satsuki kana.
The time is now,
the fifth month,
when the rain falls.
A seasonally appropriate opening, perhaps overly so. For there were also numerous homonyms in his opening lines, a hokku stuffed with double entendre. The word for time, toki, was identical to Akechi’s ancestral clan’s name, Toki, and the whole poem could just as easily be understood as:
It is the fifth month,
Now Toki shall reign,
Over the lands under heaven.
* * *
His celebrity guests continued on, carefully, building on an ode to beautiful brooks and summer blooms. Surely, Akechi hadn’t meant anything sinister in his opening remarks. He was, after all, trusted and routinely honored by his lord, singled out for praise as an exemplary warrior; the first man to ever receive an entire castle from Nobunaga as a reward for his diligence, bravery and statesmanship. Akechi had faithfully served the Oda warlord for more than a decade.
This, despite Nobunaga’s numerous insults and the betrayal of Akechi’s mother whom he’d offered as a participant in a hostage exchange to a defeated clan. Akechi had guaranteed the clan lord’s life, but Nobunaga countermanded his order and the vanquished warlord was crucified. In retaliation, Akechi’s mother was executed. Nobunaga had shrugged off the whole incident and continued to rely on Akechi as one of his chief men. Akechi, also, seemed to have moved on, serving his lord another four years.
Which is precisely why it would be so easy to stage his coup.
* * *
Thirty miles away, Nobunaga conferred in one of the larger audience chambers of Azuchi Castle, a wide tatami-matted room on the third floor with glorious vistas of Lake Biwa visible through the slats of the windows. The warlord dispensed directions and orders to those he’d be leaving behind to defend his home, ladies and treasures while he went to battle. The orders were given out calmly and the soldiers went about their business with brisk efficiency. This had been done many times before and everyone knew their job. More harried were those soldiers arranging the hosting of the tired men who’d only just gotten back from the Takeda campaign, those returned to the countryside to see to their farms in the early summer. These men would take some time to marshal back to action, but the summons had gone out and they’d serve as ordered.
Yasuke informed his own small staff of his imminent departure. His servants cooked rice balls wrapped in bamboo leaves for the next day’s journey, polished his armor, checked his straps and ties, and packed fresh supplies of sandals and underclothes and a change of formal clothing. He personally saw to his own swords and the naginata he’d purchased the previous week from the Azuchi armorers’ showroom. He bade a cheery farewell to all, and as they knelt and bowed deeply to their African lord, he left the house to report to the stables at dawn on June 20.
Yasuke and another thirty pages were to accompany Nobunaga—with another thirty or so trusted servants in tow—through safe country to Hideyoshi’s position in Takamatsu, some hundred miles away. There, they’d rendezvous with other forces—the armies of Takayama Ukon and Akechi—and then come to Hideyoshi’s aid. All three armies would travel by similar routes, and Kyoto was the first stop on Nobunaga’s journey.
Nobunaga planned to spend the night in his customary Kyoto residence, Honnō-ji Temple, where he’d use the time to pay his respects to some of the nobles of the imperial court prior to his planned conquests. He’d not visited the capital city for over a year, and to mark the occasion he brought along as gifts the most treasured tea implements from his personal collection. Among them a copper jar for waste water, a kettle named Otogoze, a tea leaf jar named Mikazuki, and several spoons, whisks and ladles, beautiful in their wabisabi, or contrived rusticity. With such souvenirs, the nobles would not soon forget their evening’s entertainment with Nobunaga.
Yasuke was honored to be among those accompanying the warlord to Kyoto. It was a clear sign of just how far he’d risen. Afterward, he knew, would come weeks or months of war. A perfect chance to truly prove himself, gain some spoils and maybe win that fief or further title the rumors hinted at.
* * *
The same day Nobunaga and Yasuke were heading toward Kyoto, Akechi traveled to his castle at Kameyama and made his final preparations. The one hundred stanzas of the renga were completed and there were more prosaic matters to attend to now. He summoned his four most trusted generals, swore them to secrecy and revealed his plans.
His men were astonished, frightened—having never heard their lord speak so—and treason was a heinous and dishonorable crime, perhaps the worst infraction of all. However, Akechi was their lord and they followed him, planning out their strategy for the initial coup and the subsequent political wranglings that would surely come afterward. It would not be easy. With the head removed, the monster that was the Oda clan would still writhe and thrash quite dangerously. Family members would need to go, and swift action was needed to secure the loyalty of the other chief Nobunaga vassals, especially Takayama Ukon (whose castle Yasuke had stayed at the week before meeting Nobunaga) and Niwa Nagahide (who’d led the umazoroe cavalcade the previous year). Both lords had field armies within easy march. Hideyoshi was far away, and could be dealt with later. Tokugawa Ieyasu, though in the area on ordered “holiday” after his visit to Nobunaga, had no army with him, and would be an easy and convenient pawn to control in the coming struggle. The plan was set.
First Nobunaga, then his sons, then Azuchi, then the realm.
By sunset, a hundred senior vassals and thirteen thousand unsuspecting samurai were marshaled for a highly unorthodox nighttime march. But the soldiers were eager to get moving and finally reinforce Hideyoshi, who’d been battling in Takamatsu while their lord played at poetry. If any of them had been thinking clearly, they’d have noticed that although they started out marching westward, partway through the march, their leaders seemed to have a change of heart about the route and turned them back east—the wrong way. They were told simply the route had been changed and that they were going via Osaka instead. It was slightly out of the way, but there must be a good reason. Akechi’s trusted generals, those in the know, led the way.
That Kyoto was also now an option had not yet entered the troop’s consideration.
* * *
Nobunaga’s entourage arrived in Kyoto an hour ahead of dusk.
They’d made good time. Yasuke was returning to the city where he’d once almost been torn apart by the mob, but this time there were few crowds, and their swift and unannounced arrival went almost unheralded. They trotted over the Kamo River and into the city. As they passed, the citizens quickly got down on their knees and knelt in the dusty streets, not daring to show their faces until the Oda warriors passed. The familiar scents of incense and charcoal, and the sounds of hammers and hawkers filled the air.
As they approached their destination, the Honnō-ji Temple, servants rushed out to greet them. The same temple where Yasuke had first met the warlord fifteen months before. Both a lifetime ago and, also, seemingly only days before. Now, however, Yasuke was neither confused or worried, panicked or disoriented. He was a trusted and valued member of Nobunaga’s vassals. The first African warrior to grace Japan’s most powerful halls.
They rode through the main gate and the grooms took their horses. Bruise-colored shadows gathered in the corners of the courtyard, reaching out like a hand against the temple walls. Yasuke slid off his horse and passed the reins to a waiting groom as if he’d done it a thousand times, and by now, perhaps, he had. He wasn’t dressed as a Portuguese valet this time, or unsure of what was going to happen next. Rather, the two swords of a samurai were thrust through his sash and he marched, strutted, down the hallways behind the most powerful man in Japan.
Menials scurried out of their way. Nobunaga’s full entourage escorted him to the door of his inner chamber, where two servants waited, bowing their heads to the floor. No
bunaga gave the group a curt nod and disappeared inside. One of the servants slid the door shut again and the group dispersed to their own quarters.
Yasuke was assigned a room with a number of other warriors. Various servants waited to show him and his roommates to the bathing facilities. There, he cleared his mind as he was scrubbed down by one of the bath attendants. She couldn’t help stroking his smooth skin again and again; she’d never washed a black man before and she couldn’t stop talking to him about it, wondering at his youth and beauty, the different shape of his face and size of his muscles. Yasuke couldn’t help but recall Nobunaga doing the same a year earlier, though the girl’s touch and talk was much softer and appealing than his lord’s had been. Afterward, he entered into the deep steaming water and allowed it to soak off the aches of the day’s ride. Several more samurai joined him in the water and the girls waited to massage them again when they were done. Nobunaga would entertain imperial nobles alone tonight with a reduced security team. Yasuke and most of the others had the evening off. And a massage before dinner sounded like a glorious start.
* * *
Mount Oino was a crossroads for Akechi in every sense.
The right trail led to Osaka and the left to Kyoto.
Another mountaintop, another decision. It was now time for the final call. Taking an army into Kyoto was a clear violation of orders and even if Akechi called it all off when they arrived, the original intention would be clear to all.
Behind him were battle-hardened, experienced men. The samurai who’d fought in Akechi, and Oda, war camps for many years. In the previous year, this same army had taken part in two major campaigns. In Tottori against the Mori, and against the Takeda in Shinano. They’d marched far more than a thousand miles in the process. They were sworn firstly to Akechi and many had been raised in his fiefs, doing only his bidding. Their second loyalty, however, was to Akechi’s own lord, Nobunaga. In the main, they were typical Oda fighting men, lightly armored foot soldiers, armed with a mixture of guns and spears with a senior hereditary samurai archery corps sporting composite longbows. Almost all had one or two swords, the poorer men loaned them by their lord. Although the sword was no longer used as a weapon of first choice, it was a badge of warrior honor and a useful weapon when opposing samurai got up close. The introduction of guns had seen to that. Only the officers were mounted. (To maintain their vast size, Oda armies were assembled and maintained as cheaply as possible, and horses were costly to buy and prohibitively expensive to maintain. Mounts were available to the elite only.)
Akechi thought his men would follow him, but he was not entirely sure, therefore most of them were kept in the dark about their target. Right or left? Right to continue on the same path as Nobunaga’s stalwart general, a solid life with guaranteed title and honor for his descendants forever. The hallowed name of Akechi would be counted among the highest in the land. To the left, another trail entirely; the one which led down to Kyoto. Left to where Nobunaga—and a few hundred soldiers at most—slept soundly for the night. Totally unprepared for what Akechi could throw at them.
Nobunaga’s death was certain, Akechi thought; there was no escape for him. After that, however, the picture was fuzzier. He’d need Takayama Ukon and the other lords to recognize his leadership and combine their forces with him swiftly. Then they could stand against any other Nobunaga vassal or Oda son who chose to take the field against them. Takayama had a weakness for the Jesuits and would value their council highly, so Akechi would need to target the foreigners in a charm offensive if at all possible. And, if successful, he would be the highest in the land, the next shogun, and all Nobunaga’s conquests to date would fall now to him. If not, he and every generation of his family would be hunted down and exterminated. The name Akechi would be shamed for eternity. The traitor’s name.
Fifty years of life and it all came down to this most basic choice: Right or Left? Osaka or Kyoto?
His son-in-law, Hidemitsu, approached warily, bowing deeply. “Lord?”
“Left,” Akechi said.
* * *
Nobunaga spent the early evening nearby in the Nijō Palace, a residence he’d had constructed for himself some years before, but later donated to Crown Prince Masahito, the heir to the imperial throne and eldest son of Emperor Ōgimachi. The prince, the governor of Kyoto Murai Sadakatsu, a rich merchant and old friend of Nobunaga’s, Imai Sōkyū and his son Sōkun (the Imai family ran Oda’s Sakai gun factory) and several other important guests graced the tea ceremony they held that night.
The guests swooned over the tea implements, treasures the warlord had spent a lifetime collecting and brought along to honor them, and show off. They were spread on the tatami floor for the viewing and, as was proper, the guests revered each one slowly, turning it in their hands and admiring the specific inimitabilities of handcrafted wares and the beauty of the priceless pots, bowls and bamboo utensils. Although it was not his residence, Nobunaga acted as the host, taking the prime position next to the kettle so he could symbolically serve “his guests.” Prince Masahito, as the highest-ranking “guest,” knelt beside him.
Shortly, the pre-tea meal was served on brand-new lacquered trays in front of each guest, the food presented as an elegant feast for the eyes as well as the belly. The first tray held a namasu dish of lightly broiled fish and ginger; a dark miso soup with delicately cooked radish, tofu and miniature mushrooms; a selection of pickles and a bowl of pure white rice. The second tray held a lightly citron-flavored simmered fish with scrambled egg, a soup of crane in a light miso broth, and a grilled dish of salmon in a wasabi sauce. The third tray consisted of carp sashimi, another soup of grated yam and deep green laver, and a broiled duck on slices of tangerine. With the serving of each course the type of sake changed, but the sedate and reverent tone of the party did not alter, such was the “Way of Tea,” as the ceremony they partook in is called. Having eaten the feast, the guests retired to wash and purify themselves before the main event, the preparation and drinking of the tea itself. Nobunaga used the time to symbolically clean all the utensils and sweep the tiny room in which they were to perform the ceremony.
At the sound of a gong, Nobunaga’s guests reentered the room, sat in their places again and waited while Nobunaga prepared the tea, whisking it into a thick froth with his bamboo whisk. The Oda lord then bowed to Prince Masahito and offered up the bowl of bitter, almost luminous, green tea. The heir to the imperial throne bowed back deeply before accepting the bowl, then bowing to the second guest to his left, rotated the bowl in his hands three times, and as protocol dictated he passed the bowl to the second guest to his left who then repeated the pattern, as did the final two men in the room. The last guest returned the bowl to Nobunaga and the evening continued with another serving of tea, this time a whole bowl for each guest. Finally, the post-ceremony meal was served. Cold noodles, spicy radish soup, rice, steamed dumplings, a pickled plum, diced conger eel, mushrooms and dried tofu. The whole process took around three hours, after which the guests took their leave, and Nobunaga bid his farewells and returned to his Honnō-ji Temple residence. The decorum and sophistication of his evening’s entertainment served to prove the rightness of his mandate to rule the land.
Meanwhile, after a meal with the other pages, spent mainly in the silence of the post-bath stupor, Yasuke enjoyed a rather more boisterous few drinks to finish off the day before the off-duty pages all retired to their futons for sleep. The next few days would bring more dusty roads and forced gallops before they reached Hideyoshi at the battle front. Some rest would do them all good.
* * *
Akechi and his army entered Kyoto during the Hour of the Tiger, before dawn. As they crossed the Katsura River, just outside the city, the first flush of daybreak edged the mountaintops to the east.
“The enemy is at the Honnō-ji Temple,” Akechi told his shocked men. They hesitated, but did not falter. Hidemitsu, his son-in-law and chief officer, led them onward.
Akechi’s intentions were now clear to all. And no one argued, it was too late for that. They followed where he led, and now there was no going back. They approached the temple, on the outskirts of the city, and took up strategic positions around it.
The citizens were just stirring, fires being kindled for the day and a few people were already hurrying through the predawn streets. At the sight of the soldiers, however, they made themselves scarce. Gates slammed, shutters slid swiftly shut again and sandal-clad feet clip-clopped speedily up the narrow alleyways. Kyoto had not been a battleground for a decade thanks to “Nobunaga’s Peace,” but the citizens still recognized war when they saw it and knew what to expect next.
* * *
Akechi’s men stormed the temple without difficulty. Kyoto was supposed to be safe territory, long since pacified and policed. The token corps of guards on duty at the Honnō-ji Temple that dawn were both surprised and, subsequently, quickly eliminated. The Akechi men climbed the temple’s outer walls and entered through the few small side entrances like the night’s wind. The sizable temple yard made it easy for the small army to move just as swiftly to surround the numerous buildings within. Those sleeping inside, unsuspecting in every way, had no escape.
* * *
Yasuke jerked awake, sitting up.
A peculiar sound had awoken him, though he couldn’t remember what it had been, and he crouched in the dark, head tilted, holding his breath to hear it again. He’d already grabbed his sword.
The room was dark and remained silent except for shifting bodies and light snores from his roommates. Behind the pure white paper shutters came a pinkish glow, like dawn, but it was surely still early for that and it appeared different from other dawns. Something wasn’t right. His whole body tingled with a terrible expectancy, but his head was still slightly cloudy from the drink the night before.
Yasuke: In Search of the African Samurai Page 25