"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.
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 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."