Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

In the first month of Boshin, the news that the shogunate forces had been defeated at the Battle of Toba-Fushimi first reached Kuwana Domain on the afternoon of the seventh day—the very day when the New Year’s pine decorations would finally be taken down.

A constable named Utaguma Tarō had lost his way from the battlefield, crossed Kasagi, and hurried back home along the Iga Highway.

The entire domain was stunned.
Though stunned, they all remained on edge, waiting for further news.

It was the morning of the tenth day when Chikuma Ichizaemon, the domain official, returned.
He had separated from the main force in the Naniwa area as a messenger to the domain, wandered through Yamato and Iga, and finally reached his hometown.
Therefore, he possessed more detailed news regarding the defeat.
It was he who conveyed that Tokugawa Yoshinobu had boarded a warship under cover of night with Lord Etchū-no-kami, the Lord of Aizu, and several other close retainers, fleeing down to Edo; that the shogunate forces—alongside the troops of Aizu and Kuwana—had retreated in disarray along the Kii Road; and that the imperial court was already preparing to dispatch an army to subjugate the shogunate.

The entire domain was drained of color.
Rumors that the great Satsuma-Chōshū army would descend upon the Tōkaidō at any moment, bearing the Imperial Banner aloft, incessantly stirred the people’s hearts.

Kuwana was a strategic point along the Tōkaidō.
For the Eastern Expedition army, it had been the primary target.
Moreover, since the fourth month of Genji 1 (1864), when Lord Etchū-no-kami was appointed Kyoto Deputy, mutual enmity had festered between Kuwana and the Satsuma-Chōshū domains.
They had been persecuting Satsuma-Chōshū rōnin.
Particularly with Chōshū, the resentment had grown even deeper since the Hamaguri Gate Incident.
Now that Kuwana had been branded an imperial enemy, there was no telling what terrible retribution they—armed with the Imperial Banner—might exact.

It was only natural for the entire domain to seethe like a cauldron at full boil.
The lord was also absent, leaving no central figure to unify the hearts and minds of the entire domain.
Moreover, in many households, the prudent and robust men had accompanied the lord to the capital.
Based only on rumors that they had fled to the Kii Road, it remained unclear where they were now wandering.
The people keeping watch were either elderly or women and children.
In such households, it was only natural that they were in a panic and did not know what to do.

On the night Chikuma Ichizaemon returned, a grand council to determine the domain’s stance was convened in the castle’s great hall.

The hot-blooded young warriors insisted on defending Kuwana Castle to the death and engaging in bloody combat with the imperial army. But everyone understood that this was a reckless, impossible method—merely a momentary release of passion. Both the neighboring domain of Kameyama and the Tōdō of Tsu were loyal to the emperor. When facing the imperial army, the Owari Domain—whose lord was brother to the Kuwana lord—had to be positioned at their rear, yet for over a year now they had demonstrated loyalty to the imperial court. Even if they fought a desperate battle with their small garrison and no reinforcements, it was certain they would be swiftly crushed.

The death defense faction was a minority and was swiftly defeated.
After this, the debate split into two factions: the Eastern Expedition Faction and the Submission Faction.
The Eastern Expedition Faction advocated a hardline stance, while the Submission Faction proposed a conciliatory one.

Chief Elder Sakai Magohachirō and Military Magistrate Sugiyama Hiroe advocated the Eastern Expedition Faction.
Their argument was as follows.
Defending the castle and fighting a battle would be a glorious endeavor, but with this small force, we could not hold out for even a day.
Yet even so, for them to abandon the castle and surrender to the imperial army before Lord Sadayasu had expressed submission would be disloyalty to their hereditary lord.
Therefore, in this situation, there was only one path we could take.
That was to temporarily surrender the castle to the enemy, proceed down to the Kantō region, follow the command of Lord Etchū-no-kami, collaborate with the shogunate forces, and confront the enemy—there was no alternative.

In opposition, the political magistrates Komori Kyūemon and Yamamoto Shume, among others, advocated the Submission Faction.
They expounded on the prevailing currents of the realm, fervently argued the righteousness of loyalty over rebellion, and insisted that submitting to imperial authority at the earliest possible moment was the wisest course of action.

The debate between the Submission and Eastern Expedition factions remained unresolved for two days.
Before long, news arrived that Hashimoto Shōshō, the Pacification Envoy, and Chamberlain Yanagiwara had already departed the capital as Prince Arisugawa’s vanguard.

Upon receiving this news, the council members grew even more frantic.
However, the retainers’ discussions did not easily reach agreement.
Chief Elder Sakai Magohachirō—reputed to be the most capable man in the domain—finally proposed such a thing.
“The enemy is now upon us,” he declared.
“This is a desperate crisis.”
“This is no time for Odawara-style deliberations—not a single moment can be spared.”
“Given the state of things these past days,” he continued, “no matter how much we deliberate further, we cannot hope for everyone to reach a sincere agreement.”
“Moreover,” he pressed on, “whether Submission is preferable or Eastern Expedition is better—which of these is truly correct lies beyond human comprehension.”
“Rather than this,” he concluded, “let us instead create two lots—one for Eastern Expedition and one for Submission—and draw them before the sacred shrine where Lord Sadatsuna and others are enshrined. Let us determine the domain’s stance by whichever lot emerges.”

Many domain retainers—who had grown weary of debate and were privately wavering over which course to take—unanimously endorsed the proposal.

Thus, the lots were prepared.
The proposer Sakai was chosen and drew the lot.
The drawn lot was the Eastern Expedition lot.
With the Eastern Expedition lot now drawn, the Submission Faction members had no choice but to resign themselves and comply.

The domain elders gathered all the domain’s soldiers and retainers within the castle, explained the proceedings of the council, and then ordered preparations to depart for Kantō.
The retainers who had received the orders packed up their household belongings and entrusted their wives and children to townspeople in the castle town and local peasants by scrambling through every possible connection, plunging the entire domain into intense turmoil.

But there, unforeseen opposition arose. This was the unified argument of the lower-ranking samurai below audience privilege. In times of peace, they had obeyed the orders of the upper samurai without question. But when the domain faced crisis, class distinctions gradually faded there. Class held no sway; numbers dictated everything. Nearly three hundred lower-ranking samurai, led by foot soldier group leader Yata Hansaemon and Ōtsuka Kyūbei, opposed the Eastern Expedition Faction. Their argument was quite logical.

While proceeding to Kantō meant collaborating with the shogunate and Lord Sadayasu to confront the imperial army, it remained uncertain whether the shogunate would actually resist the imperial forces. No—both the shogunate and Lord Sadayasu might immediately submit upon glimpsing the Imperial Banner’s shadow. Should that occur, our abandonment of a castle we need not have forsaken and journey to Kantō would prove entirely futile. Moreover, resisting the imperial army to such extremes risked not only erasing the meritorious deeds of our founder Lord Rakuō—who had devoted himself to constructing the Imperial Palace—and his recent years of loyal service guarding the Imperial Palace Gates for the court, but also invited such severe punishment that our house’s ancestral rites might cease entirely. Rather than court these perils, nothing now mattered more than swiftly apologizing to the Imperial Court and submitting to preserve the Kuwana Matsudaira lineage. For this purpose, our house possessed Lord Mannosuke, the previous lord’s son. Though Lord Sadayasu was an adopted heir from Mino-Takasu Domain, Lord Mannosuke stood as the legitimate successor. Given that Lord Sadayasu had fired upon the Imperial Palace Gates and incurred the infamy of imperial enmity, they maintained that supporting Lord Mannosuke and demonstrating unyielding submission to the court constituted the wisest course.

The domain retainers, bound by samurai honor, outwardly deemed the Eastern Expedition noble and rejected Submission; yet inwardly, they all grieved at the imminent parting with their wives and children, were gripped with dread of abandoning their familiar homes for a journey offering little hope of return, and privately hesitated—thus, though unspoken, many retainers could not help but lean toward the lower-ranking samurai’s uncompromising Submission stance.
Due to the sacred lottery, the Submission Faction members who had reluctantly complied with the Eastern Expedition Faction began reasserting their own arguments.
Thus, the domain once again plunged into intense turmoil.

Sakai Magohachirō and Sugiyama Hiroe—proponents of the Eastern Expedition Faction—were alarmed and approached Political Magistrates Komori and Yamamoto for negotiations on pacifying the lower-ranking samurai.
The two magistrates, though themselves Submission Faction adherents, desperately sought to placate the lower samurai and compel their compliance with the domain’s lottery-determined course.
Yet the lower samurai held fast to their stance without retreating a single step.
Meanwhile, Eastern Expedition advocates Sakai and Sugiyama urged immediate implementation of the sacred lottery’s mandate—departure for Kantō by dawn’s light.
Caught between these factions, Political Magistrates Komori and Yamamoto shouldered responsibility for failing to quell dissent and performed seppuku within the castle walls.
This occurred on the morning of the twelfth day.

As if making the two deaths a turning point—as if rendering their sacrifices utterly meaningless—the lower samurai’s Submission doctrine had, before anyone realized, conquered the domain’s stance.
The Eastern Expedition Faction members fell silent.

The domain elders sent a letter to the Owari Domain that very night—as detailed below—petitioning for mediation to submit to the Imperial Court.

In light of recent developments regarding the Osaka front having been reported to local authorities, and due to our profound trepidation, all members of the domain—high and low—are currently observing strict seclusion.
We have long deeply understood the great principle of reverence for the Emperor; however, having now reached this present state of affairs unexpectedly, we can do nothing but prostrate ourselves in fearful supplication.
We earnestly beseech that Your Lordship [Lord Dainagon], through your esteemed channels, might graciously understand our longstanding loyal sentiments and intercede with the Imperial Court to grant magnanimous clemency—this alone we humbly implore. In deepest reverence and trepidation, Respectfully submitted.

Sakai Magohachirō

Yoshimura Mataemon

Sawa Uneme

Miwa Gon’emon

Ōseki Gohee

Hattori Iwami

Matsudaira Tatewaki

Lord Naruse Hayatonosho

Then, upon hearing on the 18th day of the same month that the imperial vanguard had crossed Suzuka, they sent an identical petition to the neighboring Kameyama Domain.

On the 21st, a memorandum regarding clemency from the Pacification Envoy was delivered to Kuwana Domain through the offices of Kameyama Domain.
The text was as follows.

Whereas Lord Matsudaira Etchū-no-kami was previously granted permission to return to his domain per his request, [we] could not overlook the conclusive act of rebellion—the firing directed at the Imperial Palace Gates—and thus resolved to swiftly subjugate Kuwana Castle. However, on the 21st day, a petition was submitted through a retainer of Ishikawa Sōjūrō. In light of this, [you] are hereby instructed: Mannosuke, together with the senior retainers and the soldiers dispersed from Osaka, shall present yourselves at Yokkaichi headquarters to receive disposition.

Furthermore, regarding the matter of your appearance, the deadline shall be the 23rd day at 8 PM. At that time, you are to be escorted by members of Sōjūrō’s unit.

The people of the domain unfurrowed their brows.
For their submission had been accepted.
Yet even as the people of the domain unfurrowed their brows, thirteen men began sensing mortal peril.
These were the "Soldiers Dispersed from Osaka"—explicitly named in the Pacification Envoy’s memorandum.

Leading them stood Utaguma Tarō, who had rushed back on the 7th, and Chikuma Ichizaemon, returned on the 10th; those who over subsequent days in the Kinki region had separated from Kuwana Domain’s main force and taken scattered paths back to their homeland numbered thirteen in all.
They were what men called "Soldiers Dispersed from Osaka," beyond doubt those who had fired upon the Imperial Banner at Toba-Fushimi’s battlefield.

Due to the clemency from the Pacification Envoy, since they were being summoned to its headquarters, it could be said their fate was already decided.
The people of the domain believed that by accepting Kuwana’s surrender while simultaneously executing these soldiers who had fired upon the Imperial Banner, the imperial army sought to make its authority resoundingly clear.
Of course, the thirteen had realized this sooner than the others.
On that day when leaving their homes, they each shared a farewell cup of water with their respective wives and children.

The people of the domain watched them—trudging wearily behind the palanquin carrying their child lord Mannosuke, clad in hemp attire and straw sandals with white straps—as pitiful sacrificial victims.

Mannosuke and his retinue entered the town of Yokkaichi, rested at Hōsenji Temple in Kawaramachi until four o’clock, then were guided by Kameyama Domain samurai Nagakawa Rikiya to appear at the imperial army’s headquarters, Shinkōji Temple.
Mannosuke and the senior retainers were permitted to ascend the ceremonial platform.
The thirteen defeated soldiers were crouching on the white-sanded ground.

Pacification Envoy Major General Hashimoto, adorned in full ceremonial sokutai robes and maintaining dignified composure, proclaimed in a solemn tone as follows.

Lord Etchū-no-kami’s rebellion is manifest and utterly heinous; though there remains nothing more to declare, we have mobilized forces to subjugate him. However, in light of your petitions’ intent, you shall comply as per the written directives.

1. Cleanse the main castle and present it to the Imperial Court.

2. All those bearing swords shall without exception withdraw from the temple and submit.

No final disposition was delivered to the thirteen.
But just as Mannosuke and the senior retainers were detained at Yokkaichi’s Hōsenji Temple instead of being returned to Kuwana, the thirteen defeated soldiers were placed under the guard of Tottori Domain samurai and confined to Kōmyōji Temple in Hatsu—a coastal village one ri north of Yokkaichi.
From there, the execution grounds of Kaizōgawara loomed just within sight.

II

In Kuwana Domain, Shintani Kakunosuke—who served as a mounted messenger and held a 50-koku stipend—was also among the thirteen.

He was a young man of twenty-five this year.
When his father died in March of Keiō 1 (1865), Kakunosuke—then twenty-two—succeeded to the headship.
In the spring of the following year, Keiō 2 (1866), he took Omoto as his wife.

Kakunosuke, whose newlywed dreams had been blissful, was that summer abruptly ordered to garrison duty in Kyoto. Since departing the capital with several colleagues, he had spent nearly a year and a half in squalid quarters within the Shoshidai residence’s tenement—days left unfulfilled.
During his nightly awakenings, he would think of his youthful wife left behind in their homeland.

At Toba-Fushimi, at the very moment when the Imperial Banner unfurled above the enemy lines and his allies' footing grew unsteady before collapsing into disarray as they withdrew from the Yodo Embankment, he found himself separated from the main forces without realizing how it had happened.
It was less that he had been separated than that he had consciously broken away.
He ran south along a narrow path through the rice fields, even while thinking this route might separate him from his comrades.
Even when he emerged onto the Nara Highway, he felt no regret.
In the chaos of battle, claiming to have gotten lost would serve as a valid excuse.
If he retreated with the main force, he would surely be surrounded by the Satsuma-Chōshū army from both west and east.
He could not retreat to his homeland even had he wished to.
Fierce, desperate fighting was sure to be repeated time and again.
As he considered this, he found himself utterly unable to muster the will to follow after his comrades.

When he reached the levee of Ogura Pond, the battlefield’s gunfire had ceased, with only faint cannon sounds occasionally drifting through like half-remembered echoes.
Taking advantage of having left the main force—I’ll say I got lost—I’ll return home and wait for peace to settle.
As this thought took shape, visions of his household back home materialized vividly before him.
The words from his wife’s letter—received through domain couriers before leaving Kyoto last December—kept resurfacing in his mind despite his efforts to suppress them.
Next came her youthful smile as he first knew it.
She had just turned sixteen when they married.
The memory of her large marumage chignon adorned with crimson-patterned hair ornaments struck him as incomparably poignant.
His feet turned toward home with unstoppable urgency.

He departed Nara, took the Iga Highway to Ise, and reached Kuwana on the twelfth day of the first month.

Although he had returned to his hometown, he secretly feared punishment from the domain.
However, the domain itself was facing imminent crisis; the thought of meting out punishment to such defeated soldiers never even crossed their minds.
Rather, they desired to hear about the state of affairs in the upper provinces from the defeated soldiers who were rushing back one after another.

Omoto, his wife, leaped for joy at Kakunosuke’s unexpected return home.
Kakunosuke, too, rejoiced that his actions had ended well.
Strictly speaking—even if a plausible excuse could be made—Kakunosuke considered it the greatest possible stroke of luck that his crime of desertion had been resolved without any punishment.

While trembling under the weight of their domain’s impending crisis, honeyed days of joy passed between this young couple—until torn apart once more by terrible misfortune.

When Kakunosuke heard that provisions summoning defeated soldiers were part of an imperial edict, he turned pale.
Since we fired upon the Imperial Banner, our lives may be forfeit.
Such thoughts pressed relentlessly against his chest.
When exchanging the farewell cup with his beloved wife Omoto, Kakunosuke unwittingly shed tears.

III

Several days had passed since the thirteen had been confined to Kōmyōji Temple.
A nearly twenty-tatami reception hall adjoining the main temple building was assigned as their quarters.
Through the head priest’s kindness, their personal belongings were provided.
The Tottori Domain samurai guarding them were fairly lenient.
But they, wandering between life and death, were all sullen and found no joy.

When stirred by some emotion, even a coward can die quite resolutely.
Through emotions such as loyalty to one’s lord, patriotism, rage, or righteous indignation, people can die with resolve.
But when such fervor is absent and death approaches with cold sobriety, most succumb to cowardice.
Such was the case for the thirteen.
They were men who had fought bravely at Hamaguri Gate and Toba-Fushimi.
Yet ever since leaving the battlefield and returning home separated from their main force, the fervor of loyalty and pride within their hearts had slackened.
It was then that death peered abruptly into their faces.
Even Utaguma Tarō and Chikuma Ichizaemon—warriors renowned for their boldness—had grown despondent since arriving here.
All the more reason that Shintani Kakunosuke, never particularly brave to begin with, trembled in terror within.

At first, they spoke nothing of their own circumstances.
Everyone took care to avoid mentioning it.
Because broaching the subject was unpleasant for anyone involved.

"What has become of Lord Mannosuke?"

One of them said.

“I wonder if the handover of the main castle has been completed safely.”

Another one said.

"What has become of those who fled to Kii since then? Surely the Kishū house wouldn't abandon them to die."

The third person said.

They pretended to one another as though earnestly concerned about the fates of those beyond themselves. But even when they began speaking in such a way, it failed to lift their spirits. For each of them, the thoughts of their own fates lurking within their hearts were shrouded in darkness. As one day passed, then two, and their anxiety over life and death grew ever more suffocating, they had lost all room to speak of others’ affairs.

It was the afternoon of the 27th.
Among the thirteen, it was Kondō Kosuke—the lowest-ranking man—who finally broke the silence.
It was a word everyone wanted to utter yet found themselves unable to voice due to its peculiar nature.

“But really, what’s to become of us? It’s already been four days without a single word from above.”

He spoke those words in a low voice to his colleague.
However, the ears of the twelve highly strung men did not let Kosuke’s whisper slip by.
They all turned their eyes toward Kosuke in unison.

“Well...!
“In that case...”
The eldest foot soldier captain answered Kosuke’s question.
“There should have been some edict by now, but perhaps they first sent an inquiry to Kyoto.”
“If that’s the case—and the round trip takes four days—then the edict should come today or tomorrow.”
“At worst, it should take no more than two or three days.”

“So it’s our heads that’ll roll?”

Kosuke said this, forcing a wry smile onto his pale face.
Everyone glared sharply in Kosuke’s direction.
In their eyes, uniform condemnation toward Kosuke—who had so bluntly used such ominous, unpleasant words—was stirring.

“No—it doesn’t necessarily have to be that way! The imperial court’s gracious intent prioritizes benevolence in all matters—they’ve no reason to take our worthless lives! We needn’t borrow trouble!”

The Foot Soldier Captain said reproachfully to Kosuke.

“Now, with all due respect to your words, but I hear there are Chōshū men among the Pacification Envoy’s staff.”
“The Chōshū men and us have been at each other’s throats like dogs and monkeys since Genji.”
“During the Chōshū Expedition, when the shogunate forces departed from Naniwa, they executed seven Chōshū men as ritual sacrifices for the campaign—surely you recall this?”
“That was prisoners captured by Kuwana Domain in the Battle of Hamaguri Gate.”
“Since they say the Chōshū men bitterly resent that incident, following that precedent, when the Prince of the Eastern Expedition passes through Ise, we’ll surely end up as their blood sacrifice.”

Kosuke, half in resignation and despair, had been ranting about the worst possible scenarios for them all, but the others could not simply dismiss it as mere figments of his imagination.

Given that they had been designated as “Soldiers Dispersed from Osaka” in the memorandum from the Pacification Envoy, that alone constituted a written verdict of guilt against them.
It was clear that they had to undergo punishment.
Since they had to undergo punishment, they needed to prepare themselves for death.
In such turbulent times, punishments less than the death penalty were not considered punishments at all.

“Ahahahaha! This is it for all of you, this is it! If you’re resolved, there’s nothing to lose your heads over!”

Among the thirteen, Chikuma Ichizaemon—the highest-ranking among them—laughed briskly while slapping his nape with his left hand, yet none followed with laughter. No—even Ichizaemon’s laughter acquired a wretched timbre as it trailed off.

Kakunosuke leaned against the veranda pillar, feigning disinterest in the others' conversation while listening with the keenest attention.
Each time words like "heads" or "resolve" were spoken, he felt as though his vision were darkening.
No matter how he turned it over in his mind, he couldn't conjure anything resembling resolve.
Even when he conjured in his mind the feeling of being killed, he shuddered.
But whether Kakunosuke disliked it or not, death felt as though it was closing in on the thirteen soldiers with each passing moment.

Four

The following 28th dawned clear and pleasant.
The arrival of spring was felt even by the prisoners.
Because the temple stood on high ground, the waves of Ise Bay could be seen over the wall.
The surface of the waves shed its wintry dark green hue and settled into a vivid green calm.

The sunlight that filtered through the oak treetops covering the sky illuminated the blue moss in the garden.
In the garden’s right side stood a Kenninji-style fence, and through its latticework, a cemetery was visible.
A woodpecker that seemed to have come from the mountain fluttered its red and blue wings as it flew about the tombstones throughout the morning.

The cemetery was surrounded by a black plank fence. Beyond the fence lay a wide vacant lot where the grass was begun taking on a bluish hue. There, from time to time, Tottori Domain samurai on guard duty conducted drills.

Starting around the day before yesterday, more prisoners had been borrowing stationery from the temple to write letters. Today, this activity grew particularly intense. Everyone understood what those letters contained.

“Mr. Kimura, I’d like to borrow it after you,” one of them said,

“Next is me.”

The third person said from beside them.

The stationery and inkstone were passed from one person to the next.
And so, five or six men had written their letters by noon.
But Kakunosuke couldn’t bring himself to adopt such a frame of mind.
He tried as much as possible not to think about resolve or last testaments or such things.
He did his best to rein in his thoughts from straying in that direction.
He tried to convince himself that an imperial court which upheld benevolent governance as the cornerstone of its new administration would never—not even once in ten thousand instances—capriciously take the lives of lower-ranking retainers.
Moreover, if we were to be executed, we would have been beheaded that night when summoned to Yokkaichi headquarters, or at the latest by the following day.
There was no reason they would have left us unattended until now.

If they intended to punish Kuwana Domain, it would be natural to execute either Lord Sadayasu, the domain’s ruler, or Mori Yazaemon, who commanded all forces at the Battle of Toba-Fushimi.
Someone like me—a mere messenger with fifty koku.

He tried as hard as he could to think as optimistically and advantageously as possible.
But whenever he saw one colleague after another writing their final testaments, he felt as though he were being dragged into a dark pit—an utterly wretched sensation.
His bright imaginings were being utterly disrupted.

It was afternoon.
Standing obstructively before Kakunosuke and staring fixedly at the vacant lot, Kimura Seihachi—a foot soldier—muttered as if to himself.

“Ah, they’re going to build a house over there.”
“It’s getting warmer and warmer, so it must be good for construction work, I suppose.”

Even before hearing Kimura’s words, Kakunosuke had noticed it.
For some time now, a single cart loaded with lumber had been pulled into the vacant lot from somewhere.
Three men who looked like carpenters were unloading the lumber from the cart.

Since arriving here four days prior, Kakunosuke had been idly gazing at the alcove, ceiling, garden, and cemetery until he had grown thoroughly weary of such sights. He found himself glad for this new spectacle to observe.

Hmm! Were they building a house? But there was no reason to erect something standing alone amidst rice fields like this. After assembling the wooden framework, they would likely transport it elsewhere.

He kept watching the carpenters work while turning these thoughts over in his mind.

But those watching were not limited to Kakunosuke and Kimura Seihachi.
No matter how imminent death may be, humans will still grow bored.
Among the thirteen men, all except Chikuma Ichizaemon and Utaguma Tarō—who had been engrossed in a game of Go—had gone outside to watch the carpenters at work.

After unloading the lumber, the three carpenters each began using their hatchets.
The sound of hatchets biting into wood resonated pleasantly for a while in the crystal-clear early spring air.

However, before long, the people standing on the veranda grew bored with the simple carpentry motions and gradually retreated into the room. Only Kakunosuke and Seihachi still remained on the veranda.

It was clear that the carpenters were constructing numerous tall pillars from that lumber. And they sharpened one end as if to drive it into the ground. Before long, Kakunosuke realized how many of those round pillars there were.

After finishing the construction of ten pillars, the carpenters then set about unloading the lumber that had been left on the cart.

Looking closer, it appeared to be a board about a foot in width and six feet in length.
The thickness was nearly one sun.
When he counted them, there were five boards.

“Suspicious...”
“What in the world are they building?”

Seihachi, standing beside him, tilted his head and muttered.
Kakunosuke, too, found it strange.
He, too, had no idea what the carpenters were trying to build.

Before long, the carpenters each gathered one board and two pillars, then fitted one pillar to each end of the board.

As he thought “Huh?”, the carpenters took a nearly foot-long clamp from their toolbox, fitted it to the joint between pillar and board, then swung a large hammer with full force—Clang!—driving it in sharply.

Until now, Seihachi had been watching out of mere curiosity, but now he glanced back at Kakunosuke’s face.
Seihachi’s face was drained of color.
Lips quivered.
Of course, when Kakunosuke looked back at him, his face bore an even more pitiful expression.
The two had been absentmindedly watching the execution scaffolds being constructed all this time.

“This is bad! Gentlemen—they’re building those things... those...”

Seihachi let out a scream that seemed to beg for salvation.
Five or six people came rushing out onto the veranda in succession.
But when they all saw it at a glance, their faces turned pale.
No one said a word, standing as if nailed to the veranda.

Even Chikuma Ichizaemon, who had been playing Go, stood up.
Even he showed a faint change in complexion upon seeing it.

"Hmm! They've posed us a riddle."
"A riddling indeed."
"A call for us to steel ourselves."

He broke everyone’s silence in a heavy tone.

Utaguma Tarō, who had been the last to come out, was the least perturbed.

“Now then, gentlemen! Tonight is our farewell! The appointed time will be at tomorrow’s dawn, I suppose.”

He forced a bitter smile as he looked back at the group.

“So only five will face public execution?”
“I won’t be spared, ahahaha.”

Ichizaemon said this.
He had counted the number of execution scaffolds.

Kakunosuke had been experiencing a trembling in his torso that he couldn’t suppress no matter how hard he tried—a tremor spreading through his entire body from some unknowable source.

The number of execution scaffolds was five. When he counted them, he felt as if his own severed head were placed upon them. Now it was certain—he would be killed and subjected to public display. Of the thirteen men, eight were low-ranking samurai. Only five held ranks high enough for imperial audiences. Among those five, his family’s standing fell precisely in the middle.

“We knew five would face public execution,” said one of the older foot soldiers. “But what of the remaining eight? Will it be decapitation... or might our lives yet be spared?”

The oldest man among the foot soldiers said this. He was still clinging to a glimmer of hope.

“Survive?! What nonsense you’re spouting! Now you’re thinking about surviving? Go ahead and cling to that delusion! Since the five are to be publicly executed, how could there be any chance of us being spared? For a samurai, public execution is the severest punishment. Since they’re subjecting the five to execution, there’s no way they’ll spare us. If it’s just beheading, we’d still be fortunate. Take a good look! At any moment now, another cart loaded with timber will arrive.”

Kondō Kosuke said hatefully, as if he were one of hell's jailers.
Despite this, not a shred of healthy color remained in his complexion.

The eight low-ranking samurai found Kondō's words distasteful.
Yet they could not deny their truth.
With the five high-ranking samurai destined for public execution with displayed heads, even if the remaining eight escaped that particular disgrace, decapitation remained an inescapable certainty.

Most crucially, no conceivable reason existed why Kakunosuke—numbered among the five—might avoid death.
Death had come to him as merely a matter of timing.
He too now had to steel himself to meet his end.

It was when the execution scaffolds had been fully constructed, their ominous forms lined up on the ground.
An officer of the Tottori Domain wearing a blazing red bear-fur hat appeared in the vacant lot.
When the officer gave a signal, the carpenters—three of them carrying an execution scaffold on their shoulders—began approaching the temple.
While they wondered what was happening, the plank of an execution scaffold abruptly appeared atop the temple's wooden fence.
When they looked closer—though none had noticed until now—a nail for impaling severed heads had been driven into the exact center of the plank, its metal glinting in the evening sun’s rays.

When he saw that, Utaguma Tarō stomped on the veranda planks in anger.

“Ah, they go and do such a disgusting thing.
“They go and do such harassment!”

But those who could still feel anger were fortunate.

Kakunosuke began trembling uncontrollably throughout his body without a shred of shame or pride when he saw that.

Five execution scaffolds were leaned against the wall one after another.
The fresh timber stood out vividly against the old plank fence in the evening sun.

“Damn it all! Gentlemen, instead of staring at these filthy things, why don’t we close the shoji screens? To treat samurai as common criminals—this is an outrage! Ah, had I known it would come to this, I’d have hidden away a dagger.”

Utaguma Tarō clicked his tongue in irritation.

They entered the room and closed the shoji screens.
But to Kakunosuke, the five execution scaffolds lined up beyond the shoji screens appeared vividly clear.
After that, until dinner time, not a single person spoke a word.

When the evening meal was served, Chikuma Ichizaemon requested sake from the acolyte monk.

“Gentlemen, tonight we part ways.”
“In retort to the Tottori samurai who have shown us disrespect, shall we not strive to meet an honorable end tomorrow?”
“I wish to witness each of your customary resolve.”

Even the twelve showed no signs of being daunted.
The sake cup passed solemnly from hand to hand.

But Kakunosuke could not even swallow his rice.
The bowl he had eaten sat heavy in his chest, threatening to rise back up.

He found himself utterly unable to reconcile with death.
Even at swordpoint’s demand—I wanted just once more to see my wife’s face.
Once more with her—to share one final lingering moment with my wife.
Yet even setting thoughts of her aside—death itself revolted him beyond bearing.
By any means necessary—he would not die like this!
The very notion of his severed head displayed upon those scaffolds made survival imperative through any desperate act!
When he envisioned those raw wooden gallows standing row upon row beyond darkness-cloaked shoji screens—a glacial chill flooded every vein like coursing meltwater.

The following morning, the samurai of Kuwana Domain each steeled themselves and rose from their beds.
But those who had risen numbered not thirteen.
Kakunosuke had slipped away under cover of night, evading the guards' notice.

Five

“Coward! Craven!”

The twelve men reviled Kakunosuke in unison.
But among them were those who used such words to cloak their hidden envy of Kakunosuke’s successful escape.

Chikuma Ichizaemon reported Kakunosuke’s flight to the Tottori Domain guards.
Yet he stopped short of disclosing the presumed motive.
For he refused to brand a fellow clansman a coward before warriors of rival domains now turned enemies.

“It appears his intention was to head east to join Lord Yoshinobu’s forces and make a valiant stand.”

Ichizaemon explained the reason for Kakunosuke’s escape as follows.

Hearing this, the Tottori Domain captain made a bitter face.

“That is most unthinkable in recent times.”
“We treated you with such leniency out of our own resolve, believing that even when samurai stand divided as enemies or allies, they remain comrades in arms. That none among you recognized this defies all reason.”
“Nay, well you know this!”
“Given that a crucial prisoner entrusted by the Pacification Envoy has escaped—plunging our domain into utter disgrace—we are resolved to part every blade of grass until we recover him.”
“Trusting all of you was this unworthy one’s fatal miscalculation.”

The captain, having become quite indignant, switched to defiance.

Chikuma Ichizaemon also bristled upon hearing the other party speak of "lenient treatment."
While showing samurai such filthy execution tools and subjecting them to humiliation, they dare to spout such hypocritical nonsense—he thought.

“Hmph! And you dare to call that lenient treatment?”

He spat out.

“Indeed,” the captain answered stiffly.
“By this unworthy one’s design, do you not comprehend that we have granted you all such liberty be?”
“Since you are imperial enemies who fired upon the Imperial Banner, there should be no complaint even were we to shackle your hands.”
“Even your movements have been left entirely to your discretion.”
“What do you suppose is the reason we’ve posted no sentries and set no watch?”
“Since each of you samurai had once demonstrated submission, I believed there could not be even one chance in ten thousand of error.”
“And then, to flee stealthily in the dead of night like some thief…”

“Baseless!”
Chikuma Ichizaemon fiercely cut him off mid-sentence.
“You who claim to treat us as samurai—what is the meaning of that spectacle?
We are not townsmen or peasants!
Once the imperial court’s disposition is decided, we are prepared to offer our necks at any time.
What is the meaning of those plans?
It is you who regard us as thieves or vagrants.
Is that the way to treat samurai?
Is that the lenient treatment you speak of for samurai?”

Ichizaemon’s eyes were bloodshot.
If he had been permitted to wear his sword, his hand would undoubtedly have gripped its hilt.

Pointed at by Chikuma Ichizaemon, the Tottori Domain captain looked beyond the cemetery toward the plank fence.
In his eyes as well, the head platform of the execution scaffold, jutting out abruptly in stark contrast to the black plank fence, came into view.
When he caught a glimpse of it, he clearly panicked.

“Ah!
“Oh dear, oh dear! This is most regrettable.”
“Forgive me, forgive me!”

Restraining the captain as he tried to apologize, Chikuma Ichizaemon declared triumphantly: “We are samurai. Even if you so kindly enlighten us, our resolve to cut our bellies has been prepared from the very start. Today or perhaps tomorrow—if only you would inform us of the time, that would suffice.”

The captain, who had been nodding while listening to Ichizaemon’s indignation, waited for his words to end and then altered his demeanor. “That is a grave misconception. Due to my carelessness, my subordinates committed this blunder. To have shown you all such an ominous thing—I have no excuse. Do not dwell on it. Executing you all—we have no intention of issuing any such notice. In fact, according to rumors I heard when visiting headquarters last night, it seems that neither the lord nor the retainers of Kuwana Domain will face any punishment whatsoever. As for that execution scaffold...”

Having said that, he proceeded to speak as follows.

Just as Major General Hashimoto and Chamberlain Yanagihara, the vanguard of Prince Arisugawa, entered Ise bearing the Imperial Banner, there existed a separate contingent of imperial forces that had entered Mino from Ōmi.
They called themselves the Red Herald Brigade, raising the Imperial Banner at their forefront as a force of nearly two hundred surrounded Marutsumaroji Chūjō, the Pacification Envoy.
Many of them wore sleeveless campaign jackets and field trousers while carrying old-style six-momme rifles, each bearing a brocade cloth patch on their right shoulder.
After entering Mino, they recruited farmer-soldiers wherever they went.
When they reached Imao in Mino—Lord Takegoshi Iyonokami’s castle town—their force had grown to nearly seven hundred.
In the small domain of Imao, startled by the imperial troops’ sudden arrival, the chief elder came out to greet them at the castle town’s entrance.
They commanded three thousand ryō from Imao Domain and two thousand ryō from the castle town’s merchants for military funds, then after leisurely resting their army, headed south and stormed Takasu Domain eight ri south of Ōgaki.

In Takasu, even the retainers of Matsudaira Nakatsukasudaiyu found their eyes dazzled before the Imperial Banner.
The Red Herald Brigade collected nearly ten thousand ryō in military funds there as well.
Having subjugated the two domains of Imao and Takasu, the Red Herald Brigade, brimming with triumph, advanced south of Kuwana Castle to Yasunaga Village in their attempt to storm Kuwana Domain, establishing their headquarters at a temple called Seiunji.

That very night.
It was when the troops of Tottori and Aki Provinces surrounded this Seiunji Temple.
Comrades bearing brocade cloth patches fought fiercely.
The farmer-soldiers who had followed them this far scattered like spiderlings and fled.
The counterfeit Marutsumaroji Chūjō was struck down by a stray bullet.
Nearly fifty were killed on the spot.
Seventeen were captured.
They were to be beheaded the following morning at the execution grounds of Kaizōgawara.
Among them, it was said that the heads of the counterfeit Marutsumaroji Chūjō and four others were to be publicly displayed.

“The execution scaffolds were constructed under those circumstances I just described. On the training grounds, my men must have made such a blunder that it interfered with drills. For this regrettable matter, I offer my deepest apologies. Forgive me, forgive me! This was an outrageous blunder—ha ha ha ha ha! But it was all a mistake! A most auspicious outcome, truly auspicious!”

As they listened, the expressions of the Kuwana retainers had crumbled.
By the time the captain finished speaking, it had transformed into uproarious laughter.
They were doubled over with laughter, yet their eyes brimmed with tears.

VI

That misunderstanding had been settled with relieved laughter, but the Tottori Domain samurai’s pursuit of Kakunosuke would not end so easily.
They declared that they would find him no matter what, as it was a grave matter concerning the domain’s honor.
Since the Tōkaidō road teemed with imperial troops, making it impossible for him to flee to Edo, they concluded he must be hiding nearby. They formed squads of ten or twenty men and scoured every corner of villages across Mino, Ise, and Owari provinces—centered on Yokkaichi, Kuwana, and Nagoya.
One of these squads proceeded to search along the Inabe River, following the Nōshū Highway toward Mino.

Six ri northwest of Kuwana, along the Nōshū Highway, there was a mountain village called Ishiguri.
Since the mountains yielded limestone, kilns for burning lime were scattered throughout them.
When the squad reached this village, one of the villagers informed them that a man bearing samurai appearance had been hiding in one of these lime-burning kilns for two or three days.
Hearing this, the squad members surged with excitement.
They had the village headman guide them and surrounded the kiln from both right and left sides.

Startled, Kakunosuke came flying out of the unlit kiln.
He had relied on his household's young retainer's family home and been hidden inside a kiln deep in the mountains, far from prying eyes.
When he saw the government soldiers, he panicked.
Being captured meant death for him.
He twisted his body, leapt over the valley—some two ken wide—behind the kiln, and tried to flee into the thickly wooded mountainside.

"Hah! He's still fleeing!"
"That clinging fool! Shoot!"
"Shoot!"
"Never mind—shoot!"

The squad leader snapped and shouted.

Two or three soldiers snapped into kneeling positions with their new Gewehr rifles. Violent gunfire shattered the quiet air of the mountain village. Kakunosuke’s emaciated, lanky body spun wildly between the trunks of the trees before falling flat on its back and lying motionless.

Several days later, the severed heads of the Red Herald Brigade’s ringleaders had been removed from the five execution scaffolds standing side by side at Kaizōgawara. And then, in their place, on the central execution scaffold, a single young samurai’s severed head was displayed.

On the placard, written in elegant calligraphy, was the following.

Kuwana Domain Shintani Kakunosuke

The aforementioned individual, having discharged firearms at the Imperial Banner within the Kyoto Capital Region and consequently been placed under confinement at Hatsu Kōmyō-ji, nevertheless conspired to abscond in secret and proceed to Edo with intent to renew resistance against the Imperial Banner—deeds constituting extreme insubordination. Therefore, he was executed by firing squad and his head subjected to public display.

Boshin February

Imperial Army Staff Officer

The twelve people excluding Kakunosuke were permitted to safely return to their domain in April of that year without any reprimand.

As the reason for Kakunosuke’s flight became clear, both the Kuwana Domain samurai and the imperial troops sneered at how he had panicked at every shadow, attempted escape, and thrown away a life that need not have been lost.

But how could they laugh at Kakunosuke?
He had indeed seen the execution scaffold meant to bear his own head being constructed.