"What have been your thoughts about this, Hideyoshi?" These were Nobunaga's first words, and they indicated that a resolution had not emerged out of the various confused views given at the conference.
"Araki Murashige is an extremely honest man. He is, if I may say it, a fool who excels in martial valor. I just didn't think he was that much of a fool," Hideyoshi replied.
"No." Nobunaga shook his head. "I don't think it was foolishness at all. He's nothing but scum. He had misgivings about my prospects and initiated contacts with the Mori, blinded by the thought of profit. This is the act of a moderately talented man. Murashige got lost in his own superficiality."
"He's really nothing but a fool. He received excessive favors and had nothing to be dissatisfied about," Hideyoshi said.
"A man who is going to rebel will do so, no matter how favorably he's treated." Nobunaga was being frank with his emotions. This was the first time Hideyoshi had ever hear him use the word "scum" to describe someone. As a rule, he would not have spoken that way from malice or anger; it was because he had not openly expressed his anger or hatred that nothing had been decided during the council. Had Hideyoshi been asked, however even he would have been at a loss. Should they strike at Itami Castle? Should they try to mollify Murashige and get him to abandon the idea of rebellion? The problem was how to choose between these two alternatives. It would not be very difficult to capture the one castle of Itami. But the invasion of the west had just started. If they took a false step in this minor affair, they would in all likelihood have to revise their plans.
"Why don't I go as an envoy and talk with Murashige?" Hideyoshi suggested.
"So you think it would be better not to use force here, either?"
"Not if we don't have to," Hideyoshi replied.
"Mitsuhide and two or three others have advocated not using force. You're of the same opinion, but I think it would be better if someone else went as the envoy."
"No, I bear part of the responsibility for this. Murashige was my second-in-command and so was my own subordinate. If he were to do something foolish…"
"No!" Nobunaga shook his head emphatically. "There would be nothing imposing about sending an envoy with whom he's too familiar. I'll send Matsui, Mitsuhide, and Mami. Rather than appease him, they'll simply verify the rumor."
"That should be fine," Hideyoshi agreed. He spoke these few words for the sake of of both Murashige and Nobunaga. "It's a common saying that the lie of a Buddhist priest is called expedient, and a revolt within a samurai clan is called strategy. You must not be pulled into fighting, for it would play into the Mori's hands."
"I know."
"I'd like to wait for the results of the envoys' meeting, but I feel uneasy about the problems in Harima. I should probably take my leave soon."
"Really?" Nobunaga sounded a little reluctant to let him go. "What about the road back? You probably won't be able to pass through Hyogo."
"Don't worry, there's also the sea route."
"Well, whatever the outcome, I'll keep you informed. Don't be negligent about sending me news."
Hideyoshi finally took his leave. Although he was exhausted, from Azuchi he crossed Lake Biwa to Otsu, spent that night in the Mii Temple, and the following day turned toward Kyoto. He sent two pages ahead with instructions to have a ship waiting at Sakai, while he and his retainers took the road to the Nanzen Temple. There he announced that they would stop for a short rest.
There was someone in the temple whom he very much wanted to see. That person, of course, was Takenaka Hanbei, who was convalescing in a hermitage on the temple grounds.
The monks were flustered by the sudden arrival of so exalted a guest, but Hideyoshi took one of them aside and requested that they omit the treatment they would ordinarily offer to a guest of his rank.
"My retainers have all brought provisions, so don't be concerned about anything other than hot water for tea. And since I've only stopped to visit Takenaka Hanbei, you don't need to entertain me with either sake or tea. After I have my talk with Hanbei, I'd be grateful if you'd make a light meal." Finally he asked, "Has the patient improved since he arrived?"
"It seems he has made little progress, my lord," the priest answered dolefully.
"He takes his medicine regularly?"
"Both morning and night."
"And a doctor visits him regularly?"
"Yes, a doctor comes from the capital, and Lord Nobunaga's personal physician visits him regularly."
"Is he up?"
"No, he hasn't been up for the past three days."
"Where is he?"
"In a hermitage away from the bustle."
When Hideyoshi went out into the garden, an attendant who served Hanbei ran out to meet him. "He's just changing so that he can see you, my lord," the boy said.
"He's not to get up," Hideyoshi scolded, and walked quickly toward the hermitage.
When Hanbei had heard that Hideyoshi was on his way, he had had his sickbed put away and ordered a servant to sweep the room clean, while he himself changed. Then, putting on some wooden clogs, he had stooped over the little stream that wound its way through the chrysanthemums at the bamboo gate, and washed his mouth and hands. He turned as someone tapped him on the shoulder.
"Oh, I didn't know you were here." Hanbei quickly knelt on the ground. "Over there, my lord," he said, inviting Hideyoshi into his room. Hideyoshi sat down happily on the mat. There was nothing in the room but a Zen master's ink painting hanging on the wall. Hideyoshi's clothing had been completely neutralized by the colors of Azuchi, but here in this simple hermitage, both his coat and his armor looked brilliant and imposing.
Bowing as he walked, Hanbei went around and up to the veranda, where he inserted a single white chrysanthemum into a flower container cut from a section of bamboo. He sat down meekly next to Hideyoshi and put the bamboo container in the alcove.
Hideyoshi understood: even though the sickbed had been put away, Hanbei was afraid that the smell of the medicine and the mustiness of the room would still be lingering, and instead of incense, had tried to freshen the air with the fragrance of this flower.
"I'm not bothered at all. Don't even think of it," Hideyoshi said considerately, and looked at his friend with concern. "Hanbei, isn't it difficult for you to get up like this?"
Hanbei withdrew to a short distance and once again bowed low. Even through his formality, however, his happiness at Hideyoshi's visit could be seen on his face. "Please don't worry," he began. "For the last few days it's been cold, so I've been careful to keep indoors, under quilts. But today it started to warm up, and I had just been thinking that 1 should get out of bed."
"It'll be winter in Kyoto soon enough, and they say it's particularly cold in the morning and at night. How about moving to a warmer place during the winter?"
"No, no. I'm beginning to get better and better every day. I'll be well before winter comes."
"If you're really getting better, that's all the more reason why you shouldn't move out of the sickroom this winter. This time you should convalesce until you're completely cured. Your body is not just your own, you know."
"You think more of me than I deserve." Hanbei's shoulders slumped, and he sat with downcast eyes. His hands slipped from his knees and—along with his tears—touched the floor as he bowed in obeisance. For a moment he was silent.
Ah, he has grown so thin, Hideyoshi thought, and sighed. The wrists of those hands that bowed at the mat were so emaciated, the flesh around his cheekbones so gaunt. Was this wasting disease really incurable? With these thoughts, Hideyoshi felt a pain in his chest. Who was it, after all, who had pulled this sick man out into the chaotic world against his will? In how many battlefields had he been soaked by the rain and chilled by the wind? And who was it who, even in times of peace, had put him through the hardships of both domestic affairs and diplomatic relations without even thinking of a day of rest? Hanbei was a man whom he should have looked up to as a teacher, but he had treated him the same as any retainer.
Hideyoshi felt that he was to blame for the seriousness of Hanbei's condition and finally, as he looked off to the side, his own tears fell heavily. In front of him, the white chrysanthemum in the bamboo container turned whiter and more fragrant as it soaked up water.
Hanbei silently blamed himself for Hideyoshi's tears. It was an inexcusable act of disloyalty as a retainer and lack of resolve as a warrior to have caused his lord to lose heart when the latter's military responsibilities were so heavy.
"I thought you would be exhausted by this long campaign, so I picked this chrysanthemum from the garden," Hanbei said.
Hideyoshi was silent, but his eyes were drawn to the flower. He seemed relieved that the subject of their conversation had changed.
"What a wonderful smell. I suppose that the chrysanthemums were blooming on Mount Hirai, but I didn't notice their smell or color. We probably trampled them with our bloodied sandals," he laughed, trying to cheer up the ailing Hanbei.
The compassion with which Hanbei attempted to sympathize with his lord was equaled by Hideyoshi's efforts to cheer his retainer.