I stopped massaging her, and threw myself at her feet. “Forgive me!” I burst out. “I must tell you how much I sympathize with you!”
At this, Lady Oichi, quite composed again, thanked me for my services and dismissed me.
I hurried out to the next room, but soon I could hear her faint sobbing through the sliding doors. I was still puzzled by her change of mood. She had been cheerful enough until a little while ago — what made her talk to me as she did just now? Had she begun by simply reminiscing about the past, and then gradually warmed to her subject and found herself remembering things she had tried to forget? She was not the sort of person to confide her thoughts and feelings to a servant — maybe the memories she had kept locked up in her heart all these years had suddenly, when she least expected it, forced their way out. To think that even now, almost ten years later, she still felt so bitter about what had happened at Odani — above all, that she felt such hatred for her brother Nobunaga! For the first time I realized what it meant to be a woman robbed of her husband and her sons. I couldn't help trembling with pity and horror.
I have a great many other memories of the days when my mistress Oichi was at Kiyosu, but I'd especially like to tell you how Lord Nobunaga's unexpected death led to her second marriage. Of course I needn't remind you how Nobunaga was assassinated. Mitsuhide's night attack took place on the second of July in 1582, the Year of the Horse. Who could have foreseen his treachery? And when it was learned that Nobunaga's eldest son had died too, committing suicide under attack by other rebel troops, the whole country seethed with excitement. Just then Nobunaga's second and third sons were in distant provinces; and Hideyoshi, Shibata Katsuie, and the other chief Oda retainers were all campaigning far away. They say Mitsuhide reached Azuchi Castle by the fifth, occupied it without any difficulty, and plundered it of all its treasures. Those of us at Kiyosu were terrified lest we too would soon be overwhelmed. In the midst of the confusion the wife and child of Nobunaga's eldest son arrived at our castle. The child, who was called Samboshi, was barely two years old. His father had feared for the safety of the boy and his mother at Gifu, and before committing suicide had asked one of his men to help them escape to Kiyosu.
Meanwhile, Mitsuhide's forces had taken the castles of Sawayama and Nagahama, overrun the province of Omi, and besieged Hino Castle. But then Nobunaga's third son, Nobutaka, attacked the rebel troops at Osaka and killed Mitsuhide's son-in-law. When he heard this, Mitsuhide left the siege of Hino in other hands and returned to his headquarters at Sakamoto, arriving there on the tenth. The Battle of Yamazaki, in which Hideyoshi crushed the revolt with one swift blow, took place on the thirteenth; by the next day Hideyoshi had already moved on to another camp, after rejoining Mitsuhide's severed head to his body and crucifying him in the capital.
Well, that was another great victory for Lord Hideyoshi, and made him even more famous. Of course, others had added their troops to his for the battle; but what was most remarkable was his speed in finishing up his western campaign and driving back toward Kyoto — truly a master stroke! They say that Mitsuhide at first knew nothing of Hideyoshi's movements, and took up a position at Yamazaki; Hideyoshi's forced march caught him by surprise, making him scramble to redeploy his men. As things turned out, Hideyoshi naturally was the commander of the loyal armies; and he won the victory so rapidly that overnight his power became supreme.
Reports of the battle began to reach Kiyosu from the capital, and we were all delighted and relieved that things had gone so well. One after another the various lords who had been vassals of Nobunaga, great or small, hastened to our castle. By that time the remnants of Mitsuhide's forces had burned Azuchi, there was no one left at Gifu, and Kiyosu, which was formerly the main castle of the Oda family, had become the residence of little Lord Samboshi, Nobunaga's grandson and presumable heir; so that all those who were loyal to the Oda family felt obliged to visit Kiyosu to pay their respects. Foremost among them was Lord Shibata Katsuie, who, as soon as he learned of Nobunaga's assassination, had cut short his campaign in the North and rushed toward the capital to avenge his master — and then, hearing that Mitsuhide was dead, had decided to come directly to Kiyosu. In addition, Nobunaga's second and third sons, Nobukatsu and Nobutaka, had gathered here by about the sixteenth or seventeenth; Hideyoshi himself soon arrived, after receiving the ashes of his master at Kyoto and stopping briefly at his own castle in Nagahama.
Since Nobunaga had long ago changed his headquarters from Kiyosu to Gifu, and then to Azuchi, very seldom returning to this lonely place, it had been many, many years since the leading vassals were assembled here at Kiyosu. Moreover, Katsuie and the other senior retainers who had shared in Nobunaga's struggles were all by now masters of at least a castle and a province of their own — some of them had even become great lords ruling over several provinces. One by one their splendid processions arrived, and the castle town was suddenly thronged with people. Even under the shadow of mourning, everyone felt new hope and confidence.
Now, beginning on the eighteenth the lords gathered to confer in the main hall of the castle. Of course, I don't know exactly what went on among them, but it seems they discussed such matters as the choice of a successor to Nobunaga and the disposition of his provinces. Day after day they met together and always argued far into the night, since their opinions were hopelessly divided. Sometimes they even quarreled angrily. No doubt the problems were thorny ones — for example, there were those who said that, while Lord Samboshi was technically the next in line, he was still so young that his uncle Lord Nobukatsu, Nobunaga's second son, ought to replace him for the time being. But although the right to succession was finally settled on Samboshi, it seems that Katsuie and Hideyoshi had been at odds from the very beginning, and had fought over every point. That was supposed to be because Hideyoshi had carried out the most brilliant exploits of the recent campaign, attracting a great deal of secret support; while Katsuie, since he was the chief retainer of the family, outranked everyone except Nobunaga's brothers, and wanted to impose his will on the assembled lords. People said that what deepened the rift between them was Katsuie's highhanded action in taking from Hideyoshi — in an unequal exchange — the vast estates of Nagahama, which had been Hideyoshi's home territory. But I wonder if that wasn't just on the surface. Maybe the real reason for their quarrel was that both of them were in love with Lady Oichi, and both of them wanted her.
Earlier, as soon as he arrived at Kiyosu, Lord Katsuie had called on my mistress and greeted her most courteously. After that he seems to have approached Lord Nobutaka, Nobunaga's third son, for the latter came to Lady Oichi's mansion one day and urged her to marry Katsuie. Now when all is said and done, my mistress had depended entirely on her brother Nobunaga; and for that reason, as much as she had hated him while he was alive, she found herself mourning his death. All the old resentment was forgotten, and she devoted herself to praying for his soul. Just at this time, too, she must have been desperately worried about the future, not for herself but for her three daughters. Who would stand by them? And so when she heard of Katsuie's love for her she may have been rather glad — at least, she was not displeased! But she hadn't yet made up her mind. For one thing, she wanted to remain faithful to the memory of her husband; also, she was concerned about the propriety of marrying a vassal of her brother, who had been her husband's enemy.
Soon, though, she received the same kind of overtures from Lord Hideyoshi. I'm not sure, but I think the go-between must have been Lord Nobukatsu. Anyhow, Nobukatsu and Nobutaka were only half-brothers, and got along very badly: since one of them sided with Katsuie, the other would have pushed Hideyoshi's claim. Of course, I couldn't be too inquisitive, but I managed to catch a little of what the ladies whispered among themselves, and it occurred to me that I'd been right. So Hideyoshi really did fall in love with her at Odani, I thought; it wasn't just my imagination! And yet for the past ten years he had gone from one battle to another, seizing fortresses and destroying castles. . . Had Lady O
ichi's lovely face remained before him in the midst of all that fighting? Once there was a great difference in rank between them, but he had avenged his master's death at Yamazaki, and could, if all went well, expect to take over the whole country. Apparently that had emboldened him to reveal his love. But I had never even imagined that Katsuie, who seemed to be a warrior first and last, harbored tender thoughts of love in his breast. Maybe it wasn't only love — maybe Nobutaka and Katsuie were in collusion, and having guessed Hideyoshi's feelings long ago, were purposely trying to thwart him. I wouldn't be surprised if they were.
However that may be, marriage to Hideyoshi was out of the question. When Lady Oichi received his proposal she was outraged. “Does he intend to make me his concubine?” she asked. True enough, a certain Lady Asahi had long been part of his household, so that to marry him — even if the formalities were carefully observed — would in effect be to become a concubine. And now that Nobunaga was dead she seemed to have transferred all her old enmity to Hideyoshi. After all, it was he who had actually committed those hateful deeds: it was he who struck the heaviest blows in the siege of Odani, and who took over the Asai lands; it was he who murdered little Mampukumaru and put his head on a spike. Furthermore, how could she allow herself — a daughter of the House of Oda — to become the concubine of a man who, in spite of his sudden new power, was a mere upstart of the most obscure birth and lineage? It was quite natural that if she ever married again she would choose Katsuie over Hideyoshi.
Thus, although my mistress had not yet made any clear decision, everyone at the castle had an inkling of how she felt; and so the discord between the two rival lords became even worse. Katsuie, as the senior retainer, was the one who ought to have avenged his dead master, and he resented having been robbed of that triumph; Hideyoshi, on the other hand, was not only jealous as a lover but full of bitterness at the loss of his lands. Matters had come to such a pass that they showed open resentment toward each other, even at the formal conferences. Whenever one of the two made a statement, the other glared and said: “That will never do!” All the lords, from Nobunaga's brothers on down, were divided into two factions: the supporters of Katsuie and those of Hideyoshi.
They say that for this reason Katsuie's adopted son Katsumasa quietly drew his father aside during the height of the conference, and whispered: “Kill Hideyoshi now and get it over with! If you let him live he'll make trouble for you.”
But Lord Katsuie, like the samurai he was, wouldn't hear of it. “This is a time when we ought to be helping the young lord,” he said. “We'll all be ridiculed if we fight among ourselves.”
Maybe Hideyoshi too suspected a plot of that sort, and was on his guard. They say that one night, when he got up to relieve himself, Niwa Gorozaemon stopped him in the corridor and made the same kind of suggestion: “If you want to rule the country, kill Katsuie!”
But Hideyoshi didn't consent either. “Why should I consider him my enemy?” he asked. Still, he must have decided that there was no point in staying too long. As soon as the conference was over he took his departure from Kiyosu secretly, at midnight. So the whole thing ended peacefully, for the time being.
After that all the other lords exchanged firm pledges of loyalty and returned to their own provinces. My mistress Oichi's second marriage was decided on at the end of that autumn. Since it was Nobutaka who had arranged the match, Lady Oichi came from Kiyosu and Lord Katsuie from Echizen to be married at Gifu Castle. After the ceremony they left together for the North, taking the three daughters along with them. There were all sorts of rumors about it; but I went along to Echizen as part of their retinue, so I have a good idea of what really happened.
One rumor had it that as soon as Hideyoshi heard of the marriage he swore he would never let Katsuie return to Echizen, and brought his troops to Nagahama, intending to ambush the procession. But some said that he had been persuaded to give it up; others, that the whole story was without a shred of truth. The fact is, Hideyoshi sent his adopted son Hidekatsu to Gifu to offer congratulations on his behalf. “My father regrets that he is unable to be present on this occasion,” said Hidekatsu, “He will await Lord Katsuie's trip home to Echizen, and hopes to have the privilege of entertaining him on the way and drinking a cup of saké with him as a token of his pleasure at this joyful event.” For his part, Katsuie welcomed the invitation, and promised to accept Lord Hideyoshi's hospitality. Just then a large body of troops from Echizen came galloping down to meet us. After what seemed to be a very serious discussion, a messenger was sent to Hidekatsu to say that the invitation would be declined. That night we set out hastily for the North. Whatever Hideyoshi may have actually had in mind, that is all I know of the matter.
But how did my mistress Oichi feel when she left on that long journey? No matter how splendid the ceremony, there is a tinge of sadness to a second marriage. When Lady Oichi married into the Asai family, the ceremony must have been magnificent in every way; but now she was a woman past thirty who had suffered greatly, leaving with three children on a journey into the deep snows of the North. By some trick of fate, the very route we were to travel led through Omi along the same road that she had taken before: she would have to go by Odani Castle, with all its memories. I understand that she first went to Odani in the spring of 1568, the Year of the Dragon; now, fifteen more years had passed, and though it was still autumn the northern provinces seemed to be in the grip of winter. Besides, the departure was a hurried one by night; there was nothing gay or colorful about it. Some of her ladies were even panicky because of a rumor that Hideyoshi planned to abduct her on the way.
Furthermore, the trip itself was extremely difficult. It was just the season when the wind blew down fiercely from Mount Ibuki, and the farther we went, the more intense was the cold. Around Yanagase rain mixed with sleet began to fall, as the men and horses, their breath freezing, struggled along the steep mountain roads. I could well imagine how the ladies in the party must have despaired. Traveling was always hard for me, I suppose I suffered even more than the others; but what bothered me most of all was worrying about what lay in store for my mistress, who had to cross mountain after mountain under this wintry sky, going toward a place she had never seen. I prayed that her marriage would be a happy one, that this time she and her husband could stay together all the rest of their lives, and that their family would prosper forever.
Fortunately, Lord Katsuie was a far kinder and gentler man than I had expected. Not only did he always treat her with the consideration due a sister of his late master, but the fact that he had won her away from a rival made him cherish her all the more. From the day she arrived at his Kitanosho Castle, my mistress began to throw off her gloom — she basked gratefully in the warmth of her husband's love. Thus life went on quite pleasantly: cold as it was outside, it seemed like spring in the ladies' quarters of the castle. All of her attendants felt relieved too, after ten long years of anxiety, and exclaimed at how well the marriage was turning out. But that was only for a little while. Before the year ended, war had begun.
At first Lord Katsuie wanted to have a reconciliation with Hideyoshi. Shortly after the wedding he sent a group of emissaries to him with this message: “Since it would be an inexcusable affront to the spirit of our dead master for comrades like us to quarrel, I hope to remain on the most cordial terms with you.”
Lord Hideyoshi was very pleased at this, and replied with his usual tact. “I share your feelings completely, and I am grateful for this kind expression of friendship. Since you were the chief vassal of Lord Nobunaga, how could I turn against you? I hope that you will henceforth give me whatever instructions you think best.” Then he entertained the messengers lavishly, and sent them home.
All of us — even a lowly servant like myself — breathed a sigh of relief at the news of the reconciliation of the two houses, thinking that now there would be nothing to worry about and that Lady Oichi would be safe. But within a month Hideyoshi led an army of fifty thousand horsemen into Omi and threw a
loose ring around Nagahama Castle, which he had earlier relinquished to one of Katsuie's sons. Some said that there seemed to be good reason for it, that Hideyoshi had forestalled the Kitanosho strategy. According to their explanation, Katsuie only wanted a temporary peace, because during the winter the northern snows were too deep to permit sending out a military force. He had laid plans of his own, they said, in collusion with Nobutaka of Gifu, for a thrust south toward the capital as soon as the spring thaw came. I don't know if that was true or not; anyway, Katsuie's son, who had a long-standing grievance against his father, soon reached an understanding with Hideyoshi and turned Nagahama Castle over to him. Then Hideyoshi's forces swept into Mino like the tide, and rushed on toward Gifu Castle.
Reports of the invasion began arriving at Kitanosho one after another; but since it was just then the coldest season of the year and a heavy blanket of snow covered the ground, all Lord Katsuie could do was glare angrily at the winter sky and exclaim: “That monkey-faced rascal has tricked me! Except for this snow, I'd have smashed his army as easily as you break an egg!” Then he would grit his teeth and stamp through the snow in the garden so furiously that my mistress would tremble, and her servants would be terrified. Meanwhile, Hideyoshi's troops had subdued nearly all of Mino with crushing force: in two weeks Gifu Castle was isolated, and Lord Nobutaka had to surrender. Since he was Nobunaga's son, he was spared by Hideyoshi, who agreed to accept his aged mother as a hostage instead. Hideyoshi took the old woman to Azuchi Castle, and then withdrew to the South amid shouts of triumph.
Seven Japanese Tales Page 21