One afternoon, Nobunaga desired to climb a particular mountain, so Ieyasu had his men clear a path, felling trees and removing boulders just so the Oda lord could ascend unimpeded. The journeying became slower as Ieyasu took Nobunaga aside for visits to sites of legend and historical interest. For each site, Ieyasu had constructed a teahouse so that Nobunaga might contemplate the surroundings with refreshment and in suitable comfort and his host could impress with his tea implements collection. And all the while, the black-and-white goddess, Mount Fuji, grew bigger and then loomed over them as they approached and circled her lower slopes.
As each day’s ride ended, Nobunaga arrived at a newly constructed pavilion, complete with three defensive palisades and a teahouse. As many as twenty had been built along their intended path weeks before by hundreds of men in anticipation of Nobunaga’s arrival. Here, he and his entourage were treated to magnificent banquets. Ieyasu made sure both high and low were provided for—respecting Nobunaga’s troops showed reverence to their commander; hundreds of huts were constructed for Nobunaga’s soldiers each day.
The first act of loyalty from the locals, Ieyasu’s new subjects, to their new lord was to provide the troops morning and evening meals, the best food and drink they possessed. Rice, dried and fresh fish, hunted beasts, wild fowl, forest roots, dried fruits from the autumn, fungi, spring leaves, tofu, eggs, rough grain wine and perhaps even distilled spirits kept the soldiers going—far better and varied than their normal marching diet.
For Nobunaga’s banquets, Ieyasu provided nothing but the finest delicacies available in the land. Couriered sea fish and shellfish, plump freshwater fish and elvers from Fuji’s streams; finely polished white rice; mushrooms; and wild fowl and game, euphemistically known as “mountain whale” to avoid religious scruples about consuming animal flesh. Only the finest of local foods, as well as those transported especially from distant Kyoto and Sakai graced Nobunaga’s table.
Ieyasu himself was a noted gourmand, a rather large man, and had brought along master chefs, houchonin, from Kyoto to prepare the fine fare for his special Oda guests. Their performances of knife skill and delicate carving—one renowned houchonin was said to have been able to carve a carp a different way for one hundred days—were a highlight of the evening’s entertainment as well as purifying and pacifying the spirits of the dead animals who formed the feast. Yasuke and the others marveled in respectful silence as the chefs’ clever knife and chopstick work seemed to resurrect the lifeless fish so the light glinted off their silver skins as if they were darting through a stream. But the finale was a heron; the fowl had already been cooked and then reconstituted, feathers and all, and appeared to be alive once more. After the houchonin had finished their ceremonies and the eating had begun, Nobunaga asked his host, Ieyasu, a hundred questions about the land. There was always more to learn.
Yasuke, too big to fit inside the teahouses, often ate elsewhere, away from the tiny rustic tea huts. Not without good-natured ribbing about his size from Nobunaga and the others, and apologies from Ieyasu.
* * *
Coming down from the mountains, spring now budded around them in mountain cherry blossoms, birds feeding their young and melt-swollen rivers, but it still felt as cold. To counter the chill, Nobunaga and his band of pages held horse races. On mountain plateaus, they staged wild charges on their small but hardy Kiso horses, giving the whip liberally, seeing who could get the most from their mount. Yasuke and his comrades returned to camp laughing with the exhilaration of being alive at this time and in this place. Suddenly the cold did not seem so bad as Yasuke cooled down with a dip in a swift flowing ice-cold stream. That didn’t stop him swiftly jumping into a hot pool when Ranmaru found one bubbling in the middle of the brook. Hot, cold, hot, cold, was there ever such a feeling? The mountain remained an ever-present backdrop. So huge, but also often wreathed in cloud. The lakes they passed reflected her majestic presence almost making it seem like there were two goddesses.
In the middle of the month of May, as they descended toward the coast and the weather got warmer, Ieyasu brought them to a place named Hitoana, a famous cave where the goddess of Mount Fuji herself was supposed to reside. There, another teahouse had been built specifically for their arrival and, once gathered properly around a bubbling kettle, Ieyasu treated them all to a terrifying legend regarding the cave and a samurai’s descent into hell.
In the story, a young samurai accepted his lord’s challenge of exploring the cave where many men had vanished or died. Within, the intrepid samurai found the realms of the Buddhist afterlife, and was treated to a terrifying guided tour of the various levels of hell and occasional fleeting views of heaven. He observed, with horror, the crimes of dead souls and their punishment in the afterlife. The Dante-esque story—a European tale Yasuke had heard of from the Jesuits—took them past giant talking snakes dripping with blood, beautiful maidens of death reeking of rotting fish, and flesh-peeling demons punishing souls for their crimes during life, from vanity and infidelity to those who “didn’t like to farm” or “overburdened their ox with heavy loads.”
The Oda warriors grinned thinly, glancing behind as the cave’s opening gaped at their backs behind the teahouse. The story fully explored sin, death and karma; though his audience would surely have known the tale, Ieyasu judiciously avoided those moments addressing the fleeting nature of wealth, power and worldly fame. Yasuke stared up into the black canopy of night above, no less a cave than that behind them; no doubt recounting his own actions over the past ten years and the eternity that awaited them all.
The next morning, their leisurely pace continued toward Suruga Bay on the Pacific Ocean, stopping at various Tokugawa clan castles along the way. Ieyasu was demonstrating the strength of his realm to Nobunaga, but also emphasizing his obeisance to Nobunaga’s hegemony through the cost, thought and details that had gone into hosting him.
Just before sunset, they reined weary horses along a rocky crest above a long strand of sandy beach on the expanse of Suruga Bay. Gulls darted and wheeled across the shoreline looking for food. Behind them, the sea lolled in long meandering ribbons of grey and blue flecked in gold-capped waves beneath a setting sun which gazed hotly like the single eye of some primordial god fixed atop the farthest horizon.
The party led their horses single file down a narrow path to the water as the surf grumbled softly, echoed in the wet drag of golden sand. A crane rose at their approach, white wings flapping slowly, then settled in a patch of reeds a short distance away. The men dismounted and walked the beach at the mouth of the bay quietly. Fuji still loomed above, while all around the bay, gentle hills extended to the waterline. Nobunaga reached the surf first and leaned to wet his sleeves in the breaking waves. He turned back to his men, grinning.
Yasuke and the others joined him at the water’s edge and imitated his gesture. The cold sea embraced Yasuke’s arms, urging him forward. He lifted the water to his face, closed his eyes as it ran cool across his skin. He’d spent half his life on coastlines and welcomed the familiar swish and rumble, the faint crinkle of salt on his cheeks, on his tongue.
After a meal of sweet local shrimp and delicious whitefish pulled straight from the water which Ieyasu had ordered prepared for them, they took the Tōkaidō main road, westward along the coast through the Tokugawa provinces, back toward home. Mighty rivers such as the Tenryū, which had never been bridged before, now had gilt pontoon bridges thrown upon them. Ieyasu conspicuously constructed the biggest ever bridge in Japan, of boats with a highway laid over them, at massive expense. All for no other reason than Nobunaga should be seen to ride across this river of roaring rapids, to conquer the river that had its origins in the mountains of the former Takeda lands. One more symbolic victory over his old foe and proof that Ieyasu’s reverence for Nobunaga was boundless. Yasuke thought he’d understood the Nobunaga effect, but this was something else.
In thanks for this unparalleled Tokugawa hospitality,
even Nobunaga failed to find the words to describe the joy he felt at what Ieyasu had done for him. Instead, he bestowed upon his host a prized short sword and a gorgeous black-spotted horse from his personal stable. Tokugawa’s men were not forgotten either; Nobunaga rewarded them all from his own pocket, earning their love and affection as well as that of their lord’s. A wise investment in the future.
In this manner, the journey continued back to Oda lands, where, in the latter stages of the return home, Nobunaga’s own vassals and sons competed every night to outdo each other in the lavishness of their welcome for their lord, and Ieyasu’s, hospitality. Truly it had been a homecoming of triumph.
The Takeda heads sent to Kyoto for display had been an effective publicity stunt. All of Japan now knew of Nobunaga’s latest triumphs. Merchants, monks and travelers from throughout the land had returned home with word of the harvest of heads and imposition of peace. They cared little for the deaths of warriors; their one desire was to have a quiet land with ample food where business could flourish.
And so it was that on the final approach to Azuchi Castle, everyone who was anyone from Kyoto, Sakai and all the domains and fiefs in the region had gathered to congratulate Nobunaga on his victory, offer up gifts and welcome him home.
Yasuke rode at his side, basking in the reflected glory. “What a blessed reign,” wrote Ōta, Nobunaga’s biographer, equally versed as Ieyasu in sycophantic praise. “One with such a paragon of power and of glory.”
* * *
Several days later, Ieyasu followed Nobunaga to Azuchi to formally recognize Nobunaga in his overlordship and express gratitude for the new territory he’d been awarded. Nobunaga wished to return the many favors that Ieyasu had done him, and ensured all the roads which he would travel were newly repaired, the accommodation was fit for a king and that the food was, as ever, the best available.
Nobunaga charged the always-capable Lord Akechi with the impending ceremonies and welcome in Azuchi Castle. Akechi sent his men far and wide gathering the delicacies for a three-day banquet. No effort was spared. But when Ieyasu had nearly arrived, Nobunaga inspected the offerings and declared them unfit for human consumption. In a rage, he tossed all the food to the floor and kicked it from the kitchen into the garden outside. The humiliated Akechi could only look on, head bowed deeply to the floor, while his careful preparations were trampled under his lord’s feet. When Nobunaga left the kitchen, another meal with equally fine fare of white rice, delicate soups and fresh seafood was prepared and served to the visiting Ieyasu who, none the wiser, was well pleased by his warm and gracious welcome.
As soon as the feast was over, Nobunaga forgot about the whole incident and already needed Akechi for other things. For the warlord had just received word from General Hideyoshi in the west that the Mori were preparing a final counterattack. Hideyoshi requested reinforcements urgently. The general had just used thousands of laborers to quickly engineer the rerouting of a river to cut off one of Lord Mori’s frontline castles at Takamatsu—turning it into an island! He’d also constructed floating gun boats to pound the suddenly stranded defenders day and night. Now, it was only a matter of time. The thousands of Mori soldiers trapped within would suffer a similar fate to the people of Tottori, and perish from starvation. But Lord Mori had assembled troops elsewhere and was advancing on Hideyoshi’s position to attempt to lift the siege and rescue those stuck on Japan’s newest island. If everything fell into place, it would be a perfect opportunity to end Mori resistance once and for all.
Akechi was ordered back to his home castle to prepare for all-out war against the Mori. Orders were also sent out to all the generals who’d been with Nobunaga in the Takeda campaign to muster for war. The Mori clan still had formidable armies in the field, not like the beardless boys Takeda Katsuyori had sent out to their untimely deaths. Akechi, still seething from the shame of the botched dinner, was one among those tasked with taking his personal troops westward, though Nobunaga himself would lead the line this time. No one else would take the glory from this decisive campaign.
Nobunaga treated Ieyasu and his team to dramatic entertainments as well as a final feast at which he himself served his guests. He then presented all of Ieyasu’s men with kimonos and recommended to Ieyasu he should take a holiday to Kyoto, Osaka and Sakai. See the sights, do a little shopping. A subtle reminder that although he, Nobunaga, was going to war, he did not always need Ieyasu’s support. Ieyasu took the hint and gladly agreed. He duly left the next day in the company of his small entourage with one of Nobunaga’s own men to act as a guide.
That evening, Nobunaga grinned as he enjoyed a quiet drink with Yasuke and a small group away from the bustle of the almost-daily state banquets. Yasuke lifted his cup, grinned back and thanked Nobunaga for the honor of being allowed to travel with him.
The remaining Mori clan samurai would, for the first time, now face the full might of Nobunaga’s power. And after the Mori were finished, his amassed troops could press on through the summer into Shikoku where the Chōsōkabe family still ruled. After, only the northern lands of eternal ice and snow and the balmy southern island of Kyushu would remain, but those remote regions would come next year. The realm reunited, tenka fubu. After that, farther afield, Korea perhaps? China? Or maybe that was not necessary; all things in their time. He would first travel to Takamatsu to personally make an end of the Mori.
Nobunaga and thirty comrades, including Yasuke, set out at a gallop for Kyoto where they’d rest for the night before pressing on to the besieged Mori castle. They would stay, as always, at the Honnō-ji Temple.
Only one of them would live until morning.
Chapter Nineteen
Battle Cry
Atop Mount Atago, in an ancient shrine dedicated to the spirits of the mountain, knelt Akechi Mitsuhide. The silence was broken only by the whisper of falling pine needles as trees braced in the stiff breeze. But for the lone priest in attendance who drifted within the temple’s gloom like a shadow, Akechi had spent the whole night alone in deep meditation. In reflection and prayer, consulting Shogun Jizo, the Japanese Buddhist deity of victorious hosts. No common god of martial triumph, but one of the most divine and powerful in Japan, renowned for assuring victory and valor in war. Over several hours, he’d prayed to Shogun Jizo for divination three separate times and the sacred response, all three times, had been favorable. There seemed no need for a fourth consultation—the number four was unlucky anyway, due to it sounding the same as the word for death, shi. Refreshed and reassured by his meditation, Akechi hiked the five-hour descent with a bolstered stride, his brow unfurrowed for the first time in too long, a once-troubled heart restored and resolute.
Oda Nobunaga must die, and the time was now.
Commanded by Nobunaga to muster his troops and advance in support of Hideyoshi, Akechi had mustered his samurai as ordered. (No one would have expected anything less.) The order from Nobunaga had read: “You can be a more effective backup between Bizen and Bingo if you march directly from your own province in the next few days, so you’ll get there before I do. When you arrive, wait for further orders from Hideyoshi.”
Infantry, cavalry, craftsmen, laborers, armorers, grooms, cooks, carpenters, shigeshoshi head-dressers, and numerous camp followers set out on the road west to war. They now all waited for him in Kameyama Castle just below the shrine while he meditated and mulled over the biggest decision of his life.
It was June 18, 1582.
Akechi and his main force, typically based at Sakamoto on Lake Biwa, only a few short miles south of Azuchi, had skirted the mountains north of Kyoto and gotten as far west as his secondary fief at Kameyama where they’d remained to gather more men and supplies before the anticipated advance westward into Mori territory. His soldiers had seen to their weapons and the enormous support staff made ready for the long trek and the anticipated action waiting at its end. While his vassals organized, Akechi had climbed the mountain al
one for his night of reflection.
The following night, he again ascended the steps to the holy enclosure atop. This time, however, he’d climbed in the company of eight gentlemen poets, among them Gyōyu, the head priest of the shrine, and Satomura Jōha, who’d risen from humble origins to be considered one of the most celebrated poets in all of Japan.
They’d gathered to hold a renga session—a centuries-old form of collaborative poetry where multiple poets took turns adding new stanzas after the poet proceeding them, competing in literary allusions and poetic skill. Each contribution had to conform to rules of structure, meter, stress and intention. The poem was to reach exactly one hundred stanzas in this case, and would take the poetic grouping all night to achieve. Renga were often employed as a powerful performance in the act of prayer, beseeching the dedicatory deity to grant victory in battle.
In the holy atmosphere of the old shrine, the stars shining through the open shutters, a servant fed the braziers to keep the participants’ hands warm enough to perform their swift and light calligraphic brush strokes. While awaiting their turn, the poets quietly made tea from the bubbling kettle hung above the fire pit in the center of the room, ignorant of Akechi’s treasonous intentions.
The first verse—the hokku (what some were now calling haiku as a standalone poem, rather than a poem’s start)—was given by the most honored guest. And so, Akechi began:
Toki wa ima,
ame ga shitashiru,
Yasuke: In Search of the African Samurai Page 24
