The army was dumbfounded. At the same time, something of a groundswell began bubble up from the men. It was connected with neither the sound of voices nor the appearance of motion. The men looked to the left and right, but having been forbidden to talk among themselves, it simply went from face to face—a voiceless voice. Nevertheless, almost instantaneously, action was kindled wherever one looked. And it was so exceedingly swift that, superficially at least, any doubt, uneasiness, or alarm was nowhere apparent.
When everything was ready and the men had re-formed their ranks, the old warrior, Saito Toshimitsu, raised a voice that had been tempered in a hundred battles, and spoke to the troops almost as if he were reading.
"Rejoice. Today our master, Lord Akechi Mitsuhide, will become the ruler of the country. Do not entertain the least bit of doubt."
His voice carried all the way to the faraway foot soldiers and sandal bearers. Everyone gasped as though they were all breathing their last. But this gasp contained no trace of either joy or acclamation. It was more like a shudder. Toshimitsu closed his eyes and raised voice almost as though he were scolding the men. Was he trying to reassure himself, too?
"No day will ever shine as brightly as today. We will rely especially on the samurai to achieve meritorious deeds. Even if you fall in battle today, your relatives will be rewarded accordance with your actions." Toshimitsu's voice did not change much, right up to the time he finished speaking. He had been told what to say by Mitsuhide, and it was probably not in accord with his own thinking. "Let's cross the river!"
The sky was still dark. The current of the Katsura River momentarily checked the warhorses as they attempted to ford the stream. Curls of white waves surged and rolled back on themselves. The entire army shivered as the men sloshed through the water in soaked straw sandals. Although they were drenched, not one gunner let his fuse cords get wet. The clear water went up past their knees, and it was colder than ice. No doubt every soldier and officer was consumed by his own thoughts as he crossed the current, each man considered the words that were spoken by Toshimitsu and the corps commanders before he began to ford the stream.
Well, we must be attacking Lord Ieyasu. Except for Tokugawa Ieyasu, there's no one nearby enough to attack. But what did Toshimitsu mean when he said our lord would be come the ruler of the country from this day on?
That was as far as the soldiers' thoughts took them. In large part, the Akechi clan's warriors were men steeped in morality and justice, and it had still not occurred to them that the enemy was Nobunaga. The earnest, stubborn Akechi spirit, devoted to a sense of justice, had been passed from the company commanders down through the ranks, righ to the lowest foot soldier and sandal bearer.
"Hey, it's getting light."
"Daybreak will be here soon."
They were in the area between Nyoigadake and the mountain range that delimitated the eastern edge of Kyoto. The edge of a mass of clouds was glittering a bright red.
When the men strained their eyes, they could see the city of Kyoto just barely visible in the dark of dawn. Behind them, toward Oinosaka or the border of the grassy province of Tamba, however, the stars were so clear and bright they might have been counted.
"A corpse!"
"There's another one over there too."
"Hey, and over here!"
The army was now approaching the eastern outskirts of Kyoto. With the exception of groves and thatched huts, there was only dew-covered farmland until one reached the pagoda of the Eastern Temple.
Dead bodies were strewn at the foot of the pines along the side of the road, in the middle of the road, and almost everywhere the soldiers looked. The dead all seemed to have been farmers from the area. Lying face down as though asleep in a field of eggplant flowers, a young girl lay dead, still clutching her basket, cut down by the single stroke of a sword.
It was apparent that the blood was still flowing, for it was fresher than the morning dew. Undoubtedly the troops of Amano Genemon that had set out before the main army saw these early-rising farmers in their fields, chased them down, and killed them. They may have felt pity for their innocence, but their orders were not to risk the success of the greater action to come.
Looking down at the fresh blood on the earth and up at the red clouds in the sky Mitsuhide stood up in his stirrups, abruptly raised his whip into the air, and shouted "On to the Honno Temple! Overrun it completely! My enemies are at the Honno Temple Go! Go! I'll cut down anyone who lags behind!"
Now was the time for battle, and the nine banners emblazoned with the blue bellflowers split into three companies of three banners each. Striking into the entrance to Seventh Street, they trampled through city gate after city gate, swarming into the capital all at once. The Akechi army burst in through the gates at Fifth, Fourth, and Third streets, and poured into the city.
The mist was still thick, but a bright red dawn had begun to permeate the sky over the mountains, and as usual, the wicket gates were being opened for the people going to and fro.
The men crowded through the gates, and spears and guns swarmed in confusion.
Only the banners were kept down as the soldiers crowded through.
"Don't push! Don't be flustered! The rear corps should wait outside the gate for a moment."
Seeing the confusion, one of the commanders did what he could to restrain the men. Slipping the bar out of the large door, he opened the gate wide.
"All right! Go through!" he yelled, goading them on.
The order had been to rush in silently, without raising a battle cry, to keep the banners down, and even to keep the horses from neighing. But as soon as they crashed through the gates and stormed into the city, the Akechi troops had already worked themselves into a near frenzy.
"On to the Honno Temple!"
Through the general turmoil, the sound of opening doors could be heard coming from houses here and there, but as soon as the residents looked outside, they pulled their heads in again and slammed the doors tight.
Among the many units that pushed in on the Honno Temple, the forces that approached it the quickest were those led by Akechi Mitsuharu and Saito Toshimitsu, who could be seen in the vanguard.
"It's difficult to see in these narrow streets filled with mist. Don't get lost trying to get there before the others. The honey locust tree of the Honno Temple grove should be your landmark! Aim for the big bamboo stand between the clouds of mist. There it is! That's the honey locust tree of the Honno Temple!"
Galloping ahead on horseback and waving his hands furiously as he gave out instructions, Toshimitsu seemed to have pledged his warrior's voice to that one morning of life.
The second army, led by Akechi Mitsutada, was also in motion. Those forces inundated the district around Third Street, passed through the inner section like smoke, and made a drive to encircle the Myokaku Temple in Nijo. This action was naturally coordinated with the forces attacking the Honno Temple and was calculated to finish off Nobunaga's son Nobutada.
It was no distance from this place to the Honno Temple. The armies were separated by the dark of predawn, but already at this point an indescribable noise was beginning to rise from the direction of the Honno Temple. The ringing sound of the conch shell and booming of the gongs and drums could be heard. It would not be an exaggeration to say that the sound shook heaven and earth and was not like anything ordinarily heard in this world. There was no one in the capital that morning who did not either jump up in surprise or leap out of bed in response to the screams of his family.
Clamorous noises and voices quickly arose even in the ordinarily peaceful area of the nobles’ mansions that surrounded the Imperial Palace. With all of this uproar and the echoing of the drumming horses' hooves, the sky of Kyoto itself seemed to be ringing.
The confusion of the city people, however, was only momentary, and as soon as the nobility and common people understood the situation, their homes were as quiet as they had been a while before, when they had been sleeping peacefully. No one ventured to go
out into the streets.
It was still so dark the soldiers could not determine whose face was in front of them,
and on their way to the Myokaku Temple, the second army mistook some of its own men, who had taken a roundabout way through another narrow street, for the enemy. Even though their commander had strictly warned them not to fire until the order was given, when they came to the corner of the intersection, the excited soldiers suddenly began to fire blindly through the mist.
When they smelled the gunpowder smoke, their spirits became all the more excited in spite of themselves. Even soldiers who had been in battles before might go through a situation like this before they achieved complete self-control.
"Hey! You can hear conch-shell horns and gongs over there. It's started over at the Honno Temple."
"They're fighting!"
"The attack is on!"
They couldn't tell if their feet were hitting the ground or not. Running forward, they still could not determine whose voices they heard, though there was no resistance in front of them. Still, the pores all over their bodies began to swell, and they were even unaware of the cold mist striking their goose-fleshed faces and hands. They shook with such feeling that all they could do was yell.
And so they raised their battle cry even before they saw the roofed walls of the Myokaku Temple. Unexpectedly, a cry rose up in the direction of the front of the unit, and the gongs and drums began to ring out impatiently as well.
Mitsuhide was with the third army. It would be proper to say that headquarters were located wherever he happened to be, and this time he had stopped at Horikawa. He was surrounded by members of his clan, and a camp stool had been set up for him, but he did not sit down even for a moment. His entire being was focused on the voices of the clouds and the shrieks of the mist, and he looked uninterruptedly into the sky in the direction of Nijo. From time to time his eyes overflowed with the red of the morning clouds, but still no flames or smoke reached skyward.
Nobunaga woke up with a start, but not for any particular reason. After a good night's sleep, he naturally woke up in the morning on his own. Since his youth he had always risen at dawn, no matter how late he had gone to bed. He awoke, or rather—while he was not yet fully conscious and his head was still on the pillow—he experienced a particular phenomenon. It was a transition from dreaming to wakefulness that lasted only a fraction of a second, but in that infinitesimal space, a number of thoughts would pass through his head with the speed of a flash of lightning.
They were memories of experiences that had occurred between the time of his youth and the present, or reflections on his present life, or goals for the future. Whatever they were, these thoughts would pass through his brain in that moment between dream and reality.
This experience was, perhaps, less a habit than an innate ability. As a child, he had already been an extraordinary dreamer. The brambles and thorns of reality, however—especially given his birth and breeding—would not permit him to live only in a world of dreams. The real world had added difficulties on top of difficulties and had taught him the pleasure of cutting his way through them.
During this period of growth, when he was tested and returned victorious, and was tested again, he ultimately learned that he was not satisfied with the difficulties given to him. The highest pleasure of life, he found, lay in seeking out difficulties, plunging right into them, and then turning back to see them behind him. His convictions had been strengthened by the self-confidence he had gained from such experiences and had put him into a frame of mind far beyond the common sense one of ordinary men. After Azuchi , the idea of the impossible did not exist within his boundaries or in the world of his conceptions. That was because the works he had accomplished up to that point had not been done by following the path of ordinary men's common sense; rather, he had taken the path of making possible the impossible.
And that morning, on the border between the world of dreams and his mortal body, where the intoxication of the night before was perhaps still running fragrantly through his veins, pictures were being drawn in his brain: convoys of huge ships going to the southern islands, to the coast of Korea, and even to the great country of the Ming. He himself stood in the tower of a ship along with Sotan and Soshitsu. One more person would have to accompany him, he thought—Hideyoshi. He felt that the day he could make this into a reality was not far off.
In his mind, a small accomplishment like the domination of the western provinces and Kyushu was not enough to fill an entire lifetime.
It's dawn, he muttered to himself, and he rose and left his bedroom.
The heavy cedar door that opened to the corridor had been exquisitely fashioned so that when it was pulled open or closed, the sill naturally made a noise almost as if it were calling out. When the pages heard this sound in their faraway room, they jumped up with a start. The flickering light of the paper lantern was reflected by the thick pillars and planks of the veranda, which gleamed as if they had been polished with oil.
Aware that their lord had awakened, the pages quickened their steps toward the bathoom next to the kitchen. On their way, they heard a noise in the direction of the north corridor. It sounded like a window shutter being opened quickly.
Thinking that it might be Nobunaga, they stopped and peered back toward the blind corridor. The only person visible, however, was a woman wearing a cool, large-patterned kimono and a long outer coat patterned with pines and cherry blossoms. Her long black hair trailed behind her.
As the shutters were open, a morning sky the color of bellflowers appeared through the window, looking almost like a paper cutout. The breeze that wafted in rustled the woman's black hair and sent the fragrance of aloeswood all the way to the place where the pages were lingering.
"Ah, over there." The pages heard the sound of running water and ran off in the direction of the kitchen. The priests of the temple had not yet left their living quarters, so the windows and the huge main gate had not yet been opened. In the wide earthen-bored kitchen and on the elevated wooden platform, the humming of mosquitoes and the darkness of the night remained, but the steaminess of the summer morning could already be felt.
Nobunaga felt a unique dislike for that particular time of day. By the time the pages
realized that he had left his sleeping quarters and had come running up, he had already finished rinsing his mouth and washing his hands. Walking over to the huge jar in which water flowed from a bamboo water pipe, he took a small pail and dipped it into a lacquered tub. Splattering water everywhere, just like a wagtail, he hastily washed his face.
"Ah, you're getting your sleeve wet, my lord."
"Let me change the water."
The pages were in dread. One of them fearfully lifted up Nobunaga's white sleeve from behind, while another dipped out fresh water. Still another held up a towel while kneeling at his feet. At the same time, the men in the samurai quarters left the night guardroom and began to open up the paneled doors in the court. Just at that moment, however, they became aware of an extraordinary noise coming from the direction of the outer main temple, and then of the reverberation of furious footsteps running toward the inner court.
Nobunaga turned around, his hair still dripping wet, and said impatiently, "Go see what it is, Bomaru." After giving the order, he continued vigorously rubbing his face with a cloth.
One of the pages said, "Maybe the guards at the outer temple have gotten into a fight or something."
Nobunaga did not acknowledge the remark. For a moment his eyes resembled the waters of an abyss, and sparkled as though he were searching for something, not in the outer world but within himself.
But only for a moment. It was not just outside the main temple. Here at the guest mansion, and from ridgepole to ridgepole of the ten or so monastery buildings, something as strong as an earthquake shaking the entire crust of the earth was being conveyed by an indefinable noise and a terrifying current of energy.
Any man, no matter how strong, is likely to feel confu
sion at such a moment. The blood retreated even from Nobunaga's face, and the pages attending him all turned pale. But they probably stood still for no more than a couple of breaths. Almost immediately,someone came running down the nearby corridor at great speed.
A man yelled, "My lord! My lord!"
The pages chorused, "Master Ranmaru! Master Ranmaru! Over here!" Nobunaga himself came out and called the man.
"Ranmaru! Where are you going?"
"Ah, you're here, my lord," Ranmaru said, almost falling down as he knelt. At a glance, Nobunaga could feel on the very surface of his flesh that what was happening was not just a simple matter of some samurai getting into a fight, or a row between the men at the stables.
"What's happened, Ranmaru? What's all the commotion?" he asked quickly, and Ranmaru was just as quick with his answer.
"The Akechi have committed an outrage. There are warriors outside, rioting and waving banners that are unmistakably emblazoned with the Akechi crest."
"What! The Akechi?" The words left his mouth in astonishment. His surprise demonstrated thoroughly that he had never expected—never even dreamed—that this would happen. But the singular physical shock and the emotional excitement he felt were halted at his lips. Speaking with nearly the same calm he always possessed, his next words sounded almost like a growl.
"The Akechi… it was inevitable."
Turning quickly aside, Nobunaga dashed back into his room. Ranmaru started to follow him, but after five or six steps he turned back and scolded the trembling pages. "Each one of you get to work quickly. I've just ordered Bomaru to tell everyone to shut all of the gates and doors. Block all of the doorways, and don't let the enemy even get close to His Lordship." Before he was able to finish his words, bullets and arrows began to strike the kitchen door and the nearby windows like a downpour of rain. Countless arrows pierced deeply through the wooden doors, and the bright steel of their sharp points clearly proclaimed the battle to the people inside.
TAIKO: AN EPIC NOVEL OF WAR AND GLORY IN FEUDAL JAPAN Page 100