"Leave the room." Nobunaga's fan left the nape of his neck, but the fan that pointed to the corridor looked just like a sword.
"I don't know what I've done, but if I've been an affront to you, my lord, and the company, I'm not sure where I should go. Please be fully critical of whatever it is that I've done wrong. I don't mind if you rebuke me right here." Even as he humbly apologized, he remained prostrate, slipped his body around, and somehow crawled out onto the broad veranda.
Nobunaga followed him. Wondering what could be the matter, the men filling the room quickly sobered up and suddenly felt their mouths become dry. Hearing a thudding noise echo from the wooden-floored veranda, even the generals who had looked away from the pitiful figure of Mitsuhide now turned their eyes back outside the room with a start.
Nobunaga had thrown his fan behind him. The generals could see that Nobunaga had Mitsuhide by the scruff of the neck. Each time the poor man struggled to lift his head to say something, Nobunaga would jerk it down and strike it against the balustrade of the veranda.
"What was that you said? What did you say just now? Something about the results we've gotten after all our pains, and what a truly happy day it is, as we see the army of the Oda clan filling Kai? You were saying something like that, weren't you?"
"That's… that's correct."
"Fool! When did you take pains? What kind of meritorious deeds did you accomplish in the invasion of Kai?"
“I—“
"What?"
"Even though I was drunk, I shouldn't have said such arrogant words."
"That's exactly right. You have no reason to be arrogant. You were careless with what you were hiding in your mind. You thought that I was distracted by the drinking and listening to someone else, and that you could finally complain."
"Heaven forbid! Let the gods of heaven and earth be my witnesses! Why, I've received so many favors from you… you raised me up from a man who wore rags and a single word…."
"Shut up."
"Please let me go."
"Most certainly!" Nobunaga thrust him away. "Ranmaru! Water!" he called out in a loud voice. Ranmaru filled a vessel with water and brought it to him. As Nobunaga took the water, his eyes appeared to be on fire. His shoulders heaved with every breath.
Mitsuhide, however, had at some point gotten away from his master's feet and was now seven or eight feet down the corridor, adjusting his collar and smoothing his hair. He was prostrating himself so low that his chest was touching the wooden floor. The figure of Mitsuhide trying to look unruffled even now was hardly going to be seen in a favorable light, and Nobunaga's foot was starting for the man again.
If Ranmaru had not actually restrained him by the sleeve, the floor of the veranda would most likely have rung out again. Ranmaru did not directly touch on the event right before his eyes, but said only, "Please go back to your seat, my lord. Lord Nobutada, Lord Nobusumi, Lord Niwa, and all the generals are waiting."
Nobunaga went tamely back to the crowded room, but he did not sit down. He stood and looked around.
"Forgive me. I suppose I've been a bit of a killjoy. Each of you eat and drink to your heart's content." With these words he walked hastily off and shut himself up in his private quarters.
* * *
A flock of swallows was chirping under the eaves of the block of storehouses. Even though the sun was setting, the adults still appeared to be bringing food to the little ones in the nest.
"It could be the subject of a painting, don't you think?" In a room of a building situated some distance from the large garden, Saito Toshimitsu, a senior Akechi retainer, was entertaining a guest. The guest was the painter Yusho, who was not a native of Suwa. He must have been about fifty years old, and his robust physique gave no hint that he might be a painter. He spoke very little. Twilight settled on the white walls of the line of bean-paste warehouses.
"You must forgive me for suddenly calling on you in wartime like this, and talking on about nothing but the tedious affairs of a man no longer involved with the world. I'm sure you have many campaign responsibilities." Yusho seemed to be announcing his leave and began to rise from the cushion.
"No, please." Saito Toshimitsu was a very composed man, and without even moving, he detained his guest.
"Since you've come all the way here, it would not be polite to let you leave before you had talked to Lord Mitsuhide. If, after you leave, I tell my lord that Yusho had visited during his absence, he'll scold me and ask me why I didn't keep you here." And he intentionally started off on a new subject, doing his best to keep the unexpected caller entertained. At that time, Yusho was keeping a house in Kyoto, but he was originally from Omi in Mitsuhide's province. Not only that, but at one time, Yusho had received a warrior's stipend from the Saito clan in Mino. At that same time Toshimitsu—long before he had become a retainer of the Akechi clan—was serving the Saito clan.
After living as a ronin, Yusho had become an artist, citing the fall of Gifu as the reason for his course of action. Toshimitsu, however, had abandoned his former allegiance to the Saito. The discord that grew between Toshimitsu and his former masters was displayed even in front of Nobunaga, and disputes had been carried on almost as if they were asking for judgment. But now everyone had forgotten the stories that had excited society so much at that time, and those who looked upon his pure white sidelocks considered him to be a retainer the Akechi clan could not do without. Everyone respected his character and his position as an elder.
The allotment of lodgings had not been sufficient within Nobunaga's main camp at the Hoyo Temple, so some of the generals were quartered in various houses in Suwa.
The Akechi were bivouacked in the ancient buildings of a beanpaste wholesaler, and both the soldiers and their officers were relaxing after many days of hard fighting.
A youth who appeared to be the son of the master of the house came up and spoke to Toshimitsu.
"Won't you come and take a bath, Your Honor? All the samurai and even the foot soldiers have finished their evening meal."
"No, I'll wait until His Lordship comes back."
"His Lordship is rather late tonight, isn't he?"
"There's been a victory banquet today at the main camp. My lord very rarely touches sake, but perhaps he drank a little and is getting a bit tipsy with all the toasts."
"May I serve you your evening meal?"
"No, no, I'll wait for my meal as well, until I see that he's come back. I do feel sorry for the guest I've detained, though. Why don't you show him to the bath?"
"Would that be the traveling artist who's been here all afternoon?"
"That's right. The man who's crouched over there by himself looking at the tree peonies in the garden. He looks a little bored. Why don't you call him over?"
The youth withdrew, and then looked around at the back of the building. In front of the dark, luxuriantly blooming tree peonies, Yusho was sitting holding his knees, staring vacantly. A little while later, when Toshimitsu came through the gate, both the youth and Yusho were already gone.
Toshimitsu was apprehensive. He thought that Mitsuhide was far too late in returning. Even though he was well aware that a victory banquet would last well into the night.
Leading out through the ancient thatch-roofed gate, the path quickly joined the lakeside road. The last heat of the day still glimmered in the western sky over Lake Suwa. Toshihimitsu looked down the road for some time. Sure enough, he finally saw his lord coming toward him. Horses, spearmen, and attendants all followed in one group. But the concern on Toshimitsu's brow did not diminish as they came closer. Something was not as it should be. Nothing in Mitsuhide's appearance suggested that he was returning from a victory banquet. His lord should have been riding home in brilliant array, swaying gallantly on horseback, drunk along with his attendants on today's gift of sake. But Mitsuhide was walking along, looking crestfallen.
A retainer was leading his horse, which loped along cheerlessly, while the attendants walked silently behind in exactly the same manner.
"I came out here to meet you. You must be tired." When Toshimitsu bowed before him, Mitsuhide looked as though he had been taken by surprise.
"Toshimitsu? I've been inconsiderate. You were good enough to worry about my coming home late. Forgive me. I drank a little too much today, so I intentionally walked home by the lake trying to sober up. Don't be worried by my color. I feel a lot better now.
Toshimitsu could see that his master had met with some unhappy experience. He had been Mitsuhide's close attendant for many years, so such a thing was unlikely to escape his notice. He did not, however, presume to ask about the matter. The old retainer was quick to look after his master's needs, hoping to cheer him up.
"How about a bowl of tea, and then a bath?"
Toshimitsu's reputation was enough to strike fear in the enemy on the battlefield, but as he helped Mitsuhide out of his clothes, Mitsuhide could only think of him as a solicitous old relative.
"A bath? Yes. A bath might be very refreshing at a time like this." And he followed Toshimitsu to the bathhouse.
For a while Toshimitsu listened to the sound of Mitsuhide splashing in the hot water in the bath. "Shall I scrub your back, my lord?" Toshimitsu called in.
"Send in the page," Mitsuhide replied. "I don't feel right about having you put your old body to work."