TAIKO: AN EPIC NOVEL OF WAR AND GLORY IN FEUDAL JAPAN

least a hundred animals.

'Heyyy!'

The man on the leading horse was an old acquaintance. Sanpei quickly asked him,  “That's an awful lot of lacquer, isn't it? Where are you taking it?'

'To Gifu,' the man answered, and at Sanpei's dubious expression, he added an explanation. 'We finally manufactured the amount of lacquer ordered by the Oda clan the year before last, so I'm just now taking it to Gifu.'

'What! To the Oda?' Knitting his brow, Sanpei appeared unable even to smile and wish him a safe trip. 'Be very careful. The roads are dangerous.'

'I hear that the warrior-monks are fighting too. I wonder how the Oda troops are doing.'

'I can't say anything about that until I report to His Lordship.'

'Ah, that's right. You're just coming back from there, aren't you? Well, we shouldn't be standing here chatting. I'm off.' The packhorse driver and his hundred horses crossed the pass and went off to the west.

Sanpei watched them go, thinking that a mountain province is, after all, exactly that. News of the rest of the world is always slow to arrive there, and even if our troops are strong and the generals clever, we are at a serious disadvantage. He felt the weight of his responsibilities even more, and ran down to the foothills with the speed of a swallow.  Sanpei picked up another horse in the village of Kajikazawa and, with a stroke of the whip, galloped toward Kofu.

In the hot and humid Kai Basin stood Takeda Shingen's heavily fortified castle. Faces that were rarely seen except in times of weighty problems and war councils were now entering the castle gates one after another, so that even the guards at the entrance knew something was afoot. Inside the castle, which was wrapped in the green of new leaves, it was silent except for the occasional buzzing of the summer's first cicadas.

Since morning, not one of the many generals who had come to the castle had left. It was at this point that Sanpei hurried toward the gate. Dismounting beyond the moat, he ran across the bridge on foot, grasping the horse's reins in his hand.

'Who's there?' The eyes and spearheads of the guards glittered from a corner of the iron gate. Sanpei tied the horse to a tree.

'It's me,' he replied, showing his face to the soldiers, and walked briskly into the cas­tle. He often passed back and forth through the castle gate, so while there may have been those who did not know exactly who he was, there was not a soldier at the gate who did not know his face and the nature of his work.

There was a Buddhist temple inside the castle, called the Bishamondo after the guardian god of the north; it served as Shingen's meditation room, as a place to discuss governmental affairs, and from time to time as a place for war councils. Shingen was now standing on the veranda of the temple. His body seemed to flutter in the breeze that blew into the hall from the rocks and streams in the garden. Over his armor, he wore the red robe of a high priest, which looked as if it were made from the flaming flowers of the scarlet tree-peonies.

He was of average height, with a solidly built, muscular frame. There was clearly something unusual about the man, but while those who had never met him would re­mark on how intimidating he must be, he was not really so difficult to approach. On the contrary, he was a rather kindly man. Just looking at him, one could feel that he pos­sessed natural composure and dignity, while his shaggy beard gave his face a certain un­yielding quality. These features, however, were common to the men of the mountain province of Kai.

One after another, the generals rose from their seats and took their leave. They spoke a few parting words and bowed to their lord standing on the veranda. The war council had lasted since morning. And Shingen had worn his armor under his scarlet robe, ex­actly as he did on the battlefield. He seemed to be a little tired from the heat and the lengthy discussions. Moments after the council had ended, he had gone out to the ve­randa. The generals had departed, no one else was in attendance, and there was nothing in the Bishamondo other than the gilded walls that glittered in the wind and the peaceful buzzing of the cicadas.

This summer? Shingen seemed to be looking into the distance at the silhouette of the mountains that encircled his province. From his very first battle, when he was fif­teen, his career had been filled with events that had occurred from summer through fall. In a mountain province, there was nothing else to do in the winter but confine oneself indoors and maintain one's strength. Naturally, when the spring and summer came, Shingen's blood would rise, and he would turn toward the outside world, saying, 'Well, let’s go out and fight.' Not only Shingen, but all the samurai of Kai shared this attitude. Even the farmers and townspeople would suddenly feel that the time had come with the summer sun.

This year Shingen would turn fifty, and he felt a keen regret—an impatience with expectations of his life. I've fought too much just for the sake of fighting, he thought. I imagine that over in Echigo, Uesugi Kenshin is realizing the same thing.

When he thought about his worthy opponent of many years, Shingen could not sup­press a bitter smile for the man's sake. This same bitter smile, however, gnawed bitterly in his breast when he thought of those fifty years. How much longer did he have to live?

Kai was snowed in for a third of the entire year. And although it could be argued that the center of the world was far away and the procurement of the latest weapons difficult, he felt that he had wasted the years of his prime, fighting with Kenshin in Echigo.

The sun was strong, and the shade beneath the leaves deep.

For many years Shingen had assumed he was the best warrior in eastern Japan. Certainly the efficiency of his troops and of his province's economy and administration were respected by the whole country.

Nevertheless, Kai had been placed to one side. From about the previous year, when Nobunaga had gone to Kyoto, Shingen had thought about the position of Kai and looked at himself again with a new perspective. The Takeda clan had set its sights too low.

Shingen did not want to spend his life shaving off bits of surrounding provinces. When Nobunaga and Ieyasu were sniffling children in the arms of their wet nurses, Shin­gen already dreamed of uniting the country under his iron rule. He felt that this moun­tain province was only a temporary abode, and his ambition was such that he had even let this thought slip to envoys from the capital. And certainly his never-ending battles with neighboring Echigo were really only the first of many battles to come. But most of the battles he had fought had been against Uesugi Kenshin, and had consumed a large portion of his provincial resources and taken much time.

But by the time he realized this, the Takeda clan had already been left behind by Nobunaga and Ieyasu. He had always considered Nobunaga 'the little brat from Owari' and Ieyasu 'the kid from Okazaki.'

When I think about it now, I've committed a great blunder, he admitted bitterly. When he had only been involved in battles, he had hardly ever regretted anything; but nowadays, when he reviewed his diplomatic policies, he realized that he had bungled the job. Why hadn't he headed for the southeast when the Imagawa clan was destroyed? And, having taken a hostage from Ieyasu's clan, why had he watched silently as Ieyasu ex­panded his territory into Suruga and Totomi?

An even bigger error was in becoming Nobunaga's kinsman by marriage at the latter's request. Thus Nobunaga had fought with his neighbors to the west and south and, at a single stroke, stepped toward the center of the field. In the meantime, the hostage from teyasu had watched for his opportunity and escaped, and Ieyasu and Nobunaga were bound by an alliance. Even now it became clear to everyone how effective this had been diplomatically.

But I'm not going to be taken in by their scheming forever. I'm going to teach them that I am Takeda Shingen of Kai. The hostage from Ieyasu has escaped. This severs my connection with Ieyasu. What other excuse do I need?

He had said as much at the military council today. Having heard that Nobunaga was camped at Nagashima and apparently locked in a hard battle, this astute warrior saw his opportunity.

Amakasu Sanpei asked one of Shingen's close attendants to announce his return. As a summons was not forthcoming, however, he made his request once again.

'I wonder if His Lordship was informed of my arrival. Please tell him once more.'

'A conference has just now been concluded, and he seems a little tired. Wait a little longer,' the attendant replied.

Sanpei pressed further, 'My business is urgent precisely because of that conference I'm sorry, but I must insist that you inform him immediately.'