The cold winter wind swirled the dry leaves around the mountain peaks. There was frost both morning and night. From time to time the cold wind was spotted with snow. About this time fires began to break out on the mountain almost every night. One night, fires broke out in the fuel storehouse of the Daijo Hall; the night before that, in the Takimido. This night again, although it was still early, there was a fire in the monks' quarters of the main temple, and the bell rang furiously. Since there were many large temples in the area, the warrior-monks worked frantically to keep the flames from spreading.
The deep valleys of Mount Hiei were dark under the bright red sky.
'What confusion!' one Oda soldier said and laughed.
'This happens every night,' another added. 'So they must never get a chance to sleep.'
The cold winter wind whistled through the branches of the trees, and the men clapped their hands. Eating their meal of dried rice, they watched the nightly conflagrations. These fires were planned by Hideyoshi, so rumor had it, and carried out by the retainers of the old Hachisuka clan.
At night the monks were distressed by fires, and during the day they were exhausted by their preparations for defense. Also, their food and fuel were running low, and they had no protection against the cold.
Winter finally came to the mountain, and the snow flew furiously. The twenty thousand defending soldiers and the several thousand warrior-monks were now drooping like frost-blighted vegetables.
It was the middle of the Twelfth Month. Without armor and wearing only a monk's robes, a representative of the mountain approached Nobunaga's camp, accompanied by four or five warrior-monks.
'I would like to speak with Lord Nobunaga,' the emissary said.
When Nobunaga appeared, he saw that it was Sonrin, the abbot who had previously met with Ittetsu. He brought the message that, because the views of the main temple had changed, he would like to plead for peace.
Nobunaga refused. 'What did you say to the envoy I sent before? Don't you know what shame is?' Nobunaga drew his sword.
'This is an outrage!' the priest cried. He stood up and tottered sideways as Nobunaga's sword flashed horizontally.
'Pick up his head and go back. That's my answer!'
The monks turned pale and fled back to the mountain. The snow and sleet that blew across the lake that day also blew hard into Nobunaga's camp. Nobunaga had sent Mount Hiei an unmistakable message of his intent, but thoughts of how to deal with yet another great difficulty were taxing his mind. The enemy that appeared before him was nothing more than the reflection of a fire on a wall. Throwing water on the wall was not going to put the fire out, and in the meantime the real flames would be burning at his back. This was a common admonition in the art of war, but in Nobunaga's case, he was unable to fight against the source of the fire even though he knew what it was. Just the day before, an urgent report had come from Gifu that Takeda Shingen of Kai was mobilizing his troops and was about to attack in Nobunaga's absence. And more: there had been an uprising of tens of thousands of the Honganji's followers at Nagashima, in his own province of Owari, and one of Nobunaga's relatives, Nobuoki, had been killed and his castle taken. Finally, every possible evil rumor slandering Nobunaga had been let loose among the people.
It was understandable that Takeda Shingen had broken out. Having arranged a truce with his traditional enemy of many years, the Uesugi of Echigo, Shingen had turned his attention toward the west.
'Hideyoshi! Hideyoshi!' Nobunaga called.
'Yes! I'm here!'
'Find Mitsuhide, and the two of you take this letter to Kyoto immediately.'
'To the shogun?'
'Correct. In the letter, I've asked the shogun to mediate, but it would be better if he heard it from your mouth, too.'
'But then why did you just decapitate the messenger from Mount Hiei?'
'Don't you understand? If I hadn't done that, do you think we could wrap up a peace conference? Even if we had succeeded in coming to terms, it's clear that they would tear up the treaty and come chasing right after us.'
'You're right, my lord. I understand now.'
'No matter which side you pick, no matter where the flames are, the blaze has but a single source, and there's no mistake that this is the work of that two-faced shogun, who loves to play with fire. We need explicitly to make the shogun the mediator of peace accords and withdraw as quickly as possible.'
Peace negotiations were initiated. Yoshiaki came to the Mii Temple and made an effort to mollify Nobunaga and arrange a peace settlement. Delighted at what they saw as a happy opportunity, the armies of the Asai and the Asakura left for home on that very day.
On the sixteenth, Nobunaga's entire army took the land route and, crossing the floating bridge at Seta, withdrew to Gifu.
Shingen the Long-Legged
Although Amakasu Sanpei was related to one of Kai's generals, he had spent the past ten years in a lowly position, because of a unique talent—his ability to run at high speed over long distances.
Sanpei was the leader of the Takeda clan's ninja—the men whose job it was to spy on enemy provinces, form clandestine alliances, and spread false rumors.
Sanpei's talent as a swift walker and runner had amazed his friends since his youth. He could climb any mountain and walk twenty to thirty leagues in a single day. But even he could not keep up this speed day after day. When hurrying back from some remote place, he rode wherever the terrain permitted, but when he encountered steep paths, he would rely on his own two strong legs. For this reason he always had horses stationed at essential points along the routes he traveled—often at the huts of hunters and woodsmen.
'Hey, charcoal maker! Old man, are you at home?' Sanpei called as he dismounted in front of a charcoal burner's hut. He was covered with sweat, but no more so than the horse he had been riding.
It was early summer. In the mountains the leaves were still a pale green, while in the lowlands the buzzing of cicadas could already be heard.
He's not here, Sanpei thought. He kicked the broken-down door, which opened immediately. Sanpei led the horse that he planned on leaving here inside the hut and, fastening it to a post, went into the kitchen and helped himself to rice, pickled vegetables, and tea.
As soon as he had filled his stomach, he found ink and a brush, wrote down a message on a scrap of paper, and stuck it to the lid of the rice tub with leftover grains of rice.
This was not the work of foxes and badgers. It was I, Sanpei, who ate these things. I am leaving you my horse to take care of while I am gone. Feed him well and keep him strong until I pass through again.
As Sanpei was leaving, his horse began to kick at the wall, unwilling for his master to leave. His heartless owner, however, did not even look back, but closed the door firmly on the sound of the hooves.
It would be an exaggeration to say that he flew off on his gifted legs, but he did hurry toward the mountainous province of Kai at a speed that made him look nimble indeed. His destination from the start had been Kai's capital city of Kofu. And the speed at which he was traveling suggested that he was carrying a very urgent report.
By the morning of the following day, he had already crossed several mountain ranges and was looking at the waters of the Fuji River right at his feet. The roofs that could be seen between the walls of the gorge were those of the village of Kajikazawa.
He wanted to reach Kofu by afternoon, but since he was making good time, he rested awhile, gazing at the summer sun beating down on the Kai Basin. No matter where I go, and regardless of the inconveniences and disadvantages of a mountain province, there's just no place like home. As he said this to himself, hugging his knees with his arms, he saw a long line of horses loaded with buckets of lacquer being led up the mountain from the foothills. Well, I wonder where they're going, he asked himself.
Amakasu Sanpei stood up and started down the mountain. Halfway down, he met the packhorse train of at
