Toshimitsu entered the bathroom, scooped up some hot water in a small wooden
bucket, and went around behind his master. Certainly he had never done this before, but at that moment he only wanted to raise his master's unusually low spirits.
"Is it proper to have a general scrub the dirt from one's back?" Mitsuhide asked. He was modest to the very end. He always exhibited reserve even with his retainers, and it was questionable whether this was one of his good or bad points. Toshimitsu's own opinion was that it was not particularly good.
"Now, now. When this old warrior fights under your honored banner, he's Saito Toshimitsu of the Akechi clan. But Toshimitsu himself is not an Akechi. That being so, it will be a good memory for me, while I'm alive and serving you, to have washed the dirt off your skin just once."
Toshimitsu had bound up his sleeves and began to wash his master's back. As his back was being scrubbed, Mitsuhide bowed his head contentedly in silence. He reflected deeply on Toshimitsu's concern for him, and then on the relationship between himself and Nobunaga.
Ah, I've been wrong, he thought. Deep in his own heart, Mitsuhide blamed himself. What was it that was displeasing Mitsuhide and making him so unhappy? Certainly Nobunaga was a good master, but was his own loyalty equal to that of the old retainer who was now scrubbing his back? How shameful. It was just as though Toshimitsu were washing his heart with the hot water he poured down his back.
When he left the bath, Mitsuhide had changed both in appearance and in the tone of his voice. His mind had become completely refreshed, and Toshimitsu felt the same way.
"It was good to take a bath, just as you said. I guess it was fatigue as well as the sake"
"Do you feel better?"
"I'm all right now, Toshimitsu. Don't worry."
"I was worried because of the extraordinary unease on your face. That was the worst of all. Well, let me tell you that while you were gone we had a guest, and he's been waiting for your return."
"A guest? At these battlefield quarters?"
"Yusho was just traveling through Kai, and he said that before going elsewhere he wanted to stop and see you, and ask how you are."
"Where is he?"
"I had him stay in my room."
"Really? Well, let's go over there."
"He'll probably feel shamed if the lord actually walks over to see the guest. I'll bring him to you in a little while."
"No, no. Our guest is a man of taste. It won't be necessary to be overly formal."
An elegant dinner had been prepared for Mitsuhide in the hall of the main house, but he sat in Toshimitsu's room and ate a simple meal with his guest.
His face became even brighter after talking with Yusho for a while. He asked about the painting styles of the Southern and Northern Sung dynasties in China, discussed the artistic tastes of Shogun Ashikaga Yoshimasa and the merits of the Tosa school of painting, and talked about everything from the Kano style to the influence of Dutch painting. Throughout the conversation, it was clear that Mitsuhide's education had not been shallow.
"I've thought that when I grow old, I might return to more tranquil pursuits and my youthful studies, and even try to paint. Perhaps, before then, you could draw me an illustrated copybook."
"Of course, my lord."
Yusho had emulated the style of the ancient Chinese artist, Liang K'ai. He had recently developed his own school independent of the Kano or Tosa traditions and finally had become established in the art world. When Nobunaga had asked him to illustrate the sliding partitions at Azuchi, he had pretended to be sick and had refused. He had, after all, been a retainer of the Saito clan, which had been destroyed by Nobunaga. One could understand how Yusho might have felt too proud to decorate Nobunaga's living quarters with his own brush.
The phrase "soft on the outside, strong on the inside" might very well have applied to Yusho's character. Yusho was unable to trust the logic that Mitsuhide lived by. If Mitsuhide were to slip, even once, he would burst the dam holding his emotions in check and slide toward a fatal course.
Mitsuhide slept happily that night. Perhaps it was due to the bath. Or to the unexpected and pleasing guest.
The soldiers had gotten up before the sun, fed the horses, put on their armor, prepared their provisions, and were now waiting for their lord's appearance. That morning theyey were to assemble at the Hoyo Temple, depart from Suwa, and head out for Kofu. They would then pass down the coast road and make a triumphal return to Azuchi.
"You should prepare yourself quickly, my lord," Toshimitsu said to Mitsuhide.
"Toshimitsu, I slept well last night!"
"I'm glad to hear that."
"When Yusho leaves, you should give him my very best wishes and some money for the road."
"But you know, when I got up this morning and looked in on him, I discovered he had already gone. He got up and went out with the soldiers before the sun came up."
His is an enviable life, Mitsuhide said to himself as he looked at the morning sky.
Saito Toshimitsu unfolded a scroll. "He left this behind. I thought it might be something he had forgotten, but when I looked at it closely, I saw that the ink hadn't yet dried, and then I remembered that you had requested him to make an illustrated copybook. I link he stayed up until dawn working on it."
"What? He didn't sleep?"
Mitsuhide cast his eye over the scroll. The paper was all the more white in the morning sun, and on it a single branch of tree peonies had been freshly painted. An inscription in a corner of the painting read: Tranquillity, this is nobility.
Tranquillity, this is nobility, Mitsuhide recited silently as he rolled out the scroll, now coming upon the illustration of a large turnip. Next to the turnip was written, Having a visitor is a taste.
The turnip had been drawn in India ink without even a trace of effort; and if you looked at it closely, you could smell the fragrance of the earth. This turnip served as the root for a single leaf, and it seemed to be bursting with life. Its wild nature appeared to be laughing at Mitsuhide's rationalism with a marvelous artlessness and lack of concern.
He continued unfolding the scroll, but there was nothing else. The greater part of it was nothing but blank paper.
"It looks like it took him all night to do these two illustrations."
Toshimitsu was also impressed by the scroll, and bent over it in appreciation with Mitsuhide.
Mitsuhide was hesitant to look at it any longer, and asked Toshimitsu to roll it up.
At that point, the sound of the conch shell was heard in the distant sky. It was a call from the headquarters at the Hoyo Temple, signaling the troops throughout the town to get ready. Heard in the arena of the bloody war, the conch shell was a thing of indescribable dread, booming out sorrowful reverberations. But heard on a morning like this its sound was mild and almost quietly comforting.
Mitsuhide was soon on horseback himself. His brow this morning, much like the mountains of Kai, was completely unclouded and without even a hint of shade.
Shimizu Muneharu, commander
of Takamatsu Castle
Akechi Mitsuharu, Mitsuhide's cousin
Akechi Mitsutada, Mitsuhide's cousin
Fujita Dengo, senior Akechi retainer
Amano Genemon, senior Akechi retainer