed gourmet food, this was more interesting than talk about China or Akechi.

  Rikyū was relieved that the conversation had settled on food, and that prompted him to offer Yahei some swan meat. If Yahei were a more serious person, and not so scatterbrained, Rikyū would have suggested that they have the meat for dinner, and then asked him not to talk about what Rikyū had said today. But he didn’t do it, and he didn’t tell him that Riki would be back soon.

  Even if Rikyū had invited Yahei to stay, Yahei couldn’t have done it. He was going to a Noh meeting at Shinkurō’s house that evening, to watch Shinkurō’s youngest son dance Midare. Since Mitsunari would be there, Yahei had rehearsed with the musicians yesterday. But Yahei didn’t mention any of that to Rikyū. He said only that he had errands to do, and, restless, excused himself to leave.

  Rikyū saw him off politely at the entrance and then went to the garden. The late-afternoon sunlight created black shadows on one side of the garden. He passed through the wicker gate into the section of the garden that surrounded the teahouse. The bare trees and shrubbery in winter decay showed the distinctive shape of their branches more clearly now than they did in the summer, and they created a harmony with the stepping stones and the dark green moss.

  On the way to the tea hut known as Fushinan, there was a single sasanqua camellia tree that was partially obscured by the spreading branches of an old Chinese black pine. Rikyū, who favored any type of camellia, stopped just in front of a stone basin to look at the flowers. They were the size of a baby’s palm, the dainty, red-rimmed petals looking as though they were about to fall off. At his house in Sakai he had camellias that bloomed in the spring. They reminded him of another plant, the white jewel camellias that bloomed beautifully at the teahouse in Sōkenin Temple.

  The memory set off a chain of regret. He was sorry that he wouldn’t see Kokei today, on one of his rare free days. He had not seen his friend for a long time, and there was so much he wanted to discuss. The heavy residue of bad feeling between him and Kisaburō had gotten worse. Rikyū was still disturbed by Kisaburō’s questions about Sōji’s violent death, but underneath that was an unshakable love for his son. He was at a loss, and it would have been much easier to talk to Kokei than to his wife.

  Recently he’d been struck by bouts of unexplainable gloom. Part of it was Kisaburō, and part of it was Hidenaga’s long illness and the postponement of his daughter’s wedding. Of course, there were other reasons to be anxious too. But there was something else, something inside him, causing those moods. Like water oozing from between rocks, some strange coldness spread from his chest to his spirit, making him lonely and uneasy.

  He continuously worked on new tea utensils, creating curving bamboo scoops, making new ladles, and devising new patterns and designs for kettles. Although it might have seemed to others that he really enjoyed making tea utensils, the truth was that he was trying to escape from his nameless fear. The mysterious shadow made his hands shake as they held the knife and the saw. He bent and twisted broken pieces of bamboo in his palms as if they were hateful objects.

  “I’m old now.” Sometimes he mumbled such things under his breath, without being consciously aware of it. His physical health was fine, and his back and legs were still strong. It was just this strange darkness that weighed on his soul. Nobody but Kokei would understand.

  The sun continued to sink in the west, and the sky that had been cloudy in the morning had gotten heavier. Rikyū rubbed his cold hands together and stepped forward, sliding in through the kneeling entrance of the teahouse. He moved through the narrow opening so naturally that an observer might have wondered how such a large man could shrink himself to fit, or if the entrance had become wider for him.

  The tearoom was slightly warmer than the outside, and a faint smell of incense hung on the air. Charcoal had been added to the fire in the sunken hearth, where unglazed tiles had been arranged during the day. The kettle—fancifully named ubaguchi because it was shaped like an old woman’s mouth—held its boiling water quietly. Rikyū looked critically at the utensils arranged in the host’s position, as if he were a guest who had just arrived rather than the man who had arranged them that morning. His eyes took in the scroll hanging in the alcove that held a painting with geese, a Korean vase with some sasanqua camellias that hung from a hook on the pillar of the alcove, and an incense container that had been passed down by the old tea master Murata Jukō. He sat down in front of the hearth and took out a thick pack of folded paper, placing it on the floor. He put the kettle on the paper, rearranged the charcoal, removed one of the tiles, and then put the kettle back again.

  Before he could do any more, Riki returned from Jurakudai and called out for Rikyū, asking where he was. He answered, and she slid into the tearoom through the kneeling entrance. She was still in the formal kimono she had worn to Jurakudai. She greeted Rikyū and continued, “I heard my brother came today.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Didn’t he say he was coming back to Sakai at the end of the year?”

  “He didn’t mention it.”

  “What is he going to do with himself?” Riki had wanted to see her brother today and give him a piece of her mind. She had heard about the woman in Nishijin, and she thought that since the woman had decent parents, if he wanted to marry her it might be good for him. As a bonus, it would separate him from Ochika. On the other hand, that could cause problems, because if Ochika was a free agent, Kisaburō might be tempted to run away with her. As long as Ochika was Yahei’s, Riki thought that Kisaburō would respect that and not enter into a relationship with Ochika, however often he visited Daikumachi. She could openly complain about this to her daughters, but they might
say she was asking too much. In any case, Riki didn’t want to worry Rikyū with those thoughts, so she sat, almost unnaturally quiet.

  Rikyū asked her if Hideyoshi’s wife had come to tea.

  “No. I heard that she looked a bit tired.”

  “She must be worrying about Dainagon’s illness.”

  “They say she didn’t have any appetite. She was talking about her brother-in-law, and she seemed very concerned.”

  Rikyū rarely talked about what happened at Jurakudai, but Riki felt no such restrictions. She continued, saying that people think a person like Hideyoshi’s wife accumulated a lot of virtuous deeds in a past life to get some divine protection, but she actually has endless trouble. “She’s annoyed with Kampaku-sama. He was supposed to visit Hidenaga and take Dr. Jumyōin Sōha, the famous doctor, but instead he sent the doctor alone and went to Yodo Castle. It makes her sad that he would do that to his own brother.”

  Maybe it wasn’t Yodo-dono that Hideyoshi wanted so desperately to see: maybe it was Tsurumatsu. Hideyoshi’s wife might be called “mother” and accorded more respect than Yodo-dono, but after all she could not deny the authority of Yodo-dono, who had given birth to Tsurumatsu. Still, she hated to see Hideyoshi neglect Hidenaga.

  When she invited Riki to visit and teach her tea ceremony, she never wanted to have her lessons in the tearooms at Jurakudai. Instead, she put up screens in one of her own rooms. Tea gatherings were not only a means for discipline, they were a tool for socializing, and that meant politics. That was the men’s world, not the women’s, so Hideyoshi’s wife modestly avoided using the tearooms. But at Yodo Castle, even when Hideyoshi was not staying there, Yodo-dono used not only the same teahouse as the men, but also the same famous utensils. That was the gossip among the women who served Hideyoshi’s wife, Riki told her husband.

  “But who has tea with her?” he asked. “I’ve heard that it’s difficult for people to gain entrance to the castle.”

  “You know that Uraku-sama is there for her.”

  “That’s right.” Oda Urakusai was Nobunaga’s youngest brother. Cha Cha, who became Yodo-dono, was his niece. They were both staying at Yodo Castle. That was Hideyoshi’s idea; he wanted someone there to supervise and put an end to any problems quickly.

  Urakusai was a well-known tea practitioner and had been a good friend of Rikyū’s ever since Rikyū had come to serve Nobunaga. He looked forward to attending Rikyū’s tea gatherings whenever he visited the castle. So Rikyū knew exactly which famous utensils were brought from Jurakudai, but he didn’t want to talk about it. Usually he listened to his wife’s chatter with lively curiosity, since she told him many stories he wouldn’t have heard otherwise. But today he didn’t care about which utensils had been moved to which castle. The gray, mysterious shadow was spreading again, and he wanted to push it away.

  “Riki.” Rikyū interrupted her abruptly and pointed toward the alcove with his right hand. “Sit over there.”

  “Eh?”

  “I’m going to make a bowl of tea for you.”

  “What?” Riki stared at Rikyū like a surprised child.

  “Do as I say.”

  “All right.” She got up and moved to the guest position. Even as she sat and arranged her long sleeves gracefully, she didn’t hide her confusion at Rikyū’s tone.

  Rikyū ignored her expression. He began the formal preparation of tea, bringing in the rest of the utensils in the prescribed order. Three small sweets were carried in on a rectangular black lacquer tray. Then he carried in a dark red Raku bowl made by Chōjirō, one of a pair. Its twin belonged to Hidenaga.

  The kettle seemed to know exactly when to start singing, like the first note from a flute during a Noh dance. The utensils appeared to move on their own, jumping to obey before Rikyū even touched them. As Rikyū sat in the tearoom with objects made of iron, bamboo, and earth, the space became totally different from the ordinary world. As he touched the bowl, as he used the bamboo whisk to mix the tea, each item became part of his body. He had transported himself to a realm far away from Yodo Castle, Jurakudai, and Hideyoshi. Maybe he even forgot who his guest was. In that moment, he forgot everything, even the mysterious stain that had darkened his heart.

  17

  There was no snow on the first day of the New Year, but sleet fell all day. Up until then, there had been many warm days where the weather was fine, but now it made an abrupt turn, as if to mark the passage into a stormier year.

  The bad weather put a damper on the New Year celebrations at Jurakudai, which had become more extravagant every year. Unusually, Hidenaga didn’t come from Kōriyama to participate with the other warriors and lords. He was greatly missed. His health was declining rapidly, and it made the weather seem like a bad omen.

  Hideyoshi’s mother, who was now close to eighty, usually had a good appetite and ate with gusto. But she didn’t even pick up her chopsticks at the festival feast. Hideyoshi was worried about his mother, but he couldn’t let himself dwell on it. He had too many projects, problems, and plans. By throwing himself into his work, he could avoid the fear for his brother that kept plaguing him.

  The preparations for attacking China were coming along nicely. When Hideyoshi had attacked Shimazu, he had extended the roads and built up the ports in Hakata. Now, he knew that he wanted his base to be in Kyūshū, but he had to choose between Hakata and Nagoya, which was closer to Busan in Korea. From Nagoya, the troops could go to nearby small islands and from there to Tsushima and Iki like a series of stepping stones. But although Nagoya was ideal geographically, it was in a remote area, and Hideyoshi would have to build up its infrastructure.

  The shipbuilding was proceeding on schedule. All the lords who had coastal territories were ordered to build two large boats at a value of a hundred thousand koku each. The regions owned by the shōgunate had to build three of those big ships and five middle-sized boats. Each boat would carry five hundred crewmen in addition to the soldiers at a value of ten thousand koku. The crewmen, soldiers, and even the support troops were all drafted. Because Hideyoshi wanted to bring as many soldiers as possible, his secretaries were kept busy surveying the population and recording the number of people in each region.

  But the impending invasion of China wasn’t the only battle on Hideyoshi’s mind. Since the fall of the Hōjō family, most of the resistance to Hideyoshi’s rule had died down, but now there were outbreaks of rebellion among the farmers. In the northern provinces, one of those outbreaks had turned into a full-scale conflict. The lord of that province, Date Masamune, sent troops to quell the rebellion. And Hideyoshi sent a lord that he knew was loyal to him, Gamō Ujisato, who became the lord of Aizu province after the battle of Odawara, to do the same—but the two lords had ended up fighting each other rather than the rebels. Hideyoshi had ordered his nephew Hashiba Hidetsugu and Tokugawa Ieyasu to send a punitive expedition, but if this failed he was planning to go himself. Discussing the situation with Rikyū, Hideyoshi said that he would take the field on March 1. Ever since he had won the battle with Shimazu, March 1 had become an auspicious date for him. He had departed to attack Hōjō in Odawara on the same date. Hideyoshi wasn’t the type to worry, but he was particular about this type of thing.

  There was a reason why Hideyoshi often discussed the conflict in Ōu province with Rikyū. Hosokawa Tadaoki was one of Rikyū’s disciples, and Tadaoki’s retainer Matsui Sadonokami Yasuyuki was very close to Rikyū. He had joined the battle at Nihonmatsu with Hideyoshi’s major retainer, Asano Danjō, and he sent detailed reports of the battle to Rikyū. Thus Hideyoshi learned valuable inside information.

  “Sōeki, have you heard from Nihonmatsu?” Hideyoshi asked. The two of them had ended up talking about the farmers’ rebellion.

  “Ujisato was careless this time,” Hideyoshi said.

  “Do you think so, Kampaku-sama?”

  “Yes, I think that was the case. Tadasaburo is a sincere man. Compared to Masamune, he is too honest. Even you were deceived by Masamune, Sōeki. Rem
ember what happened in Odawara?”

  During the war with Odawara, many of the warriors from the northern regions had come to pay their respects to Hideyoshi. Masamune, however, had delayed. Hideyoshi suspected him of trying to play both sides—waiting to see the outcome of the battle—and when Masamune finally arrived, Hideyoshi refused to see him at first. Masamune asked Kimura Yoshikiyo to intercede for him, and Yoshikiyo had asked Rikyū for help.

  Hideyoshi pointed out to Rikyū what had happened. “At the time, Masamune was in Kanazawa, and later he told me that he was late because he wanted to avoid being seen by Hōjō’s troops. But that was just an excuse. The truth was that he was sitting on the fence. From the beginning, he was a sly man. He seems to be doing the same thing again. As soon as the rebellion broke out among the farmers, he sent his troops past Ujisato. You don’t know what he will do in any given situation.”

  It had been less than half a year since the fall of the Hōjō family, and Ōu, which was controlled by Masamune, was the best place for fugitive warriors to hide. Hideyoshi saw this as treason on Masamune’s part, and he wanted to retaliate on March 1 before sending troops to China.

  The meeting between Hideyoshi and Masamune at Mount Ishigaki Castle had been Rikyū’s doing more than Yoshikiyo’s. Masamune knew that, and as a courtesy, afterward he had sent Rikyū a sword and some money as a thank-you gift. For Rikyū, this kind of thing was normal, and if he knew a gift was coming, he didn’t hesitate to make requests. But now the person he had helped six months ago was suspected to be a rebel. The stain on his judgment was clear.

  “I am so sorry about that,” he said now. He could do nothing but apologize.

  Hideyoshi didn’t want to let it drop, saying that it was unacceptable that Rikyū had been deceived by Masamune. But his expression wasn’t angry. Although his eyes were not big, they had strong lines on their outer corners, and they twinkled expressively. As he stared at Rikyū’s round head, which bowed even lower now with the rebuke, he grinned with satisfaction.