Pathway to Japanese Literature

One The senior retainers of Lord Tadanao, who had been summoned to Ieyasu’s headquarters, were mercilessly berated by him, resulting in a disastrous outcome. “Did you Echizen retainers nap through the Ii and Todo forces’ struggles today? Had you pressed from behind both fronts and closed in on the castle, Osaka’s fall would have been imminent! But your general is green, and you—Japan’s greatest cowards—have squandered a flawless battle!” snarled Ieyasu bitterly, then abruptly rose from his seat.

Chief Retainer Honda Tomimasa had prepared some excuses regarding today’s battle not proceeding as planned, but with Ieyasu adopting such a domineering attitude, he could not even find an opportunity to interject. And so—more than it being unavoidable—they retreated from the headquarters in disarray and returned to the Echizen forces’ encampment; however, when it came to reporting back to their lord, Lord Tadanao, they were utterly perplexed about how to broach the matter. Lord Tadanao, Shōshō of Echizen, was a general who had just turned twenty-one. When his father Lord Hideyasu had passed away in the intercalary fourth month of Keichō 12, he had been a mere thirteen years old; since inheriting the vast domain of 670,000 koku, he had remained a general utterly unaware that this world contained any will stronger than his own.

He was a general whose innate will—or rather, self-will—stood towering like a cedar tree that had grown atop a high mountain. When the military deployment orders for this campaign reached the Echizen House, the senior retainers had approached their lord’s presence as if handling a swollen wound—with fearful trepidation— “A most earnest request from His Lordship has arrived, urging your esteemed deployment to the Osaka front,” they reported. The senior retainers had, until now, developed a habit of making their young lord’s will absolute.

But today, they absolutely had to make Lord Tadanao hear Ieyasu’s rebuke. For a lord who had never even in his wildest dreams experienced being scolded since birth, they had to anxiously ponder what effect the retired shōgun’s fierce reprimand might produce.

When he heard they had returned, Lord Tadanao immediately summoned them.

“What did Grandfather say?” “Surely Grandfather must have bestowed some words regarding my exertions upon you,” Lord Tadanao inquired with a cheerful smile. When asked this, the senior retainers were thrown into disarray as though it were a fresh shock. But at last appearing to have steeled their resolve, one among them fearfully, “Your esteemed thoughts are mistaken.” “His Lordship holds resentment that the Echizen forces failed to engage in today’s battle,” he said, his face turning pale as he prostrated himself.

Lord Tadanao, who had never once experienced the emotion of being criticized or rebuked by others, possessed neither resistance nor restraint against such feelings.

“Hah! What kind of command is this?! Though this Tadanao had requested to lead the vanguard—not only was permission denied—such an unreasonable command is issued! In the end—Tadanao must die! That is Grandfather’s riddle! You all die too! I too shall die! In tomorrow’s battle, lord and retainers together shall shed blood upon the battlefield and lay our corpses bare beneath the castle walls. Inform the troops as well and have them prepare themselves!” shouted Lord Tadanao. His hands, resting on his knees, trembled violently—then, as if unable to contain himself, he snatched the Nagamitsu sword from his page and thrust it before the senior retainers’ faces while...

“Look! With this Nagamitsu, I’ll take Lord Hideyori’s head and shove it in Grandfather’s face!” No sooner had he spoken than he swung the sword two or three times while still seated. Lord Tadanao, barely out of his twenties, would occasionally be seized by these near-mad fits. The senior retainers, knowing well the fits of rage that had plagued their house since Lord Hideyasu’s time, could only cover their ears and press themselves to the ground as if waiting for a storm to pass.

The morning of May 7th in the Genna Era dawned completely clear of the lingering overcast from recent days, the sky unusually serene.

The fall of Osaka Castle was now only a matter of time. Goto Matabe, Kimura Nagato, Usuda Hayato and other renowned commanders had resolutely met their deaths in the battle on the sixth day, leaving only Sanada Saemon, Chosokabe Motochika, Mori Buzen-no-kami and their ilk merely waiting for the final battle. Shogun Hidetada departed at the Hour of the Tiger on this day. He deployed Matsudaira Chikugo-no-kami Toshitsune, Katō Samanosuke Yoshiaki, and Kuroda Kai-no-kami Nagamasa as the first vanguard and advanced the banners toward Okayama.

Ieyasu departed at the Hour of the Rabbit by palanquin. Todo Takatora arrived and, “Your Lordship should don your honorable armor today,” to which Ieyasu responded with that characteristically cunning smile of his. “To defeat Osaka’s whelp, armor is unnecessary.” So saying, he wore a white undergarment with a brown haori over it, put on tied trousers, and with a fly-whisk in hand, kept swatting at the flies that incessantly swarmed around him. Naitō Kamon-no-kami Masanari, Utsunomiya Dewa-no-kami Ienari, Itakura Naizen-no-kami Shigemasa, and about thirty close retainers followed the palanquin and advanced.

Honda Sado-no-kami Masazumi, dressed in attire not an inch different from Ieyasu’s, rode in a mountain palanquin and followed immediately behind him.

Looking out from the Okayama entrance to the Tennōji entrance, the entire army of over 150,000 soldiers fluttered their banners in the early summer breeze, their helmet crests glinting in the sun, their ranks arrayed and formations secured as they waited impatiently for the attack order to be issued. However, not only was the attack order not given easily, but three messengers from the shogunate galloped on white horses through the various camps, racing about while— “Due to Their Lordships Yoshinao and Yorinobu being permitted to join the fray, the commencement of the vanguard forces shall be temporarily delayed. Withdraw your horses one or two *chō*, dismount, take spears in hand, and await further orders,” they proclaimed throughout the ranks.

Ieyasu, likely seeing today as the final engagement, must have wished to let his beloved sons Yoshinao and Yorinobu take at least one enemy commander’s head. However, the impetuous Mizuno Katsunari, upon hearing this military order, disregarded the messengers and,

“The Hour of the Snake has already come! The enemy positions at Chausuyama grow ever more visible! Convey this to the Great Lord at once—we must swiftly join battle!” he roared. But scarcely had these two messengers withdrawn when four mounted envoys came galloping through the entire army’s ranks, cutting across formations in all directions,

“All forces are not to engage in battle; quietly await further orders,” they proclaimed far and wide.

Yet Lord Tadanao, Junior General of Echizen—who had maintained last night’s fervor in a near-sleepless state while awaiting today’s battle—no sooner heard this order than he first dispatched Senior Retainer Yoshida Shuri, then divided his vast army of nearly thirty thousand men, starting with the two Honda national elders, into sixteen divisions. Charging through the center of the Kaga forces’ formation, heedless of their rising fury, they pressed recklessly toward Tennōji and the front of Chausuyama, deploying their ranks in a crane-wing formation slightly to the left of the vanguard position held by Honda Izumo-no-kami Tadatomo.

At this moment—for the first time—from the shogun, “The castle garrison appears to be drawing in the besieging forces and waiting for nightfall. You must quickly issue the order to engage!”—such was the military command that spread through the various camps. But Lord Tadanao did not wait for the military order to be issued. When Honda Tadatomo’s vanguard fired two or three probing shots at the enemy, the Echizen forces immediately unleashed seven or eight hundred matchlocks in unison. Burrowing through the billowing smoke like a moving forest of sixteen-layered troops, they all charged toward Chausuyama.

The forces from Aoya-guchi to Chausuyama were assembled by Sanada Saemon-no-jō Yukimura and his son, Iki Shichirōemon Tōyū slightly to the south, Watanabe Kurōsuke Tadasu, Ōtani Daigaku Yoshitane, and others, their total numbers barely exceeding six thousand. The Echizen forces formed an overwhelmingly large army, and their commander Lord Tadanao—appearing resolved to fight to the death this day—discarded his war fan on horseback and gripped a great spear while ignoring his retainers' attempts to restrain him, driving his horse ever forward. The commander's bearing roused every soldier to fight with elemental fury. Wherever the Echizen forces advanced, enemy troops bowed like grass before them. Honda Iyo-no-kami Tadamasa began by striking down Nenryū Sadayū—renowned within the castle for swordsmanship—while Aoki Shinbei, Otsube Kurobē, Hagita Shume, Toshima Shuzennokami and numerous others distinguished themselves in battle. They shattered the Sanada forces arrayed from Chausuyama to Kōshindō in one breath, witnessed Nishio Jinzaemon cut down Saemon-no-jō Yukimura, saw Nomoto Ukon slay Onjuku Echizen, then pursued fleeing garrison soldiers through Senbaguchi to plant banners at Kuromon Gate and set fires throughout the castle grounds.

Three thousand six hundred fifty-two enemy heads taken—on this day, none surpassed Lord Tadanao in military merit. Lord Tadanao had positioned his horse at Chausuyama, but when he saw the Echizen forces’ banners blocking the moats like a tide, spilling over the ramparts, forming a sharp angle distinct from the besieging troops, and driving into Osaka Castle like a wedge, he leapt up on his saddlebow like a carefree child and rejoiced. The members of the vanguard galloped back and, “Aoki Shinbei has achieved first entry into Osaka Castle,” came the report. Lord Tadanao’s composure crumbled as he,

“Shinbei’s military exploit is foremost—promptly inform him of a 5,000-koku increase!” he shouted like madness, steadying his excited horse. What glory for a warrior! Lord Tadanao thought: What unparalleled honor—to have taken the head of Saemon-no-jō who had so tormented the besiegers, while also securing first entry into the castle ahead of all other armies under my command! When Lord Tadanao considered his retainers’ miraculous deeds, they all seemed reflections of his own power and will. Not only had the wound dealt to his self-esteem by his grandfather Ieyasu the previous day vanished as if wiped clean—Lord Tadanao’s self-esteem now burned with severalfold greater strength and ferocity than before.

When he thought that among the nearly hundred daimyo participating in the siege of Osaka Castle, not a single one could match his military achievements, Lord Tadanao felt his body almost glowing with a richly satisfied state of mind. But that was by no means an unreasonable assumption. Born as the son of the peerlessly valiant Lord Hideyasu and considering himself the rightful heir of the Tokugawa house, today’s military exploits seemed so natural as to be inevitable—Lord Tadanao found himself unable to restrain the triumphant emotions surging within his heart.

“Grandfather has misjudged this Tadanao.” “I shall attend the main camp and hear what he will say,” he thought—and with that, Lord Tadanao hastened to Ieyasu’s presence at the Okayama entrance where his grandfather had advanced his headquarters. Ieyasu had been leaning on his camp stool while receiving congratulations from the various daimyo, but when Lord Tadanao arrived, he deliberately rose from the stool and, taking him by the hand, drew him close while— “You have done splendidly. “It is precisely by achieving today’s foremost merit that you prove yourself truly my grandson.” “Your martial prowess appears to surpass even that of Fan Kuai of Tang.” “Truly, you are Japan’s Fan Kuai!” he extolled.

The single-minded Lord Tadanao was so overjoyed by this praise that tears welled up in his eyes. He no longer harbored even a trace of resentment toward the same person who had reprimanded him the previous day. He returned to his encampment that night, gathered his retainers, and held a grand banquet. He came to feel that even his grandfather Ieyasu’s praise of “Japan’s Fan Kuai” was somehow insufficient—that he was stronger than anyone and surpassed all others. He gazed at the sky where Osaka Castle had completely darkened, still ablaze here and there in crimson, savoring it as a testament to his great achievement of the day while repeatedly raising large cups of sake.

Except for a triumphant, elated emotion, nothing remained in Lord Tadanao’s heart. On the fifth day of the following month, when the lords who had participated in the castle attack had gathered at Nijō Castle in Kyoto, Ieyasu took Lord Tadanao by the hand and— “Your father Hideyasu served me with exemplary loyalty and filial piety in his time, and you have now displayed military loyalty surpassing all other armies—this brings me utmost satisfaction.” “Though I would wish to bestow a letter of commendation for this achievement, as we are of the same house, it may not be necessary.” “As long as my legitimate line endures, the House of Echizen shall remain secure as a massive rock,” he declared while bestowing his treasured Hatsuhana tea caddy upon Lord Tadanao. Lord Tadanao, having attained the utmost honor for himself, felt his very being radiate like brilliant light amidst the assembly of daimyo. He felt a supremely fulfilled emotion—one that lacked nothing in all the realm—welling up with a tingling intensity within his breast. From the beginning, the fact that his will was never subjected to any restrictions and his emotions were always abundant was by no means something that had only now begun. Even from his childhood, his will and emotions were never subjected to any external suppression, overflowing freely as he desired. He had no memory of ever being inferior to others or losing to others in any matter he had ever participated in. In his childhood, when competitions were held for target shooting with ceremonial bows, the victor was invariably him. When Kyoto nobles introduced the ceremonial ball game kemari to Fukui’s castle town and it came to be frequently held within the castle walls as well, he was invariably the most skillful kicker. In pastimes such as Go, shogi, and sugoroku, he was usually the winner. In the essential skills of a warrior—archery, horsemanship, spearmanship, and swordsmanship—his abilities rapidly improved. He quickly surpassed the retainers who had initially been his equals and routinely demonstrated such progress that he could swiftly defeat even the esteemed young warriors within his household who had gained renown in those arts.

Thus, his sense of superiority toward those around him had been cultivated over the years. And deep within his heart, he had nurtured the conviction that he was a superior person of character, entirely different in quality from his retainers. In Lord Tadanao’s heart, though he held the conviction that he stood superior to all within his household, since his recent deployment to Osaka, his rivals in military merit had become daimyo of equal standing. Thus, he could not help but harbor a sliver of concern—might he prove inferior to some among them? Might he suffer an unexpected lapse in warfare, the most essential duty of a military commander? Indeed, during the engagement on May 6th, the delayed deployment time had caused an unexpected setback that nearly shook the unshakable confidence he had nurtured until then. Yet through his military achievements in the castle assault of the seventh, not only was this wounded confidence fully restored—it expanded further still. Having secured the honor of first entry into the castle and seen the Echizen Forces’ martial reputation overshadow that of the entire army, Lord Tadanao’s conviction of surpassing all his retainers now began shifting toward a grander belief: that he stood superior even to any among the sixty feudal lords who had participated in the siege. Throughout the Osaka campaign, the force that took 3,750 enemy heads—and moreover claimed the head of castle commander Saemonnojō Yukimura—was none other than Lord Tadanao’s army.

Lord Tadanao engraved within his heart the Hatsuhana tea caddy and the laudatory title of “Japan’s Fan Kuai” as certifications that he was a man surpassing all others.

His spirits were buoyant. The one hundred twenty daimyo and lesser lords arrayed there all seemed to turn gazes of admiration toward Lord Tadanao. He had always taken pride in being a more outstanding individual than any of his subordinates. However, the fact that all those he compared himself to were his own retainers left him unsatisfied. Yet now he was being warmly received—taking his hand before any of the feudal lords in the land—by the retired shogun.

Not even his uncles Lord Yoshinao and Lord Yorinobu had achieved any military distinction. Moreover, Lord Tadanaga of Echigo no Shijō—likewise his uncle—had failed to even participate in the seventh day's battle, resulting in utter disgrace. The military exploits of renowned great domains like Date, Maeda, and Kuroda seemed weaker than fireflies before the moon when measured against the Echizen House's merits. When he considered this, Lord Tadanao found that his sense of superiority over others—nearly wounded by Ieyasu's past rebuke—had not only been fully restored, but through that very wounding now shone with greater brilliance and force than ever before.

Thus bearing pride akin to being foremost under heaven, Lord Tadanao, the Shōshō of Echizen, took leave of the capital in August of that year with triumphant spirits and returned to his castle in Fukui, Echizen. II

In the great hall of Echizen's Kitanoshō Castle, countless silver candles blazed with a dazzling brilliance. The white wax from the candles had melted and flowed, heaping high upon the candle holders—seeing this, one could tell the banquet had long been underway.

Since assuming governance of his domain, Lord Tadanao made it his custom to gather the young warriors of his household by day to host grand tournaments of martial arts such as archery, horsemanship, spearmanship, and swordsmanship, while detaining them as they were by night to hold great banquets free of formalities. Lord Tadanao was unbearably happy, his heart melting with joy at the name "Japan’s Fan Kuai" that had been flatteringly bestowed upon him by his grandfather Ieyasu. He would cross spears with the young warriors of his household, cross swords with them, and through thoroughly defeating them, make this the daily nourishment that fed his pride.

Even now, with Lord Tadanao seated in the place of honor, the young warriors who formed a large circle in the lower hall one step below were masters of martial arts selected from among the numerous young men of the household. Youths who had not yet come of age were among them, yet all possessed robust physiques and eyes that brimmed with vitality. However, Lord Tadanao, the castle lord, had a demeanor even more outstanding and dashing than theirs. Though his figure was somewhat gaunt and refined, those piercing eyes radiated an almost unnervingly sharp intensity, while a fierce vitality brimmed between his brows.

Lord Tadanao opened eyes that were beginning to swim with mild intoxication and thoroughly surveyed the entire gathering. When he considered that the over a hundred adults arrayed there were all people who would not hesitate to brave fire and water at his command, he could not help but feel a pride unique to those in power welling up within him. Yet his pride tonight did not stop there. The fact that he had defeated all the young men gathered there through his martial prowess as a warrior had doubled that pride.

Today once again, he gathered his retainers and hosted a grand spear tournament. It was a grand red-and-white competition where he gathered youths excelling in spearmanship from his household and divided them into two teams. And then, he himself took the field as general of the Red Army. Throughout the match, the Red Army remained at a disadvantage. Each who went forth, every last one, was battered down by the enemy, and when the Red Army’s vice-general fell, the White Army still had five combatants yet to fight. At that moment, Lord Tadanao—general of the Red Army—personally wielded a large spear with a three-ken shaft with fluid mastery and made a courageous, dignified entrance. It was truly a momentum like that of a mountain moving. The White Army warriors were rapidly overwhelmed. The first to step forward—the attendant captain—had long feared Lord Tadanao’s ferocity, and no sooner had their spears clashed than his weapon was swept aside, a thrust to his flank sending him collapsing in a heap as if on the verge of fainting. The next horse guard and steward were also struck down without a moment’s pause. However, Ōshima Sadayu, the White Army’s vice-general, was the eldest son of spearmanship instructor Ōshima Sazen and held unrivaled honor in spearmanship within the household.

“My Lord’s momentum might prove a bit challenging even for Sadayu,” arose a murmur from nowhere in particular. Yet after they fiercely crossed spears seven or eight times, Sadayu was thrust hard in the side, and as he staggered, Lord Tadanao pressed his advantage to strike him once more directly in the chest’s vital point. The entire household in the spectator seats applauded to their heart’s content. Lord Tadanao, while slightly restraining his excited breathing, calmly waited for the opposing general to emerge. In his heart, he was at the peak of triumph, as always.

The White Army’s general was Onda Ukon. From the age of twelve, he had trained under Gondō Samon, a renowned spearmanship master in Kyoto, and by twenty had attained such skill that he could even best his own teacher in a match. But Lord Tadanao feared nothing. When sharply challenged with a “Hyah!”, he lunged forward ferociously. It appeared not so much a display of technical skill as one where even the momentum of the 670,000-koku lord himself seemed to be added to it. Just as the fierce battle seemed to have lasted nearly twenty exchanges, Ukon received a violent thrust from Lord Tadanao to his right shoulder and retreated about one ken,

“I yield,” Ukon said, prostrating himself.

The spectators in the viewing seats applauded as if to bring Kitanoshō Castle crumbling down. Lord Tadanao was at the peak of triumph. When he returned to the upper seat, he raised his voice and, “Everyone, you have done well. Well then, I shall now open a banquet to reward your efforts!” he shouted. He was in an unusually good mood of late. As the banquet progressed, the favored retainers stepped forward before him one after another.

“My lord! Since Your Lordship navigated between arrows and stones at the Osaka Campaign, your mastery has reached new heights,” they said. “We of meager skill can no longer serve as worthy opponents for you.” Mere mention of the Osaka Campaign would make Lord Tadanao cheerfully ingenuous. Yet Lord Tadanao too had grown profoundly drunk. Surveying the gathering, he found many retainers collapsed in unrecognizable stupor. Some rolled up sleeves in drunken fervor; others hummed Ryūtatsu-bushi ballads under their breath. The banquet’s vigor neared exhaustion.

When Lord Tadanao suddenly recalled the women teeming in the inner chambers, the all-male banquet began to seem dreary to him.

He abruptly stood up,

“Forgive me, everyone!” he declared dismissively as he rose from his seat. Even those who had collapsed from drunkenness straightened their posture and prostrated themselves. The pages who had been on the verge of sleep until now startled awake and hurried after their lord.

When Lord Tadanao stepped out into the long corridor leading to the inner chambers, the cold early autumn wind felt pleasant against his cheek. When he looked outside, it was a hazy moonlit night about ten days old, and from where the bush clover flowers spilled forth in pale white blooms, even the sound of insects could be heard.

Lord Tadanao felt inclined to descend into the garden. Having dismissed the maidservants from the inner chambers who had come to greet him, he stepped down into the garden accompanied by a single page. The garden’s surface lay damp with night dew. Faint moonlight cast the castle town into relief within the crystalline night air, resembling an ink-wash painting. Lord Tadanao rejoiced at finding himself within such silent solitude after so long. Heaven and earth stood profoundly still. Yet from the great hall he had forsaken within the castle, disorderly banquet cries seeped through. Moreover, since his departure from the feast, the revelry seemed to have grown wilder still—even shouts from Azuma-ken strikes now mingled audibly. But separated by considerable distance, it reached his ears not as clamor but faint commotion.

Lord Tadanao followed a path through the bush clover, circled along the pond's edge, and entered the gazebo atop a modest hill. From there, the Shin'etsu mountains loomed hazily in air faintly silvered by moonlight. Seized by a sentimental mood unlike any he had experienced in his daimyo life thus far, he unwittingly spent half an hour there. Then a human voice reached him. In what had been deathly silent moments before - where only lonely insect cries lingered - human voices now began to emerge. From the sound of their voices, two people seemed to be talking as they drew near the gazebo.

Lord Tadanao found it unpleasant that the tranquil state of mind he was now enjoying might be disrupted by unexpected intruders. However, his heart was not so disturbed tonight as to have the page drive away the approaching people. The two men were talking as they gradually approached. Because moonlight did not reach inside the gazebo, they seemed completely unaware that their lord might be present there. Lord Tadanao had no intention of ascertaining who the two men were. But as the voices of the two men drew gradually nearer, it naturally became clear who they were. The somewhat hoarse voice belonged to Onda Ukon, who had served as commander of the White Army in today’s grand match. The high-pitched, strained voice belonged to Ōshima Sadayu, vice-commander of the White Army, who had been forcefully thrust down in one motion by Lord Tadanao earlier that day. The two men had apparently been discussing today’s red and white mock battle for some time now.

Lord Tadanao, for the first time since being born a daimyo, felt a strange interest in eavesdropping and unwittingly concentrated his attention in that direction. The two men appeared to have stopped at the pond’s edge, no more than three ken from the gazebo. Sadayu seemed to slightly lower his voice, “By the way, what do you think of My Lord’s skill?” he inquired. Ukon seemed to give a bitter smile. “You’re talking about His Lordship?! If this were overheard, it would be a seppuku-worthy offense indeed.” “Even in private quarters they discuss the Shogunate. What say you to My Lord’s skill? And your true prowess?” Sadayu inquired quite seriously, holding his breath intently as he awaited Ukon’s assessment.

“Well, there you have it! How remarkably His Lordship has improved!” With that, Ukon abruptly cut off his words. Lord Tadanao felt as though he had heard his retainers’ unfeigned praise for the first time. But Ukon continued: “It’s not as taxing as it used to be to concede victory to His Lordship.”

There was a sense that the two young warriors had exchanged glances and shared knowing, bitter smiles. Of course, upon hearing Ukon’s words, a great whirlpool of emotions suddenly roared to life within Lord Tadanao’s heart. Lord Tadanao felt, for the first time in his life, as if someone had trampled over his head with muddy feet. His lips quivered uncontrollably, while the blood throughout his body seethed and boiled, surging up to his head as though about to erupt. Through Ukon’s single remark, he was struck by an indescribable impulse—as though dragged down from the highest pedestal upon which he had stood as a human being and cast to the ground.

That was indeed an emotion akin to fury. However, this was entirely different from the kind of fury born from a surplus of inner strength spilling outward. This rage, while its exterior blazed fiercely, was a rage whose very core had abruptly formed an emptiness of incurable loneliness. He was relentlessly assailed by a loneliness that felt as though the world had abruptly lost all solidity—as though he had realized every aspect of his life until now, every shred of pride he had ever possessed, stood utterly upon a foundation of falsehood.

He took the page’s sword and resolved to cut down both men on the spot, but not a shred of the fierce willpower needed to carry out such an act remained within his heart at that moment. Moreover, while he found himself despicable for having basked as a lord in his retainers’ fawning over false victories, the act of cutting down these two men now to make his household aware that he knew of this despicable truth was itself a considerable agony for him. Lord Tadanao, stifling the surging emotions within his chest, considered what course of action would be most appropriate. Having encountered this experience far too carelessly, Lord Tadanao’s already excitable emotions became disordered beyond all control.

The intelligent page who had been crouched motionless like a statue beside Lord Tadanao since earlier was, unsurprisingly, fully aware of this crisis. The page thought that unless he informed the two men of their lord’s presence here, some grave matter might occur. He coughed softly two or three times while observing his lord’s fearsome expression. The page’s small cough proved remarkably effective in this instance. When Ukon and Sadayu realized there was someone nearby, they started and closed their blasphemous mouths.

As if in perfect agreement, the two men quickly hurried off toward the great hall.

Lord Tadanao’s eyes burned with anger. But his cheeks were pale to a terrifying degree. His emotional life since boyhood had been utterly and completely shattered by Ukon’s single remark. That as a child, he had been more skillful than any attendant when playing games; that he had shot more accurate ceremonial arrows than any attendant in target competitions; that whenever he took up the brush for calligraphy practice, the old scribe would slap his knee and praise his handwriting—all these now flooded back into his mind as unpleasant memories.

The same held true in the realm of martial arts. Whether wielding a sword or a spear, he had rapidly improved to a level where he could instantly defeat the young warriors who faced him. He had believed in himself until now. He had believed utterly in his own capabilities. Even now, hearing Ukon and the others’ blasphemous whispers, he was even inclined to think that it was merely their sore loser’s complaint.

However, Ukon’s words today, when one considered the time and circumstances in which those words had been uttered, were neither jokes nor lies.

Even to Lord Tadanao’s ears—ears that had been filled with confidence—these words could not help but ring as an undeniable truth.

Ukon’s words remained as though carved into his earlobes. When he thought about it, Lord Tadanao had become unable to distinguish where reality ended and falsehood began even within today’s splendid victory. No—it was not merely today. Among the innumerable victories and superiorities he had claimed in the countless games and matches attempted since birth, he had become unable to discern how much was genuine and how much was false. As he thought this, he felt a ferocious impatience that clawed at his heart. Even he was not wresting false victories from all his retainers. No, he was rightfully defeating many among them. Yet when he considered that due to the presence of unruly individuals like Ukon and Sadayu, all his victories had come to bear an impure hue, he now began to feel a blazing hatred toward Ukon and Sadayu.

But that was not all. When it came to this, even the great military exploit Lord Tadanao had achieved on the Osaka battlefield barely three months prior now seemed to him something of dubious origin and uncertain nature. Even the epithet "Japan’s Fan Kuai," which he had proudly borne until now, began to appear as nothing more than an exaggerated mockery. When he considered that he—who had been treated so carelessly by his retainers—might also be deftly manipulated by his grandfather, unbidden tears began to seep into Lord Tadanao’s eyes for the first time.

III

The young warriors, thoroughly drunk from the banquet without formalities, were about to rise en masse and withdraw at the ninth strike of the timekeeper’s gong when suddenly an attendant came rushing from the inner chambers.

“All of you, be silent! By His Lordship’s decree: Though tomorrow was to host the dog-hunting event, there has been a sudden alteration. Tomorrow shall likewise see a grand spear tournament conducted as today, with no changes to the time or match order!” he proclaimed in a loud voice, raising both hands. Among the young warriors, there were those who thought, “Here we go again tomorrow...” There were also those who sneered at the prospect of today’s victory being repeated once more. Many of them, emboldened by the sake they had drunk,

“Let it continue every day! Splendid!” “Tomorrow we can drink our fill of banquet liquor again!” they exclaimed with forced bravado. The following day, just as before, the castle’s martial hall stood beautifully swept clean with red and white curtains hung across it. In the seat of honor sat Lord Tadanao as he had the previous day—yet now he not only bit his lower lip incessantly but had eyes that blazed fiercely. The match unfolded under circumstances nearly identical to those of the prior day. But with yesterday’s outcomes still vividly fresh in every mind, and many matchups serving as rematches for redemption, the shouts grew more intense than ever.

The Red forces were in an even more dire position than the day before. When Lord Tadanao, the general, appeared, the White Army had six non-combatants remaining, including their general and vice-general. To the astonishment of the observing household members, Lord Tadanao was in a state of agitation. He wildly swung the padded large spear like a fever-maddened man. The first two advanced with trepidation, as though touching a festering boil. But they were instantly pierced and immobilized by their lord’s fierce spear thrusts, prostrating themselves. The next two men, terrified by their lord’s fearsome presence, merely went through the motions with their spears.

The fifth to appear was Ōshima Sadayu. He was one who harbored faint misgivings about Lord Tadanao’s behavior today, which seemed to depart from normal conduct. Of course, he never dreamed that his lord had been the very one who overheard their conversation the previous night. Yet he held a faint concern that whoever had coughed in the garden late last night might have slandered them to their lord. He bowed before his lord with even greater solemnity than usual.

“Sadayu!” Lord Tadanao seemed to strive for composure, but his voice held an odd shrillness. “Sadayu! Whether with spear or sword, true skill cannot be measured without real blades! Bouts with padded practice spears are ultimately false contests! If they can lose without sustaining injuries, then depending on the situation, there would be no issue in their losing! I have grown tired of sham bouts! Just as I faced you on the Osaka front with the real spear I wielded with such mastery, you too shall come at me with a real spear! You need not regard me as your lord. If you see an opening, thrust without hesitation!”

Lord Tadanao’s voice grew shrill, the ends of his words trembling. Sadayu paled. Onda Ukon, who was waiting behind Sadayu, likewise paled. Yet the household members in the spectator seats struggled to grasp Lord Tadanao’s innermost thoughts. Many shuddered at His Lordship’s madness. Though Lord Tadanao had always been quick-tempered, he had hitherto shown supreme magnanimity in daily affairs; while somewhat rough-edged, never had there been even a trace of cruelty in his conduct. Thus it was only natural that the household members turned pale witnessing his behavior this day.

However, that Lord Tadanao had taken up a real spear today stemmed not only from his indelible hatred toward Sadayu and Ukon but also from a desire to determine his true skill. If they faced him with real spears, they would not simply yield defeat—they would surely oppose him with every secret technique at their disposal. Then he would know his genuine prowess. Even if he sustained injuries because of this, he thought within himself, how much more satisfying it would be compared to exulting in false victories.

“Now! Prepare the real spears!” commanded Lord Tadanao. As if they had been prepared in advance, two pages—each hefting a large spear that seemed heavy—brought them out between Lord Tadanao and his retainers.

“Now! Sadayu, prepare yourself!” declared Lord Tadanao while flicking off the scabbard from his well-practiced long spear with a three-ken shaft. The murderous intent emanating from the nearly seven-sun spear tip—forged by Bingo Sadakane, a master spearmith—bore down coldly on the hearts of all present.

Until now, Honda Tomimasa, the senior retainer who had remained still and overlooked his lord Tadanao’s conduct, no sooner had his lord flicked off the spear tip than he suddenly appeared before Lord Tadanao.

“My Lord!” “Have you lost your senses?” “For Your Lordship to recklessly brandish weapons and harm your retainers would become a grave matter even if reported to the shogunate.” “Please desist calmly!” he desperately pleaded, blinking his aged eyes.

“You old fool! No objections will be tolerated. Today’s real spear duel is a matter I have resolved upon, even if it means trading away Tadanao’s domain of 670,000 koku. No objections will be tolerated,” declared Lord Tadanao with icy dignity. There was an unassailable dignity there, like autumn frost. In such circumstances, Lord Tadanao’s will had always been absolute. Tosa kept his mouth shut and withdrew in dismay. Sadayu had already steeled himself sufficiently since some time before. If this disciplinary action stemmed from His Lordship having overheard last night’s conversation, then he had no grounds for complaint. It was a disciplinary action that a retainer should rightfully receive. If he considered that this disciplinary action was merely a pretext for a real spear duel, he even felt he perceived Lord Tadanao’s goodwill in it. He thought he wanted to be pierced by his lord’s real spear and die honorably.

“I will indeed face you with a real spear,” he declared resolutely. Voices of rebuke toward Sadayu’s insolence leaked from the spectator seats. Lord Tadanao gave a wry smile.

"That's what makes you Tadanao's retainer. Do not think of me as your lord. If you see an opening, thrust without hesitation!"

While saying this, Lord Tadanao brandished his spear, stepped back two or three ken, and took up his stance. Sadayu also flicked away the scabbard of his real spear, “Have at you!” he cried, confronting his lord.

All present were enveloped in awe-inspiring murderous intent, their hairs standing on end as they held their breath and stared blankly at the duel between lord and retainer. Lord Tadanao had convinced himself that if he could only know his true prowess as vividly as possible, he would have not a single regret left. Thus devoid of any awareness as a feudal lord or thought that his opponent was a subordinate, he confronted them with nothing but resolute bravery.

But Sadayu had resolved himself from the beginning. After crossing spears for about three exchanges, he received Lord Tadanao’s spear thrust at his left upper thigh, let out a thunderous impact that shook the ground, and fell backward.

The people in the spectator seats let out deep sighs in unison. Sadayu’s wounded body was swiftly carried away by his colleagues.

Yet in Lord Tadanao's heart lingered no shred of victory's thrill. The realization that Sadayu's defeat—like yesterday's—had been deliberate struck him with such clarity that his loneliness deepened beyond even the previous night's despair. To think that Sadayu would stake his very life to force this false triumph upon him—this thought drove Lord Tadanao's anxiety, solitude, and helplessness ever deeper into his heart's abyss. He cursed himself—this self that remained blind to truth though he risked his own flesh and sacrificed his retainers' lives.

When Sadayu fell, Ukon showed not the slightest sign of fear; with a pale face and eyes gleaming with resolve, he stood there holding the spear Sadayu had dropped. Lord Tadanao, convinced that Ukon—the man who had uttered such bold words the previous night—would surely put up desperate resistance, steeled his waning courage and confronted him. But this man, like Sadayu, had been feeling the weight of his own guilt deep within his heart. And having been honorably pierced by his lord’s long spear, he intended to atone for his sins.

During their five or six exchanges, Lord Tadanao saw his opponent Ukon repeatedly creating openings around what should have been the vital area of his chest. When he thought that this man too was determined to deceive his lord even at the cost of his own life, Lord Tadanao was assailed by a distressing loneliness. And then, gaining victory by being deftly maneuvered by his opponent grew increasingly absurd. But Ukon seemed desperate to be pierced by his lord’s spear tip as swiftly as possible—deliberately positioning himself against Lord Tadanao’s thrusting spear until the weapon plunged deep into his right shoulder with a sickening thrust.

Lord Tadanao had successfully vented the pent-up frustration from the previous night. But that merely implanted a new loneliness in his heart. Both Sadayu and Ukon had ended up protecting their lies even at the cost of their own lives.

Lord Tadanao could not help but feel a somber mood upon hearing late that night that Ukon and Sadayu—the two men who had been carried back to his residence still wounded—had committed seppuku at staggered hours.

Lord Tadanao thought deeply. Between myself and them hung a membrane of falsehood. They were desperately propping up that membrane—that false membrane—with all their might. This falsehood was not some superficial deception, but a desperately earnest one. Lord Tadanao had desperately tried to pierce that false membrane with real spears today, but the breach had been repaired in an instant by their blood. Between myself and my retainers, that membrane still hung. Beyond that membrane, humans interact with genuine humanity. But when they turn toward me, they all don that membrane over their heads. When Lord Tadanao remembered that he alone remained on this side of the membrane, he felt an irritated loneliness fiercely assailing his body and mind.

IV

Since the real spear duels, reports that His Lordship’s temper had worsened filled the castletown’s populace with dread toward Lord Tadanao. When in His Lordship’s presence, the pages fixed their gaze, held their breath, and refrained from even the slightest movement. Even his close attendants adhered strictly to protocol when taking a single step forward or back, ensuring not a single flaw marred their conduct. The modest ease that had once existed between lord and vassals faded completely, leaving an air of solemnity to linger before His Lordship. When the retainers withdrew from His Lordship’s presence, they felt a physical and mental fatigue unlike anything they had experienced before.

However, it was not only the retainers who noticed that the relationship between lord and vassals was beginning to deteriorate in this manner. One day, Lord Tadanao saw one of his close attendants—intending to present him with a letter from the senior retainers—crawling forward from four or five *dan* away. “Do not hesitate—come straight forward! There’s no need for such formalities!” he said. But this was less a well-meaning reminder than a rebuke born of impatience. The retainer, prompted by their lord’s words, attempted to revert to their former ease. But beneath such consciously assumed ease lay a jagged core.

Since the real spear duels, Lord Tadanao distanced himself from martial arts practice as though he had forgotten it entirely. Not only did he cease the daily martial arts matches he had maintained like a routine, but he even stopped taking up wooden swords or practice spears. Lord Tadanao—a young lord who, though arrogant, was magnanimous, and though violent, retained an innocence—completely ceased handling wooden swords and half-bows, instead increasingly clutching wine cups in his hands. Though he had possessed a natural capacity for heavy drinking since his boyhood days, he had never indulged in alcohol to excess; yet now he began frequently draining large cups, and the first sprouts of debauchery finally emerged.

It was at a banquet one night. Lord Tadanao was in an uncharacteristically cheerful mood. Then, Masuda Kansuke—his foremost favorite page—poured wine generously into his large cup while, “My Lord, why have you not been coming to the martial arts hall of late? It seems Your Lordship has grown somewhat complacent from your recent exploits, leading to negligence.” He believed he had sufficiently demonstrated his familiarity toward his lord through these words.

Then, quite unexpectedly, Lord Tadanao’s face suddenly changed color. In one swift motion, he snatched up the nearby cups and dishes and hurled them at Kansuke’s face like a loosed arrow—faster than one could take hold of them. Subjected to unexpected violence from his lord, Kansuke gasped and paled, but being single-mindedly loyal, he did not move an inch. He took the cups and dishes head-on and, blood streaming from his pale face, prostrated himself on the spot. Lord Tadanao stood up without saying a word and entered the inner chambers. Some colleagues rushed over and, while offering comfort, helped Kansuke to his feet.

Kansuke retired to his quarters that day, claiming illness, but before the night had dawned, he committed seppuku.

When Lord Tadanao heard this, he could only offer a lonely, bitter smile.

It was around ten days after that incident had occurred. Lord Tadanao was playing Go with Koyama Tango, the elderly senior retainer. The elderly man and Lord Tadanao were engaged in a game of Go. But over the past two or three years, the elderly man had increasingly been losing more often. That day too, Tango suffered defeat about three times consecutively at Lord Tadanao’s hands. Then, the elderly man displayed a kindly smile and— “My Lord has made remarkable progress of late. This old man can no longer hope to be a worthy opponent for you,” he said.

The moment a dark, brooding shadow seemed to pass over Lord Tadanao’s face—he who until now had appeared radiantly immersed in his string of consecutive victories—he abruptly stood and kicked over the Go board that lay between them. The black and white stones arrayed on the board scattered wildly, several striking Tango’s face. Though victorious in the match, Tango struggled to comprehend his lord’s erupting fury. He abruptly grabbed the hem of Lord Tadanao’s hakama as the latter tried to leave,

“What madness has possessed you?! Has Your Lordship gone mad? With what possible intent do you subject this Tango to such humiliation?!” he shouted like a madman. In the heart of the stubborn old man, rage at Lord Tadanao’s unjust treatment burned like flames. But Lord Tadanao paid no heed to the old man’s anger. With an “Eei!” he shook off the hand gripping his hakama and swiftly departed deeper into the inner chambers. The old man, having been subjected to unreasonable humiliation by the lord he had raised with care since his childhood, felt bitter resentment, tears streaming from his aged eyes. He, recalling the benevolent and magnanimous deeds of the late Lord Hideyasu, the Chunagon, in times past, lamented his own prolonged existence that had brought him shame. The honest Tango did not possess even a shred of the base heart that would intentionally lose at the board out of flattery.

But in Lord Tadanao’s heart, his retainers’ every action had come to appear uniformly monochromatic.

That day, when the old man returned home, he donned ceremonial robes, composed himself with dignity, ripped open his wrinkled belly, and cast away a life he no longer cherished. Rumors of Lord Tadanao's depravity finally began spreading within and beyond the domain's borders. The competitive Lord Tadanao had until then frequently sought contests to relish his superiority over others, but following this incident, he abruptly withdrew from all such pursuits.

Under these circumstances, it was only natural that Lord Tadanao’s life gradually descended into dissipation. Within the castle, he idled his days away indulging in wine and feasting while seeking carnal pleasures. And when he ventured beyond the castle walls, he spent his days solely in hunting. He chased birds across fields and hunted beasts through mountains. Yet naturally, no birds or beasts willingly leapt before Lord Tadanao’s arrows—for this was their sovereign’s hunt. When removed from the human world and confronted by nature’s realm, Lord Tadanao felt a cleansing clarity, as though he had slipped free from the false membrane encasing him.

5 Until now, Lord Tadanao had often heeded the senior retainers' counsel on various matters. From thirteen years of age—when still called Nagakichimaru—he had treasured the deathbed injunction received from his father Lord Hideyasu: "After my passing, consider the senior retainers' words as mine own and obey them well." But in these days, he interpreted every matter of governance through spite. When the senior retainers recommended and extolled a certain man, he grew convinced the fellow was a charlatan and obstinately refused to employ him. When the senior councilors denounced another man's conduct and urged house arrest as just punishment, Lord Tadanao—persuading himself the accused was an unbending samurai—adamantly forbade any confinement order.

The entire Echizen domain experienced a harvest failure rare in recent years that year, and the peasants’ hardships knew no bounds. The senior retainers appeared before Lord Tadanao in unison and petitioned for a partial exemption of the tax rice. But the more the senior retainers pleaded tirelessly, the more Lord Tadanao grew averse to adopting their proposals. He himself, while harboring considerable sympathy for the peasants in his heart, found it disagreeable to let the senior retainers have their way. And listening half-heartedly to the senior retainers droning on tediously,

“I will not allow it! If I say it's not allowed, then it's absolutely not allowed!” he roared. Why he had refused—even he himself did not know. As this emotional discord between lord and retainers deepened, the domain’s governance grew increasingly disordered by the day, until even rumors of the Lord of Echizen’s misconduct reached Edo’s Willow Palisade. But these feelings of Lord Tadanao gradually encroached even into the more fundamental aspects of his life.

It was one night. He secluded himself in the inner chambers since evening, and before his beloved concubines, repeatedly drained large goblets. A beauty called Kinuno, whom he had summoned all the way from Kyoto, had come to monopolize Lord Tadanao’s favor through her sole being. Lord Tadanao continued drinking sake from shortly after nightfall at half past six until approaching the ninth hour in the dead of night. However, his beloved concubines, who did not drink sake, merely repeated the monotonous task of refilling his cup countless times.

Lord Tadanao suddenly opened his drunken eyes and looked at his beloved concubine Kinuno attending by his side. However, the woman must have been utterly exhausted from nightly banquets. Seeming to have even forgotten her lord’s presence before her, she was closing her beautiful double-lidded eyes halfway and drifting into drowsy slumber. When he stared fixedly at that face, Lord Tadanao became ensnared by yet another new suspicion. It seemed that through this unwitting doze now lay exposed—the loneliness of a woman who had surrendered herself to her lord’s overwhelming power, never exercising her own will from dawn till dusk, merely being manipulated like a puppet.

Lord Tadanao thought. This woman too held not a shred of love for me. Her charming demeanor and seductive allure were all mere superficial artifices. It was nothing more than a desperate last resort—having been purchased with a vast sum she could not refuse, placed before the overwhelming authority of a provincial lord with no alternative, and striving by any means to gain that ruler’s favor. But not only did this woman not love me—had there ever been a single woman who had truly loved me from the heart? Lord Tadanao wondered.

He had until now gone without experiencing even a shred of human compassion between people，and it was only recently that he began to realize this．He had never even experienced the affection between friends．From his childhood，he had found many young attendants of similar age around him．But they had not interacted with Lord Tadanao as friends．They had merely submitted．Lord Tadanao had loved them．But they had never once returned their lord’s affection．They had merely submitted out of a sense of duty．

Putting friendship aside, what of love with the opposite sex? Since his boyhood, he had surrounded himself with countless beautiful women. Lord Tadanao loved them. But how many among them had loved him in return? Even if Lord Tadanao loved them, they did not love him in return. They merely offered unquestioning obedience, nothing more. He still ruled over many people around him. But they merely provided obedience to Lord Tadanao in place of human compassion.

Upon reflection, Lord Tadanao had received obedience as a substitute for romance, obedience in place of friendship, and obedience instead of kindness. Of course, among them there may have been genuine romance driven by human compassion, friendship, and pure kindness. But from Lord Tadanao’s current perspective, all appeared chaotic yet uniformly veiled by the two words "obedience."

Cast up to a realm beyond the world of human compassion, surrounded by multitudes of vassals at the very center yet feeling desolate loneliness—there stood our Lord Tadanao.

As this awareness intensified, his life in the inner chambers became as desolate as grit in the mouth. It now seemed painfully clear to him that the love of all the women he had loved had been tainted. When he showed interest, every woman would bow to his will without hesitation. But this wasn't love for me—it was merely subordinates discharging their duty before their lord. He had grown utterly weary of swallowing obligation and submission where there should have been romance.

As his life grew more disordered, he came to desire women with vitality rather than mere puppet-like counterparts of the opposite sex. Even if they didn’t love him back from the heart, he wanted to love a woman who would at least show genuine human resistance.

For that purpose, he had the daughters of high-ranking retainers in his household brought to the inner chambers. But they too endured in silent obedience without showing any resistance, treating Lord Tadanao's words as nothing but his lordship's decree—as if they were irresistible commands. They comported themselves toward Lord Tadanao with pure sacrificial sentiment, like human offerings laid before a potent deity. Even when facing those women, Lord Tadanao could not feel the slightest licentious inclination.

His dissatisfaction persisted still. He thought that if it were a woman with a husband already decided, she might show some resistance. He commanded that daughters with betrothed husbands be sought out. However, contrary to Lord Tadanao’s expectations, even these women elevated their lord’s will to absolute status and enshrined him as something beyond human.

By this time, voices criticizing Lord Tadanao’s debauchery began to arise even among the retainers of his household. However, Lord Tadanao's misconduct still did not cease. Having obtained daughters with betrothed husbands and finding no solace, he committed even more heinous deeds. It was this: he had me search for women of his household with reputations for beauty and summoned three among them to the castle at irregular hours without permitting their return. There were even those who lamented that their lord’s misconduct had reached its peak here.

Despite their husbands’ repeated pleas, the wives were not returned. The senior retainers sternly remonstrated with Lord Tadanao, denouncing his conduct as a violation of the principles of human morality. Yet the more the senior retainers remonstrated, the more Lord Tadanao found himself intrigued by his own conduct. Of the three vassals whose wives had been taken, when two came to know the true nature of Lord Tadanao’s inhumane scheme, it appeared they deemed the bond between lord and vassal irreparably severed; as if by prior agreement, they each committed seppuku one after the other. When the inspector delivered this report, Lord Tadanao drained the cup he held in one gulp, let slip a faint bitter smile, and remained utterly silent. The entire household’s sympathy converged unanimously upon the two dead warriors. “Truly, they were samurai. What a splendid way to die,” some even praised. However, the people considered the cause that had led these two men to their deaths to be nothing more than an irresistible natural disaster. They regarded it as a kind of unavoidable fate.

When the two men had died one after another, the household’s interest had shifted to Asamizu Yoshirō, who alone remained alive despite having his wife taken away.

And there were even those who denounced the man—who had lost his wife yet failed to take his own life—as a coward. However, four or five days later, the man calmly presented himself at the castle and requested an audience with Lord Tadanao through an inspector. However, the inspector tried various ways to appease and coax Asamizu Yoshirō. “However you may protest, he is your lord.” “If you request an audience now, you will certainly be struck down.” “We all understand your lordship’s tyranny, but no matter how you may protest, he remains your lord.”

But Yoshirō declared resolutely. “Even if it leads to calamity, I must request an audience.” “Even if my body be split eight ways, I shall have no regrets.” “By all means grant me this audience,” he implored with desperate intensity. The inspector reluctantly conveyed the plea to one of the senior retainers stationed in the White Hall. The elderly senior retainer who heard this remarked, “Yoshirō appears to have lost his senses. “We know full well our lord’s unreasonable demands, but in such matters, cutting open one’s belly to press a death remonstrance constitutes a retainer’s fundamental duty.” “The other two understood their obligations well enough—this Yoshirō seems deranged by his wife’s taking.” “Never thought him such a fool,” he whispered.

The senior retainer, still grumbling under his breath, called a page and reluctantly had the matter conveyed to Lord Tadanao’s ears. Then, Lord Tadanao was unexpectedly in good spirits.

“Ha ha ha! So Yoshirō’s come crawling, has he?” “You’ve come crawling after all.” “Bring him in at once!” “I grant you an audience,” he called out, but a dignified smile—one unseen of late—drifted about his cheeks.

After a short while, before Lord Tadanao’s eyes appeared the figure of Yoshirō—dazed like a sick dog. He appeared exhausted from days of mental strain, his complexion pallid, with an indefinable air of murderous intent suffusing his entire face. And within those depths ran two, even three streaks of blood. For the first time in his life, Lord Tadanao saw one of his retainers before him—face laid bare, true emotions unconcealed.

“Yoshirō! Come closer!” Lord Tadanao spoke these words with a gentle countenance. Somehow, he felt as though he were facing another human being as a human himself, and even experienced a kind of nostalgic warmth toward Yoshirō. The membrane separating lord and vassal had been stripped away, and it seemed they now faced each other simply as fellow humans. Yoshirō slid closer across about three tatami lengths and let out a groan as if seeping from the depths of hell.

“My Lord! The way of lord and vassal is but a minor matter compared to the great path of human morality.” “Thus I declare my grievance for my stolen wife!” No sooner had he spoken than Yoshirō leapt like a swooping swallow and lunged at Lord Tadanao. In his right hand glinted a dagger already drawn. Yet Yoshirō found his dominant arm seized by the nimble Lord Tadanao with effortless ease and pinned to the floor. One attendant, deeming himself astute, moved to hand Lord Tadanao the side sword held by a page. But Lord Tadanao instead waved the man away.

“Yoshirō! Truly, you are a samurai!” Lord Tadanao said as he released Yoshirō’s hand that he had been holding. Yoshirō remained prostrated there, still gripping the dagger, not once raising his face.

“Even your wife—though her life was to be taken—declared she would not obey my words. They are rare ones among my retainers,” declared Lord Tadanao, and with those words, he roared with laughter from the depths of his heart. Lord Tadanao derived twofold joy from Yoshirō’s rebellion. The first was that, as a human being, he felt permitted at last to take his first step into the world of humanity through being hated and marked for death by others. The second was that within his household, Yoshirō—renowned as foremost in agility with blades—had been splendidly subdued while wielding that desperate dagger. He could detect no falsehood or pretense in this contest. For the first time in ages, he could savor victory’s thrill unclouded by doubt. Lord Tadanao sensed a portion of the gloom festering within his breast begin to dissolve, as though glimpsing clear light.

Yoshirō, who entreated “Strike me down here and now,” was not only dismissed without reprimand but had his wife immediately granted her leave. Yet Lord Tadanao’s elation proved fleeting indeed. That very night after being expelled from the castle keep, Yoshirō and his wife laid their pillows side by side and resolved to end their lives. Though the precise motive remained shrouded, it likely stemmed both from shame at having turned blades against their ancestral liege and awe at Lord Tadanao’s unexpected mercy in sparing them.

However, when Lord Tadanao heard of the two’s deaths, he felt no joy whatsoever. Considering that Yoshirō had committed a premeditated suicide, his act of pressing Lord Tadanao with a dagger now seemed increasingly suspect. It also seemed as though it had been nothing more than a means for Yoshirō to be cleanly slain by Lord Tadanao; if that were the case, then Lord Tadanao’s masterful seizing of his dominant arm and twisting him down differed little from his splendid defeats of enemy generals in red-and-white mock battles. When he considered this, Lord Tadanao fell once more into a darkly despairing state of mind.

Lord Tadanao’s tyranny grew increasingly severe thereafter, as history records. In the end, he not only slaughtered retainers at will but even went so far as to capture innocent civilians and subject them to violent executions. Particularly, the legend of “Ishinokamado” passed down through oral tradition remains something that makes people avert their faces even a hundred generations later. However, that Lord Tadanao dared to commit such atrocities was perhaps because the retainers did not treat him as a human being—so in the end, he too may have ceased to treat them as humans.

Six

However, Lord Tadanao’s tyranny could not continue indefinitely. As Lord Tadanao’s debauchery grew increasingly frequent, the shogunate’s senior councillors—Doi Ōi-no-kami Toshikatsu and Honda Kōzuke-no-suke Masazumi—devised a plan for me to abolish the Lord of Echizen. However, given Lord Tadanao’s peerless ferocity and his status as a legitimate scion of the Tokugawa family, they could not risk confronting him directly—for who could predict what calamity might arise? In the end, they resolved to dispatch his biological mother, the nun Seiryōni, to Echizen, thereby subtly conveying the shogunate’s intentions to Tadanao.

Lord Tadanao rejoiced at this long-awaited reunion with Her Ladyship his mother, yet accepted with unexpected ease the decree of attainder. Casting aside his 670,000-koku domain like a worn sandal, he departed for his place of exile—Kokufu in Bungo Province. En route at Tsuruga, he took monastic vows and received the dharma name Ippaku. This occurred in the fifth month of Genna 9 (1623), when Lord Tadanao had just turned thirty. Later relocated from Bungo Kokufu to Tsunomori within the same province, he was granted 10,000 koku by the shogunate as a household stipend, spent his final years without incident, and passed away on September 10th of Keian 3 (1650). He was fifty-six years old at death.

No historical records remained concerning Lord Tadanao’s life in his final years. There existed only a single volume titled *Lord Tadanao’s Chronicle of Conduct*—compiled by Takeuchi Umenosuke Shigetsugu, lord of Kokufu and overseer of Lord Tadanao’s security, who had ordered his retainers to record Tadanao’s actions and sent it to Doi Ōi-no-kami Toshikatsu, senior councillor of the shogunate. In one passage of this chronicle: “After Lord Tadanao was transferred to Tsunomori in this province, he lived in peace without any violent conduct.” As had been previously commanded, when he lost his domain of 670,000 *koku*, it was as if awakening from a nightmare; he felt nothing but refreshment. “In life after life, I would never wish to be reborn as a provincial lord or daimyo again,” he declared; “for even amidst multitudes, one suffers torments as though fallen into the hell of solitude.” Regarding the loss of his domain, not the slightest regret was shown. ……In idle hours, he would summon even village elders and monks to his side, engaging them in games of Go and other amusements—a demeanor from which not a trace remained of the visage once rumored to be “a tyrant surpassing even King Zhou of Shang.” In particular, with Abbot Kōzan of Jōkenji Temple in Tsunomori, he became deeply intimate. The old monk remarked: “Were one granted 670,000 *koku*, anyone would be tempted to emulate King Zhou.” When Abbot Kōzan observed, “It was not Your Lordship’s inherent wickedness…,” His Lordship showed no sign of anger and merely laughed. In his final years, he even summoned lowly peasants and townsfolk to his presence, taking great delight in their unvarnished, impolite utterances. “His Lordship was ever prudent in all matters—showing compassion to his attendants and kindness to his subjects—and the people could not cease their bewilderment that one who had lost his domain of 670,000 *koku* appeared no lawless man,” it read.