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

by Eiji Yoshikawa

  To be left out of the distribution of awards should cause a warrior an acute feeling of desolation, and his shame at being a man without merit was worse than the actual rebuff itself. Mitsuhide had not been displaying that sense of dejection at all. On the contrary, he mixed with the other generals, talking happily and exhibiting a smiling face.

  That was not honest. Mitsuhide was a man who would never really open himself up, and there was not much that was lovable in him. Why couldn't he grumble just once? The more Nobunaga stared at him, the more severe his look became. His drunken state probably intensified his feeling, but his reaction had been unconscious. Hideyoshi was ab­sent, but if Nobunaga had been looking at him instead of Mitsuhide, there would have been no danger of such emotions being provoked. Even when he looked at Ieyasu, he did not become so ill-tempered. But when his eyes lighted upon Mitsuhide's balding head, they underwent a sudden change. It had not always been like this, and he could not have said for certain when the change had occurred.

  But it was not a matter of a sudden change at a particular time or on a specific occa­sion. Indeed, if one searched for such a time, one came upon the period when—out of an excess of gratitude—Nobunaga had presented Mitsuhide with Sakamoto Castle, awarded him the castle at Kameyama, arranged his daughter's wedding, and finally endowed him with a province of five hundred thousand bushels.

  This was extremely kind treatment, but it was soon after that that Nobunaga's perception of Mitsuhide had begun to change. And there was one clear cause: the fact that in Mitsuhide's bearing and character there was no trace of a willingness to change. When Nobunaga looked at the clear luster on the hairline of that "kumquat head" that never made a mistake—ever—Nobunaga's emotions turned their attention toward what he per­ceived as the stink of Mitsuhide's character. Perverse, almost scorched feelings would arise within him.

  So it was not simply Nobunaga aiming his ill-tempered eye at someone, but rather Mitsuhide himself instigating the situation. One could see that Nobunaga's perversity manifested itself in his words and expression to the same extent that Mitsuhide's wise reasoning power shone. To be fair, it would be like judging whether the right or left hand claps first. At any rate, Mitsuhide was presently chatting with Takigawa Kazumasu, and the eyes that were staring fixedly at him were clearly in no laughing mood.

  Mitsuhide noticed—perhaps something startled him unconsciously—for Nobunaga suddenly got up from his seat.

  "Hey, Kumquat Head!"

  Mitsuhide restrained himself and prostrated himself at Nobunaga's feet. He could feel the cold ribs of a fan lightly strike the nape of his neck two or three times.

  "Yes, my lord?" Mitsuhide's color, his drunkenness, and even the shine on his fore­head suddenly faded and changed to the color of clay.

  "Leave the room." Nobunaga's fan left the nape of his neck, but the fan that pointed to the corridor looked just like a sword.

  "I don't know what I've done, but if I've been an affront to you, my lord, and the company, I'm not sure where I should go. Please be fully critical of whatever it is that I've done wrong. I don't mind if you rebuke me right here." Even as he humbly apologized, he remained prostrate, slipped his body around, and somehow crawled out onto the broad veranda.

  Nobunaga followed him. Wondering what could be the matter, the men filling the room quickly sobered up and suddenly felt their mouths become dry. Hearing a thudding noise echo from the wooden-floored veranda, even the generals who had looked away from the pitiful figure of Mitsuhide now turned their eyes back outside the room with a start.

  Nobunaga had thrown his fan behind him. The generals could see that Nobunaga had Mitsuhide by the scruff of the neck. Each time the poor man struggled to lift his head to say something, Nobunaga would jerk it down and strike it against the balustrade of the veranda.

  "What was that you said? What did you say just now? Something about the results we've gotten after all our pains, and what a truly happy day it is, as we see the army of the Oda clan filling Kai? You were saying something like that, weren't you?"

  "That's… that's correct."

  "Fool! When did you take pains? What kind of meritorious deeds did you accomplish in the invasion of Kai?"

  “I—“

  "What?"

  "Even though I was drunk, I shouldn't have said such arrogant words."

  "That's exactly right. You have no reason to be arrogant. You were careless with what you were hiding in your mind. You thought that I was distracted by the drinking and listening to someone else, and that you could finally complain."

  "Heaven forbid! Let the gods of heaven and earth be my witnesses! Why, I've received so many favors from you… you raised me up from a man who wore rags and a single word…."

  "Shut up."

  "Please let me go."

  "Most certainly!" Nobunaga thrust him away. "Ranmaru! Water!" he called out in a loud voice. Ranmaru filled a vessel with water and brought it to him. As Nobunaga took the water, his eyes appeared to be on fire. His shoulders heaved with every breath.

  Mitsuhide, however, had at some point gotten away from his master's feet and was now seven or eight feet down the corridor, adjusting his collar and smoothing his hair. He was prostrating himself so low that his chest was touching the wooden floor. The figure of Mitsuhide trying to look unruffled even now was hardly going to be seen in a favorable light, and Nobunaga's foot was starting for the man again.

  If Ranmaru had not actually restrained him by the sleeve, the floor of the veranda would most likely have rung out again. Ranmaru did not directly touch on the event right before his eyes, but said only, "Please go back to your seat, my lord. Lord Nobutada, Lord Nobusumi, Lord Niwa, and all the generals are waiting."

  Nobunaga went tamely back to the crowded room, but he did not sit down. He stood and looked around.

  "Forgive me. I suppose I've been a bit of a killjoy. Each of you eat and drink to your heart's content." With these words he walked hastily off and shut himself up in his private quarters.

  * * *

  A flock of swallows was chirping under the eaves of the block of storehouses. Even though the sun was setting, the adults still appeared to be bringing food to the little ones in the nest.

  "It could be the subject of a painting, don't you think?" In a room of a building situated some distance from the large garden, Saito Toshimitsu, a senior Akechi retainer, was entertaining a guest. The guest was the painter Yusho, who was not a native of Suwa. He must have been about fifty years old, and his robust physique gave no hint that he might be a painter. He spoke very little. Twilight settled on the white walls of the line of bean-paste warehouses.

  "You must forgive me for suddenly calling on you in wartime like this, and talking on about nothing but the tedious affairs of a man no longer involved with the world. I'm sure you have many campaign responsibilities." Yusho seemed to be announcing his leave and began to rise from the cushion.

  "No, please." Saito Toshimitsu was a very composed man, and without even moving, he detained his guest.

  "Since you've come all the way here, it would not be polite to let you leave before you had talked to Lord Mitsuhide. If, after you leave, I tell my lord that Yusho had visited during his absence, he'll scold me and ask me why I didn't keep you here." And he intentionally started off on a new subject, doing his best to keep the unexpected caller entertained. At that time, Yusho was keeping a house in Kyoto, but he was originally from Omi in Mitsuhide's province. Not only that, but at one time, Yusho had received a war­rior's stipend from the Saito clan in Mino. At that same time Toshimitsu—long before he had become a retainer of the Akechi clan—was serving the Saito clan.

  After living as a ronin, Yusho had become an artist, citing the fall of Gifu as the rea­son for his course of action. Toshimitsu, however, had abandoned his former allegiance to the Saito. The discord that grew between Toshimitsu and his former masters was dis­played even in front of Nobunaga, and disputes had been carried on almost as if they were asking fo
r judgment. But now everyone had forgotten the stories that had excited society so much at that time, and those who looked upon his pure white sidelocks con­sidered him to be a retainer the Akechi clan could not do without. Everyone respected his character and his position as an elder.

  The allotment of lodgings had not been sufficient within Nobunaga's main camp at the Hoyo Temple, so some of the generals were quartered in various houses in Suwa.

  The Akechi were bivouacked in the ancient buildings of a beanpaste wholesaler, and both the soldiers and their officers were relaxing after many days of hard fighting.

  A youth who appeared to be the son of the master of the house came up and spoke to Toshimitsu.

  "Won't you come and take a bath, Your Honor? All the samurai and even the foot soldiers have finished their evening meal."

  "No, I'll wait until His Lordship comes back."

  "His Lordship is rather late tonight, isn't he?"

  "There's been a victory banquet today at the main camp. My lord very rarely touches sake, but perhaps he drank a little and is getting a bit tipsy with all the toasts."

  "May I serve you your evening meal?"

  "No, no, I'll wait for my meal as well, until I see that he's come back. I do feel sorry for the guest I've detained, though. Why don't you show him to the bath?"

  "Would that be the traveling artist who's been here all afternoon?"

  "That's right. The man who's crouched over there by himself looking at the tree peonies in the garden. He looks a little bored. Why don't you call him over?"

  The youth withdrew, and then looked around at the back of the building. In front of the dark, luxuriantly blooming tree peonies, Yusho was sitting holding his knees, staring vacantly. A little while later, when Toshimitsu came through the gate, both the youth and Yusho were already gone.

  Toshimitsu was apprehensive. He thought that Mitsuhide was far too late in returning. Even though he was well aware that a victory banquet would last well into the night.

  Leading out through the ancient thatch-roofed gate, the path quickly joined the lakeside road. The last heat of the day still glimmered in the western sky over Lake Suwa. Toshihimitsu looked down the road for some time. Sure enough, he finally saw his lord coming toward him. Horses, spearmen, and attendants all followed in one group. But the concern on Toshimitsu's brow did not diminish as they came closer. Something was not as it should be. Nothing in Mitsuhide's appearance suggested that he was returning from a victory banquet. His lord should have been riding home in brilliant array, swaying gallantly on horseback, drunk along with his attendants on today's gift of sake. But Mitsuhide was walking along, looking crestfallen.

  A retainer was leading his horse, which loped along cheerlessly, while the attendants walked silently behind in exactly the same manner.

  "I came out here to meet you. You must be tired." When Toshimitsu bowed before him, Mitsuhide looked as though he had been taken by surprise.

  "Toshimitsu? I've been inconsiderate. You were good enough to worry about my coming home late. Forgive me. I drank a little too much today, so I intentionally walked home by the lake trying to sober up. Don't be worried by my color. I feel a lot better now.

  Toshimitsu could see that his master had met with some unhappy experience. He had been Mitsuhide's close attendant for many years, so such a thing was unlikely to escape his notice. He did not, however, presume to ask about the matter. The old retainer was quick to look after his master's needs, hoping to cheer him up.

  "How about a bowl of tea, and then a bath?"

  Toshimitsu's reputation was enough to strike fear in the enemy on the battlefield, but as he helped Mitsuhide out of his clothes, Mitsuhide could only think of him as a solicitous old relative.

  "A bath? Yes. A bath might be very refreshing at a time like this." And he followed Toshimitsu to the bathhouse.

  For a while Toshimitsu listened to the sound of Mitsuhide splashing in the hot water in the bath. "Shall I scrub your back, my lord?" Toshimitsu called in.

  "Send in the page," Mitsuhide replied. "I don't feel right about having you put your old body to work."

  "Not at all."

  Toshimitsu entered the bathroom, scooped up some hot water in a small wooden

  bucket, and went around behind his master. Certainly he had never done this before, but at that moment he only wanted to raise his master's unusually low spirits.

  "Is it proper to have a general scrub the dirt from one's back?" Mitsuhide asked. He was modest to the very end. He always exhibited reserve even with his retainers, and it was questionable whether this was one of his good or bad points. Toshimitsu's own opin­ion was that it was not particularly good.

  "Now, now. When this old warrior fights under your honored banner, he's Saito Toshimitsu of the Akechi clan. But Toshimitsu himself is not an Akechi. That being so, it will be a good memory for me, while I'm alive and serving you, to have washed the dirt off your skin just once."

  Toshimitsu had bound up his sleeves and began to wash his master's back. As his back was being scrubbed, Mitsuhide bowed his head contentedly in silence. He reflected deeply on Toshimitsu's concern for him, and then on the relationship between himself and Nobunaga.

  Ah, I've been wrong, he thought. Deep in his own heart, Mitsuhide blamed himself. What was it that was displeasing Mitsuhide and making him so unhappy? Certainly Nobunaga was a good master, but was his own loyalty equal to that of the old retainer who was now scrubbing his back? How shameful. It was just as though Toshimitsu were washing his heart with the hot water he poured down his back.

  When he left the bath, Mitsuhide had changed both in appearance and in the tone of his voice. His mind had become completely refreshed, and Toshimitsu felt the same way.

  "It was good to take a bath, just as you said. I guess it was fatigue as well as the sake"

  "Do you feel better?"

  "I'm all right now, Toshimitsu. Don't worry."

  "I was worried because of the extraordinary unease on your face. That was the worst of all. Well, let me tell you that while you were gone we had a guest, and he's been waiting for your return."

  "A guest? At these battlefield quarters?"

  "Yusho was just traveling through Kai, and he said that before going elsewhere he wanted to stop and see you, and ask how you are."

  "Where is he?"

  "I had him stay in my room."

  "Really? Well, let's go over there."

  "He'll probably feel shamed if the lord actually walks over to see the guest. I'll bring him to you in a little while."

  "No, no. Our guest is a man of taste. It won't be necessary to be overly formal."

  An elegant dinner had been prepared for Mitsuhide in the hall of the main house, but he sat in Toshimitsu's room and ate a simple meal with his guest.

  His face became even brighter after talking with Yusho for a while. He asked about the painting styles of the Southern and Northern Sung dynasties in China, discussed the artistic tastes of Shogun Ashikaga Yoshimasa and the merits of the Tosa school of painting, and talked about everything from the Kano style to the influence of Dutch painting. Throughout the conversation, it was clear that Mitsuhide's education had not been shallow.

  "I've thought that when I grow old, I might return to more tranquil pursuits and my youthful studies, and even try to paint. Perhaps, before then, you could draw me an illustrated copybook."

  "Of course, my lord."

  Yusho had emulated the style of the ancient Chinese artist, Liang K'ai. He had recently developed his own school independent of the Kano or Tosa traditions and finally had become established in the art world. When Nobunaga had asked him to illustrate the sliding partitions at Azuchi, he had pretended to be sick and had refused. He had, after all, been a retainer of the Saito clan, which had been destroyed by Nobunaga. One could understand how Yusho might have felt too proud to decorate Nobunaga's living quarters with his own brush.

  The phrase "soft on the outside, strong on the inside" might very well ha
ve applied to Yusho's character. Yusho was unable to trust the logic that Mitsuhide lived by. If Mitsuhide were to slip, even once, he would burst the dam holding his emotions in check and slide toward a fatal course.

  Mitsuhide slept happily that night. Perhaps it was due to the bath. Or to the unexpected and pleasing guest.

  The soldiers had gotten up before the sun, fed the horses, put on their armor, prepared their provisions, and were now waiting for their lord's appearance. That morning theyey were to assemble at the Hoyo Temple, depart from Suwa, and head out for Kofu. They would then pass down the coast road and make a triumphal return to Azuchi.

  "You should prepare yourself quickly, my lord," Toshimitsu said to Mitsuhide.

  "Toshimitsu, I slept well last night!"

  "I'm glad to hear that."

  "When Yusho leaves, you should give him my very best wishes and some money for the road."

  "But you know, when I got up this morning and looked in on him, I discovered he had already gone. He got up and went out with the soldiers before the sun came up."

  His is an enviable life, Mitsuhide said to himself as he looked at the morning sky.

  Saito Toshimitsu unfolded a scroll. "He left this behind. I thought it might be something he had forgotten, but when I looked at it closely, I saw that the ink hadn't yet dried, and then I remembered that you had requested him to make an illustrated copybook. I link he stayed up until dawn working on it."

  "What? He didn't sleep?"

  Mitsuhide cast his eye over the scroll. The paper was all the more white in the morning sun, and on it a single branch of tree peonies had been freshly painted. An inscription in a corner of the painting read: Tranquillity, this is nobility.

  Tranquillity, this is nobility, Mitsuhide recited silently as he rolled out the scroll, now coming upon the illustration of a large turnip. Next to the turnip was written, Having a visitor is a taste.