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

by Eiji Yoshikawa

  When the Mori army arrived and their banners and flags were sighted from the castle, the defenders thought they had been saved. But soon after, they understood the impossibility of their situation. The distance between their rescuers and themselves, and the consequent operational difficulties, would not allow for rescue. Although they were discouraged, they never lost the will to fight. On the contrary, after their realization they were clearly resolved to die.

  When a secret message came to the castle from the Mori giving Muneharu permission to capitulate in order to save the lives of the men inside, he sent back an indignant response: "We have not yet learned what it is to surrender. At a time like this, we are ready to die."

  On the morning of the fourth day of the Sixth Month, the guards on the castle walls spotted a small boat sculling toward them from the enemy shore. A samurai was handling the oar, and his only passenger was a monk.

  Ekei had come to ask Muneharu to commit seppuku. Muneharu listened in silence to the monk's arguments. When Ekei had finished, and his entire body was soaked in sweat,

  Muneharu spoke for the first time. "Well, today is truly my lucky day. When I look at your face, I know that your words are not fraudulent."

  He did not say whether he agreed or disagreed. Muneharu's mind was already far be­yond consent and refusal. "For some time, Lord Kobayakawa and Lord Kikkawa have been worried about me, worthless as I am, and have even advised me to capitulate. But I have not considered surrender just to save my own life, and so I refused. Now, if I can be­lieve what you've told me, the Mori clan will be assured of security, and the people in the castle will be safe. If that's the case, there is no reason to refuse. On the contrary, it would be a great joy to me. A great joy!" he repeated emphatically.

  Ekei was trembling. He had not thought that it would be so easy, that Muneharu would welcome death so gladly. At the same time, he felt ashamed. He himself was a monk, yet would he have the courage to transcend life and death in this way when his own time came?

  "Then you agree?"

  "Yes."

  "Don't you need to discuss the matter with your family?"

  "I'll inform them of my decision later. They should all rejoice with me."

  "And—well, this is difficult to say, but it is a matter of some urgency—it is said thai Lord Nobunaga will be arriving soon."

  "It's the same to me whether it's done sooner or later. When is it to be?"

  "Today. Lord Hideyoshi said by the Hour of the Horse, and that's only five hours away."

  "If that's all the time there is," Muneharu said, "I should be able to prepare for death with ease."

  * * *

  Ekei first reported Muneharu's agreement to Hideyoshi, then rode at full gallop to the Mori camp at Mount Iwasaki.

  Both Kikkawa and Kobayakawa were worried about the reason for his sudden return.

  "Have they broken off talks?" Kobayakawa asked.

  "No," Ekei replied. "There are prospects of success."

  "Well then, Hideyoshi has yielded?" Kobayakawa asked, looking a little surprised. Ekei, however, shook his head.

  "The person who has prayed more than anyone for a peaceful reconciliation has of fered to sacrifice himself for the sake of peace."

  "Who are you talking about?"

  "General Muneharu. He said that he would repay with his life Lord Terumoto's protection for all these years."

  "Ekei, did you talk to him at Hideyoshi's request?"

  "You know I could not have gone out to the castle without his permission."

  "Then you explained the situation to Muneharu, and he offered to commit seppuku of his own free will?"

  "Yes. He will kill himself at the Hour of the Horse, on board a boat in full view of both armies. At that moment the peace treaty will be concluded, the lives of the defenders will be saved, and the safety of the Mori clan will be assured forever."

  Full of emotion, Kobayakawa asked, "What are Hideyoshi's intentions?"

  "When he heard General Muneharu's offer, Lord Hideyoshi was deeply moved. He said that it would be heartless not to reward such matchless loyalty. Therefore, while your promise had been to cede five provinces, he would take only three and leave the remaining two, out of regard for Muneharu's sacrifice. If there is no disagreement, he will send a written pledge immediately after witnessing Muneharu's seppuku."

  Soon after Ekei had left, Muneharu announced his decision. One after another, the samurai of Takamatsu Castle came before their lord to beg him to allow them to follow him in death. Muneharu argued, cajoled, and scolded, but they would not be mollified. He was at a loss what to do. But in the end he did not grant anyone's request.

  He ordered an attendant to prepare a boat. Bitter wailing filled the castle. When the requests of all his retainers had been withdrawn, and Muneharu seemed to have a little breathing space, Gessho, his elder brother, came to speak with him.

  "I heard everything you said," Gessho said. "But there's no need for you to die. Let me take your place."

  "Brother, you are a monk, while I am a general. I appreciate your offer, but I cannot let anyone take my place."

  "I was the eldest son, and I should have carried on the family name. Instead I chose to enter holy orders, putting you in the position that I should have taken. So today, when you have to commit seppuku, there is no reason why I should prolong what's left of my own life."

  "No matter what you say," Muneharu replied, "I will not let you or anyone else commit seppuku in my place."

  Muneharu refused Gessho's offer but allowed him to accompany him in the boat, Muneharu felt at peace. Calling his pages, he ordered them to put out a light blue cereonial kimono for him to die in.

  "And bring me a brush and ink," he ordered, remembering to write a letter to his wife and son.

  The Hour of the Horse was fast approaching. Every single drop of drinking water had been regarded as essential to the lives of the people in the castle, but that day he ordered a bucketfull of water to be brought in, to clean off the dirt that had accumulated on his body during the forty days of the siege.

  How peaceful was this lull in the fighting. The sun seemed to climb innocently to the middle of the sky. There was no wind at all, and the color of the muddy water on all sides of the castle was as murky as ever.

  The small waves that lapped gently at the castle walls glinted in the sun, and from time to time the cry of the snowy egret could be heard in the silence.

  A small red banner was raised at the Nose of the Frog on the opposite shore, indicating that the time had come. Muneharu stood up abruptly. An involuntary sob came from the midst of his attendants. Muneharu walked quickly in the direction of the castle walls, as though he had suddenly become deaf.

  The oar made a loose pattern in the water. The boat carried five men: Muneharu,

  Gessho, and three retainers. Every single man, woman, and child in the castle was perched on the walls and rooftops. They did not cry out when they watched Muneharu go but either folded their hands in prayer or wiped the tears from their eyes.

  The boat sculled peacefully over the surface of the lake. When he turned around, Gessho could see that Takamatsu Castle was a good way behind them, and that the boat was halfway between the castle and the Nose of the Frog.

  "This will do," Muneharu instructed the oarsman.

  The man pulled up the oar without a word. They did not have to wait for long.

  When the boat had set out from the castle, another had left the Nose of the Frog. That one carried Hideyoshi's witness, Horio Mosuke. A small red banner had been fixed to the prow and a red carpet spread over the wooden floor.

  The little boat bearing Muneharu in his death robe floated gently as it waited for the Mosuke's boat with its fluttering red banner to pull alongside. The water was at peace. The surrounding mountains were at peace. The only sound to be heard was the oar of the approaching boat.

  Muneharu faced the Mori camp on Mount Iwasaki and bowed. In his heart he gave thanks for the many years of pat
ronage he had received. Gazing at his lord's banners, his eyes filled with tears.

  "Is this boat carrying the defending general of Takamatsu Castle, Shimizu Muneharu?" Mosuke asked.

  "You are correct," Muneharu answered politely. "I am Shimizu Muneharu. I have come to commit seppuku as a condition of the peace treaty."

  "I have something else to say, so please wait a moment," Mosuke said. "Bring your boat a little closer," he instructed the retainer at the oar of Muneharu's boat.

  The gunwales of the two boats lightly brushed each other.

  Mosuke then said in a dignified manner, "I have a message from Lord Hideyoshi. Peace would have been impossible without your consent in this matter. The long siege must have been trying for you, and he would like you to accept this offering as a small token of his feelings. You should not be concerned if the sun climbs too high. Please finish your leave-taking at your leisure."

  A cask of the best sake and a number of delicacies were transferred from one boat the other.

  Muneharu's face was filled with joy. "This is unexpected. And, if it is Lord Hideyoshi’s wish, I will gladly sample them." Muneharu helped himself, and ladled cups for his companions. "Maybe it's because I haven't had such fine sake for a long time, but I'm feeling a little drunk. Please excuse my clumsiness, General Horio, but I would like to perform a final dance." Then turning to his companions, he asked, "We don't have a drum, but would you clap and beat the rhythm and sing?"

  Muneharu stood up in the small boat and flicked open a white fan. As he moved the rhythm of the clapping, the boat swayed slightly, making small waves. Mosuke could not bear to look at him and hung his head.

  As soon as the chanting stopped, Muneharu spoke distinctly once again. "General Mosuke, please witness this carefully."

  Mosuke looked up and saw that Muneharu had knelt down and cut straight across

  his stomach with his sword. As he spoke, his blood turned the inside of the boat red.

  "Brother, I'm coming too!" Gessho cried out, slashing his own belly.

  After Muneharu's retainers had handed the box containing Muneharu's severed head to Mosuke and returned to the castle, they followed their master in death.

  When Mosuke arrived at the Jihoin Temple, he reported Muneharu's seppuku and displayed his head in front of Hideyoshi's camp stool.

  "Such a pity," Hideyoshi lamented. "Muneharu was an excellent samurai." He had never appeared more moved. But soon thereafter, he summoned Ekei. When the monk arrived, Hideyoshi immediately showed him a document.

  "The only thing that remains now is to exchange pledges. Look at what I've written, and then I'll send a messenger for the Mori's pledge."

  Ekei looked over the pledge and then respectfully returned it to Hideyoshi. Hideyoshi asked for a brush and signed. He then cut his little finger and affixed a seal of blood next to his signature. The peace treaty was signed.

  A few hours later, shock and a sense of loss swept over the Mori camp like a whirl­wind with the report of Nobunaga's death. In Terumoto's field headquarters, the faction that had opposed peace all along now spoke up loudly, clamoring for an immediate at­tack on Hideyoshi.

  "We were fooled!"

  "That bastard completely took us in!"

  "The peace treaty should be torn up!"

  "We have not been deceived," Kobayakawa said firmly. "The talks were initiated by us, not by Hideyoshi. And there was no way he could have foreseen the disaster in Kyoto."

  His brother Kikkawa, who spoke for those who favored the resumption of hostilities, urged Terumoto, "Nobunaga's death means the disintegration of the Oda forces; they will be no match for us now. Hideyoshi is the first one you'd name as a successor to Nobunaga, and it should be an easy matter to attack him here and now, especially consid­ering the weakness at his rear. If we were to do that, we would become the rulers of the Empire."

  "No, no. I disagree," Kobayakawa said. "Hideyoshi is the only man who can restore peace and order. And it's an old samurai saying that one does not strike an enemy in mourning. Even if we were to tear up the treaty and attack, if he survived, he would come back to take his revenge."

  "We cannot let this opportunity slip by," Kikkawa insisted.

  As a last resort, Kobayakawa brought up their former lord's dying instructions: "The clan must defend its own borders. No matter how strong or wealthy we become, we must never expand beyond the western provinces."

  It was time for the lord of the Mori to give his decision. "I agree with my uncle Kobayakawa. We will not break the treaty and make Hideyoshi into an enemy for a second time."

  By the time the secret conference ended, it was the evening of the fourth. As the two generals walked back to their camp, they met a party of their own scouts. The officer in charge pointed excitedly into the darkness and said, "The Ukita have started to withdraw their troops."

  Listening to the report, Kikkawa clicked his tongue. The opportunity had already passed. Kobayakawa read his older brother's thoughts. "Are you still feeling some regrets? he asked.

  "Of course I am."

  "Well, suppose we did take over the country," Kobayakawa continued, "do you think you'd be the man to rule?" There was a pause. "Judging from your silence, I suspect you don't think so. When someone without the proper ability rules the country, it lead certain chaos. It would not stop at the fall of the Mori clan."

  "You don't have to say any more, I understand," Kikkawa said, turning away. Looking up sadly at the night sky over the western provinces, he fought to hold back the tears were rolling down his cheeks.

  Requiem of Blood

  The need for the Oda troops' immediate withdrawal had been the reason behind the peace treaty, and Hideyoshi's allies, the Ukita, began to retreat that very night. Not one soldier, however, was withdrawn from Hideyoshi's main camp. On the morning of the fifth, Hideyoshi had still not made a move. Although his mind was racing toward the capital, he gave no indication that he was planning to break camp.

  "Hikoemon, how much has the water level gone down?"

  "About three feet."

  "Don't let it fall too quickly."

  Hideyoshi went out into the temple garden. Although the dike had been cut and the water was beginning to go down little by little, Takamatsu Castle was still stranded in the middle of the water. One of Hideyoshi's retainers had already gone to the castle the night before to accept its capitulation. And now the defenders were being ferried out.

  When evening came, Hideyoshi sent a man to spy on the Mori. He then consulted with Kanbei and his other generals and quickly made preparations to strike camp. "Have them breach the dike right away," he ordered Kanbei.

  The dike was now breached in ten places. Almost at once, the water began to stir. Innumerable whirlpools appeared as the waters rushed through the openings with a roar that sounded like a tidal wave.

  Which would be faster, the water or Hideyoshi, who now whipped his horse toward the east? The high ground surrounding the castle had been transformed almost instantly into a dry plain, while the lowlands were marshes crisscrossed with rivers; so even if the Mori had considered giving chase, they would not have been able to cross over for ano­ther two or three days.

  On the seventh, Hideyoshi arrived at the Fukuoka River crossing and found the river

  in flood. The soldiers made protective padding for the horses by lashing their packs together and then crossed over, forming a human chain by either linking hands or grasping the shaft of the spear carried by the man in front.

  Hideyoshi had crossed first, and sat on his camp stool on the bank. "Don't panic! Take your time!" he shouted. He appeared to be completely untroubled by the wind and the rain. "If one man drowns, the enemy will say we lost five hundred; if you lose one piece of baggage, they'll say it was a hundred. Don't lose your life or your weapons here in vain."

  The rear guard now caught up with the main army, and with the units trailing in one after another, both banks of the river were filled with soldiers. The commander of the rear guar
d came before Hideyoshi to report on the situation at Takamatsu. The retreat had been completed, and there was still no sign of the Mori. A look of relief spread over Hideyoshi's face. He looked as though he finally felt safe; now he could channel all his strength in one direction.

  The army returned to Himeji on the morning of the eighth. Covered in mud, then drenched by the storm, the soldiers had covered twenty leagues in one day.

  "The first thing I want to do," Hideyoshi said to his attendants, "is take a bath."

  The governor of the castle prostrated himself before Hideyoshi. After congratulating him on his return, he informed him that two messengers had arrived, one from Nagahama with urgent news.

  "I'll take care of it after having a bath. I'd like plenty of hot water. The rain soaked right through my armor and all the way to my underwear."

  Hideyoshi sank into the hot water up to his shoulders. The morning sun was framed by the bathroom window; it poured down through the high latticework onto his face, suspended in the steam. As he sat there, the skin on his face seemed to boil to a darkish red, while large drops of sweat beaded on his forehead. Hundreds of tiny rainbows appeared in the steam.

  Hideyoshi jumped out of the tub, making a noise like a waterfall. "Hey! Somebody come wash my back!" he called.

  The two pages who were waiting outside ran in. Putting all of their strength into the task, they scrubbed him down from the back of his neck to his fingertips.

  Hideyoshi suddenly laughed and said, "It comes off in a strange way!" Looking down around his feet, he saw that the dirt the pages had scraped off his body resembled bird droppings.

  How could this man be possessed of such a dignified appearance on the battlefield? His naked body seemed a truly poor and meager thing. It was true that he had overworked himself during the five years of the western campaign, but there was altogether too little fat on his forty-six-year-old frame. Even now, traces of the poor, skinny farmboy from Nakamura lingered on. His body seemed like a withered pine growing out of the rock, or a dwarfed plum tree worn out by the wind and snow—strong, but showing signs of age.