As the page poured out the wine, Nobunaga joked with the old man, but Soshitsu was not to be bested.
"Well now, rather than worrying about that, can you assure me that you're going to put everything in order of before I die? If you're the one that's too slow, I may not be able wait."
"It should be soon," Nobunaga said, smiling, delighted by the old man's banter.
Soshitsu was able to speak his mind in a way that Nobunaga's generals could not. From time to time during the conversation, Nobutada and Nagato would feel uneasy about that, wondering if it was truly all right for these merchants to be speaking as frankly as they were. At the same time they wondered why these commoners had Nobunaga's favor. It was highly unlikely that Nobunaga tolerated them as friends just because they were tea masters.
Nobutada was bored by the conversation. Only when the talk between his father and the two merchants turned to the subject of the southern lands was Nobutada's interest engaged. Those things were all new to his ears, and inspired him to youthful dreams and ambitions.
Regardless of whether their understanding of the southern lands was deep or not, the intellectuals at that time had an interest in them. The very essence of Japanese culture was being rocked by a tidal wave of innovations from overseas, foremost among which was the gun.
Much of what was known about the south was brought by missionaries from Spain and Portugal; but men like Soshitsu and Sotan had started their trade without waiting for the missionaries. Their ships crossed to Korea and traded with China, Amoy, and Cambodia. The men who had told them of the wealth beyond the sea were not the missionaries, but Japanese pirates who made their lair near Hakata, in Kyushu.
Sotan had inherited his business from his father and had established branches in Luzon, Siam, and Cambodia. It is said that he is the man who imported waxtree nuts from south China and who developed a method of manufacturing wax, thereby making the lamp fuel that caused the nights in Japan to shine so much brighter. Improving the metallurgical techniques brought in from overseas, he is also credited with bringing about the refinement of iron smelting.
Soshitsu was also involved in overseas trade and was related to Sotan. There was not a lord on the island of Kyushu who had not borrowed money from him. He owned ten or more large ocean-going ships and a hundred smaller vessels.
It would not be an exaggeration to say that Nobunaga had picked up almost all of his knowledge about the world beyond Japan while drinking tea with these two men. Even now Nobunaga was absorbed in conversation, reaching out for one European cake after another. Soshitsu observed how many he was eating and remarked, "Those are made with something called sugar, so you should be careful about eating too many of them before you go to bed."
"Is sugar poisonous?" Nobunaga asked.
"If it isn't a poison, it certainly isn't healthful, either," Soshitsu answered. "Foods from the barbarian lands are thick and rich, while our Japanese foods have a blander taste. These cakes are much sweeter than our dried persimmons or rice cakes. Once you get a taste for sugar, you won't be satisfied with our own sweets anymore."
"Has a lot of this sugar already been imported to Kyushu?"
"Not so much. With an exchange rate of one weight of sugar to one weight of gold, we don't get much of a percentage. I'm thinking of shipping in some sugar plants and trying to transplant them to a warm region, but, like tobacco, I'm wondering if sugar would be a good thing to popularize in Japan."
"That's not like you," Nobunaga laughed. "Don't be so narrow-minded. It doesn't make any difference whether they're good or bad. Just lump them together and ship them in, and they'll bring a special quality to the culture. All sorts of things are finally being brought in from the western and southern seas right now. Their penetration to the east is unstoppable."
"I applaud your tolerance, my lord, and adopting that way of thinking would certainly be a great help to our business, of course. But I wonder if we should leave it at that."
"We should, without a doubt. Bring in everything new as fast as you can."
"As you wish, my lord."
"Or failing that, chew it up well and then spit it out," Nobunaga added.
"Spit it out?"
"Chew it well, take what's of good quality into your stomach, and spit out the dregs. If the warriors, farmers, artisans, and merchants of Japan understand that principle, there'll be no problems in importing anything."
"No, that's no good." Soshitsu waved his hand emphatically. He was against this altogether, and was quick to give his opinions about the direction of the government. "You, my lord, the ruler of this country, may feel that way, but recently I've seen some worrisome signs, and I, for one, cannot agree with you."
"What do you mean?"
"The spread of false religions."
"You mean the missionaries? Have the Buddhists been making demands on you, too, Soshitsu?"
"You're being a bit too disdainful. This problem is truly distressing the nation."
Soshitsu went on to tell the story of the child who had fallen into the moat a few hours before, and how the self-sacrifice of the missionaries had impressed the people.
"In less than ten years, thousands have abandoned the altars of their ancestors and converted to Christianity. And this has occurred not only in Omura and Nagasaki but also throughout Kyushu, in remote areas of Shikoku, and even in Osaka, Kyoto, and Sakai. Your Lordship has just said that it would be all right if whatever we brought into Japan were chewed up and spit out, but religion is unique and probably cannot be treated in that way. No matter how much the people chew, their souls are going to be drawn into this heresy, and they won't give it up, even if you crucify them or cut off their heads."
Nobunaga was completely silent. His expression indicated that this was a problem of such gravity that it could not be discussed in a few words. He had burned Mount Hiei and, using a violence that had been beyond the reach of former rulers, had brought Buddhism to its knees. He had dealt with the clergy with a rain of hellfire and swords, but he himself knew better than anyone else that, wherever he went, the resentment toward him was unlikely to dissipate.
On the other hand, he had permitted the missionaries to build a church, he had publicly recognized their work, and from time to time he had even invited them to banquets. The Buddhist monks raised a hue and cry about which of them Nobunaga considered to the foreigners—the Christians or themselves.
Nobunaga loathed explanations. He hated to hear something spelled out, but he respected a direct intuition between people. In fact, he was elated by it.
"Sotan." He now turned to converse with the other man. "What do you think about this? You're young, so I imagine that you naturally see things differently from Soshitsu."
Sotan looked cautiously at the lamp for a moment, but then answered quite clearly.
"I agree with you, my lord, that it would be all right to chew this matter of foreign religion well and then spit it out."
Nobunaga turned and looked at Soshitsu like someone who had just had his opinions confirmed. "Don't worry. You have to grasp the larger scheme of things. Centuries ago, Lord Michizane advocated the combination of the Japanese soul and Chinese know-how. Whether we import the customs of China or artifacts from the West, the colors of fall and the cherry blossoms of spring do not change. Rather, when rain falls on a pond, the water is renewed. You're making the mistake of gauging the ocean by the moat of the Honno Temple. Isn't that true, Soshitsu?"
"Yes, my lord, one must measure a moat by a moat's standards."
"And the same with culture from overseas."
"As I get old, even I have become like a frog in a well," Soshitsu said.
"I think you're more like a whale."
"Yes," Soshitsu agreed, "but a whale with narrow vision."
"Hey, bring some water," Nobunaga ordered the page sleeping behind him. He was not yet finished with the evening. Though they had not eaten or drunk for a while, the excitement of the conversation had continued on its own.
"Father," Nobutada said, sliding over to Nobunaga. "It's gotten awfully late. I'm going take my leave."
"Stay a little longer," Nobunaga said, restraining him more than he would have ordinarily. "You're just over at Nijo, aren't you? Even if it's late, you're almost right next door, Nagato lives right in front of the gate, and our guests from Hakata are hardly going back there tonight."
"No, just me…" Soshitsu looked as though he were getting ready to leave. "I have an appointment tomorrow morning."
"Then the only person staying is Sotan?"
"I'll be on night duty. There's work left for me, tidying up the tearoom."
"I see. You won't stay for my sake. You're carrying that expensive tea equipment with
you, and you must stay here to guard it tonight."
"I won't contradict you, my lord."
"Speak frankly," Nobunaga laughed. Suddenly looking behind him, he stared at the hanging scroll on the wall. "Mu Ch'i is very good, isn't he? You rarely see such skill nowadays. I've heard that Sotan owns a painting by Mu Ch'i called Ships Returning from Faraway Ports. I wonder if anyone is worthy of owning such a famous painting?"
Sotan suddenly laughed out loud, as though Nobunaga were not there.
"What are you laughing about, Sotan?"
Sotan looked at the people around him. "Lord Nobunaga would like to take my Mu Ch'i scroll with one of his sly stratagems: 'Is anyone worthy of owning such a painting? This is like sending agent-provocateurs into an enemy province. You'd better look out for your precious oak tea caddy!" And he could not stop laughing.
He had hit dead center. For some time, Nobunaga had been after the painting. Both the tea caddy and the painting were family heirlooms, however, and for that reason even Nobunaga had not been able to speak his own mind freely.
But now the owner had been kind enough to bring up the matter, and Nobunaga thought that that was the same as promising to give him the object. Certainly, after laughing at him so audaciously, Sotan would not have the heart not to give him what he wanted.
So Nobunaga laughed too. "Well, you don't miss anything, Sotan. When you get to my age, a man can become a true disciple of tea." He was revealing the truth in a jest.
Soshitsu rejoined, "In a few days I'll be meeting Master Sokyu from Sakai. Let's deliberate together then about where the painting belongs. Of course, it would have been best to ask Mu Ch'i himself."
Nobunaga's mood was improving. And, although the attendants came to trim the wicks of the lamps a number of times, he simply sipped water and went on, oblivious of the passage of time.
It was a summer night, and the temple's shutters and doors were all open. Perhaps for that reason, the flames in the lamps were continually flickering and were capped by halos of evening mist.
If one had been able to read the future in the light of the lamps that evening, one might have divined an evil omen in the halos of mist or in the shades of light passing through the wicks of the lamps.
Someone knocked at the front gate of the temple. After a while an attendant announced that a dispatch had arrived from the western provinces. Taking advantage of the moment, Nobutada stood up and Soshitsu also begged to take his leave. Nobunaga then stood up also, to accompany them as far as the bridged corridor.
"Sleep well," Nobutada said, turning once more and looking at the figure of his father from the corridor.
Nagato and his son were standing next to Nobutada, holding lanterns. The halls of the Honno Temple compound sank back into a darkness as black as ink. It was the second half of the Hour of the Rat.
* * *
Mitsuhide was standing at a crossroads: a right turn would take him westward; a left turn would lead him through the village of Kutsukake and across the Katsura River, and to the capital. He had reached the crest of the hill he had been climbing all his life. The two roads before him represented a turning point and a finality. But the view that presented itself to his eye that night did not compel him to reflection of any sort. Instead, the broad sky showing him the twinkling of peaceful stars seemed to promise a great change in the world, one that would begin with the new dawn.
No order had been given to rest, but Mitsuhide's horse had stopped, and he sat in the saddle, silhouetted against the starry sky. Perceiving that he was not going to move for the moment, the generals around him, clad in glittering armor—and the long lines of armored men, banners, and horses behind him—waited restlessly in the dark.
"There's a spring bubbling up over there. I can hear water murmuring, I think."
"There it is. Water!"
Groping along in the undergrowth of the precipice bordering the road, one of the men finally discovered a little stream in the rocks. One after another, the soldiers pushed forward to fill their canteens with the clear water.
"This will us get as far as Tenjin."
"Maybe we'll eat at Yamazaki."
"No, the night's so short, it'll probably get light when we get to the Kaiin Temple."
"The horses will get tired if we march during the daytime, so His Lordship is probably thinking that we should make as much progress as we can through the night and morning hours."
"That would be best until we get to the western provinces."
The foot soldiers, quite naturally, and even the samurai above them—with the exception of their commanders—still knew nothing at all. The whispers and laughing voices at did not quite reach the ears of the commanders manifested their assumption that the battlefield was still far away.
The line began to move. From that point, the commanders carried spears and advanced alongside of their troops with watchful eyes and a quickened pace.
To the left. To the left. The men began to descend the divide of Oinosaka to the east. Not one soldier turned off on the road to the west. Doubt reflected from eye to eye. But even those who were suspicious hurried on. The men behind simply looked up to the banners that fluttered in front of them; there was no mistake that this was the road on which their banners proceeded. The horses' hooves clattered on the steep slopes. From time to time the sound of the falling rocks became almost deafening. The army resembled a waterfall that would allow nothing to stand in its way.
Both men and horses were soaked with sweat, and their breath came in fiery gasps. Meandering through the deep mountain gorges, they once again descended. Quickly turning toward the babbling mountain stream, they pressed on toward the sheer slopes of Mount Matsuo.
"Take a rest."
"Break out the provisions."
"No fires are to be lit."
Orders were passed down, one after another. They were still only at Kutsukake, a village on the mountainside that was made up of no more than ten or so woodcutters’ houses. Nevertheless, the warning of the central command had been strict, and patrols were quickly set in the area of the road that went down to the foothills.
"Where are you going?"
"Down to the valley to get some water."
"You're not allowed to separate from the ranks. Borrow some water from somebody else."
The soldiers opened up their provisions and silently started to eat. A good bit of whispering was heard as they chewed their food. A number of the men wondered why they were fortifying themselves with a meal at this apparently inopportune time, halfway down the mountain. They had already eaten a meal before they had left the Hachiman Shrine that night.
Why weren't they to eat when the sun came up, at Yamazaki or Hashimoto where they could tether their horses? Though they were puzzled, they still assumed that they were on their way to the western provinces. The road to Bitchu was not the only way that led to their destination. If they turned to the right at Kutsukake, they could pass through Oharano and come out in the direction of Yamazaki and Takatsuki.
But when they started off once again, the entire army descended straight ahead to Tsukahara without turning to either side, and went on to the village of Kawashima. By the fourth watch, the greater part of the army looked down at the unexpected sight o
f the Katsura River under the night sky.
The soldiers suddenly became agitated. As soon as they felt the cool breeze of the river, the entire army stopped in its tracks in fear.
"Settle down!" the officers ordered the men.
"Don't make so much noise! And don't talk to each other unnecessarily!"
The clear water of the river shimmered, and in the breeze from the river the nine standards with their blue bellflowers swayed like long poles bent into bows.
Amano Genemon, whose command was on the edge of the army's right wing as, was summoned by Mitsuhide. He jumped off his horse and ran toward his commander.
Mitsuhide was standing on a dry part of the riverbed. The penetrating eyes of the generals all turned in Genemon's direction. There were Saito Toshimitsu, his face rimmed with frost-white hair, and Mitsuharu, whose tragic face now appeared like a mask. Along with these two men, the many armored members of his field staff surrounded Mitsuhide like an iron barrel.
"Gengo," Mitsuhide said, "it will soon be light. You take a company and cross the river first. On the way you are to cut down anyone who might be able to run through our lines to warn the enemy. Also, there may be merchants and other travelers who are passing through the capital in the early dawn, and it will be necessary to take care of the people. This is extremely important."
"I understand."
"Wait." Mitsuhide called the man back. "As a precaution, I've sent some men to guard the road through the mountains from Hozu, down from northern Saga, and along the Nishijin Road from the Jizoin. Don't attack our own men by mistake." Mitsuhide's voice was cuttingly sharp; it was easy to see that his mind was now working at full speed and that his blood vessels were so filled with tension they were close to bursting.
Watching Genemon's troops splash across the Katsura River, the remaining men felt increasingly uneasy. Mitsuhide remounted and, one after another, the men under his command followed his example.
"Give out the orders. Make sure no one misses a word."
One of the commanders at Mitsuhide's side cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "Take off your horses' shoes and throw them away!" The shrill command from the first ranks could be heard clearly. "The foot soldiers should all put on new straw sandals. Don't wear sandals with cords that are loose from walking on the mountain roads. If the cords have loosened, tie them firmly enough so that if they get wet, they won't chew up your feet. Gunners, cut your fuse cords to lengths of one foot and tie them in bundles of five. Unnecessary things, like the wrapping for provisions and personal effects, or anything that will be a burden to the free movement of your arms and legs, should be thrown into the river. Don't take anything but your weapons."
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