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

propagation of his faith, he'll leave Murashige without a doubt.'

'Yes, that's clear,' Hideyoshi said in admiration. If he could get Ukon to convince Sebei, it would kill two birds with one stone. He stopped his questions. Hanbei appeared to be tired, too. Hideyoshi got up to leave.

'Wait just a moment,' Hanbei requested. He got up and went from the room, possibly toward the kitchen.

Hideyoshi remembered that he was hungry. His attendants must have finished eating their lunches by this time. But before he even thought about returning to the temple's guest quarters and having some rice, a boy, who seemed to be Hanbei's attendant, brought in two trays, one bearing a sake container.

'What happened to Hanbei? Did he get tired after our long conversation?'

'No, my lord. He went to the kitchen a little while ago and prepared the vegetables for your meal himself. He's cooking the rice right now, so he'll be in as soon as he's done.'

'What? Hanbei's cooking for me?'

'Yes, my lord.'

Hideyoshi took a bite of taro—it was still hot—and the tears once again came to his eyes. The taste of the vegetable seemed to be not only on his tongue but filling his entire body. He felt that the taste was almost too good for someone like him. Although Hanbei was a retainer, he had taught Hideyoshi all of the secret principles of ancient Chinese miltary lore. The things that Hideyoshi had learned while sitting with him every day were not ordinary things: the governing of the people during times of peace and the necessity of self-discipline.

'He shouldn't be doing that.' Suddenly, Hideyoshi put down his cup and, leaving the page who had been serving him, went to the kitchen, where Hanbei was cooking rice.

Hideyoshi took him by the hand. 'Hanbei, this is too much. Won't you come sit and talk with me for a while instead?'

He led Hanbei back to the room and made him take a cup of sake but because of his illness, Hanbei could do no more than touch it to his lips. The two of them then ate together. It had been a long time since lord and retainer had enjoyed the pleasure of a meal in each other's company.

'It's time to go. But I've been invigorated. Now I can go fight. Hanbei, please take good care of yourself.'

When Hideyoshi left the Nanzen Temple, the day had already begun to end, and the sky over the capital was turning crimson.

*  *  *

It was quiet, without even the report of a single firearm—so quiet that one might doubt it was a battlefield, so quiet that the sound of a praying mantis sliding through the dry grass rustled in the ear. It was mid-autumn in the western provinces. The maples had been turning red everywhere on the peaks for the last two or three days, and their redness burned in Hideyoshi's eyes.

Hideyoshi was back at the camp at Mount Hirai. He was seated across from Kanbei, underneath the pine on the hill from which they had viewed the moon some time before. Having talked over a number of things, they had come to an important conclusion.

'Well, you'll go for me, then?'

'I'll be happy to undertake this mission. Whether I succeed is up to heaven.'

'I'm counting on you.'

'I will do my best, and leave the rest to providence. My going there is just the last chance. If I don't come back alive, you know what follows.'

'Nothing but force.'

They stood up. The high-pitched cry of the bulbul could be heard from across the valley to the west. The red leaves in that direction were stunning. The two men silently descended the hill and walked toward the camp. The specter of death—and imminent parting—filled the atmosphere of the peaceful afternoon and lay quietly in the thoughts of these two good friends.

'Kanbei.' Hideyoshi looked back as he went down the narrow, sloping path. The possibility that his friend would not be coming back again struck him deeply, and he thought Kanbei might have some last things to say. 'Is there anything else?'

'No.'

'Nothing for Himeji Castle?'

'No.'

'Have you got a message for your father?'

'Just explain to him why I'm going on this mission.'

'Very well.'

The air had become clear, and it was possible to see the enemy castle at Miki far in the distance. The road leading to the castle had been cut off since summer, so it was easy to imagine the hunger and thirst inside. Nevertheless, as might be expected of the garri­son of Harima's most spirited general and bravest soldiers, it continued throughout the siege to manifest a martial spirit as biting as the autumn frost.

The besieged enemy had been driven to make sallies against the surrounding Oda troops. Hideyoshi, however, gave his men strict orders not to give in to their provocations, and sharply cautioned them against impulsive action.

Again, minute care was taken to allow no news of the external situation to reach the castle. If the men inside the castle heard that Araki Murashige had revolted against Nobunaga, it would strengthen their morale. After all, Murashige's revolt did not simply cause dismay in Azuchi; it threatened the whole western campaign. As a matter of fact, as soon as Odera Masamoto, the lord of Gochaku Castle, became aware of Murashige's re­volt, he made a clear declaration separating himself from Nobunaga and even went one night to the enemy's camp.

'The western provinces should not just be given over into the hands of the invader,' Odera told them. 'We should make the Mori clan our rallying point, reorganize our forces, and strike down these outsiders.'

Odera Masamoto was Kanbei's father's lord and, therefore, Kanbei's as well. Kanbei therefore, was placed in a dilemma: on the one hand were Nobunaga and Hideyoshi, on the other were his father and his overlord.

Araki Murashige was a man known for his courage, but he was also one who bragged about it. Sensitivity and a clear understanding of the times were far beyond him. He was at the age described by Confucius as 'free from vacillation,' that is, he was about forty, the age when a man should be mature, but it seemed that Murashige's character had not changed much from what it had been ten years before. Lacking the qualities of thoughtfulness and refinement that he should naturally have possessed, even though he was the lord of a castle he had not advanced a single step from what he was formerly: a fearsome samurai warrior.

It could be said that in attaching him to Hideyoshi as second-in-command, Nobu­naga had made up for Hideyoshi's deficiencies. Murashige, however, did not think of himself in that way. He was always very free with his advice, yet neither Hideyoshi nor Nobutada ever employed his ideas.

He found Hideyoshi annoying. But his feckless thoughts aside, he never showed his antipathy when he met Hideyoshi face to face.

From time to time he would expose his resentment and even laugh out loud before his own retainers. There are some men in this world you can't offend, no matter how angry you get, and to Murashige, Hideyoshi was one of them. At the time of the attack on Kozuki Castle, Murashige had been on the front lines. Yet, when the time was right for the battle and Hideyoshi had given him the order to attack, he had sat there with folded arms and would not budge.

'Why didn't you go out and fight?' Hideyoshi had reprimanded him later.

'I don't participate in a battle I'm not interested in,' Murashige had replied without flinching.

Since Hideyoshi had laughed good-naturedly at the time, Murashige had forced a smile too. The matter was closed, but the rumors that passed among the generals in camp were extremely uncomplimentary.

Mitsuhide censured Murashige's conduct heavily. Murashige held in contempt gener­als like Akechi Mitsuhide and Hosokawa Fujitaka, who had the scent of cultured men. He liked to characterize such men as effeminate. This judgment was based on his abhorrence of the poetry parties and tea ceremonies they held in camp. The only thing that did im­press Murashige was that Hideyoshi appeared not to have made a report of his