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

by Eiji Yoshikawa

  He then listed the boys' names.

  Almost all of them were sons of the great clans in Kyushu.

  "That's quite courageous of them." Nobunaga actually rejoiced that a mission of young men, whose oldest member was only sixteen, had journeyed to faraway Europe. Inwardly, he thought that it would have been good to meet with them and, as a parting gift, talk a little about his own spirit and faith.

  Why would the kings of Europe and someone like Valignani so enthusiastically want the children of provincial lords to visit Europe? Nobunaga understood their intentions, but he also saw through their ulterior motives.

  "When he departed from Kyoto for this mission, Valignani expressed his regrets… about you, sire."

  "Regrets?"

  "That he was returning to Europe without having baptized you."

  "Is that so? He said that?" Nobunaga laughed. He stood up from the chair and turned around to his attendant. The man had a hawk perched on his fist. "We've tarried too long. Let's go."

  Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, he was descending the stairs in great strides. He quickly called for his horse outside the door. Ito Jerome—the student who had been playing the violin—and all of the others were lined up in the school playground to see him off.

  * * *

  The castle at Nirasaki, the new capital of Kai, had been completed up to as the kitchens and the quarters of the ladies-in-waiting.

  Regardless of the fact that it had been the twenty-fourth day of the Twelfth Month and at the very end of the year, Takeda Katsuyori had moved from Kofu, the old provincial capital for generations of his ancestors, to this new capital. The grandeur and beauty of the move itself was still the talk of the farmers along the roadside, even now during New Year's.

  Beginning with the palanquins for Katsuyori and his wife and for the many ladies who waited upon them, and continuing with those for his aunt and her daughter, the lacquered litters for the various nobles and ladies must have numbered into the hundreds.

  In the midst of this endless procession of sights—the samurai and retainers, the personal attendants, the officials with their gold and silver saddles, the mother-of-pearl inlay, the sparkle of gold lacquer, the open umbrellas, the archers with their bows and quivers, the forest of red-shafted spears—what caught everyone's eye above everything else were the banners of the Takeda. Thirteen Chinese characters sparkled in gold on a bright red cloth next to another banner. Two lines of gold characters were displayed on the long anner of deep blue:

  Swift as the wind

  Quiet as a forest

  Ardent as fire

  Still as a mountain

  Everyone knew that the calligraphy for this poem had been executed by Kaisen, the head priest of the Erin Temple.

  "Ah, how sad that the very soul of that banner is leaving the castle at Tsutsujigasaki and moving on today."

  Everyone in the old capital seemed sad. Every time the banner with Sun Tzu's words and the one with the thirteen Chinese characters had been unfurled and taken into battle, the brave soldiers had returned with them. At those times, they and the townspeople had shouted themselves hoarse with deeply felt cries of shared victory. Such events had occurred in Shingen's time, and now everyone missed those days.

  And although the banner emblazoned with Sun Tzu's words was the same physically, the people could not help feeling that it was somehow different from the one they had looked upon in former times.

  But when the people of Kai watched the enormous treasure and the stores of munitions being moved to the new capital, along with the palanquins and golden saddles of the entire clan, and the meandering procession of ox-drawn carts stretching for many leagues, they were reassured that theirs was still a strong province. The same feelings of pride that had been with them since the days of Shingen still lingered in the soldiers and even in the general population.

  Not long after Katsuyori moved to the castle in the new capital, the red and white

  plum blossoms in the garden were in bloom. Katsuyori and his uncle, Takeda Shoyoken—indifferent to the songs of the bush warblers—walked through the orchard.

  "He didn't even come to the New Year's celebrations. He said he was sick. Hasn't he sent some news to you, Uncle?" Katsuyori asked.

  He was talking about his cousin, Anayama Baisetsu, who was the governor of Ejiri Castle. Located on the border with Suruga, it was considered by the Takeda to be an important strategic area to the south. For over half a year now, Baisetsu had not come to wait upon Katsuyori, always sending the excuse that he was ill, and Katsuyori was worried.

  "No, I think he's probably really sick. Baisetsu's a priest and an honest man; I don't think he would pretend to be ill."

  Shoyoken was an exceptionally good-natured man, so this answer did not put Katsuyori's mind at ease.

  Shoyoken fell silent.

  Nor did Katsuyori say anything more, and the two of them walked on silently.

  Between the keep and the inner citadel was a narrow ravine filled with different kinds of trees. A bush warbler dropped almost as if it had fallen, fluttered its wings, and flew away in surprise. At the same time a voice came suddenly from a row of plum trees.

  "Are you there, my lord? I have important news."

  The retainer's face had lost its color.

  "Pull yourself together. A samurai should speak with self-control about important matters," Shoyoken scolded him. Shoyoken was not just disciplining the young man but was also trying to calm his nephew. Quite unlike his ordinary resolute self, Katsuyori had turned pale in surprise.

  "This is not some small matter. It's really important, my lord," Genshiro replied as he prostrated himself. "Kiso Yoshimasa of Fukushima has committed treason!"

  "Kiso?" Shoyoken's voice expressed a shock that was half doubt, half refusal. As for Katsuyori, he had probably already guessed this would happen. He was just biting his lip and looking down at the retainer prostrated in front of him.

  The beating in Shoyoken's breast was not going to be calmed easily, and his lack of composure was echoed in his shaking voice. “The letter! Let’s see the letter!”

  "The messenger told me to tell Lord Katsuyori that the matter was so urgent there was not a moment to spare," the retainer said, "and that we are to wait for a letter from the next messenger."

  As he walked away in great strides, Katsuyori stepped right past the still prostrate retainer and yelled back to Shoyoken. "It won't be necessary to see Goro's letter. There have been plenty of suspicious signs from Yoshimasa and Baisetsu in recent years. I know it's a lot of trouble, Uncle, but I'm going to need you to lead an army again. I'll be going too."

  Before two hours had passed, the sound of a great drum rang out from the tower of the new castle, and the call of the conch shell floated through the castle town, proclaiming mobilization. The plum blossoms were almost white as this peaceful spring evening came to a close in the mountain province. The army set out before the end of the day. Hastened by the setting sun, five thousand men started out on the Fukushima Road, and by nightfall almost ten thousand troops had left Nirasaki.

  "Well, this is just fine! He's made his revolt quite clear to us. If it hadn't happened, the day for me to strike down the ungrateful traitor might never have come. This time we'll have to purge Fukushima of everyone with divided loyalties."

  Giving vent to the resentment that was so hard to control, Katsuyori mumbled to himself as his horse took him along the road. But the voices of indignation that traveled with him—the voices of resentment over Kiso's betrayal—were few.

  Katsuyori was as confident as always. When he had cut off his relations with the Hojo, he had abandoned an ally without even looking back at the strength of the clan that been such a great support to him.

  At the suggestion of those around him, Katsuyori had returned Nobunaga's son— who had been a hostage with the Takeda for many years—to Azuchi; but there was still plenty of contempt left in his heart for the lord of the Oda clan, and even more for Tokug
awa Ieyasu in Hamamatsu. He had displayed this aggressive attitude since the battle of Nagashino.

  There was nothing wrong with the strength of his spirit. He was extremely positive. Certainly, strength of spirit is a substance that should fill the jar of the heart to the brim. And during this period of warring provinces, the samurai class as a whole could be said to have possessed that kind of spirit. But in the situation in which Katsuyori found himself, there was an absolute need for unerring adherence to a composed strength that, at a glance, might be taken for weakness. A reckless show of strength would not intimidate an opponent. On the contrary, it only encouraged him. For a number of years, Katsuyori's manliness and courage had been looked down upon for this reason by both Nobunaga and Ieyasu.

  And not only by these men, his enemies. Even in his own province of Kai there were voices expressing the wish that Shingen were still alive.

  Shingen had insisted on a strong military administration of the province. And because he had given both his retainers and the people of Kai the feeling that they would be absolutely secure as long as he was there, they depended on him completely.

  Even during Katsuyori's reign, military service, tax collection, and all other phases of administration were conducted according to Shingen's laws. But something was missing.

  Katsuyori did not understand what that something was; regrettably, he did not even notice that something was missing. But what he lacked was a reliance on harmony and ability to inspire confidence in his administration. Thus it was Shingen's powerful government, now lacking in these two qualities, that began to cause conflict within the clan.

  In Shingen's time, there was a general article of faith shared by the upper and lower classes, one of which they were very proud: no enemy had ever been permitted to take even one step inside the boundaries of Kai.

  But misgivings seemed to be springing up everywhere now. It is hardly necessary to mention that it was obvious to everyone that a line had been drawn with the great defeat of Nagashino. That disaster had not been simply a matter of the failure of the Kai army's equipment and strategy. It had resulted from the shortcomings of Katsuyori's character; and those around him—even the general population, who looked to him as their mainstay—felt a horrible disappointment. Katsuyori, they realized, was not Shingen.

  Although Kiso Yoshimasa was Shingen's son-in-law, he was plotting to betray Katsuyori and did not believe that he could survive. He was beginning to tally up Kai's prospects for the future. Through an intermediary in Mino, he had secretly been in touch with Nobunaga for already two years now.

  The Kai army split up into a number of lines and marched to Fukushima.

  As the soldiers marched they were confident, and they could often be heard to say, "We'll crush Kiso's forces right under our feet."

  But as the days passed, the news relayed to headquarters did not make Takeda Katsuyori smile in satisfaction. On the contrary, the reports were all disturbing.

  "Kiso is being stubborn."

  "The terrain is hilly, and they have good defenses, so it will take a number of days for our vanguard to approach it."

  Every time Katsuyori heard these kinds of things, he bit his lip and muttered, "If I went there myself…”

  It was part of his character to become angry and exasperated when a war situation was going badly.

  The month passed, and it was now the fourth day of the Second Month.

  Horribly distressing news came to Katsuyori: Nobunaga had suddenly given the order for the Oda troops to mobilize in Azuchi, and he himself had already left Omi.

  Another spy brought more bad news:

  "The forces of Tokugawa Ieyasu have left Suruga; Hojo Ujimasa's troops have left the Kanto; and Kanamori Hida has left his castle. All of them are marching toward Kai, and it's said that Nobunaga and Nobutada have split their troops into two and are about to invade. When I climbed a high mountain and looked out, I could see columns of smoke in every direction."

  Katsuyori felt as if he had been hurled to the ground. "Nobunaga! Ieyasu! And even Hojo Ujimasa?"

  According to these secret reports, his own situation was about the same as that of a mouse in a trap.

  Dusk was approaching. New reports came in that Shoyoken's troops had deserted during the previous night.

  "That can't be true!" Katsuyori said. But it was a fact that such a thing had occurred during the night, and the urgent messages that came in one after another brought proof that could not be denied.

  "Shoyoken! Isn't he my uncle, and an elder of the clan? What's the idea of leaving the battlefield and running away without permission? And all those others. It only sullies my mouth to speak about such disloyalty and ingratitude."

  Railing against heaven and against humankind, Katsuyori should instead have felt such rancor against himself. Ordinarily he was not so weak-minded. But even a man with tremendous courage could not have helped being frightened by such a turn of events.

  "It can't be helped. You must give the order to strike camp."

  So advised by Oyamada Nobushige and the others, Katsuyori suddenly retreated. How desolate he must have felt! Although the twenty thousand soldiers he had counted on at the time of his departure had not engaged in a single battle, the retainers and men returning to Nirasaki with him now numbered no more than four thousand.

  Perhaps trying to find an outlet for feelings he hardly knew how to deal with, he ordered the monk Kaisen to come to the castle. His bad luck seemed to be increasing, for even after he returned to Nirasaki, he received one depressing report after another. The worst, perhaps, was the news that his kinsman Anayama Baisetsu had deserted him and as if that weren't enough, had not only given up his castle at Ejiri to the enemy but had been engaged to guide Tokugawa Ieyasu. He was now said to be in the vanguard of the troops invading Kai.

  So his own brother-in-law had openly betrayed him and was even trying to destroy him. With this knowledge, he was now forced to reflect a little on himself in the midst of his agony. Where have I gone wrong? he asked himself. While on the one hand he had made his indomitable spirit more and more unyielding and had ordered more defenses everywhere, when he received Kaisen at his new castle he displayed a willingness to engage in self-examination that was, for him, quite a gentle attitude. The change was prob­ably too late.

  "It has been just ten years since my father passed away, and eight years have gone by since the battle of Nagashino. Why have the generals of Kai so suddenly lost fidelity to their principles?" Katsuyori asked the priest.

  Kaisen, however, sat facing him in silence, and Katsuyori continued, "Ten years ago, our generals weren't like this. Each of them had a sense of shame and was careful of his own reputation. When my father was still in this world, men rarely betrayed their lord, much less left their own clan."

  Kaisen sat silently with his eyes closed. In comparison with the priest, who seemed like cold ashes, Katsuyori talked on like a wildfire.

  "But even the men who were poised and ready to strike down the traitors have all scattered without having engaged in a single battle or waited for their lord's command. Is

  This behavior worthy of the Takeda clan and its generals—who would not even allow the great Uesugi Kenshin to take one step into Kai. How can there be such deterioration of discipline? How degraded can they be? Many of the generals under my father, like Baba, Yamagata, Oyamada, and Amakasu either are old or have passed away. The ones that re­main are completely different people: they're either the children of those generals or warriors who were not directly connected with my father."

  Kaisen still said nothing. The monk had been more intimate with Shingen than had anyone else, and he must have been over seventy years old. From beneath his snowlike brow, he had observed Shingen's heir very carefully.

  "Venerable teacher, you may think it's too late because things have already come to

  This pass, but if my way of administering the government has been remiss, please show

  me how. If my command of military di
scipline has not been correct, give me some strict way of enforcement. I'm anxious to correct myself. I have heard that you were taught a great deal by my father, who was your friend in the Way. Could you not teach some good strategies to his unworthy son as well? Please don't be stingy with what you have to teach. Consider me as Shingen's son. Please tell me, without reserve, what I've done wrong and how I can correct myself by doing things this way or that. Well then, let me say it. Have I offended the people after my father passed away by suddenly raising the tariffs at river crossings and barriers in order to strengthen the province's defenses?"

  "No," Kaisen said, shaking his head.

  Katsuyori became even more agitated.

  "Then there must have been some failing in rewards and punishments."

  "None at all." The old man shook his snowy brow once again.

  Katsuyori prostrated himself and was on the verge of tears. In front of Kaisen, the fierce warlord who had so much self-esteem could only cry in agony.

  "Don't cry, Katsuyori," Kaisen finally said. "You are certainly not unworthy, and neither are you an unworthy son. Your only error has been lack of awareness. It is a cruel age that has made you stand face to face with Oda Nobunaga. You are not his enemy, after all. The mountains of Kai are far away from the center, and Nobunaga has the advantage of geography, but that is not a great cause of your problem, either. Although Nobunaga has fought battle after battle and has administered the government, in his heart he has never forgotten the Emperor. The construction of the Imperial Palace is just a single instance of all the things he has done."

  Kaisen and Shingen had had a deep understanding of the heart, and Shingen's rever­ence for the old abbot had been extraordinarily deep. But Kaisen had also believed strongly in Shingen—he was a dragon among men; a mythical fiery horse from the heav­ens. But while he praised Shingen so highly, he never compared him with his son, Katsu­yori, or considered the latter to be unworthy by contrast.

  On the contrary, he viewed Katsuyori with sympathy. If someone criticized Katsuyori's mistakes, Kaisen always responded that it was unreasonable to expect more; his fa­ther had simply been too great a man. Kaisen did, perhaps, feel one small dissatisfaction: certainly if Shingen had lived on until now, his influence would not have been restricted to the province of Kai; he would have put his great ability and genius to work on some­thing of greater significance. And now Kaisen regretted that Shingen had not survived. The man who had perceived something of greater significance was Nobunaga. It was he who had broadened the provincial role of the samurai to one of national importance. And it was Nobunaga who had even showed himself to be a model retainer. Kaisen's ex­pectations for Katsuyori, who did not have the character of his father, had absolutely dis­appeared. The abbot clearly perceived that the long civil war was over.