As icy rain poured down, splashing off the three-day-old relic of the former Takeda lord and Yasuke looked on, Nobunaga gloated over the severed head. He taunted it verbally and even slapped Katsuyori’s cheek. “I heard your father wanted you to go to Kyoto,” Nobunaga jeered, “so, I will forward your head there to fulfill his wish. There, it will be exposed to the spectators, including all the women and children.” Perhaps ominously, Katsuyori’s right eye was closed and the left clearly scowling, an unlucky sign.
The dead eyes of Nobunaga’s adoptive grandson also stared blankly upon this terrible spectacle and Nobunaga’s entourage shifted awkwardly in their sodden straw capes, their sandaled feet frozen and soaked in the mud. They worked to hide their displeasure, looking on in shock, and what should have been a moment of sweet victory for them was diminished. It was a terrible breach of protocol, more reminiscent of Nobunaga’s undignified youthful behavior than anything they’d seen in many years. They wished to look away; did not want to be there amid these ruins, watching their dear lord disgrace himself so. Yasuke, still learning the cultural norms, had little reaction but could sense the other men clearly enough. He leaned forward, kept quiet, tugging his thick straw cape closer against the rain.
Finally, Nobunaga gave Katsuyori’s head a final hard slap and walked back to the relative warmth of his tent. There, the braziers were bright and steam rose gently from the sodden soldiers as they tried to force some jolliness into the sorry evening. Nobunaga was surely now a little lost without Katsuyori—a man who’d provided focus and purpose for years. The Oda warlord had other enemies, yes, but dealing with them would not possibly involve the personal emotional energy, the all-encompassing loathing, he’d engaged for the Takeda due to their generations-long family feud. He’d finally defended his family’s legacy and avenged every defeat and slight suffered at the hands of the Takeda. The final stages on his journey to national domination would now be smooth and almost perfunctory, thought Yasuke. And where—perhaps the issue—was the fun in that?
By the time the eating and drinking were done, the day’s events were a matter for the historians to debate. The Oda samurai and troops had a campaign to finish up.
The next day, another head arrived: Katsuyori’s cousin, Tenkyū.
After Katsuyori’s death, the only Takeda leader of any note still alive had been Tenkyū. Now he was dead, also. Per the messenger, Tenkyū had escaped north hoping to find a still-loyal clansman to aid his flight. The lord of Komoro Castle agreed to help, and gave him and his small corps of twenty samurai refuge for the night. Tenkyū should have guessed treachery was in the air; why would a minor lord risk Nobunaga’s wrath to help a fugitive from a ruling house who’d clearly lost heaven’s mandate? During the night, his temporary residence was torched, the weary refugees had no escape, they followed their training and burst from the flames in a half-hearted final attack. Tenkyū slipped to his knees, pulled out his short sword and prepared for seppuku. His lover acted as his second, and as Tenkyū stabbed down and pulled the sword across his abdomen, the young man decapitated him. The samurai lover then took his own life as did several other survivors from the flames. The people of Komoro Castle looked on with respect, giving space and dignity to this last act of their former rulers. The remainder of the exhausted men gave themselves up. (Not all samurai, as mentioned before, had the strength to perform seppuku.) These men were killed and the final Takeda heads were delivered, as promised, by express horse relay to Kyoto to be displayed in public. More proof of Nobunaga’s victory and the Takeda’s demise. It was expected the crowds in Kyoto would rejoice. Yet another violent step on the road to total peace and Japan’s ascension.
Along with Tenkyū’s head, the messenger had brought Katsuyori’s personal sword. In return, the bearer was gifted a lined silk kimono for his trouble.
The days, and road, ahead were increasingly filled with fire, ferocity and blood—even by Nobunaga’s standards. Farmers were rewarded with gold for turning in the heads of their former overlords and a regionally important temple, the Erin-ji, had been turned to cinders by Nobutada.
The fugitive son of Rokkaku Yoshikata, the man who’d commissioned the first sniper ninja attack on Nobunaga twelve years earlier, was reported to Nobutada as being under the protection of the temple’s abbot. A bad decision for the temple. In retaliation, all the monks and inhabitants within were pushed into a second floor room, then the temple’s first floor was packed with straw and oils, and ignited. The straw was wet from the winter damp and smoke billowed around the building hellishly as the clear, sonorous sound of the abbot praying rose above the crackle of flame. Soon, however, the prayer was overwhelmed by the screams of the priests, acolytes and children trapped within. One hundred and fifty people were burned to death.
* * *
Nobunaga, Yasuke and the army pushed north through the mountains, past the ruined castle of Takatō, and onward to the town of Suwa, an ancient holy site that Nobutada had also reduced to ash. There, dozens of smoldering fires were still banked with charred bodies. Sunlight broke through the snow-swollen clouds, slashing over the corpses and the company of horses and armored men picking their way through the burned stumps of shrines and homes.
Nobunaga commandeered the only building left standing, a temple, and made it his provisional headquarters. The god of Suwa was called “The Great Shining Deity,” and devotees from across Japan had made pilgrimages to worship there. It seemed apt for Nobunaga to appropriate the divine aura. The first thing he ordered was disposal of all the dead. It was all very well leaving corpses strewn along the roadside, but he had no desire to share a town with them.
For the next two weeks, Yasuke and Nobunaga remained within the smoldering village. Nobunaga would go no farther for now, trusting Nobutada, still encamped in Kofū to the south, to work independently. His first son had more than proven himself capable. In Suwa, Nobunaga made good use of his time and held court. The turncoat lords flocked to him in droves to pay obeisance and swear allegiance to their new ruler. Nobutada subsequently presented himself to his father where Nobunaga officially passed command of the theatre of battle to him.
Nobunaga then set to reorganizing the governance of the conquered territories by his terms. No longer would the peasants and townsmen be taxed to within an inch of their lives to raise a vainglorious ruler’s new capital city—tax rates would be lowered; nor would customs be collected at the border as the provinces would now be unified with those of Nobunaga. People were to be treated fairly and with respect and rewarded appropriately. Infrastructure was to be well maintained and criminals punished in accordance with the local legal penalties for their infringements.
Yasuke listened carefully as Nobunaga proclaimed his edicts, setting new provincial regulations for the ruling samurai, a group of enemies turned allies, and newly appointed Oda men to replace those who had remained loyal to the Takeda and paid with their lives. He eliminated various tolls and taxes, established legal regulations, gave specific orders for establishing defenses and commercial infrastructure. His final pronouncement was: “There must be no animosity. In case of an unsatisfactory resolution of a matter beyond what has been determined above, bring the case directly before me.” Yasuke thought on Nobunaga’s words, and contemplated what made his lord a great ruler, not just a great soldier.
Battle and destruction were not everything Nobunaga was about, although it sometimes felt that way. The rule of law, and the welfare of his people were central to Nobunaga’s concept for a New World. Farmers would farm in peace, merchants would create personal wealth, artisans could engage in industry and samurai could engage in cultural and martial pursuits while policing any wayward tendencies within the new society. Nobunaga was extending the economic policies that had been so successful in Azuchi, rakuichi rakuza, “free markets and open guilds,” cutting red tape he believed restricted economic growth. And it made a difference. As farmers, merchants and townspeople who had been un
der Takeda rule understood just exactly what this “domination” by the Oda would mean, they calmed down, accepted their defeat and looked forward to a brighter future.
All of this security was being built on the boxed heads of Nobunaga’s enemies. If ever a ruler of people, Yasuke thought, would I follow my new lord’s example?
Yasuke’s imagining of a lordship of his own was not idle daydreaming. It had been an offhand quip at first, his new comrades jesting, but as the months passed, the joke had spread into a rumor which soon transformed into genuine possibility. Seemingly already far beyond his wildest imagination, it was possible Nobunaga was only getting started with his plans for Yasuke.
The Jesuit Mexia reported that the rumor in Azuchi town was “Nobunaga would make him ‘Tono’”—a lord in his own right.
A fief as reward for his services. Taxable lands. Troops to deploy. His own samurai to command. Anything was possible with Nobunaga, it seemed.
The conversation around the campfires even turned to which specific fief Yasuke might receive; there were plenty to go around in these vast new provinces where the old enemies had been dispossessed. Nobunaga had the right to go as far as he liked in doling out his spoils of war, and not waste opportunities to provide patronage and promotion to those who deserved it. How far would Nobunaga promote his new favorite? Such a thing had never happened before, after all. Foreigners rarely had need of real estate; they craved rather money or goods, and then went on their way. Never had a foreigner been given a lordship or fief and the implied permanence and responsibility to the lower orders who lived there which such a designation entailed. A normal samurai lord would be bound to fulfill his social obligations to high and low, ensuring harmony in the land he controlled. A long-term and resource-intensive undertaking.
Yasuke heard the rumors for weeks, dismissed them, but then started to seriously consider the implications as the gossip intensified. A fief meant glory, wealth and position, but it also meant the responsibility for hundreds or even thousands of lives, economic management, trade, swift responses to rebellion and playing at politics. A tingle went up his spine. Such a position was unimaginable. A highborn wife, concubines and heirs would also have their part to play. He imagined himself adjudicating legal disputes, dealing in vast sums and chastising wayward peasants for not seeing to their irrigation properly, and bowing as he entered the women’s quarters to visit his wife and/or concubines. He grinned at the image of himself charging through the woods to hunt a boar, then frowned as he realized his own retainers would compete in New Year calligraphy contests, perform noh dramas and serve tea correctly to his visitors, but, lacking the deep classical training, he himself would be unable to. At least not for a long time. How would he gain their true respect? Being a samurai lord was more than fighting; it implied an apprenticeship in the house of another samurai, a lifetime’s education including a thorough knowledge of the Chinese classics and a true appreciation of the arts. How would he gain the respect of his neighboring lords? It was a maelstrom of competing bittersweet ideas, fears and jubilation.
For several days, Yasuke held his expectations, dread and daydreams down. Still, he felt Nobunaga’s eyes on him differently, more evaluating than even his first audience with the Japanese lord the year before; he told himself that was all in his imagination. And, as if the universe had heard his thoughts, over the next few days, the rumors died down. Replaced with other camp gossip and groans about the cold and harsh living conditions.
Nobunaga doled out fiefs, of varying sizes and values—there was no set measurement—to his new followers and promoted his old. The lands from which they were promoted went to new men. Nobunaga’s teenage lover, Ranmaru, received two, even as Ranmaru’s older brother was given four, with a castle, for his bravery and heroism in the taking of Takatō Castle. As a reward for his long years of alliance and service, Tokugawa Ieyasu received the whole province of Suruga, encompassing the south of Mount Fuji. Ieyasu, from an old blue-blooded family, had been allied to Nobunaga for over two decades, and although an independent daimyō in his own right, not an Oda vassal, had consistently and loyally supported his Oda overlord, including sacrificing his own wife and firstborn son to maintain the alliance. The rich and ancient province of Suruga was Nobunaga’s gift in recognition of this.
The matter of Yasuke, however, never came up.
Yasuke felt disappointment in his heart, but also surely breathed a sigh of relief. A marriage first, perhaps. Then, Nobunaga might gift him a fief in the future to provide for his family; that was often the pattern.
But such ambitions would have to wait.
Chapter Eighteen
Fuji-san
Nobunaga’s work nearly done in the former Takeda lands, the warlord desired a proper holiday.
Despite all his triumphs and adventures over the years, there’d never been time for him to visit the holy mountain, Fuji. Now, with the old Takeda lords out of the way, this land was his to command, and he wished to see it. And Fuji lay directly to their south. At the same time he could grace his prime ally in the region, Tokugawa Ieyasu, with a visit, and confirm him in his new domain, Suruga. He could leave the final mopping up and enforcing details to his son.
But, an issue first: Nobunaga’s men were hungry and tired. They’d marched hundreds of cold, wet miles up mountains and down valleys. They’d dispensed Nobunaga’s justice on the local population, burned uncooperative villages and patrolled now-friendly towns. Furthermore, they’d carried almost everything on their backs. (There were few beasts of burden due to lack of land to grow fodder.) Several soldiers had even frozen to death in the bitter conditions. Yasuke—less used to the cold even than the rest—was fortunately part of Nobunaga’s inner circle and afforded the luxury of each night being quartered indoors, in a temple, manor house or specially constructed lodging. Still, once inside, the Japanese seemed to have a flippant attitude to heating, perhaps because all buildings were wood and they preferred to lessen the fire risk. Instead, they smothered themselves with futons or woven straw mats rather than waste energy on heating large spaces with their small braziers. Yasuke struggled each night to stay warm under the futon covers, shivering and tossing and wondering how such cold could exist.
Nobunaga knew his soldiers would not appreciate this tour in the same way as he. Also, turning up at Ieyasu’s border with only a small entourage would prove to the world he believed in his personal power alone to keep him safe in another man’s land. For Nobunaga trusted in only one thing, his own supremacy. The warlord believed to his core that was enough. Thus—despite the inherent dangers of Ieyasu perhaps betraying him—Nobunaga dismissed his vassal lords and their armies, and tens of thousands of troops turned for home. In their place, Nobunaga took only a few hundred men with him, including Yasuke. Observed on this tour, Matsudaira Ietada, a prolific samurai diarist of the times, noted, “His skin was black like ink and he was around 6.2 shaku (over 6'2") tall. He was called Yasuke.”
They proceeded south from Suwa to tour the remaining Takeda lands before exploring the environs of the holy mountain, Fuji. Once more Yasuke found himself part of a glorious procession that everyone, high and low, came out to witness. Yasuke rode proud and tall in the vanguard, feeling ever more at ease in his role as samurai and in his place within his group of comrades.
Mount Fuji viewed from the sea. Hokusai, 36 views of Mount Fuji.
As they rode through snow-dusted forest, he daydreamed about buying a razor-sharp long-handled naginata when he got home to Azuchi. He’d never used one in battle, but he loved the look and feel. With one of those on horseback, especially for a man his size, a warrior might easily scythe his way through a group of enemies. The daydream was interrupted abruptly by cheers and whoops from those around him.
As a mountain pass opened, the dazzling white snow-covered peak of the majestic Mount Fuji itself came into view, sparkling and haloed against the light blue sky in the brilliant
winter sun. It was awe inspiring, and Nobunaga’s party was in high spirits.
Mount Fuji was Japan’s tallest mountain, some two-thousand feet taller than her closest rival, and an active volcano that had erupted throughout human history. The root of her name was lost to the mists of time, but it is thought she has been worshipped as a kind of mother goddess since the Japanese islands were first inhabited tens of thousands of years before. She rose gracefully far above any other peak, her silhouette viewable for hundreds of miles—a glowing, lingering visitor from the heavens.
Yasuke and Nobunaga approached Fuji from the north, and only her peak was visible, other lesser mountains obscuring her base. Still, their view encompassed the cone peak clad in the purity of icy-white snow. With Fuji gleaming in the distance, they rode contemplatively through the ruins of Katsuyori’s new capital, and then on to the traditional Takeda capital of Kofū where they were delighted to find Nobutada had built a temporary palace for his father. There, they slept in warmth and comfort that night, toasting their victory and feasting on five hundred freshly hunted pheasants which arrived as a gift from Nobunaga’s ally Lord Hōjō, Katsuyori’s former brother-in-law. Nobunaga distributed them to his men, an unusual delicacy, fit for kings and conquerors.
The next morning, they moved into Suruga, the province which Nobunaga had just added to Ieyasu’s growing collection of lands. Sunlight filtered through the swollen clouds above and they’d left the death and decay of the former Takeda battlefields behind. Now they were in Tokugawa lands, and Ieyasu—the Tokugawa lord—made sure Nobunaga’s holiday was more of a luxurious pilgrimage.
New bridges were built to span rivers. Their paths cleared of stones and drizzled with water to reduce the nuisance of dust; now that they’d left the mountains, the first balmy heat of spring was upon them. Tokugawa soldiers lined the route and trees were cleared on both sides of the road to create a broader highway, for ease of travel and to reduce the risk of hidden assassins. (There would be no repeat of the Iga ninja attack while Nobunaga was Ieyasu’s guest.)
Yasuke: In Search of the African Samurai Page 23