"Wait here," Kanbei ordered.
Obeying their lord's orders, the two retainers watched him closely as he walked away.
As Kanbei approached, the enemy standing in the reeds also stepped forward a pace or two. As soon as they could see each other clearly, they exchanged greetings as though they were old friends. If a secret meeting between enemies in such a place had been witessed by others, a conspiracy would have been suspected immediately; but the two seemed completely indifferent to such concerns.
"The child whom I shamelessly requested you to aid is on the back of that man over there. When the castle falls and I meet my end tomorrow on the battlefield, I hope you won't laugh at the passion of a father's love. He's still so innocent and naive." This was the enemy general, the commander of Miki Castle, Goto Motokuni. He and Kanbei spoke now on familiar terms, for it had only been in the late fall of the previous year that Kanbei had gone to the castle as Hideyoshi's envoy, counseling capitulation. At that time they had spoken on very friendly terms.
"You brought him along, after all? I want to meet him. Have him brought here."
As Kanbei beckoned gently, Goto's retainer stepped out hesitantly from behind his master, loosened the cords that had strapped the child to his back, and let him down.
"How old is he?"
"Just seven." The retainer must have been waiting upon the child as a guardian for some time; he answered Kanbei while wiping tears from his eyes, bowed once, and retreated again.
"His name?" Kanbei asked, and this time the boy's father answered.
"He's called Iwanosuke. His mother has already passed away and his father will too, soon. Lord Kanbei, I entreat you to look after the child's future."
"Don't worry. I am also a father. I understand your feelings very well, and will absolutely see to it that he is brought up under my own hand. After he becomes an adult, the Goto family name will not die out."
"Then I can die tomorrow morning with no regrets." Goto knelt down and held his son to the breast of his armor. "Listen well to what your father is saying now. You're already seven years old. The child of a samurai never cries. Your coming-of-age ceremony still far away, and you're at an age when you would like to have your mother's love and be at your father's side. But now the world is full of battles like this one. We can't help it that you're being separated from me, and it's natural that I should die with my lord. But you are not really so unfortunate. You've been lucky enough to be with me until this evening, and you should give great thanks to the gods of heaven and earth for that good luck. All right? So from tonight on, you'll be by the side of that man right there, Kuro Kanbei. He'll be your master and the parent who brings you up, so serve him well. Do you understand?"
As his father parted his head and spoke to him, Iwanosuke silently nodded again and again while tears rolled down his cheeks. Miki Castle's hours were now numbered. The several thousand people in the castle had quite naturally sworn to perish with their lord and were resolved to die bravely. Goto's will was adamantine, and he did not waver in the least now. But he did have a young son and could not bear to see an innocent child die. Iwanosuke was still much too young to carry the weight of having been born a samurai.
In the days preceding this meeting, Goto had sent a letter to Kanbei, whom—although an enemy—he viewed as a reliable man. Goto had opened his heart to Kanbei, asking him to bring up his son.
As he lectured his little son, he knew this was the end, and was unable to check an unguarded tear. Finally he stood up and strongly ordered him off in Kanbei's direction almost as if he were thrusting the pitiful thing away.
"Iwanosuke, you too should request Lord Kanbei's favor."
"Put your mind completely at ease," Kanbei reassured the man as he took the child’s hand. He ordered one of his retainers to take the child back to camp.
Now, for the first time that evening, Kanbei's retainers understood their master's intentions. Mori hoisted Iwanosuke onto his back and set off with Kuriyama at his side.
"Well then," Kanbei said.
"Yes, this is good-bye," replied Goto.
As they spoke, it was difficult to part. Kanbei did his best to harden his heart and leave quickly, but even though he thought it would be the kindest thing to do, he hesitated.
Finally Goto said with a smile. "Lord Kanbei, when I meet you on the battlefield tomorrow, if we're both pinned down by our personal feelings and the edge is taken off our spears, we'll be disgraced to the end of time. If the worst should happen, I'm prepared take your head. Don't you be remiss either!" He blurted out his words like a parting shot, then immediately turned and walked off in the direction of the castle.
Kanbei quickly returned to Mount Hirai, went before Hideyoshi, and showed him Goto's son.
"Bring him up well," Hideyoshi said. "It will be an act of charity. He looks like a fine boy, doesn't he?" Hideyoshi loved children, and he looked at Iwanosuke's face fondly and patted his head.
Perhaps Iwanosuke did not yet understand; he was only seven. Being in a strange camp with strange man, he simply stared goggle-eyed at everything around him. Many years later he would become famous as a warrior of the Kuroda clan. But right now he was a solitary child, almost like a mountain monkey that had fallen out of its tree.
Finally the day came: it was announced that Miki Castle had fallen. It was the seventeenth day of the First Month of the eighth year of Tensho. Nagaharu, his younger brother Tomoyuki, and his senior retainers disemboweled themselves, the castle was opened, and Uno Uemon delivered a letter of surrender to Hideyoshi.
We resisted for two years and did everything we could as warriors. The only thing I would not be able to bear is the death of several thousand brave and loyal warriors and the members of my family. I plead for my retainers and hope that you will show them mercy.
Hideyoshi agreed to this manly request and accepted the surrender of Miki Castle.
Men of God
Although Hideyoshi and Nobunaga were stationed far apart, Hideyoshi considered it one of his military responsibilities to send news regularly to Azuchi. In this way Nobunaga was given a bird's-eye view of the situation in the west, and thus he felt at ease with the strategy being used in the campaign.
After seeing Hideyoshi off to the western provinces, Nobunaga greeted the New Year in Azuchi. It was the tenth year of Tensho. That New Year was even busier than the previous one, and the celebrations did not go off without mishap. The following incident is recorded in The Chronicles of Nobunaga:
When the neighboring lords, relatives, and others came to Azuchi to pay their respects to His Lordship for the New Year, the crush was such that a wall collapsed and many were killed by the falling stones. The confusion was stupendous.
"Charge each guest from who comes for New Year's calls on the first day one hundred mon, no matter who he is," Nobunaga ordered on New Year's Eve. "A 'calling tax' is not much to ask of a visitor in return for the divine privilege of having an audience with me to express his New Year's wishes."
But that was not all. In recompense for the 'calling tax,' Nobunaga also gave permission to have parts of the castle grounds that were usually closed to the public opened up.
The inns of Azuchi had already been booked long before by eager sightseers—lords, merchants, scholars, doctors, artists, craftsmen, and samurai of every rank—who waited impatiently for the opportunity to see the Sokenji Temple, to pass through the Outer Gate and approach the Third Gate, and from there to go through the residential apartments and enter the garden of white sand, there to express their greetings.
The New Year's sightseers walked through the castle, looking at room after room. They admired the sliding doors illustrated by Kano Eitoku, stared wide-eyed at the tatami mats with their borders of Korean brocade, and gazed in awe at the polished, gilded walls.
The guards shepherded the crowd out through the stable gate, where, unexpectedly, its way was barred by Nobunaga and several attendants.
"Don't forget your contribution! One h
undred mon each!" Nobunaga shouted. He took the money with his own hands and tossed it over his shoulder.
A mountain of coins quickly piled up behind him. Soldiers stuffed the money into bags, and it was then given to officials and distributed among the poor of Azuchi. Thus Nobunaga fondly imagined that there was not one hungry face in Azuchi that New Year's.
When Nobunaga spoke to the official in charge of collecting the tax, who at first had worried about Nobunaga getting involved with such plebeian actions, the official now had to admit, "It was truly a fine idea, my lord. The people who came to visit the castle will have a story to tell for the rest of their lives, and the poor who received the 'contributions' will spread the news. Everybody is saying that those coins are not just ordinary coins, but money that was touched by the hand of Lord Nobunaga himself, and as such, it would be a travesty to waste it. They said they would keep it as capital. Why, even the officials are pleased. I think this kind of good work would be a good precedent for next New Year's and for the years following."
To the official's surprise, Nobunaga coldly shook his head and said, "I'm not going to do it again. It would be a fault for the man who runs the government to let the poor get used to charity."
* * *
Half of the First Month had passed. After the New Year's decorations had been taken down from the doors of people's homes, the citizens of Azuchi realized that something was going on—so many ships were being loaded at the port and were sailing every day.
The ships, without exception, were sailing from the southern part of the lake northward. And thousands of bales of rice, carried along the land routes in meandering processions of horses and carts, were also going up the coast toward the north.
As always, the streets of Azuchi were filled with the traffic of travelers and the goings and comings of the various lords. Not a day went by that a messenger was not seen galoping down the road, or that an envoy from another province didn't pass by.
"Aren't you coming?" Nobunaga called out happily to Nakagawa Sebei.
"Where to, my lord?"
"Hawking!"
"That's my favorite sport! May I accompany you, my lord?"
"Sansuke, you come too."
It was on a morning in early spring that Nobunaga set out from Azuchi. His attendants had been picked the night before, but Nakagawa Sebei—who had just come to the castle—had now been invited, and Ikeda Shonyu's son, Sansuke, was added to the group is well.
Nobunaga had a liking for riding, sumo wrestling, hawking, and the tea ceremony, but the chase was certainly one of his favorite pastimes.
The beaters and archers would be exhausted by the end of the day. Such interests might be called pastimes, but Nobunaga did nothing halfheartedly. With sumo wrestling, for example, when a basho was arranged at Azuchi, he would gather well over fifteen hundred wrestlers from Omi, Kyoto, Naniwa, and other faraway provinces. In the end, the various lords would gather to watch in large crowds, and Nobunaga would rarely grow tired of the sight even as the hour grew late. Instead, he would pick men from among his own retainers and order them to go up into the ring for match after match.
This First Month's hawking trip to the Echi River, however, was extremely simple. It was nothing more than an outing, and the hawks were never released. After a short rest, Nobunaga ordered the party to return to Azuchi.
As the party entered the town of Azuchi, Nobunaga reined in his horse and turned toward a foreign-looking building in the middle of a stand of trees. The sound of a violin was coming from a window. He suddenly dismounted and went in through the door with a few of his attendants.
Two or three Jesuits came down hurriedly to greet him, but Nobunaga was already striding into the house.
"Your Lordship!" the fathers exclaimed in surprise.
This was the school that had been built next to the Church of the Ascension. Nobunaga had been one of the benefactors of the school, but everything from the timber to the furnishings had been contributed by provincial lords who had been converted to Christianity.
"I'd like to see how you conduct classes," Nobunaga announced. "I assume the children are all here."
Hearing what Nobunaga wanted, the fathers were nearly in ecstasy, and told each other what an honor the visit was. Ignoring their chatter, Nobunaga climbed rapidly up the stairs.
Nearly in panic, one of the priests ran ahead to the classroom and informed the students of the unforeseen inspection by a noble visitor.
The sound of the violin stopped suddenly, and the whispering was silenced. Nobunaga stood at the rostrum for a moment and looked over the room, thinking what an odd sort of school it was. The seats and desks in the classroom were all of foreign design, and a textbook had been placed on each desk. As might be expected, the pupils were the sons of provincial lords and retainers. They bowed solemnly to Nobunaga.
The children were between ten and fifteen years of age. All of them came from noble families, and the entire scene, imbued with the exoticism of European culture, was like a flower garden that no Japanese temple school in Azuchi could rival.
But the question of which kind of school—Christian or Buddhist—offered the best form of education had already been answered in Nobunaga's mind, it seemed, and so he had neither admiration nor wonder for what was in front of him. Taking a student's textbook from a nearby desk, he thumbed through the pages silently but quickly returned it to its owner.
“Who was playing the violin just now?" he asked.
Repeating Nobunaga's question, one of the fathers queried the students again.
Nobunaga quickly understood: the teachers had not been in the room until now, and the students had plainly taken advantage of their absence to play musical instruments, gossip, and frolic happily.
"It was Jerome," the priest said.
The students all looked at one boy who sat among them. Nobunaga followed the diection of their stares, and his eyes rested on a youth of fourteen or fifteen.
"Yes. There he is. It was Jerome." When the father pointed at him, the youth turned bright red and looked down. Nobunaga was not sure whether he knew the child or not.
"Who is this Jerome? Whose son is he?" he asked again.
The priest spoke to the boy sternly. "Stand up, Jerome. Answer His Lordship."
Jerome stood and bowed to Nobunaga.
"I'm the one who was playing the violin just now, my lord." His words were distinct, and there was no servility in his eyes; one could see that he was the offspring of samurai family.
Nobunaga looked rigidly into the child's eyes, but the child did not look away.
"What was that you were playing? It must have been a tune from Southern Barbarian nusic."
"Yes, it was. It was a Psalm of David." The child seemed elated. He spoke with such facility that it was as though he had been waiting for the day when he could answer such question.
"Who taught it to you?"
"I learned it from Father Valignani."
"Ah, Valignani."
"Do you know him, my lord?" Jerome asked.
"Yes, I've met him," Nobunaga replied. "Where is he now?"
"He was in Japan at New Year's, but he may already have left Nagasaki and returned to India via Macao. According to a letter from my cousin, his ship was to set sail on the twentieth."
"Your cousin?"
"His name is Ito Anzio."
"I've never heard the name ‘Anzio.' Doesn't he have a Japanese name?"
"He's Ito Yoshimasu's nephew. His name is Yoshikata."
"Oh, is that who he is? A relative of Ito Yoshimasu, the lord of Obi Castle. And what about you?"
"I'm Yoshimasu's son."
Nobunaga was strangely amused. As he looked at this impertinent, charming youth educated in the flower garden of Christian culture, he could only envision the reckless and bewhiskered figure of the boy's father, Ito Yoshimasu. The castle towns along the coastline of Kyushu in western Japan were ruled by lords like Otomo, Omura, Arima, and Ito. Recently they were becoming heavi
ly influenced by European culture.
Whatever was brought in from Europe—firearms, gunpowder, telescopes, medicines and medical equipment, leather, dyed and woven goods, and everyday utensils— Nobunaga accepted with gratitude. He was especially enthusiastic about—and even desirous of—innovations connected with medicine, astronomy, and military science.
However, there were two things that his digestion absolutely rejected: Christianity and Christian education. But if these two things had not been allowed to the missionaries, they would not have come with their weapons, medicines, and other wonders.
Nobunaga was aware of the importance of fostering different cultures and had given permission for the establishment of a church and school in Azuchi. But now that the shoots he had let grow were beginning to bud, he worried about the future of these students. He realized that if the situation was recklessly ignored for a long time, it would lead to trouble.
Nobunaga left the class and was led by the priests to a well-appointed waiting room. There he rested on a colorful, glittering chair reserved for noble visitors. The fathers then brought out the tea and tobacco from their own country, which they valued so highly, and offered them to their guest, but Nobunaga did not touch a thing.
"The son of Ito Yoshimasu just now told me that Valignani was sailing from Japan this month. Has he already left?" he asked.
One of the fathers answered, "Father Valignani is accompanying a mission from Japan."
"A mission?" Nobunaga looked suspicious. Kyushu was not yet under his control, so friendship and commerce between Europe and the provincial lords of that island concerned him more than a little.
"Father Valignani believes that if the children of influential Japanese do not see the civilization of Europe at least once, true commerce and diplomatic relations will never really begin. He communicated with the various kings of Europe and His Holiness the Pope and persuaded them to invite a mission from Japan. The oldest person among those chosen for the mission is sixteen years old."
TAIKO: AN EPIC NOVEL OF WAR AND GLORY IN FEUDAL JAPAN Page 84