"Beyond that," he said, "there is really nothing more to say. Please, my lord, take good care of yourself. Believe that you yourself are irreplaceable, and strive even harder after I am gone." As Hanbei finished speaking, his chest crumpled like a piece of rotten wood. There was no longer any strength in the thin hands that should have supported him. His face fell flat against the floor; a pool of blood spread over the matting like the blooming of a red peony.
Hideyoshi jumped forward and held Hanbei's head, and the blood that was now gushing out stained his lap and chest.
"Hanbei! Hanbei! Are you leaving me alone? Are you going off by yourself? What am I going to do on the battlefield without you from now on?" he cried, weeping copiously, without regard for either his appearance or his reputation.
Hanbei's white face now lay limply, his head resting on Hideyoshi's lap. "No, from now on you won't have to worry about anything."
Those who are born the morning, die before the evening; and those who are born in the evening are dead before the dawn. Such facts do not necessarily bespeak the Buddhist view of impermanence, so one might wonder why it was specifically Hanbei's death that sent Hideyoshi into the depths of despair. He was, after all, on a battlefield, where every day men fell like autumn leaves from the branches. But the extent of his grief was such that even the people who were grieving with him were dumbfounded, and when he finally came to himself—like a child after a tantrum—he softly lifted Hanbei's cold body from his lap and, unaided, placed it on top of the white bedding, whispering to it as though Hanbei were still alive.
"Even if you had lived two or three times the normal life span, you had such great— almost unbearable—ideas that your hopes might still have been only half fulfilled. You did not want to die. If it had been me, I wouldn't have wanted to die either. Right, Hanbei? How many things you must have regretted leaving undone. Ah, when your kind genius is born into this world, and less than a hundredth of your thoughts are brought to fruition, it's natural that you wouldn't want to die."
How much love he had for the man! Over and over he complained to Hanbei's corpse. He did not fold his hands and recite a prayer, but his pleas to the dead man were endless.
Kanbei, who had been informed of Hanbei's condition by his son, had just arrived.
"Am I too late?" Kanbei asked anxiously, limping in as fast as he could. There was
Hideyoshi, sitting with red eyes at the bedside, and there lay the cold, lifeless body of Hanbei. Kanbei sat down with a heavy groan, as though both his body and his spirit had been crushed. Kanbei and Hideyoshi sat quiedy, without speaking, looking at Hanbei’s body.
The room was as dark as a cave, but no lamp was lit. The white bedding beneath the corpse looked like snow at the bottom of a ravine.
"Kanbei," Hideyoshi finally said, sounding as though grief were pouring from his entire body, "it's pitiful. I had thought it would be difficult, but…"
Kanbei could not say much in response. He seemed to be in a daze, too. "Ah, I just don't understand it. He was fine six months ago. And now this." After a pause, he continued as though he had suddenly come to himself. "Well, come on. Are all of you just going to sit here crying? Someone light a lamp. We should clean his body, sweep the room, and lay him out in state. Everything must be done for a proper battlefield funeral.”
While Kanbei gave orders, Hideyoshi disappeared. In the flickering light of the lamps, as people began to work stiffly, someone discovered a letter left that Hanbei had left beneath his pillow. It was addressed to Kanbei, and had been written two days before.
They buried Hanbei on Mount Hirai, the autumn wind blowing sadly through the mourning flags.
Kanbei showed Hanbei's last letter to Hideyoshi. It contained nothing about himself; he had written about Hideyoshi, and about the plans he had had in mind for future operations. In part it read:
Even if my body should die and turn to white bones beneath the earth, if my lord will not forget my sincerity and will recall me in his heart even accidentally, my soul will breathe into my lord's present existence and never fail to serve him even from the grave.
Considering his service to have been insufficient but not begrudging his early death, Hanbei had waited for that death in the full belief that he would serve his lord even after he had become nothing but whitened bones. Now, when Hideyoshi considered Hanbei’s inmost feelings, he could not help but cry. No matter how hard he tried to control his tears, he could not stop them.
Kanbei finally spoke sternly. "My lord, I don't think you should go on grieving like this. Please read the rest of the letter, and think carefully. Lord Hanbei has written down a plan to take Miki Castle."
Kanbei had always been completely devoted to Hideyoshi, but in the present situation, his voice was showing a little impatience at Hideyoshi's unreserved demonstration of the emotional side of his character.
In his letter Hanbei had predicted that Miki Castle would fall within one hundreddays. But he also cautioned that a victory should not be accomplished simply by making a frontal attack and injuring their own soldiers, and he had written down a final plan:
In Miki Castle there is no man with more discrimination than General Goto Motokuni. In my own view, he is not the kind of soldier who does not understand the country's situation and demonstrates his toughness by going blindly into a battle. Before this campaign, I sat and talked with him a number of times at Himeji Castle, so you might say there is a slight friendship between us. I have written a letter to him, urging him to explain the advantages and disadvantages of the present situation to his lord, Bessho Nagaharu. If Lord Nagaharu understands everything that Goto says, he should be enlightened enough to surrender the castle and sue for peace. But to put this plan into operation, it is essential to gauge the right psychological moment. The best time of all, I think, would be late fall, when the earth is covered with dead leaves, the moon is solitary and cold in the sky, and in their hearts, the soldiers yearn for their fathers, mothers, sisters, and brothers, and have feelings of nostalgia in spite of themselves. The soldiers in the castle are already pressed by starvation, and when they feel that winter is coming, they're sure to realize that death is near and to feel all the more full of self-pity and misery. To make a strong attack at that time will do nothing more than give them a good place to die and provide them with traveling companions for their climb over the mountain of death. But if you were to postpone the attack for a while at this point and, after giving them the chance to think coolly, send a letter explaining the matter to Lord Nagaharu and his retainers, I have no doubt that you will see a conclusion within the year.
Kanbei saw that Hideyoshi had doubts about whether Hanbei's plan could succeed, and now he added a point of his own.
"The fact is that Hanbei spoke about this plan two or three times when he was alive, but it was put off because the time was still not ripe. If I may have my lord's permission, I will go at any time as an envoy and meet Goto in Miki Castle."
"No, wait," Hideyoshi said, shaking his head. "Wasn't it just last spring that we used this same plan, approaching one of the generals in the castle through the connections of Asano Yahei's relatives? There was no answer. We found out later that when our man advised Bessho Nagaharu to capitulate, the generals and soldiers got angry and cut him to pieces. The plan that Hanbei has left us sounds a little like that one, doesn't it? In fact, it's the same thing, I believe. If it's handled badly, we'll only let them know our weakness, and nothing will be gained."
"No, I think that is why Hanbei emphasized the importance of judging the correct moment. And I suspect that that moment is now."
"You think it's the right time?"
"I believe it absolutely." Just then, they heard voices outside the enclosure. Along with the voices of the generals and soldiers they were accustomed to, they could also hear a woman's voice. It was that of Hanbei's sister, Oyu. As soon as she had been informed that her brother was in a critical condition, she had left Kyoto, accompanied by only a few attendants
. With the thought of seeing his face just once more while he was still in this world, she had rushed anxiously to Mount Hirai, but as she came closer to the front lines, the road had become more difficult. In the end, she was too late.
To Hideyoshi, the woman now bowing before him had completely changed. He gazed her traveling outfit and emaciated face and then, as he started to speak, Kanbei and the pages deliberately went outside to leave them alone. Oyu could only shed tears at first, and for a long time could not look up at Hideyoshi. Throughout his absence during the long campaign she had longed to see him, but now that she was in front of him, she could hardly go to his side.
"You have heard that Hanbei is dead?"
“Yes.
"You must be resigned to it. There was nothing we could do."
Oyu's heart collapsed like melting snow, and her body was convulsed with sobs.
"Stop crying; this is unbecoming." Hideyoshi lost his composure, hardly knowing what to do. Even though there was no one else present, the attendants were immediately outside the enclosure, and he felt constrained by the thought of what they might hear.
"Let's go to Hanbei's grave together," Hideyoshi said, and he led Oyu along the mountain path behind the camp to the top of a small hill.
A chilly late-autumn wind moaned through the branches of a solitary pine. Beneath it was a mound of fresh earth, upon which a single stone had been placed as a grave marker. In former times, during leisure hours in the long siege, a reed mat had been placed at the foot of this pine, and Kanbei, Hanbei, and Hideyoshi had sat together, talking over the past and present while looking at the moon.
Oyu parted the bushes, looking for some flowers to put on the grave. Then she faced the mound of earth and bowed beside Hideyoshi. Her tears no longer fell. Here at the top of the mountain, the grasses and trees of late autumn demonstrated that such a condition was a natural principle of the universe. Autumn passes into winter, winter passes into spring—in nature there is neither grief nor tears.
"My lord, I have a request, and I'd like to ask it in front of my brother's grave."
"Yes?"
"Perhaps you understand… in your heart."
"I do understand."
"I would like you to let me go. If you'll grant me that, I know my brother will be relieved, even under the earth."
"Hanbei died saying that his spirit would serve me even from the grave. How can turn my back on something that he worried about when he was alive? You should do what your heart tells you."
"Thank you. With your permission, I will do my best to honor his dying wish."
"Where will you go?"
"To a temple in some remote village." Once again she shed tears.
* * *
Granted a dismissal by Hideyoshi, Oyu received a lock of her brother's hair and his clothes. It was inappropriate for a woman to be in a military camp for a long time, and the next day Oyu went immediately to Hideyoshi and told him she had made her travel preparations.
“I'm here to say good-bye. Please, please take care of yourself," she told him.
“Won't you stay two or three more days in camp?" Hideyoshi asked. For the next few days Oyu stayed alone in an isolated hut, praying for her brother’s soul. The days passed without any word from Hideyoshi. Frost had descended on the mountains. Each time the early-winter rains came down, the leaves fell from the trees. Then, on the first night that the moon appeared clearly, a page came to Oyu and said, “His Lordship would like to see you. He has asked that you make preparations to leave this evening and that you go up now to Lord Hanbei's grave on the mountain."
Oyu had few preparations to make for the trip. She set off for her brother's grave with Kumataro and two other attendants. The trees had lost their leaves and the grass had withered, and the mountain had a desolate appearance. The ground looked white in the moonlight, as if there had been a frost.
One of the half-dozen retainers in attendance on Hideyoshi announced Oyu's arrival.
"Thank you for coming, Oyu," Hideyoshi began gently. "I've been so busy with military matters since we last met that I haven't been able to visit you. It's become so cold lately, you must be lonely."
"I have resigned myself to spending the rest of my life in an isolated village, so I won't be lonely."
"I hope that you'll pray for Hanbei's soul. Wherever you choose to live, I suspect we'll meet again." He turned to Hanbei's grave under the pine tree. "Oyu, I have something prepared for you over there. I doubt that I'll ever be able to hear the lovely sound of your koto again, after tonight. A long time ago, you were with Hanbei at the siege of the castle at Choteiken in Mino. You played the koto and softened the hearts of soldiers who had become like demons, and they finally surrendered. If you would play now, it would be an offering to Hanbei's soul, I think, as well as becoming a remembrance for me. Also, if the notes were carried by the wind to the castle, they might shock the enemy soldiers into thinking of their own humanity and make them aware that their deaths now would be meaningless. That would be a great achievement, and even Hanbei would rejoice."
He led her over to the pine tree, where a koto had been placed on top of a reed mat.
Having resisted a siege of three years with all their courage and integrity, the warriors the western provinces, who looked down on other men as being frivolous and vain, were now reduced to shadows of their former selves.
"I don't care if I die fighting today or tomorrow, I just don't want to die of starvation," one of the defenders said.
They had fallen into such an extremity that dying in battle was their last remaining hope. The defenders still looked like men, but they were now reduced to sucking the bones of their own dead horses and eating field mice, tree bark, and roots, and they anticipated having to boil the tatami mats and eating the clay on the walls in the coming winter. As they consoled each other, sunken eye to sunken eye, they still had enough spirit to be able to plan on getting through the winter as best as they could. Indeed, even in small skirmishes, when the enemy drew near, they could suddenly forget their hunger and fatigue and go out to fight.
For more than half a month, however, the attacking troops had not approached the castle, and this neglect was more bitter to the defending troops than any desperate death. When the sun went down, the entire castle was sunk into a darkness so deep it might just as well have fallen to the bottom of a swamp. Not one lamp was lit. All of the fish oil and rapeseed oil had been consumed as food. Many of the small shrikes and sparrows that had flocked morning and night to the trees in the grounds had been caught and eaten, and recently the ones that remained had stopped coming to the castle, knowing, perhaps, what would be in store for them. The men had eaten so many crows that now they were rarely even able to catch one. In the midst of the darkness, the eyes of the sentries would quicken at the sound of something like a weasel scampering by. Instinctively, their gastric juices would begin to flow, and they would look at each other and grimace. "My stomach feels like it's being wrung out like a damp cloth."
The moon that evening was beautiful, but the soldiers only wished it could be eaten. The dead leaves fell in profusion on the roofs of the fortress and around the castle gate. A soldier munched greedily on them.
"Taste good? someone asked.
"Better than straw," he answered, and picked up another one. Suddenly looking queasy, he coughed several times and vomited the leaves he had just eaten.
"General Goto!" someone suddenly announced, and everyone stood to attention. Goto Motokuni, chief retainer of the Bessho clan, walked toward the soldiers from the darkened keep.
"Anything to report?" Goto asked.
"Nothing, sir."
"Really?" Goto showed them an arrow. "Sometime this evening, this arrow was shot into the castle by the enemy. A letter was tied to it, asking me to meet with one of Lord Hideyoshi's generals, Kuroda Kanbei, here tonight."
"Kanbei is coming here tonight! A man who betrayed his lord for the Oda. He's not fit to be a samurai. When he shows up, we'll t
orture him to death."
"He's Lord Hideyoshi's envoy, and it would not be right to kill someone whose arrival has been announced beforehand. It's an agreement among warriors that one does not kill messengers."
"That would be all right even for an enemy general if it were someone else. But with Kanbei, I feel like I wouldn't be content even eating the meat off his bones."
"Don't let the enemy see what's in your heart. Laugh when you greet him."
Just as Goto gazed out into the darkness, he and the men seemed to hear the intermittent sounds of a distant koto. At that moment Miki Castle became enveloped in a strange hush. In a night the color of India ink, it seemed as though no one could even breathe while the falling leaves swirled and danced formlessly in an uncanny sky.
"A koto?” one of the soldiers said, looking up into the void.
They listened almost in ecstasy to the nostalgic sound. The men in the watchtower, in the guardroom, and in every section of the fortress were caught by the same thoughts. Through storms of arrows, gunfire, and war cries—from dawn until dusk, and from dusk again until dawn—the men who had been in this castle for three years cut off from the outside world had steadfastly dug themselves in, without yielding or withdrawing. Now the sound of the koto suddenly called up various thoughts in their minds.
My ancestral home,
Will you wait
For a man who knows not
If tonight will be
His last?
This was the death poem that Kikuchi Taketoki, Emperor Godaigo's loyal general, had sent to his wife when he was surrounded by a rebel army.
As the men considered their own situations, there were some who unconsciously recited the poem to themselves. Surely there were soldiers, far away from their homes, who thought of their mothers, children, and brothers and sisters of whom they had had no news. Even the soldiers who had nothing to go back to did not have hearts made of stone, and were swayed by the feelings evoked by the koto. No one could stop his tears.
TAIKO: AN EPIC NOVEL OF WAR AND GLORY IN FEUDAL JAPAN Page 82