men.”
“What of his battle at Takamatsu Castle? As I heard it, he was trapped between the fortress and an incoming force of superior numbers. Survival would have been an admirable goal in and of itself, yet Toyotomi outmaneuvered both sides and claimed victory on the day. There are other examples. The list goes on and on.”
“So it does. But those who compose the list tend to leave out his defeats. I was witness to one of them.”
“I asked you to be brief,” said Daigoro.
“Yes, yes. We were camped at Gakuden, in Owari. Not far south lay a hill called Komaki, where Tokugawa Ieyasu had just established a garrison and headquarters. Do you know Tokugawa?”
“Of course. My father fought with him in the Battle of Mikatagahara. The Tokugawas have looked favorably on us ever since.”
The abbot nodded and smiled. “If ever you get the chance, ask Lord Tokugawa what your father did to earn House Okuma such special favor. But that story is for another time. For now, Tokugawa is at Komaki and Hideyoshi is in Gakuden—as am I, serving as a scout under his commander, Shichio.
“Go on.”
“You mentioned that Hideyoshi is a master manipulator. His man Shichio makes him look like a deaf mute. Shichio knew that Tokugawa harbored a great love for his homeland of Mikawa, and that with so many Tokugawa divisions in Komaki, Mikawa was relatively undefended.”
Daigoro nodded. “He attacked Mikawa?”
“No, but he enticed another general into doing so. Shichio is not the type to stretch out his neck where others might take a swipe at it. He finds it safer to voice his ideas through others, taking credit when they succeed and laying the fault with them when they fail.”
“This story does not seem to be getting any shorter.”
“Forgive me. Shichio manipulated a general named Ikeda Nobuteru into attacking Mikawa. Hideyoshi approved, and sent Ikeda, his sons, and Shichio to spearhead the assault. We rode out expecting little resistance. Little did we know that one of Tokugawa’s minor allies, an unknown daimyo named Okuma Tetsuro, had anticipated a move against Mikawa. He placed informants weeks in advance, in every village surrounding Mikawa, and he received word of our sortie almost as soon as we set out. So there we were, the hammer’s head, expecting to strike an overripe melon and finding an anvil instead.” The abbot dropped a fist into his palm.
Daigoro nodded. “So instead of striking directly at the enemy’s heart . . .”
“We marched straight into a Tokugawa slaughterhouse. Ikeda, his son, and his son-in-law were killed before we knew it. But Shichio is not one to lead the charge. He remained in the rearguard, and deployed me and four other riders to scout out a flanking option. To our right we found only a swollen river. To the left a forest of banner poles, all bearing the bear claw of Okuma.”
“So you retreated?”
“Oh no. I don’t wish to cause offense, my young Bear Cub, but yours was a minor house in this war. Tokugawa’s advance was the one we had to fear. If the little house of Okuma were the only one guarding his flank, we thought we might press through.”
“But Father anticipated that too, didn’t he?”
The abbot gave a wry chuckle. “He was just getting started. All of a sudden we were surrounded on all sides, a hundred arrows trained on our throats. He stripped us, dressed two of his men in our armor, and mounted them on our horses. They rode back to tell Shichio their comrades had been slain and the Tokugawas could not be flanked. Shichio fled with what little remained of his column. He reported to Hideyoshi, who made a hasty retreat. Hideyoshi is embarrassed by it to this day.”
Daigoro smiled. Never before had he heard a tale in which the name Okuma loomed as large as names like Tokugawa and Toyotomi. Those were the houses that defined the shape of the empire. To think a little-known horseman from Izu had lent his banners to the cause! Daigoro had never felt such pride.
But now that he thought about it, he saw the story had holes. “You know too much for a common cavalryman. You must have had Hideyoshi’s ear, or Shichio’s at the very least.”
“I was Shichio’s top-ranking scout. Of course I had his ear.”
“Then how could he mistake my father’s rider for you?”
“Aha,” said the abbot, as proud as Daigoro’s own father had been when one of his sons tamed his first horse. “Very good, my lord. How many head wounds have you seen?”
“What?”
“The forehead bleeds terribly when cut. A slice above the eyebrows masks a man’s face so completely that even his own brother might not recognize him.”
“Hm,” Daigoro said. At first it sounded like the utmost betrayal: his father had bloodied his own men. Worse, he did it for the sake of deceit. Daigoro wondered what it would feel like to draw a sharp knife across his own forehead, and worse yet, what it would feel like to order another man to do the same. But then he saw the truth: any one of his samurai would do it without hesitation. It was the samurai’s duty to obey, and the lord’s duty never to give an order unworthy of obeisance.
Still, Daigoro wondered how desperate a situation would have to be to order his men to mutilate their own faces. Was such an order ever just? Yes. He had to admit it was conceivable. But could he live with giving the order? Daigoro hoped he would never have to find out.
“I’m disappointed,” Daigoro said.
“In your father?”
“Never. My disappointment is with you. You’ve left out the army of ghosts you promised me.”
The abbot’s cheeks crinkled in a smile. “Begging your pardon, Okuma-dono, but I haven’t. The ghosts were critical to the story.”
Daigoro thought for a moment. Then he said, “To your right was the river, and to the left . . .”
“Precisely. Imagine my shame when I learned the forest of Okuma banner poles was just that: banner poles, with no battalions beneath them. Your father dedicated nearly all of his men to the ambush, with just a handful deployed over the next rise to give the illusion of an army.”
“His ghost army.”
The abbot chuckled and shook his head. “As I say, imagine my shame. My own master routed, not by Tokugawa’s legions but by the imaginary army of an insignificant house. Bested without a single sword being drawn. Your father showed me what it truly meant to be samurai. Well, I couldn’t very well keep my topknot after that.”
“So what happened?”
“I asked him permission to shave my head. He did me the greatest honor of my life: he cut off my topknot with Glorious Victory Unsought, the very sword you carry today. I joined the monastery. My four comrades were taken as prisoners. The two samurai who cut their own foreheads at your father’s command were rewarded handsomely for their bravery and selflessness. And one of them, it seems, has been dwelling too much on the old days.”
“What do you mean?”
“Some years ago your father released his four prisoners. Hideyoshi had become too powerful for your father to risk his ire, and the prisoners could no longer do any harm—at least not to the house of Okuma. But Shichio had them crucified anyway. All of them. Why?”
“Because they knew the truth,” Daigoro guessed. Thinking aloud, he said, “But that would only matter if . . . no. It can’t be. Are you suggesting that Shichio still hasn’t told his master what happened that day?”
“Never forget, Okuma-dono, Hideyoshi and Shichio are both the sons of farmers. They were not raised as you were, born to a code. Shichio tells the truth only when it suits him.”
“So even to this day Hideyoshi thinks he was routed by Tokugawa Ieyasu?”
“A name great enough to rival his own,” said the abbot. “Even that must vex him terribly. Imagine Shichio’s fate if Hideyoshi were ever to learn exactly how he was defeated. Imagine his wrath if he ever learned his most embarrassing defeat should have been a victory.”
Daigoro thought about it and felt his heart swell with pride. One of the regent’s top generals, living in fear of execution simply because he was outfoxed by Okuma Tetsuro. Execution was no way for a samurai to die, but
