"The palisade near the river? That's a dangerous place!"
"Of course it's dangerous. But the enemy considers it dangerous, too. It's right where the two camps meet."
"Well, shouldn't we bring more men?"
"No, no. The enemy isn't bringing a big crowd either. I think there will be only one attendant and a child."
"A child?"
"Right."
"I don't understand."
"Well, just come along quietly. It's not that I can't tell you, but it's better to keep it a secret for the time being. After the castle falls, I will inform Lord Hideyoshi about it, too, I think."
"The castle is going to fall?"
"What are we going to do if it doesn't? First of all, the castle is probably going to fall in the next two or three days. It might even happen tomorrow."
"Tomorrow!" The two retainers stared at Kanbei. His face shone dimly white with the shimmering of the clear water. The dry reeds rustled in the shallows. Mori and Kuriyama stopped in fear. They could see a figure standing among the reeds on the far bank.
"Who is it?" Their next surprise was different from their first. The man appeared to be an important enemy general, but his only attendant was carrying a young child on his back. There was no indication the three of them had come with a hostile intent. They simply seemed to be waiting quietly for Kanbei's party to approach.
"Wait here," Kanbei ordered.
Obeying their lord's orders, the two retainers watched him closely as he walked away.
As Kanbei approached, the enemy standing in the reeds also stepped forward a pace or two. As soon as they could see each other clearly, they exchanged greetings as though they were old friends. If a secret meeting between enemies in such a place had been witessed by others, a conspiracy would have been suspected immediately; but the two seemed completely indifferent to such concerns.
"The child whom I shamelessly requested you to aid is on the back of that man over there. When the castle falls and I meet my end tomorrow on the battlefield, I hope you won't laugh at the passion of a father's love. He's still so innocent and naive." This was the enemy general, the commander of Miki Castle, Goto Motokuni. He and Kanbei spoke now on familiar terms, for it had only been in the late fall of the previous year that Kanbei had gone to the castle as Hideyoshi's envoy, counseling capitulation. At that time they had spoken on very friendly terms.
"You brought him along, after all? I want to meet him. Have him brought here."
As Kanbei beckoned gently, Goto's retainer stepped out hesitantly from behind his master, loosened the cords that had strapped the child to his back, and let him down.
"How old is he?"
"Just seven." The retainer must have been waiting upon the child as a guardian for some time; he answered Kanbei while wiping tears from his eyes, bowed once, and retreated again.
"His name?" Kanbei asked, and this time the boy's father answered.
"He's called Iwanosuke. His mother has already passed away and his father will too, soon. Lord Kanbei, I entreat you to look after the child's future."
"Don't worry. I am also a father. I understand your feelings very well, and will absolutely see to it that he is brought up under my own hand. After he becomes an adult, the Goto family name will not die out."
"Then I can die tomorrow morning with no regrets." Goto knelt down and held his son to the breast of his armor. "Listen well to what your father is saying now. You're already seven years old. The child of a samurai never cries. Your coming-of-age ceremony still far away, and you're at an age when you would like to have your mother's love and be at your father's side. But now the world is full of battles like this one. We can't help it that you're being separated from me, and it's natural that I should die with my lord. But you are not really so unfortunate. You've been lucky enough to be with me until this evening, and you should give great thanks to the gods of heaven and earth for that good luck. All right? So from tonight on, you'll be by the side of that man right there, Kuro Kanbei. He'll be your master and the parent who brings you up, so serve him well. Do you understand?"
As his father parted his head and spoke to him, Iwanosuke silently nodded again and again while tears rolled down his cheeks. Miki Castle's hours were now numbered. The several thousand people in the castle had quite naturally sworn to perish with their lord and were resolved to die bravely. Goto's will was adamantine, and he did not waver in the least now. But he did have a young son and could not bear to see an innocent child die. Iwanosuke was still much too young to carry the weight of having been born a samurai.
In the days preceding this meeting, Goto had sent a letter to Kanbei, whom—although an enemy—he viewed as a reliable man. Goto had opened his heart to Kanbei, asking him to bring up his son.
As he lectured his little son, he knew this was the end, and was unable to check an unguarded tear. Finally he stood up and strongly ordered him off in Kanbei's direction almost as if he were thrusting the pitiful thing away.
"Iwanosuke, you too should request Lord Kanbei's favor."
"Put your mind completely at ease," Kanbei reassured the man as he took the child’s hand. He ordered one of his retainers to take the child back to camp.
Now, for the first time that evening, Kanbei's retainers understood their master's intentions. Mori hoisted Iwanosuke onto his back and set off with Kuriyama at his side.
"Well then," Kanbei said.
"Yes, this is good-bye," replied Goto.
As they spoke, it was difficult to part. Kanbei did his best to harden his heart and leave quickly, but even though he thought it would be the kindest thing to do, he hesitated.
Finally Goto said with a smile. "Lord Kanbei, when I meet you on the battlefield tomorrow, if we're both pinned down by our personal feelings and the edge is taken off our spears, we'll be disgraced to the end of time. If the worst should happen, I'm prepared take your head. Don't you be remiss either!" He blurted out his words like a parting shot, then immediately turned and walked off in the direction of the castle.
Kanbei quickly returned to Mount Hirai, went before Hideyoshi, and showed him Goto's son.
"Bring him up well," Hideyoshi said. "It will be an act of charity. He looks like a fine boy, doesn't he?" Hideyoshi loved children, and he looked at Iwanosuke's face fondly and patted his head.
Perhaps Iwanosuke did not yet understand; he was only seven. Being in a strange camp with strange man, he simply stared goggle-eyed at everything around him. Many years later he would become famous as a warrior of the Kuroda clan. But right now he was a solitary child, almost like a mountain monkey that had fallen out of its tree.
Finally the day came: it was announced that Miki Castle had fallen. It was the seventeenth day of the First Month of the eighth year of Tensho. Nagaharu, his younger brother Tomoyuki, and his senior retainers disemboweled themselves, the castle was opened, and Uno Uemon delivered a letter of surrender to Hideyoshi.
We resisted for two years and did everything we could as warriors. The only thing I would not be able to bear is the death of several thousand brave and loyal warriors and the members of my family. I plead for my retainers and hope that you will show them mercy.
Hideyoshi agreed to this manly request and accepted the surrender of Miki Castle.
Although Hideyoshi and Nobunaga were stationed far apart, Hideyoshi considered it one of his military responsibilities to send news regularly to Azuchi. In this way Nobunaga was given a bird's-eye view of the situation in the west, and thus he felt at ease with the strategy being used in the campaign.
After seeing Hideyoshi off to the western provinces, Nobunaga greeted the New Year in Azuchi. It was the tenth year of Tensho. That New Year was even busier than the previous one, and the celebrations did not go off without mishap. The following incident is recorded in The Chronicles of Nobunaga:
When the neighboring lords, relatives, and others came to Azuchi to pay their respects to His Lordship for the New Year, the crush was such that a wall collapsed and many were killed by the falling stones. The confusion was stupendous.
"Charge each guest from who comes for New Year's calls on the first day one hundred mon, no matter who he is," Nobunaga ordered on New Year's Eve. "A 'calling tax' is not much to ask of a visitor in return for the divine privilege of having an audience with me to express his New Year's wishes."
But that was not all. In recompense for the 'calling tax,' Nobunaga also gave permission to have parts of the castle grounds that were usually closed to the public opened up.
The inns of Azuchi had already been booked long before by eager sightseers—lords, merchants, scholars, doctors, artists, craftsmen, and samurai of every rank—who waited impatiently for the opportunity to see the Sokenji Temple, to pass through the Outer Gate and approach the Third Gate, and from there to go through the residential apartments and enter the garden of white sand, there to express their greetings.
The New Year's sightseers walked through the castle, looking at room after room. They admired the sliding doors illustrated by Kano Eitoku, stared wide-eyed at the tatami mats with their borders of Korean brocade, and gazed in awe at the polished, gilded walls.
The guards shepherded the crowd out through the stable gate, where, unexpectedly, its way was barred by Nobunaga and several attendants.
"Don't forget your contribution! One hundred mon each!" Nobunaga shouted. He took the money with his own hands and tossed it over his shoulder.