Pathway to Japanese Literature

Horses, Soldiers, and a Woman

It was early July.
Amidst the dry clattering of corn stalks, the high cumulonimbus sky blazed down like a scorched iron plate.

—A trail of bright yellow dust continued.

The column of armored troops—cavalry units, supply wagons, baggage trains, artillery batteries, and rifle squads that had departed from Yodo—had been streaming down the parched Tōkaidō road from morning till night, and now for seven days straight, pouring through Kōshū Road past Sekigahara toward distant Ōshū province.

“Summer warfare is unbearable!”

“Yet winter’s no better.”

“Horses don’t collapse in snow, but in this heat, even horses perish.”

“At night it’s bush mosquitoes; by day this scorching sky.”

“If only it would rain.”

“Under this sky—”

“If only we’d clash with the enemy—once battle starts, this damned heat wouldn’t matter...”

“The enemy’s the Uesugi.—Still hundreds of miles to Shirakawa-Aizu...”

“Sweltering damnation!”

“I’d rather just toss this armor away… but you can’t fight naked, can you?”

“Hahaha.”

Even the voices laughing between cavalrymen atop their horses dried out—seeming about to choke on dust.

Still, commanders on horseback maintained such composure during the march that foot soldiers could not even speak.

In desperation they drank from bamboo tubes; when these emptied they pressed mouths to any water—muddy paddies or stream beds—like starving ghosts. Grasping baggage reins and shouldering spears and rifles, they reformed ranks at commanders’ barked orders while breathing fire-like gasps,

(Ah, this area was still Mino.—From here to Shirakawa and Aizu in Uesugi territory...) With a mind-numbing sensation even greater than the road itself—they wiped muddy sweat with their sleeves and marched on.

“Damn beast, it’s sat down again!—Yell! Yell! You lazy bastard—” “You lazy bastard—”

Among the large baggage trains, a foot soldier’s frenzied shout suddenly erupted. Two more horses had collapsed from heatstroke, lying on their sides with large bellies exposed. They had been striking its belly with reins, but the horse merely chewed white foam at its mouth, its eyes growing dull as it resentfully watched the humans beating it.

“Abandon them! Abandon them!”

At the commander’s voice, as the baggage was unloaded from the sick horses’ backs and transferred to other supply wagons and mounts, the formation no longer waited.

Even so—unable to abandon the horses that still faintly breathed—four or five foot soldiers lingered behind, splashing water over them, forcing medicine into their mouths, and tending their bodies.

From millet fields and mulberry groves, having noticed this commotion, mischievous youths from nearby hamlets and snot-nosed old women came streaming out like locusts,

“Oh! The horses’re dead—foamin’ at the mouth—”

“Before they even see battle—”

“What a weak nag.”

“Marchin’ like this to subjugate Uesugi? They’ll get crushed for sure.”

As they fell behind the march, as horses refused to rise, the foot soldiers—drenched in sweat and frantic—

“You bastards! What’re you sayin’?!”

They struck the corn stalks sideways with their spear shafts.

Jostled by the suddenly fleeing crowd of children, a young woman staggered at the edge of the mulberry field, her eyes welling up as if in pain—when abruptly she caught the foot soldiers’ attention.

“...?”
“...”

As they watched, the woman brushed dirt from her trampled foot, picked up the square package—likely containing a tiered food box—that she had dropped there, and began approaching them.

“Excuse me... might I ask something?”

“Oh, what is it?”

When they saw the beautiful woman—as if their sweat cooled and dried—the foot soldiers each paused to catch their breath.

“Was the army that just passed through here part of Lord Ōtani Gyōbu’s retinue?”

“Nah—” he shook his head— “We’re Ogasawara Hidemasa’s men.”

“Then those who came before—”

“No no—today’s vanguard was Lord Honda Tadakatsu’s forces and Lord Sakakibara Yasumasa’s forces.”

“And Lord Ōtani’s troops?”

“Well... Lord Gyōbu-shōyū departed from Tsuruga Castle in Echizen, and I had heard he would be joining Lord Tokugawa Naifu’s army for this Uesugi campaign as well—but when might he pass through this area?”

Then another said.

“At the Tarui post station we passed through earlier, I believe I saw a placard that read ‘Lord Ōtani Gyōbu-shōyū Yoshitsugu’s Quarters.’”

“Then His Lordship might arrive in Tarui around this evening…”
“Miss, why don’t you just go to Tarui and ask?”

“Thank you kindly.”

The woman, upon hearing this, hurried off along the parched road toward Tarui, undeterred by the scorching sky or swirling dust.

Forgetting to tend to the sick horses, the foot soldiers were looking back at her retreating figure—

“Not a farmer’s daughter… nor does she look like a townsman’s woman… What could she be?”

“Beautiful!”

“Perhaps there’s a young samurai betrothed to her among the Ōtani household’s retinue, and she’s going to visit him?”

“Ugh, this is unbearable! Ah! Hey! This horse is beyond saving.”

Grabbing the bit of a dying horse, one man tried roughly shaking it.

Wheat Confectionery

Surrounded by large trees, it was a spacious flat garden.
In the shade of the trees, evening dusk had already begun to gather, and the droning of mosquito swarms clung to the ears from nowhere in particular.

It was the residence of Tarui's post station chief.

Curtains emblazoned with Ōtani Gyōbu-shōyū Yoshitsugu's crest surrounded the earthen walls and middle gate there, and in the stables, the neighing of horses resounded vigorously.
At the post station, his personal troops were quartered in separate lodgings, and along the thoroughfares, bonfires sent up smoke so thick it seemed to scorch the evening moon.

“This is the third time. No matter how much we sprinkle it, the ground’s completely parched—it just drinks up the water.”

A young servant, still wearing his armor, carried a hand bucket and water ladle as he splashed water across the garden.

And when he returned to the pulley well in the garden plantings, there stood a young woman—her hair and hem caked in dust yet bearing an air of refinement—peering through the gate, hesitating as if about to leave yet lingering.

“Who is that woman?”
“—Is she one of the post station chief’s servants here?”

“No, um…”
As if she had been waiting to be questioned, the woman spoke immediately.

“I wish to meet with Lord Ōtani Heima, but...”

“Heima?”

The servants exchanged glances.

“Who’s this ‘Heima’? There isn’t anyone by that name in our household.”
“There’s no one by that name in our household.”

Then, the woman hurriedly corrected herself.

“I misspoke. ‘Lord Heima’ refers to his childhood name—it is Lord Gyōbu Yoshitsugu.”

“Eh? To the lord?”

“If you would kindly inform him that the wet nurse’s daughter from Buzen has come, I am certain the lord will deign to remember.”
“Please inform him.”

“Well... what should we do?”
“Anyway, just wait here—I’ll go consult the unit commander.”

When the servant ran into the back, he soon returned accompanied by a short samurai clad in black leather armor—a man with a cleft lip whose appearance was thoroughly unremarkable.

“Are you Miss Oshino?”

“Yes.”

“His Lordship remembers well.”
“As he wishes to meet you, please proceed to the courtyard entrance.”

With that, he personally led her there.

Oshino sat on a mat in the flat garden, clutching the cloth-wrapped bundle she had carefully carried.—What kind of man was this Lord Heima she had heard about from her mother since childhood—no, rather, Lord Ōtani Gyōbu Yoshitsugu who now ruled Tsuruga Castle?
Even as her heart pounded and her chest tightened with anxiety, she restrained her imagination.

In the dark study where only the drone of mosquitoes could be heard, the attendants' faint presence stirred, and soon, a lamp flared up.

"—Oshino, should I say,"

It was Gyōbu's voice.

But Oshino could only answer “Yes” under her breath, utterly unable to lift her gaze to meet the man.

“Is your mother well? …How old must she be now? Let me see—I myself am thirty-eight this year, so that wet nurse must be quite advanced in years by now.”

Though Gyōbu continued addressing her with various friendly remarks afterward, Oshino found herself unable to voice any of the things she had meant to say, instead hurriedly untying the bundle entrusted by her mother to reveal a tiered box of wheat confectionery accompanied by an amulet pouch from Seki’s Kannon.

“My mother says morning and night that she longs to see how you’ve grown, my lord, but since being stricken with palsy, she cannot walk—so I have come in her stead.”
“This wheat confectionery—she ground the flour herself while telling us stories of your lordship’s childhood.”
“And this amulet—I carried my mother to Seki’s Kannon to pray for your martial fortune, where we kept seven days’ vigil.”
“She bade me present these to you, my lord.”
“Should you deign to accept them, nothing could bring us greater joy.”

While timidly uttering those words, Oshino was finally able to clearly see Gyōbu’s figure in the study above.

The man had just said he himself was thirty-eight, but his apparent age could have been anywhere between forty and fifty.
His left arm hung in a white sling from his neck, his face wrapped in white silk like a hood.
And he wore a white underrobe while having a page fan him with a round fan...
But the moment Oshino looked up, she felt a chill run down her spine,

(Is this the Lord Gyōbu Mother always spoke of?)

she wondered,

(But Mother said Lord Gyōbu—the infant she nursed—was supposed to be far gentler...?)
...)

she thought.

Her mother had served as wet nurse to a rural samurai's son in Bungo's hinterlands before Oshino's birth. That impoverished samurai's son was now Lord Ōtani Gyōbu of Tsuruga Castle.
Her mother had described him as possessing pearl-like beauty—yet now she saw no trace of it. Any timid soul who glimpsed that face in this mosquito-drone-filled dim study might well faint outright.

Gyōbu had leprosy.
For over ten years now, symptoms had manifested, and he now bore the unmistakable appearance of leprosy.

His hair was receding, his face bore an eerie reddish-black sheen, beside his swollen lips lurked purplish blotches, and his entire visage seemed grotesquely swollen to twice a human’s normal size.
Naturally, his eyelashes had fallen out, and his vision had deteriorated to where he could barely perceive the flicker of a lamp—apparently only able to discern shapes within five or six feet before him.

“Hmm... hmm... The wet nurse... to me...”

Nodding repeatedly like this—blinking his eyelashless eyes with what seemed deliberate care—Gyōbu had been listening to Oshino’s words, then turned toward the garden and bowed respectfully—

“Tell her I am deeply grateful.”
“I will eat the wheat confectionery right away, and I will go into battle with the amulet against my skin.”

he said.

He had his attendant bring the tiered box and, immediately taking one of the wheat confectioneries, began savoring it while...

“Oshino, was it? Which child of the wet nurse are you?”

“I am the fourth daughter.”

“I see. How is the wet nurse getting by these days?”

"My second brother serves as a writing instructor in this post town’s outskirts."
"She has taken refuge there to convalesce from palsy—though at her advanced years..."

“…………”

Silently, Gyōbu nodded again.
And then,

“Kidayū.”

He turned his head toward Miura Kidayū, the attendant captain, and whispered something—whereupon Kidayū went into the inner room and fetched a small chest. Ten gold pieces were arranged on a sheet of white paper, and after wrapping them, he came out to the veranda and conveyed Lord Gyōbu’s sentiments to Oshino through Kidayū’s hand.

Oshino hesitated and refused, fidgeting as she worried whether her mother would scold her for accepting such a large sum of money and taking it home.

In the meantime—Gyōbu had already begun rising from his seat in the study and gone out to the corridor leading to the inner rooms. This was because, immediately upon arriving at Tarui, the messenger he had sent to Ishida Mitsunari at Sawayama had now returned and come to report.

The messenger’s errand was to coordinate this matter, as Mitsunari’s son Hayato was also set to accompany the upcoming Uesugi suppression campaign. However, along with that messenger, Mitsunari’s retainer Kashihara Hikoemon had come for some purpose, so while moving toward the inner rooms, Gyōbu—

Hmm?

he was thinking.

Mitsunari and Gyōbu were sworn friends.
Even though Sawayama and Tsuruga were far apart, their hearts had always remained close.

A bamboo blind hung across three open-sided pillars.
In the shade of freshly watered shrubs, insects chirped a cool "chit-chit-chit" rhythm while a dim lamp flickered there in the gentle breeze.

Before this bamboo blind, Gyōbu sat.
He maintained this custom of meeting through the screen as proper etiquette except with those sharing bonds of exceptional intimacy.

“Hiko?”

“Hah…”

Kashihara Hikoemon was prostrating with both hands in the adjacent room.
He gazed up at the white figure beyond the bamboo blind,

“This noble march beneath the scorching sky must have been most arduous for you.”

he said.

“Hmm…”
“Battles are not always favorable affairs, but particularly in summer campaigns, even merely donning that armor is no easy task.”
“Especially for a sickly body like mine…”

He trailed off at the sound of insects chirping,

“By the way, how fares Lord Jibu since his seclusion? Is he in good health?”

“He is living in contentment.”

“Regarding this recent rebellion in Tōhoku by Uesugi Kagekatsu, Naoe Yamashiro-no-kami, and others—and Lord Tokugawa’s departure to suppress it—for Lord Jibu, who has long damaged Lord Tokugawa’s goodwill, this presents an unparalleled opportunity to make amends. Thus did Gyōbu himself reason when coordinating with his son Lord Hayato—but how fares his coming?”
"Is Lord Jibu not stubbornly clinging to his own ways again?"

Gyōbu’s low, thick voice contained sorrow—for Mitsunari, for the friend who had sworn a life-and-death oath with him since their youth.

After a long separation

Hikoemon prostrated himself,

“In truth, today too, Lord Hayato was meant to accompany us, but as you may surmise, Lord Jibu himself holds certain reservations. Given this opportunity presented by your passage near Sawayama—an occasion unlikely to recur—my master humbly entreats you to grant him an audience despite your journey’s fatigue. He earnestly requests your esteemed visit.”

“To me… you’re asking that I come all the way to Sawayama?”

“Yes.”

Kashihara Hikoemon was staring fixedly at Gyōbu’s complexion through the bamboo blind.
—No matter what, he had to bring this man to his lord’s castle at least once, lest he bring disgrace upon his lord’s command.

“Hmm…”

Gyōbu would not nod readily—the relationship between Ieyasu and Mitsunari; moreover, the fact that he himself had already come as far as Tarui might halt his march to visit Sawayama Castle—if word of this reached the other lords hastening daily toward the Uesugi campaign, what suspicions might they harbor? Such matters too were undeniably impossible not to consider.

“...Hmm... So that’s how it stands... Hmm...”

He continued repeating the same indistinct murmurs—neither quite groans nor replies—but eventually his heart could not help but lean more and more toward his unfortunate friend living in seclusion at Sawayama.

“I shall come. …Tomorrow evening.”

“What? You will grant us your esteemed visit?”

“I will come secretly.”
“It goes without saying.”

When Hikoemon withdrew, the retainer Miura Kidayū came around to the garden front and,

“My lord…”
“I delivered the gold coins as per your command to the girl from earlier. She joyfully said she would now return after viewing your esteemed figure from afar over there.”

“Did you have someone accompany her?”

“Yes, given the nighttime journey, I dispatched two soldiers as escorts.”

“Good of you to notice…”
“There are mosquitoes here.”

“Shall I fumigate a bit more?”

“Hmm, burn it.”

Kidayū began fumigating kaya leaves along the veranda.
The smoke fled along the eaves, where a glaive-like evening moon cast its light.

Gyōbu turned his face toward the moon.
As if wet with oil, the unevenness of his face glowed blue.

"How swift... Everything is but an instant... The wet nurse must have aged—thirty years since I left her care, twenty-two since I met Jibu."

With a soft crackle, the kaya fire for repelling mosquitoes snapped quietly.

“Kidayū.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Bring me the wheat confectionery left in the study.
And one serving of tea as well.”

When the page brought it,

“I remember.”

Muttering to himself, Gyōbu broke off a small piece of the wheat confectionery and brought it to his lips—

“Kidayū, this was my favorite treat as a child… After all these years, I can still taste my boyhood.”
“Will you have one?”

As he began to respond, Kidayū suddenly stiffened—his attention snatched away.
The clatter of hooves pounded the earth beyond the wall, while soldiers’ footsteps swarmed like sudden evening rain.

“Huh? ...What’s that?”

As he rose from beside the mosquito repellent smoke, Yuasa Gosuke, the spear unit commander,

“There is nothing amiss.”

With that, he came to report.

Kidayū looked puzzled,

“But what could it be at this hour…”

“Rather, the forces of Kyōgoku Takatomo and Sasa Yukimasa—who departed later—are marching through the night without lodging, vying to be first.”

Gyōbu had been half-listening, but as he pressed a white cloth to his pus-oozing cheek, a wry smile twisted his lips.

“Truly, these people are ravenous for glory. From Yodo and Osaka alone—just these past few days—I hear over seventy daimyōs and fifty thousand soldiers have set out. For the numbers needed to take Uesugi’s single castle in Aizu, this commotion seems rather excessive. After all, there would surely be days to spare in Edo for war councils and other matters—for them to race through the night vying for precedence is nothing but self-interest. Merely anxious about currying Lord Tokugawa Naifu’s favor alone, these timid daimyōs scurry about until midnight—the transparent depths of their bellies revealing a wretchedness most profound… Ahahahaha—when you think on it, the swelter becomes unbearable.”

Heart’s Ear and Heart’s Eye

“Saikon. Is he not here yet?”

Ishida Mitsunari, Jibu-shōyū, grew restless in a room at Sawayama as the sun began to fade.

At Ishida’s side was Shima Sakon—whom even the deceased Taikō had called "a man of surpassing worth"—who alone had been permitted on today’s samurai side and waited in the adjacent chamber.

“Ah… It seems he has arrived.”

With that, Shima Sakon stood to greet him.

The lake was still bright.
The mountains north of the lake—Mount Hiei on the opposite shore, Shimei Peak and others—already wore night’s black mantle, but in the castle’s great corridor, a blue twilight reflected from the water streamed across the floorboards—

“What a fine castle.”

Praising it, Ōtani Gyōbu walked over, letting his retainer hold just the very tips of his fingers.

“At its back lies Mount Ibuki’s crags, controlling both the Hokuriku and Tōkaidō highways—push hard on the water route, and the capital is but a moment away.”
“Moreover, loving peace and living in seclusion—a view of supreme beauty.”

As though he could see, he turned his face toward the lake, then toward the castle garden,

“Here?”

With that, he took his seat.

Immediately, Mitsunari came into view,

“Gyōbu, it’s been too long.”

“Oh…”

Gyōbu turned his face toward the voice,

“Jibu… It has been since last we met.”

He inclined his head slightly.

Mitsunari gazed intently at his friend’s head wrapped in white silk—

“Well… You’ve taken the field after all.”

“Why?”

“With that ailing body of yours,”

“War isn’t fought with flesh—it’s fought with will. Should I deem it hopeless—this Yoshitsugu could make an end of it here today.”

“Hmm… Ever the same.”

Mitsunari let a smile rise to his cheeks and took up the cup.

“One.”

“I’ll have tea.”

“Sake...”
“I’ve quit.”
“Even you, Gyōbu—couldn’t overcome your illness and had to forsake sake too?”
“No—it’s this...”

With that, Gyōbu pointed to his own eyes—red and festering like raw shellfish flesh—and said:
“...If I drink, they worsen immediately.”
“Even if I abstain—lately I can’t see at all—”

“...You can’t see?”

“Hmm… Even your form there appears only as a shadowy outline, like ink brushed on paper. Jibu—I want to see your face once more, as it was when you laughed with such brightness.”

“So it’s come to that…”

Mitsunari winced in pained sympathy.—Gyōbu’s condition was worse than he had imagined him to be in the days since.
If closely observed, one might think his physique could walk well.
His left hand had remained unmoving since earlier—this because it hung from his neck by a white cloth—and his features had deteriorated so far from their former state that even lamplight falling upon his face now felt unbearable to witness.

Along with his grief for his friend, Mitsunari sank a dark blood of despair into his complexion.
As if he were sighing deeply in his heart—the only one he relied on—like this—ah, with this body—.

The lake’s night wind crept in chillingly.
The two men, paying no heed to the flickering lamplight, remained silent for some time.

“But Gyōbu...”

“Hm?”

“Your so-called spirit may remain as it was in days of old, but with your eyes in such a state—even should you go to battle, you could hardly function.... And yet, if summoned by Lord Naifu, must you still force yourself to go?”

“Lord Naifu’s...”

Catching this,

“Jibu—is that sarcasm?”

“That’s how ordinary people think.”

“People do not understand—what glory could Gyōbu seek with this body? In this heart of mine resides Lord Hideyori with utmost sincerity, but toward Tokugawa Naifu and his ilk, I hold no flattery. I only pray Lord Hideyori remains healthy and comes of age even a day sooner. Until then, I pray for peace in the world.—To achieve this, we must answer even Tokugawa Naifu’s summons and wage war when required.”

“Well… I can’t help but worry whether such a battle can even be fought.”

“You speak most unbecomingly.”
“A duel between two individuals—that is not done with the sword—it is done with the spirit.”
“How much less can war be waged with the eyes? Could strategy ever be directed by mere sight?”
“If there were a fool who wages war solely based on positions and soldiers’ movements visible to the naked eye, they would be instantly defeated.”
“That is to say—a general’s command must be guided by an unobstructed living eye. And that living eye is the heart’s eye.”
“…Yoshitsugu’s heart’s eye remains unbroken.”

“I see.”

“There’s more.”

As the guest’s tone grew more heated, a sudden clarity lit up in Mitsunari’s brows.

“This ear—if I use it as my heart’s ear while remaining here—can listen to the realm’s movements. From a single soldier’s footfall or bullet’s whine, I can grasp three armies’ deployments.”
“A person manages surprisingly well even without nose or eyes taken away, you know.”

“No—I quite understand.”

“Even after abstaining from sake, these eyes that can no longer see even four or five feet ahead—to cling to them so reluctantly must follow some other logic entirely. …As for picking up chopsticks or visiting the privy—all those trivial matters around me—I cannot bring myself to trouble my attendants with such things.”

Mitsunari nearly let tears fall as he suddenly remembered that even this friend had once known youthful days with ruddy cheeks.

The heart of the lake grew deeper into night.

“Now then,”

With these words, Mitsunari shifted his knees.

“This matter of Lord Tokugawa Naifu’s campaign against Uesugi—what does your lordship make of it?”

Gyōbu responded as if to the lingering sound of their exchange—
“Jibu.”

pressed closer—

“That’s it, isn’t it—the crux of why you wished to meet me tonight.”

“Indeed!”
“I wanted to hear Gyōbu’s opinion.”

“What would you do by hearing my opinion?”
“But surely even Lord Jibu, Mitsunari, must have some plan of his own?”

“I will speak of the depths of my heart later.”

“First, if I may state my humble opinion—Uesugi Kagekatsu’s position fundamentally being what it is—Naoe Yamashiro’s current uprising appears vigorous indeed."
“In this age, men of mettle who could face Lord Tokugawa Naifu in battle without self-abasement would be either that man—or Lord Jibu here before my eyes. In all the realm, I doubt there are two others.”

Mitsunari’s bitter smile seemed invisible to Gyōbu; taking out a white cloth, he pressed it against his occasionally aching eyelids.

“But—the phrase ‘What a pity for a fine man’ applies precisely to Yamashiro’s current uprising.”

“To state the conclusion first—what a pity—even the foremost hero of the northern provinces will undoubtedly be crushed in this uprising. For while he may believe in fierce generals and strong soldiers, he knows not where the people’s allegiance lies—whether the lords’ gazes turn toward Uesugi or Naoe. Though possessing talent unmatched across ages, he remains blind to how the realm’s currents now flow.”

Intently, he raised his face to the ceiling—

Mitsunari remained silent, listening like ice.

“To begin with—the Late Taikō-sama’s Korean Campaign had already shifted the tides of our age. From that very moment, the cloud of warring states departed Japan’s skies. Simultaneously, people’s hearts grew weary of war—what battles remained now were merely wars to end wars—conflicts meant solely to determine a true ruler.”

“Yet even after His Highness’s passing, they continued grand projects like rebuilding the Great Buddha Hall—making no effort to secure peace for the four classes of people. Thus unwittingly, the people began heeding Lord Tokugawa Naifu’s policies, while feudal lords vied to join his banner or else shrewdly watched power tilt seventy-thirty between Osaka Castle and the Tokugawa house.”

“As proof—when Lord Naifu called for this Aizu campaign, over seventy lords’ armies marched east at once. Their wretched scrambling to outpace one another in fear of Ieyasu’s every smile or frown laid bare their nature.”

“…But that is the tide of our times—the unstoppable momentum of this era. Naoe Yamashiro believes Lord Tokugawa Naifu his enemy, yet fails to see he opposes the era itself.”

“—But Gyōbu,”

“What?”

“Yamashiro did not raise his army out of personal resentment or ambition—at the very least, within his blood still flows the Late Taikō-sama’s—”

“No—”

He tried to wave his hand and lifted it slightly from his knee,

“Jibu, that discernment is difficult.”
“Yamashiro too is such a man.”

“People may not know, but this Mitsunari believes.”
“Naoe Kanetsugu is undoubtedly one who cares for the Toyotomi house.”
“He is a man who cannot bear to watch Lord Hideyori’s realm slip daily into Ieyasu’s hands after having betrayed the vows sworn before the late lord’s death.”

“Is that truly so…”

Gyōbu exhaled deeply—

“If that were so, even in sharing defeat, I would rejoice for Yamashiro’s sake.”

“How can you even think that! Gyōbu!”

Mitsunari’s earlobes were crimson.
Gyōbu jolted upright at the sound of him scraping across the tatami mats toward him.

“Just yesterday—daimyos great and small across the provinces, samurai, common folk—all praised the Late Taikō-sama’s benevolence. Yet today they act as though Lord Tokugawa Naifu alone could make night yield to dawn—this fickleness of men’s hearts—this state of the world—does it not stir indignation in you?”

“I find it terrifying.”

“Terrifying?”

“They tire—then crave anew."
“What terrifies me is the power of common folk and their fickleness—how they will one day overthrow those they once raised to authority. Samurai may fancy they seize the realm with their bows and arrows—but no—it is the masses who steer its course.”

“No—it cannot be said so absolutely.—They lack the wisdom to choose what must be chosen.”
“For instance—how could we surrender the realm to a veteran schemer like Lord Tokugawa Naifu!”
“To shamelessly bypass Lord Hideyori and deliver all into Naifu’s grasp—what face could we show the Late Taikō-sama when we meet him beyond this world!”

“Then—what true intent moves you?”

“I believe the moment has come.”

“Now?”

“While Naoe Yamashiro holds positions across the northern and eastern provinces, keeping Lord Tokugawa Naifu’s allied armies at bay this autumn, we shall request Lord Hideyori’s imperial decree and rouse the Mōri and Shimazu in the west.”

“Wait.”

Gyōbu thus tempered Mitsunari’s fervor,

“You had forged ties with Yamashiro quite early on.—Was Uesugi’s uprising your scheme?”

he pressed.

Mitsunari had been waiting to be asked that very question.

“That’s right!”

“Hmm—”

“Gyōbu.”

—

“Gyōbu!”
“Now that I’ve laid this bare, you must join me in this undertaking.”

“Those you’ve entrusted with this—that would be—this Gyōbu and whom else?”

“Ankokuji Ekei.”

“Ankokuji? …Hmm—he would be the key to drawing Mōri Terumoto in.”

“That man will certainly act.”

“He is dangerous.”

“No—”

“No—it’s not Mōri.”
“No matter how I ponder this scheme… Gyōbu cannot conceive of any path to victory…”
“You’ve landed me in quite a predicament.”

Gyōbu’s ribs heaved mightily once; his already pallid skin became filled with sorrow for his friend.
As if the base of his neck snapped, he remained with his face lowered indefinitely.

Day of Tea

Gyōbu did not find Mitsunari’s scheme unexpected.
However, he argued tirelessly, explaining that this scheme held no prospect of success.

Even if by some chance this plot were to succeed, would the outcome truly unfold as Mitsunari envisions?

Moreover, the Mōri whom Mitsunari relies upon—with Terumoto as its current head—proves insufficient as an ally, and even Naoe Yamashiro might well join hands with Ieyasu should matters go awry——

For should the Date behind Uesugi fail to rise—and if Date Masamune does rise, he would assuredly side with Tokugawa—the coexistence of Date and Uesugi would be unthinkable given their geographical positions and clan standings.

Furthermore, how many of those counted as allies truly possessed resolve? Take Kobayakawa Chūnagon—Ukita—and others.

But first and foremost—

Ishida Mitsunari, the Junior Assistant Minister of Justice himself still lacked the charisma required to accomplish such a grand undertaking; as for his qualities as a leader, the Taikō had long since discerned them.
All recognized him as a rare talent of that age in intellect, sincerity, integrity—nay, even in being one who upheld righteousness as righteousness—but moral authority stood apart entirely.
That differed too from people actually relying on him.
He remained too young compared to Lord Tokugawa Naifu, and to veteran warriors accustomed to battlefields, he appeared excessively sharp—his bearing too refined—what one might call a bureaucratic type of man; this incompatibility with military men had persisted since the Taikō’s lifetime, had it not?

Such, such, such—Gyōbu listed numerous reasons,

“Jibu, I beg you—abandon this scheme.”

He said with sincerity blazing across his face, and then—

“Why—if you were going to confide in Ankokuji—no, rather than whispering to Naoe Yamashiro first, why didn’t you send a single messenger to Echizen Tsuruga?”
“I regret that.”
“Our usual distance was to blame.”

He said through clenched teeth.

Mitsunari was silent as if struck.

But for him, even remaining as he was, the grand scheme had already advanced past the point of no return.

Moreover, between Ieyasu and him lay an inherent incompatibility; theirs was a fateful relationship where if we did not strike him down, he would surely strike us down.

From the way of the samurai that declares "one dies for those who know his true worth"—if only to brandish His Lordship the Taikō’s benevolence and beat the drum toward fickle hearts of men—then indeed, that resolve of his stood unshakably firm.

“Troublesome... This is truly troublesome...”

Gyōbu could only repeat himself.

“If you’re determined to proceed, then proceed—had Yamashiro and his ilk not acted thus, another stratagem to take Ieyasu’s head might yet have existed… But now—”

And after a sigh, once more,

“Troublesome...” he murmured, sinking his entire being into perplexity.

After laying bare his true intentions—and his convictions—to his friend, Mitsunari stood calmly in the corner, facing the tea furnace, his heart now composed.

In the midst of the boiling kettle’s surf-like murmur, sensing the deepening night, the two remained for a time with their backs turned to each other…….

Yet Gyōbu was gauging Mitsunari’s heart—Mitsunari was gauging Gyōbu’s heart—each intently measuring the other’s.

(Should I say yes—or refuse and leave?)

Mitsunari placed the ladle into the kettle.

Gyōbu,

(Stop this!
Abandon this scheme!
What will become of Osaka Castle if you die now!)

He suppressed the urge to scream, clenching it tight in his chest.

In the meantime—
Mitsunari placed the tea he had prepared onto a silk cloth,

“Lord Gyōbu, I’m afraid it’s poorly prepared, but tonight I have dismissed the attendants—please have this to quench your thirst.”

he offered.

In the black tea bowl, green bubbles floated vividly.
Gyōbu, upon catching the tea’s aroma, suddenly recalled a certain memory.

………

It had been over ten years now.

It was still the height of His Lordship the Taikō’s reign.
Tea gatherings were in vogue, and Hideyoshi frequently hosted them at Osaka Castle and Daigo—feudal lords and close attendants would often attend these events.

Already by that time, symptoms of what would become his present illness had begun to appear on Ōtani Gyōbu’s skin.
There were daimyō who disliked sitting by his side; in the great corridors people walked past him taking care not to let their sleeves touch.

The one who paid no heed—more than anyone—was the Taikō himself, who would even casually entrust him with his sword; this sensitive young Gyōbu had once shed tears.
——Then at a certain tea gathering he encountered another compassionate soul.

That was Ishida Mitsunari.

He and Mitsunari had been acquainted since Yoshitsugu was sixteen; it was indeed Mitsunari who had recognized his talent when he was but a country samurai's son in rural Bungo, spoken to Hashiba Hideyoshi—then at Himeji Castle—and first forged the connection between Hideyoshi and himself.

Yet——after Gyōbu himself had received Hideyoshi’s patronage and become a full-fledged man, he could not necessarily regard Mitsunari——who had brought him into prominence——as an exceptional human being. He acknowledged Mitsunari’s talent, sense of justice, and integrity, yet found something lacking in his excessively cold rationalism. As a senior and benefactor, Gyōbu observed formal courtesies but could not grow fond of him——their relationship could never deepen beyond a certain point.

However.

At that tea gathering, Mitsunari had been seated next to him.
As the bowl of thick tea was passed in succession from the Taikō, Yoshitsugu committed a grave breach of etiquette while taking a sip—this was likely due to his illness having already dulled his nasal passages.
He spilled a drop of watery mucus into the tea.

Gyōbu gasped—he felt he could see the alteration of his own complexion with his own eyes.

—when Mitsunari, seated next in line,
"I shall partake."
he said.

Gyōbu panicked.

The quiet eyes of the others shifted with complex unease.

(No... this is—)

He could not help but voice.

Then Mitsunari chuckled faintly,

(I shall halt this.)

Feeling strength in Mitsunari’s fingers, Gyōbu released his grip with his heart racing.
Mitsunari drank it down as if nothing were amiss and set the bowl aside with practiced formality.

——That was when.
It was then that Gyōbu came to know that beneath Mitsunari’s seemingly cold demeanor lay a blazing heat unknown to all—embers smoldering beneath ashes.

And for this friend—he secretly resolved, and proactively sought a sworn brotherhood.
Mitsunari, aware of his own lack of public esteem, had always been the first to attend to Gyōbu’s needs.

Miscalculation.

“I shall take my leave tonight.”

“Are you going back?”

“Hmm…”

Gyōbu ultimately did not give his consent.
He did not say he disliked it either; silently boarding the palanquin from Sawayama, he returned to Tarui at midnight.

Inside the palanquin, being rocked along,

(I must make him reconsider!
...By all means!
……)

He could think of nothing else—but he had already resigned himself to Mitsunari being beyond recall.

(What if I cannot stop him?)

Now he thought of it; now he agonized over it.

The next day—

The Ōtani forces, who were supposed to depart Tarui, remained staying at the innkeeper’s residence.

(His illness has taken a sudden turn——)

Such rumors spread through the inn.

In Gyōbu’s chamber, a gloom had indeed settled within the bamboo blinds.
The white bedding had been laid out since yesterday’s noon and into this evening.

Lying supine atop it, Gyōbu continued to think, his sightless eyes fixed on the ceiling.

He was no longer wavering!

The aroma of that bowl of tea had settled his resolve.
It is not necessarily required that one be a hero among men.
A samurai is not defined solely by standing upon calculations and moving for grand strategies.

(Mitsunari!
I'll give you everything!
My life—)

Yet—the reason I hadn't yet sent my answer to Sawayama was that I was exhaustively considering how best to support him in this cataclysm engulfing the realm—how to secure allies—how to wage war?
If I am to fight, I must prevail—even in battles I know cannot be won.

Konishi Yukinaga—he’ll move first through Mitsunari. Maeda too—out of obligation, they’ll rise. As for Masuda, Chōsokabe, Niwa, Ukita, Shimazu—how will they act?

Sanada—he is one we must secure as an ally regardless of troop numbers. I wonder if Mitsunari has truly set his sights that far.

“Kidayū.”

It was midnight.

“Yes...”

“Have Gosuke carry this letter and secretly send him to Sawayama.”

(When did he...)

Miura Kidayū was astonished—the letter had already been written.
After Yuasa Gosuke hurried to Sawayama Castle with it, the order to depart Tarui was immediately announced.

However——not to the Tōkaidō.
Announcing that Lord Gyōbu-shōyū had fallen ill, they turned back to Echizen Tsuruga.

× × ×

The darkness held a milky pallor—night had ended, yet this morning's fog rendered everything beyond an inch indistinguishable. September 15th had seen ceaseless rain since dawn's predecessor, and even now within that dense mist, violent cloudbursts occasionally came sweeping through. The Sekino Fujikawa, Makita River, Aikawa, Kusegawa—all rivers snaking through Sekigahara's wilderness and basin—ran crimson with mud, surging torrentially as they bore thick currents churning with foam. Clouds swarmed in——clouds receded——

Occasionally, sunlight broke through.

The hills, mountains, and peaks encircling the wilderness bared their jet-black flesh.
At key points along them, barricades could be seen, banners stood soaked, and men and horses dotted the landscape.
This was the encampment of the Western Army under Ishida Mitsunari—Konishi, Kobayakawa, Mōri, Natsuka, Ankokuji, Chōsokabe, Ukita, Ōtani—and others—forming a massive force claimed to be eighty thousand—or even over a hundred thousand—strong.

Battlefronts were already open in various places.
The Eastern Army turned to mud in their charge.
The commander-in-chief of that Eastern Army, Tokugawa Ieyasu, had established his headquarters at Momokubariyama.

Looking out.

Except for Matsuo, Nangu, and Hirano, all was the clamor of battle.

(In this momentary opening——)

Mitsunari thought.

To strike Ieyasu's headquarters would leave no doubt of victory.

He stood on Sasao Maruyama,

“Gyōbu?”

he stared fixedly in one direction.

In this all-or-nothing gamble, the one he relied on more than any other was Ōtani Gyōbu.
Gyōbu's forces had already crossed the Sekino Fujikawa River and were raising their blades to clash with the Eastern Army's massive forces of Tōdō, Kyōgoku, and Oda.

Boom—

Rat-a-tat—

Amidst the cacophony—an indistinguishable mix of sounds that could have been landslides or cannon fire—the cries of men and horses intermingled with metallic clanging, incessantly assaulting the eardrums.
The brain constricted by the headband throbbed intermittently, ringing out in pain.

"They’re doing it…"

Mitsunari sent a smile toward his friend’s unseen form.
His face was wrapped in great satisfaction.—Suddenly there floated before his eyes the final letter he had sent to Sawayama—the one declaring he would offer up Gyōbu’s life this time without protest.

“Smoke signals!”
“Smoke signals!”

He shouted to the retainers.

There had been a plan.

Boom—a single yellow streak of smoke shot into the sky.
The fifteen thousand troops of their ally Kobayakawa Hideaki, the Chūnagon of Kingo, and Yoshikawa Hiroie’s forces were supposed to take this as their signal to descend from the mountains and strike the enemy’s rear.

“What’s happening?—Gosuke! Go check it out!”

Mitsunari, agitated, sent Yuasa Gosuke running to Shima Sakon’s position.

Sakon was also stamping his feet—no matter how many signals were shown, neither Kobayakawa Hideaki nor Yoshikawa Hiroie made any move to act, as if they had coordinated their inaction.

The opportunity was slipping away!

Urgent messengers had rushed from both Ōtani Gyōbu’s encampment and Kobayakawa Takakage’s side.
Yet at Hideaki’s position, old retainers emerged—giving ill-omened replies, dodging the matter—and nothing was resolved.

——Similarly, by around noon, from Ieyasu’s side as well,

“Sekigahara is already in the thick of battle—in accordance with our prior oath, carry out your betrayal now.”

Repeated urgings had been transmitted.

Still, they did not move.
Ieyasu—
“Was I outwitted by that young brat?”

He stood at the encampment, biting his finger—Kobayakawa Hideaki and Hiroie’s allegiance alone would determine whether the battle ended in his side’s defeat or victory—

“Fire the provocative shots.”

he ordered.

Provocative shots were fired at Hideaki's fence-sitting encampment.—That was the moment. Fifteen thousand soldiers roared a cry of betrayal and charged down the mountain, suddenly firing six hundred muskets in unison toward Ōtani Gyōbu's flank as they descended.

A single hill.

“Just as expected.”

Ōtani Gyōbu muttered this upon hearing of Kobayakawa Hideaki’s betrayal,

“Water slips through my hands… No choice remains now.”

As he began to lean out from the palanquin whose surroundings had been cleared, his retainers—

“This position is already too close to the enemy. We must move you, my lord.”

—lifted the palanquin and scurried up to a slightly elevated spot on the hill.

Musket bullets ricocheted off the bamboo of the palanquin.
Gyōbu,

“Turn the palanquin south.”

“Turn the palanquin south,” Gyōbu said.

The retainers had deliberately positioned the palanquin in the shade of shrubs, but bound by their lord’s command, they reluctantly placed it in a location exposed to the enemy’s vast forces.

Motionless within, Gyōbu watched—through his so-called heart’s eye and heart’s ear—the ferocious battle raging between the Eastern and Western Armies across Sekigahara.

Observing his preparations that day: against his skin he wore a two-layered undergarment of refined silk; over this, a white armored robe decorated with ink-drawn scattered butterflies; no helmet adorned his head, instead a light blue silk hood with crimson cheek guards, their cords fastened beneath his chin.

……He could see!
……He could hear!

Within Gyōbu’s chest was reflected, as in a mirror, the vortex of the times—the course of its flowing current.

By now, fifty or sixty soldiers had encircled Gyōbu.
The other forces had clashed with the traitor Hideaki’s large army—felling three hundred fifty of the enemy while suffering over a hundred casualties themselves—and had since scattered.
Some who had spotted Gyōbu’s figure on the hill came panting to gather, but they remained exceedingly few.

Those men all prostrated themselves before their lord,

“Lord Hirazuka Inaba has also fallen in battle.”

“Lord Shigemasa also fell splendidly.”

they conveyed nothing but tragic reports of their allies’ defeats.

“Hmm….”
“Hmm….”

Blood and pus streamed down Gyōbu’s face.
To his retainers, it appeared as tears of blood.

Most of his clan had scattered like leaves swept away by a rushing current.
Gyōbu, however, still sat silently within the palanquin.

“...Jibu too had finally reached his end. A man of worth, though.”

The muttering was faintly heard by those nearby.

At that moment, his unseeing eyes surely turned sideways.
Amid the commotion, what had he come to know?

“Gosuke!”

“Gosuke!” he said.

“Yes! Gosuke, here I am.”

Yuasa Gosuke returned.
Gyōbu had been waiting for this man’s report.

“The outcome—”

he asked with some urgency.

“No matter what we do, I believe there is no longer any strategy to turn the tide.”

When he heard Gosuke’s calm words,

“I thought as much.”

He remained as ever.

And then quietly,

“Everyone, come forward!”

He called them together and turned his eyelids—which refused to open as though wringing blood—toward his retainers.

“You fought well. …To have served a crippled master like myself—to never know a day of pride—this loyalty you’ve shown Gyōbu until now—how could words ever repay it?”

“…………”

In the roaring whirlwind of death where sky clamored and earth seethed with the slaughter of men and beasts, these lord and retainers alone had become like parent and infant amidst muffled sobs—utterly still.

“—And until the very end.”

Even Gyōbu’s voice caught as he spoke.
The retainers saw their lord’s countenance—one they had never before witnessed—and knew this would be their final sight of him.

“...If only these eyes could see, I would charge down with you all and die a death befitting a warrior with my own hands—but this wretched body...”
“As for me—I shall embrace my own path to death.”
“Those of you who wish to die splendidly—go! Head for whichever enemy you desire without involving me.”
“Also, those who wish to return to their homeland—or have elderly parents—may flee.”
“What needed to be done—we have already done it!”
“However, regardless of your choice—now is our parting. Let me at least hear your voices. Each of you—come before me, state your names, and let us scatter this as our eternal farewell—”

“Hah…”

For a while, no one made a sound, but as the voices of enemies and a few allies—along with the clamor of weapons—could now be heard all the way to the Kawara field near the hill, Gyōbu—

“Do not hesitate.”

he rebuked.

Forty or fifty retainers each announced their official titles and surnames as their farewell, grasped their spears, and charged down from the hill into the enemy ranks—even a stable groom from the stables whose name Gyōbu did not know declared his name before departing.

“...Is that all who remain?”

“Only Gosuke remains in attendance.”
“Hmm, you still remain here for me.”

With the air of one deep in meditation, Gyōbu bowed his head inside the palanquin—then smiled wryly, though what thoughts passed through his mind remained unclear.
He wore an ironic smile, as though pitying the countless cries of those moved by expediency, who sold their principles for expediency and fought for expediency.

“—Good.”
“Jibu was—through and through—my true friend.”
“With this body, even were I to live on without such pivotal moments, five years—ten at most.”
“…I did what must be done…At least not moved by utility.”
“This too is Jibu’s grace—one should wish for such friends.”

The moment he finished speaking—Gosuke caught sight of the enemy charging up from behind the hill.

“Steel yourself.”

he shouted to his master.

Gyōbu,

“Right.”

Having said that, he began to lean out from the palanquin.
Yuasa Gosuke fixed his eyes on the neck and swung his blade with a swish.
Then, embracing his master’s head and tucking it into his sleeve, he dashed into the white mist enveloping the chaotic fray, his face bearing an expression neither of grief nor rage.