Yoshimoto retreated a step as the man's large, red-shafted spear struck out with a whir.
The first soldier intercepted the thrust with his body and fell, pierced through, before he had time to swing his sword. The other man quickly jumped in the way, but he, too, was skewered by Koheita's spear, and crumpled onto his comrade's corpse.
'Wait! Where are you going!' The lightning-quick spear pursued Yoshimoto, who was now circling the trunk of a pine tree.
'Here I am!' His sword poised to strike, Yoshimoto glared fixedly at Koheita. Koheita's spear jabbed out and struck the side of Yoshimoto's armor. But the armor was well-tempered, and the wound was not deep, leaving Yoshimoto undaunted.
'Knave!' Yoshimoto yelled and sliced through the spear.
Koheita was resolute. Tossing away the shaft, he leaped forward. But Yoshimoto dropped to his knees and swung at Koheita's leg with his sword. His blade was an excellent one. Sparks flew from the chain-mail shin guard, and Koheita's kneecap was split open like a pomegranate, his shinbone protruding from the wound. Koheita fell backwards, and Yoshimoto fell forward, his crested helmet striking the ground.
Just as Yoshimoto raised his head, a man cried out, 'I am Mori Shinsuke!'
Mori grabbed Yoshimoto's head from behind and the two men tumbled to the ground. As they grappled, Yoshimoto's breastplate was pulled forward, and blood spurted from the spear wound he had just received. Pinned underneath, Yoshimoto bit through the index finger of Mori's right hand. Even after his head had been cut off, Mori's white finger was still protruding from Yoshimoto's purple lips and elegantly blackened teeth.
* * *
Had they won or lost, Tokichiro asked himself, breathing hard.
“Hey! Where are we?' he yelled to anybody who might be within earshot, but nobody knew exactly where they were. Only about half of his men were still alive, and they were all in a daze.
The rain had let up and the wind had abated. The intense rays of the sun spilled
through the scattering clouds. When the storm had spent itself, the hell of Dengakuhazama faded away with the retreating lightning, and now nothing remained but the cries of the cicadas.
'Line up!' Tokichiro ordered.
The soldiers lined up as best they could. Counting his men, Tokichiro found that his command had been reduced from thirty to seventeen, four of whom he did not recognize at all.
'Whose unit are you from?' he asked one of the men.
'Toyama Jintaro's, sir. But when we were fighting at the western edge of the hill, I slipped over the bluff and lost my unit. Then I found your men chasing the enemy, so I fell in with them.'
'All right. What about you?'
'It's the same with me, sir. I thought I was fighting alongside my own comrades, but when I looked around, I was here in Your Honor's group.'
Tokichiro did not bother to question the others. It was probable that some of his men had been killed in battle, while others had got mixed up with other units. But it wasn't just the individual soldiers who had lost their bearings in the middle of the battle. Tokichiro's unit had become separated from the main body of the army and Mataemon's regiment, and he had no idea where he was.
'It looks like the battle is over,' Tokichiro muttered as he led his men back the way they had come.
The muddy water running from the surrounding mountains into the marsh had increased since the sky had cleared. When he saw how many corpses were lying in the streams and piled up on the slopes, Tokichiro was filled with a sense of wonder that he was still alive.
'We must have won. Look! All the dead around here are Imagawa samurai.' Tokichiro pointed here and there. From the way the enemy corpses were sprawled along the road, he could see the route the defeated army had taken.
His men, however, just grunted in their stupefied state, and were too tired even to sing a victory song.
They were only a few and they were lost. The battlefield was suddenly very quiet, and this could mean that Nobunaga's army had been completely wiped out. The fear that they might be surrounded by the enemy and massacred at any moment was very real.
Then they heard it. From Dengakuhazama rose three victory cheers that were loud enough to shake heaven and earth. Shouts in their own Owari dialect.
'We won! We won! Let's go!' Tokichiro ran ahead. The soldiers, who up until now had been barely conscious, somehow recovered completely. Not wanting to be left behind, they stumbled and tripped after Tokichiro toward the cheering.
Magomeyama was a low, circular hill a little beyond Dengakuhazama. A black mass of soldiers stained with blood, mud, and rain now covered the area from the hill to the village. The battle was over and the men had regrouped. The rain had stopped, the sun had come out, and now a hazy white steam rose from the closely packed assembly.
'Where's Master Asano's regiment?' Threading his way through the mass of warriors, Tokichiro rejoined his original regiment. Wherever he turned, he bumped and scraped
someone's bloody armor. Although he had fully intended to fight bravely, he now felt ashamed. Certainly he had done nothing to make people notice him.
When he found his regiment and stood among the press of soldiers, he finally realized that they had won. Looking out from the hill, it struck him as odd that the vanquished enemy was nowhere to be seen.
Still spattered with mud and blood, Nobunaga stood on the hillock. Just a few steps from his camp stool, a number of soldiers were digging a large hole. Each of the enemy heads was inspected and then tossed into the hole. Nobunaga looked on, his palms pressed together, while the warriors around him stood by in silence.
No one said a prayer. But this was the highest etiquette followed when warriors buried fellow warriors. The heads buried in the hole would serve as a lesson to those who were alive and would fight again. Even the head of the most insignificant enemy treated with the utmost solemnity.
With the mysterious boundary between life and death at his very feet, a samurai could not help thinking about what it meant to live as a warrior. Everyone stood reverently, hands joined in prayer. When the hole had been filled in and a mound built ovver it, they looked up to a beautiful rainbow that arched across a clear sky.
As the men stood looking at this scene, a party of scouts who had been reconnoitering the area around Odaka pulled into camp.
Tokugawa Ieyasu commanded Yoshimoto's vanguard in Odaka. Considering the skill with which Ieyasu had demolished the fortresses of Washizu and Marune, Nobunaga could not afford to underestimate him.
'When the Tokugawa heard that Yoshimoto had been killed, the camp at Odaka seemed to have panicked. They sent out scouts a number of times, however, and as learned the facts, they quickly calmed down. At this point they are preparing to retreat to Mikawa by nightfall, and they don't seem to be inclined to fight.'
Nobunaga listened to the reports and, in his own way, announced their triumphaal return. 'Well, then,' he said, 'let's go home.'
The sun had still not set, and now the rainbow, which had begun to fade, stood out clearly once again. A single head was fastened to the side of Nobunaga's saddle, as a memento. It was, of course, the head of the great Imagawa Yoshimoto.
When they reached the gate of Atsuta Shrine, Nobunaga swung off his horse and went into the sanctum, while his officers and men pressed in as far as the central gate and prostrated themselves. A hand bell was ringing somewhere in the distance, and bonfires filled the forest of the shrine with a red glow.
Nobunaga presented a sacred horse to the shrine stable. This done, he was once again ready to hurry on his way. His armor had become increasingly heavy, and he was exhausted. Leaving the moonlit path to his horse, however, his spirits seemed as light as if he were wearing a thin summer kimono.
Compared with Atsuta, Kiyosu was in an uproar. Every door was festooned with lanterns, bonfires burned at the crossroads, and old folks, children, and even young girls stood excitedly in the streets, looking at the triumphant soldiers and shouting their congratulations.
Dense crowds pushed together at the roadside. Women watched to see if their
husbands were among the men marching solemnly toward the castle gate. Old people called out their sons' names, and girls searched for the faces of their sweethearts. But all of them raised a cheer when they
