Lord Nobunaga welcomed Lady Oichi and his nieces with genuine delight. “I am very glad that you have had the good sense to come here,” he said cordially. “Nagamasa appears to be a splendid warrior, and a man of honor — as much as I urged him to surrender, he wouldn't listen to me. I am sorry that he must die, but my own honor as a warrior is at stake. I hope you can forgive me. No doubt the long siege caused you a great deal of suffering.” Since they were blood relatives they felt a special affection for each other, and they had a long, intimate talk together. Then my mistress was put under the care of her brother Nobukane, who was told to do everything he could for her.
The fighting had been halted since the morning of the twenty-seventh, but Lord Nobunaga, now that his sister had been brought to him, decided that there was no reason to wait any longer; it was time to crush the castle with a single blow and make Hisamasa and his son kill themselves. Nobunaga himself mounted a nearby height and gave the order for his whole army to storm the castle. Responding with an ear-splitting battle cry, his troops rushed forward. At that time there were about eight hundred men still holding fast in the outer circle of fortifications under the command of the old master, Lord Hisamasa; but the attackers were numberless, and their commander, Shibata Katsuie, scaled the wall swiftly at their head. Hisamasa, realizing that all was lost, ordered the enemy held off long enough for him to commit hara-kiri. It was Lord Fukujuan who seconded him by administering the final stroke, cutting off his lord's head as soon as the old man had disemboweled himself. An entertainer called Kakusho-dayu was also present; it seems he told Hisamasa that, having always served as his companion in the past, he hoped to have the privilege of accompanying him this time as well. After drinking a cup of saké with him and witnessing his death, he acted as second for Fukujuan and then, retiring to a corner of the room, committed suicide. Four other retainers killed themselves too. It was a sad fate for an old gentleman like Lord Hisamasa; but if you stop to think of it, the whole thing was really his own fault. He should have listened to his son long ago, and abandoned the Asakura before he got into this predicament. Yet he insisted on carrying out his foolish notion of duty, not having the vision to see that Nobunaga's star was rising. Who is to be blamed because he came to such an end?
Not only that, he was always spoiling Lord Nagamasa's plans by meddling — even in battle tactics — instead of keeping in the background as a retired master should have. Time after time he made Nagamasa stand helplessly by and miss his chance, letting a victory slip through his fingers. No matter what demoniacal power Nobunaga had, things would never have turned out so disastrously if Nagamasa had been free to take full command. So the House of Asai, even though its founder and his grandson were both brilliant generals, came to ruin simply because Hisamasa, of the second generation, was a blunderer who lacked good judgment. I felt terribly sorry for Lord Nagamasa. He could have ruled the country in place of Nobunaga, if he'd had the chance. To think that he cut short his own life by obeying his father's orders! How my mistress Oichi must have felt! But defeat was inevitable because of Nagamasa's filial piety.
It was noon on the twenty-ninth when the outer ring of fortifications fell; after that, the enemy troops surged toward the inner citadel. Lord Nagamasa with about five hundred of his trusted young samurai cut his way into their ranks, harassing them mercilessly, and then abruptly withdrew; whereupon the attackers released a cloud of black smoke and hurled themselves forward once again. But all those who tried to scale the wall were thrust down, sent flying head over heels — not a single enemy soldier was allowed to pass. And so that night the assault was given up, only to be resumed the next morning.
It was then that Lord Nagamasa learned of his father's death: at last the news reached him that the old master had committed suicide the day before. “I never dreamed of it!” he exclaimed. “Now there is nothing more to live for — I have only to avenge his spirit in battle and then follow his example honorably.”
At ten o'clock that morning he led some two hundred men straight into the enemy lines, cutting down the swarming attackers one after another. But the forces of Katsuie and Hideyoshi hemmed him in so tightly that, when he had only fifty or sixty of his own troops left, he tried to rush back to the inner citadel, driving his way through the surrounding soldiers. Meanwhile, though, the enemy had overrun the main stronghold and blocked the gate from within. So Nagamasa took refuge in a house near the gate, and there he committed hara-kiri.
His second immediately followed him in death, and half a dozen other retainers chose to die with him too. They say the enemy, under orders from Nobunaga, did its best to capture him alive. But when a great and fearless general is determined to die, he leaves no such opening. All they could do was to break into the house afterward and take his head.
As for those who were captured alive, three warriors — Lord Mimasaka and his son Shimbei, and Lord Iwami — suffered the shame of being bound like common criminals and brought into the presence of Nobunaga. “You there!” he greeted them. “You got your master Nagamasa to turn against me, and gave me all these years of trouble, didn't you?”
Lord Iwami, a strong-willed man, replied: “My master was not a two-faced general like you, My Lord.”
This so enraged Nobunaga that he cried out: “Fool! What would a samurai stupid enough to be taken alive know about it?” And he rapped him over the head with the butt end of his spear.
But Lord Iwami never flinched. “Does it soothe Your Lordship's feelings to beat a person who is bound hand and foot?” he asked scornfully. “That is certainly a curious attitude for a great general to take.” Nobunaga executed him on the spot.
Lord Mimasaka behaved very quietly and submissively. “Why did you yield?” he was asked. “You have been a hero ever since you were young — they say you're a lion in battle!”
“I am now an old man,” he replied. “That is why I have come to this.” But although Nobunaga promised to spare his life and take him into his service, Lord Mimasaka only begged to be allowed to go away. “I have no further wish,” he said.
“In that case, I'll look after your son Shimbei,” Nobunaga declared.
“No!” cried Lord Mimasaka, turning to his son. “You must refuse! Don't be tricked into playing the coward!”
Nobunaga burst into a roar of laughter. “You don't trust me, do you, you foolish old man?” he said. “Do I look like such a liar to you?” After that, he actually did take Shimbei into his service.
As soon as Lady Oichi heard of her husband's suicide she shut herself up in her room and spent all her time praying for him. One day Lord Nobunaga, who had come to express his sympathy, told her: “I understand that you have a son. If the child has surivived, I'd like to take care of him and bring him up as Nagamasa's heir.”
At first, my mistress felt uncertain of her brother's intentions. “I don't know what has become of him,” she said.
But Nobunaga persisted. “Your husband was my enemy,” he went on, “but the child is blameless. I am asking about him out of pity, because he is my nephew.” She began to feel reassured, since he seemed so concerned, and finally revealed the exact location of little Mampukumaru's hiding place.
At once a messenger was dispatched to Echizen with orders for Kimura Kinainosuke to bring the young lord back. But Kinainosuke was cautious, and told the messenger that he had taken it upon himself to execute the boy. However, that was not the end of the matter. Again and again messengers came to him, and Lady Oichi strongly urged him to bring the child as soon as possible. They must not risk offending her brother, she said, especially since he had shown such great sympathy; and she too was eager to see her dear child before her, safe and sound. Still doubtful whether he should agree to this, Kinainosuke reflected that in any case the secret of the boy's hiding place was out; and so, on the third of October, he brought Mampukumaru to Kinomoto in Omi. Then Hideyoshi, who had come to meet them, received the young lord and went to report to Nobunaga.
“Kill the child and p
ut its head on view,” he was told.
This distressed even Hideyoshi. “Is it necessary to —?” he began. But he was reprimanded harshly, and had to carry out the order.
The heads of Nagamasa and Asakura, too, were exposed on spikes until they were bare of flesh, and then lacquered with vermilion. At the following New Year the skulls were placed on a square tray as a table decoration to show the other lords who came to pay their respects. I suppose Nobunaga felt a profound hatred for Nagamasa, having so often been in danger from him; but the truth is, it all happened because he himself had broken his word. If he had had any consideration for his sister's grief, he would surely not have done a thing like that to the remains of a gentleman who, after all, was so closely related to him. Worse yet, it was horribly cruel of him to play on the feelings of his sister, pretending brotherly sympathy, in order to put her innocent child to the spike. His own murder in 1582 must have resulted from the long-smoldering resentment of the many he had wronged — not just from Mitsuhide's treachery. Such acts as Nobunaga was guilty of have fearful consequences.
It was about this time that Lord Hideyoshi, later the all-powerful Regent, began to rise in the world. Though Shibata Katsuie and the others who had taken part in the siege of Odani had tried to surpass each other in valor, it was Hideyoshi who had distinguished himself most in battle. Nobunaga was so delighted with him that he made him Lord of northern Omi, giving him Odani Castle together with all the Asai territories. But Hideyoshi said that Odani was difficult to guard with a small force, and made his headquarters at Nagahama, my own former home.
Now, when was it that he began to fall in love with my mistress Oichi? Just before leaving the castle she had graciously said to me: “I wish I could take you along, but you can count on my help as soon as you have escaped from here.” I had already decided I was as good as dead, which only made life seem all the more precious to me, so I stole out of the castle behind her palanquin and spent the next day or two hiding in the town, waiting for the battle to end. Then, eager to be with her again, I went to her brother Nobukane's camp, where she was staying; and since she told him I was her favorite servant I luckily escaped being punished and found myself back in her service once more. That is why I often happened to be waiting in the next room when Lord Hideyoshi came to call on her.
The first time he came to see my mistress he prostrated himself before her and respectfully announced his name. Lady Oichi responded to his greeting with propriety. Then Lord Hideyoshi said: “Although I scarcely distinguished myself during the campaign, I have been rewarded by being given the Asai domains — it is an undeserved honor for me, as a soldier, to become the successor to Lord Nagamasa. All I hope to do is to govern Omi exactly as it has been governed in the past, and to model myself on the splendid example of the late general.” And he added: “I am sure Your Ladyship has been greatly inconvenienced by the difficulties of wartime. If there is anything whatever which you may need, please do not hesitate to call on me.” He was really very polite — an extremely amiable gentleman!
And he was particularly charming with the little girls: he did everything he could to please them. “Is Your Ladyship the oldest?” he asked Ochacha. “Come! Let me hold you.” He put her on his lap and began stroking her hair, asking her how old she was and what her name was.
But Ochacha fidgeted in his arms and wouldn't answer. Then — maybe because she realized that this was the hateful man who captured her father's castle — she suddenly stared into his face and said: “You do look like a monkey!”
Hideyoshi seemed a little taken aback. No one had ever dared to comment to him on this resemblance. “Yes, of course!” he said, laughing to cover his embarrassment. “I look like a monkey, but Your Ladyship is the very image of your mother!”
After that he paid regular calls on my mistress, and brought her and the children all sorts of gifts. He showed such extraordinary devotion that Lady Oichi herself said: “Hideyoshi is a man you can rely on.” She became much more at ease with him. When I think of it now, I wonder if he wasn't already in love with her. Perhaps he had been enchanted by her beauty from the very first. Of course, she was the sister of his master, Nobunaga, a flower on a mountain peak far too high for him to pluck, and so he may have had no specific intentions toward her at that time. Still, he was Lord Hideyoshi, a cunning man, and one with an eye for women. As for the difference in rank between them, ceaseless change is the way of the world — and changes in fortune are especially drastic in time of war. It is not for me to say whether he might or might not have felt a secret desire for her during those long months, and thought he'd have her sooner or later. Who can tell what goes on in the mind of a great man? But I don't think I'm just being suspicious.
Furthermore, they say that Hideyoshi was in a terrible dilemma when he received the order to kill Mampukumaru. He did his best to save the child's life. “What harm could come from sparing an infant like that?” he asked Nobunaga. “Would it not be better for the peace of the country, as well as for your own peace of mind, to earn his gratitude by making him Asai's heir?” When his master refused to listen to him, he carried his opposition to unheard-of lengths. “In that case,” he said, “I beg to be relieved of the mission.”
That made Nobunaga furious. “You've become very proud of yourself since your recent exploits, haven't you?” he rebuked him sharply. “Who are you to give me advice I don't want, and even disobey my orders?”
It seems that after this outburst Hideyoshi left with a heavy heart, and executed the young lord. You can imagine how bitter it must have been for him to kill Mampukumaru, at the risk of becoming the object of my mistress Oichi's lifelong hatred. And this was not just an ordinary killing — he had to put the child's head on a spike and expose it to public view! To say the least, it was ironic that Lord Hideyoshi, of all men, was given this role to play. Years later he vied with Shibata Katsuie for the favors of my mistress, and lost out. He was beaten in love, but he finally destroyed both of them, becoming their eternal enemy. Perhaps that fate was decided by the child's murder.
At the time, Lord Nobunaga was anxious that nothing be said to Lady Oichi about her son's death, so it is unlikely that anyone told her. But since the head was exposed for all to see, she may have heard some gossip about it; whether she did or whether it was only her intuition, she seems to have realized what had happened. Clearly something was weighing on her mind. From then on Hideyoshi's visits only seemed to make her more unhappy.
One day she said to him: “I'm worried — I've had no news at all from Echizen, and I've been having bad dreams, too. I wonder if something has happened to my son.”
“I'm afraid I don't know any more than Your Ladyship,” he replied innocently. “Perhaps you should send another messenger. . .”
“But I understand that you went to get him,” she said, her voice quiet but with an edge to it. Just then, according to her attendants, she turned pale and fixed an angry look on him. After that incident his relations with her were strained, and eventually he stayed away altogether.
Now, Lord Nobunaga had lately extended his sway over a number of new provinces, had issued the necessary orders to reward his men and dispose of the enemy prisoners, and by the ninth of October was already back at his castle in Gifu celebrating the Chrysanthemum Festival. Every year there was a huge banquet, but people said that this time the spectacle was astonishing in its magnificence: all the lords, great and small, had done their utmost to equip themselves splendidly to come to pay their homage to Nobunaga.
Lady Oichi had let it be known that she was not feeling well and remained for a time in seclusion in Omi, refusing to see any visitors. But on about the tenth of that month she finally set out, accompanied by her ladies and me, to her old home of Kiyosu, Nobunaga's castle in the province of Owari. At that time Nobunaga was making his headquarters at Gifu, and so my mistress preferred to be at the quiet, peaceful castle of Kiyosu. But since she said she wanted to visit the temple on Chikubu Island on her way, w
e took a boat at Nagahama. At that season Mount Ibuki was already covered with snow, and a cold wind blew over the lake. But it was a crisp, clear morning: I imagine you could see the mountains far into the distance. All her attendants were clinging to the gunwales, distressed at being off the familiar solid ground; they wept to hear the cries of the wild geese overhead and the beating of the gulls' wings, and felt saddened even by the sound of reeds rustling in the wind and the shadows of fish darting through the water.
When the boat reached a point off Chikubu Island, Lady Oichi said: “Stop here for a moment.” We all wondered uneasily what she meant to do; but then she had a little prayer table brought to the bow, and joining her hands reverently, fingertips pointed toward the surface of the water, she began to pray. We were probably at the place where the tombstone had been sunk to the bottom of the lake, and we realized that this was what she must have had in mind when she said she wanted to visit the island. While the boat drifted there, rocked gently by the waves, my mistress burned incense, closed her eyes in fervent concentration, and called her husband's posthumous name. She sat there for such a long time that, as I was told later, those around her grasped the hem of her gown, fearing that she might throw herself overboard to make her own watery grave in the depths of the lake. But all I was aware of was the murmur of the prayer beads in my lady's hands, and the exquisite fragrance of the incense.
After that, Lady Oichi went ashore on the island and spent the night at the temple. The next day she went to Sawayama, where she again rested overnight. Finally, after an uneventful journey, she arrived safely at Kiyosu Castle. Her family had built a handsome residence for her, and provided her with everything she wanted. However, apart from the pleasure of watching her daughters grow up, she had nothing to do but spend her days reading the sutras. Since she had no visitors, she led as sad and lonely a life as if she had actually become a recluse. Formerly, she always had a great many people around her and enjoyed all sorts of diversions, but now she spent the whole day shut away in a dark room. Time hung heavily on her hands — even the short winter days must have seemed long to her. Naturally the image of her late husband would float up before her eyes and she would become despondent, recalling memory after memory and yearning for the past that was gone forever. Having come from a military family, she had borne her troubles with fortitude — she rarely gave way to tears. But by then her strength of will seemed to have ebbed away. She abandoned herself to her sorrow: if you happened to go down the corridor past her lonely inner room you could hear the soft muffled sobbing. Whatever her memories were, they caused her many days of weeping.
Seven Japanese Tales Page 19