TAIKO: AN EPIC NOVEL OF WAR AND GLORY IN FEUDAL JAPAN

by Eiji Yoshikawa

  Sekian was the first to respond to Hideyoshi's suggestion. "Hideyoshi, I agree with you." He looked around at Mitsuhide and Nobumori; they also made no objections. And they swore to attack Mount Hiei with fire, and to let it be known that their actions had exceeded Nobunaga's orders.

  "A masterful plan." In a voice that betrayed admiration, Sekian congratulated Hideyoshi for his resourcefulness, but Nobunaga did not look the least bit pleased. On the contrary, without saying a word, his expression clearly showed that this was something that hardly warranted so much praise.

  The same opinion could be clearly seen on Mitsuhide's face. In his heart, Mitsuhide understood what Hideyoshi had suggested, but he also felt that the merit of the truth of their own loyal remonstrances had been snatched away by the newcomer's words. He was jealous. An intelligent man, however, he was quickly ashamed of his selfishness. He censured himself, reflecting that someone who was ready to die in objecting to his lord's command should avoid shallow thinking, even for a moment.

  The three generals were satisfied with Hideyoshi's plan, but Nobunaga acted as though he were not committing himself to it, and certainly he did not seem to have changed his original aim. One after another, Nobunaga summoned his commanders.

  "Tonight, at the sound of the conch, we will make an all-out attack on the moun­tain!" He himself gave the same severe orders that he had given previously to the three generals. It appeared that there were many officers there who, along with Sekian, Mitsu­hide, and Nobumori, were against the attack by fire, but since those three had already ac­cepted the order, they all did the same and left without a dissenting word.

  Messengers from headquarters galloped to the outlying units and carried the orders to the front-line troops at the foot of the mountain.

  The evening clouds settled in brilliant colors behind Shimeigadake as the sun set. Broad shafts of red light ran across the lake like rainbows, as waves rose on the surface.

  "Look!" Nobunaga stood at the top of the hill and spoke to those around him, gazing up at the clouds around Mount Hiei. "Heaven is with us! A strong wind has come up. We'll have the best weather conditions for a fire attack!"

  As he spoke, the cold evening wind rustled through their clothes and gradually freshened. There were only five or six retainers with him, and at that moment a man peeked inside the billowing curtain as though he were looking for someone.

  Sekian shouted at the man, "What's your business? His Lordship is over here."

  The samurai quickly approached and knelt down. "No, I have nothing to report to His Lordship. Is General Hideyoshi here?"

  When Hideyoshi emerged from the group, the messenger told him, "A man dressed as a priest has just now come into camp. He says he is Watanabe Tenzo, one of your re­tainers, and that he has just returned from Kai. His report seemed to be extremely urgent, so I hurried here."

  Although Nobunaga was a little distance from Hideyoshi, he suddenly turned toward him.

  "Hideyoshi, the man who just returned from Kai is one of your retainers?"

  "I think you know him, too, my lord. Watanabe Tenzo, Hikoemon's nephew."

  "Tenzo? Well, let's hear if he has any news," Nobunaga said. "Call him here. I'd like to listen to his report, too."

  Tenzo knelt in front of Hideyoshi and Nobunaga and told them about the conversation he had eavesdropped on at the Eirin Temple.

  Nobunaga grunted. This was a dangerous threat to his rear. As with his attack on Mount Hiei the year before, the danger had not decreased in the least. On the contrary, both his position in regard to the Takeda and the conditions in the area of Nagashima had worsened. In the campaign the previous year, however, the large armies of the Asai and Asakura had joined forces and retreated to Mount Hiei. This time he had not given his enemies such an opportunity, so the forces that faced him now were not so powerful. It was just that there was always danger from the rear.

  "I imagine the Takeda clan has already dispatched messages to Mount Hiei, so the monks are certain to be optimistic about our army turning tail and heading for home," Nobunaga said, dismissing Tenzo. "This is help from heaven," he said, laughing with satisfaction. "Which is going to be faster—the Takeda army as it crosses the mountains of Kai and presses in on Owari and Mino, or the Oda army when it returns after having destroyed Mount Hiei and conquered the capital and Settsu? It would seem as though they're giving us extra incentive for competition, and increasing our desperate conviction. Everybody get back to your posts."

  Nobunaga disappeared into the enclosure. Smoke rose from the cooking fires of the huge camp that encircled the foothills of Mount Hiei. As night fell, the wind freshened. The temple bell that was usually heard from the Mii Temple was silent.

  The sound of the conch shell reverberated on top of the hill, and the soldiers raised their battle cries in reply. The carnage lasted from that evening until dawn of the following day. The soldiers of the Oda army broke through the barricades the warrior-monks had built across the passes on the way to the summit.

  Black smoke filled the valley, and flames howled through the mountain. Looking up from the foothills, one could see huge pillars of fire everywhere on Mount Hiei. Even the lake glowed a fiery red. The location of the biggest fire showed that the main temple was burning, as well as the seven shrines, the great lecture hall, the bell tower, the library, the monasteries, the treasure pagoda, the great pagoda, and all the minor temples. By dawn the following day not one temple was left standing.

  The generals, who encouraged one another each time they looked up at the fearful sight, would recall Nobunaga's claim of having heaven's mandate and the blessing of Saint Dengyo, and urge themselves on. The apparent conviction of the generals inspired the troops. Making their way through the flames and black smoke, the attacking soldiers followed Nobunaga's orders to the letter. Eight thousand warrior-monks perished in an echo of the most horrible Buddhist hell. The monks who crawled through the valleys, hid in caves, or climbed trees trying to get away were hunted down and killed, like insects on rice plants.

  Around midnight, Nobunaga himself climbed the mountain to see what his iron will had wrought. The monks of Mount Hiei had miscalculated. Even though they had been surrounded by Nobunaga's army, they had made light of the situation, thinking the show of force a pretentious bluff. They had vowed to wait until the Oda started to retreat, and then they had planned to pursue and destroy them. And they had sat by idly, their minds at ease because they received frequent letters of encouragement and reassurance from nearby Kyoto—which meant, of course, from the shogun.

  For all the warrior-monks and their followers across the country, Mount Hiei had been the focal point of the opposition to Nobunaga. But the man who had incessantly supplied provisions and weapons to Mount Hiei and who had done his best to stir up the monks and urge them to fight was Shogun Yoshiaki.

  "Shingen is coming!" So had promised a dispatch from Kai to the shogun. Yoshiaki had held on to this great expectation and had passed it on to Mount Hiei.

  The warrior-monks, naturally enough, had faith that the army from Kai would attack Nobunaga's rear. When that happened, Nobunaga would have to retreat just as he had the year before at Nagashima. And there was one more thing. Because they had lived undisturbed for the past eight hundred years, the monks had underestimated the changes that had overtaken the country in recent years.

  The mountain was transformed into an earthly hell in only half a night. A little too late, at about midnight, when flames were leaping everywhere, representatives of Mount Hiei, consumed with fear and panic, came to Nobunaga's camp to sue for peace.

  "We'll give him whatever amount of money he wants, and we will agree to whatever conditions he sets."

  Nobunaga only flashed a smile and spoke to those around him, as though he were throwing bait to a hawk. "There's no need to give them an answer. Just cut them down on the spot." Once more messengers came from the priests, and this time begged before No­bunaga himself. Nobunaga turned his head and had the monks killed.<
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  Dawn broke. Mount Hiei was covered in the lingering smoke, ashes, and black withered trees, while everywhere corpses were frozen in the poses death had found them in.

  Among these there must have been men of profound learning and wisdom, and the young monks of the future, thought Mitsuhide, who had been in the vanguard of the slaughter the night before. He stood this morning in the thin smoke, covering his face and feeling a pain in his breast.

  That same morning, Mitsuhide had received Nobunaga's gracious command. "I'm putting you in charge of the district of Shiga. From now on you'll live in Sakamoto Castle, down in the foothills."

  Two days later, Nobunaga descended the mountain and entered Kyoto. Black smoke still rose from Mount Hiei. Apparently quite a number of warrior-monks had fled to Kyoto to escape the carnage, and these men now spoke of him as though he were the in­carnation of evil.

  “The man's a living demon king!"

  "A messenger from hell!"

  "He's an atrocious destroyer!"

  The citizens of Kyoto were given a vivid description of Mount Hiei and the pitiful situation that night. Now, when they heard that Nobunaga was withdrawing his troops and heading down the mountain, they were shaken. The rumors flew:

  "It's Kyoto's turn!"

  "The shogun's palace will never be able to withstand a fire attack."

  People shut their doors even though it was daytime, packed their belongings, and prepared to flee. Nobunaga's soldiers, however, bivouacked on the bank of the Kamo River and were forbidden to enter the city. The man who forbade this was the demon king who had commanded the attack on Mount Hiei. Accompanied by a small number of generals, he now went inside a temple. After taking off his armor and helmet and eat­ing a hot meal, he changed into an elegant court kimono and headdress and went out.

  He rode a dappled horse with a gorgeous saddle. His generals remained in their armor and helmets. With these fourteen or fifteen men, he rode nonchalantly through the streets. The demon king was extraordinarily at peace, and smiled kindly at the people. The citizens spilled out onto the roadside and prostrated themselves as Nobunaga passed. Nothing was going to happen. They began to cheer, as relief spread across the city like a wave.

  Suddenly the single report of a gun rang out from the cheering crowds. The bullet grazed Nobunaga, but he acted as though nothing had happened, and only turned to look in the direction of the report. The generals around him naturally leaped off their horses and rushed to capture the villain, but the city people, even more than the generals, were taken in a fit of anger, yelling out in a rage: "Get him!" The perpetrator, who had thought that the people of Kyoto would be on his side, had miscalculated, and now had no place to hide. He was a warrior-monk, said to be their very bravest, and he continued to pour abuse on Nobunaga even though he was pinned down.

  "You're an enemy of the Buddha! The king of the demons!"

  Nobunaga's expression did not change in the least. He rode to the Imperial Palace as planned, and dismounted. After washing his hands, he stepped calmly up to the gate of the palace and knelt.

  "The raging fires of the night before last must have given Your Majesty some surprise. I hope you will forgive me for having caused you anxiety."

  He knelt this way for a long time so that one might have thought that he felt this apology deep within his heart, but presently he looked up at the palace's new gate and walls, and then looked around in a satisfied way at the generals to his right and left.

  It is unlawful to leave one's occupation.

  Those who spread rumors or false reports will be put to death immediately.

  Everything should remain as it has been.

  By order of Oda Nobunaga, Chief Magistrate

  When these three edicts had been posted throughout the city, Nobunaga returned to Gifu. He left without meeting with the shogun, who for some time had been busy deep­ening his moats, buying guns, and steeling himself for a fire attack. Heaving a sigh of re­lief, the residents of the shogun's palace were, however, filled with unease as they watched Nobunaga go.

  The Gateless Gate

  The smoke from the fires of war was thick not only on Mount Hiei but was rising, as if from the leaping flames of a prairie fire, from the western districts of Mikawa, to the villages on the Tenryu River, as far as the borders of Mino. The troops of Takeda Shinger had crossed the mountains of Kai and were flowing southward.

  The Tokugawa, who had dubbed their enemy "the long-legged Shingen," vowed to stop his march on the capital. This was not for the sake of their Oda allies. Kai was critically close to the provinces of Mikawa and Totomi, and if the Takeda forces were to breal through, it would mean the annihilation of the Tokugawa clan.

  Ieyasu was thirty-one years old and in the prime of manhood. His retainers had suffered every privation and hardship for the past twenty years. But at last Ieyasu had come of age, his clan was on friendly terms with the Oda, and bit by bit he was encroaching on the territory of the Imagawa clan.

  His province was filled with the hope of prosperity and the courage of expansion, so much so that the elder retainers, the samurai, the farmers, and the townspeople seemed to be aroused and inspired.

  Mikawa could hardly match Kai in armaments and resources; in determination, however, it was not the least bit inferior. There was a reason why the Tokugawa warriors had given Shingen the nickname "Long-legged." This witticism had once been included in letter to Ieyasu from Nobunaga, and when Ieyasu read it, he thought it was worth relatin to his retainers.

  The appellation was a clever one, for if only yesterday Shingen had been fighting at the northern border of Kai against the Uesugi clan, today he was in Kozuke and Sagami and was threatening the Hojo clan. Or, turning quickly, he would release the fires of war in Mikawa or Mino.

  Moreover, Shingen himself was always in the field giving directions. Thus people said he must have had mannequins to take his place, but the fact was that whenever his men fought, he did not seem to be satisfied unless he was there on the battlefield himself. But if Shingen was long-legged, it could be said that Nobunaga was fleet-footed.

  Nobunaga had written to Ieyasu:

  It would be better not to face the full force of the Kai attack right now. Even if the situation becomes pressing and you have to withdraw from Hamamatsu to Okazaki, I hope you will persevere. If our time must wait for another day, I doubt it will be long in coming.

  Nobunaga had sent this message to Ieyasu before burning Mount Hiei, but Ieyasu had turned to his senior retainers and declared, right in front of the Oda messenger, "Be­fore abandoning Hamamatsu Castle, it would be better to break our bows and leave the samurai class!"

  To Nobunaga, Ieyasu's province was one of his lines of defense; but to Ieyasu, Mikawa was his home. Ieyasu was going to bury his bones in no other province but this one. When he received the messenger's reply, Nobunaga mumbled something about the man being too impatient, and returned to Gifu just as soon as he had finished with Mount Hiei. Shingen must have had something to say about that speed as well. As might be ex­pected, he too was alert in looking for his opportunity.

  Shingen had stated clearly that to be one day late could mean disasters for an entire year, and now he felt the need to hurry all the more to fulfill his long-cherished desire of entering the capital. For this reason, all of his diplomatic moves were expedited. His friendship with the Hojo clan, therefore, was now brought to fruition, but his negotia­tions with the Uesugi clan were as unsatisfactory as before. Thus he was obliged to wait until the Tenth Month to leave Kai.

  Snow would soon close off his borders with Echigo, so his concern about Uesugi Kenshin would be alleviated. His army of about thirty thousand men comprised troops conscripted from his domain, which included Kai, Shinano, Suruga, the northern part of Totomi, eastern Mikawa, western Kozuke, a part of Hida, and the southern part of Etchu —land holdings amounting to almost one million three hundred thousand bushels in all.

  "The best thing we could do is put up a defense," one gene
ral argued.

  "At least until reinforcements come from Lord Nobunaga."

  One party of the men in Hamamatsu Castle spoke in favor of a defensive campaign. Even if all the province's samurai were mustered, the military strength of the Tokugawa clan was hardly fourteen thousand men—barely half that of the Takeda army. Still, Ieyasu chose to order a mobilization of his army.

  "What! This is not a matter of waiting around for Lord Nobunaga's reinforcements."

  All of his retainers expected a great number of the Oda soldiers to come to their aid out of a natural sense of duty—or even out of gratitude for the past service rendered by the Tokugawa clan at the Ane River. Ieyasu, however, did his best to appear as though he had no expectation of reinforcements at all. Now was exactly the time for him to de­termine whether his men were resigned to a life-and-death situation, and to make them realize they could rely on nothing but their own strength.

  "If it's destruction to retreat and destruction to advance, shouldn't we strike out in an all-or-nothing effort, make our names as warriors, and die a glorious death?" he asked calmly.

  While this man had known misery and hardships from the time of his youth, he had matured into an adult who did not make a fuss over trifles. Now, with this situation upon them, the castle of Hamamatsu was as full of fury as a boiling kettle, but while Ieyasu sat there and advocated a violent confrontation more than anyone else, the tone of his voice hardly changed at all. For this reason there were those among his retainers who had misgivings about the difference between his words and their intent. But Ieyasu hastened steadily to make preparations to depart for the battlefield, as he received the reports of his scouts.

  One by one, like teeth being plucked from a comb, reports of each defeat were coming in. Shingen had attacked Totomi. By now, it was likely that the castles at Tadaki and Iida had had no other choice but to surrender. In the villages of Fukuroi, Kakegawa, and Kihara, there was no place that the Kai forces had not trampled underfoot. Worse, Ieyasu's three-thousand-man vanguard under Honda, Okubo, and Naito had been discovered by the Takeda forces in the neighborhood of the Tenryu River. The Tokugawa had been routed and forced to retreat to Hamamatsu.