Bored by the priest's monologue, Mitsuhide gazed at the holy lamps in the outer shrine. Finally he stood up silendy and descended the stairs. It was already dark when he walked to the Atago Shrine. Leaving the monks, he went alone to the nearby Temple of the Shogun Jizo. There he drew his fortune, but the first lot he pulled predicted bad luck. He drew again, and that one too read "Bad luck." For a moment, Mitsuhide stood as silent as stone. Picking up the box that held the fortunes, he lifted it reverentiy to his forehead, closed his eyes, and drew for the third time. This time the answer was "Great good fortune."
Mitsuhide turned and walked toward his waiting attendants. They had watched him from afar as he drew his fortune, imagining that he was only indulging a fancy. Mitsuhide was, after all, a man who prided himself on his intellect and who was, above all else, rational. He was hardly the kind of man who would use fortune-telling to reach a decision,
The flickering lamps of the guest room shone through the young leaves. For Shoha and his fellow poets, it would be a night of grinding ink on the inkstones as they recorded their own verses.
The night's entertainment began with a banquet at which Mitsuhide was the guest of honor. The guests bantered and laughed and drank many rounds of sake, and they were so engrossed in their conversation that they seemed to have forgotten all about poetry.
"The summer nights are short," their host, the abbot, announced. "It's getting late and I'm afraid it's going to be light before we finish our hundred linked verses."
In another room, poetry mats had been arranged. Paper and an inkstone had been set in front of each cushion as though to encourage the participants to write elegant verses.
Shoha and Shoshitsu were both accomplished poets. Shoha was regarded affectionately by Nobunaga and was on familiar terms with Hideyoshi and the leading tea master
of the day. He was a man who had a large circle of acquaintances.
"Well, my lord, would you give us the first verse," Shoha requested.
Mitsuhide, however, did not touch the paper in front of him. His elbow was still on the armrest, and he seemed to be looking out into the darkness of the garden where the leaves were stirring.
"It seems that you're racking your brains for your verse, my lord," Shoha teased Mitsuhide.
Mitsuhide picked up his brush and wrote:
The whole country knows
The time is now,
In the Fifth Month.
At a party like this, once the first verse was composed, the participants added verses in turn until anywhere from fifty to a hundred linked stanzas had been added. The party had begun with a verse by Mitsuhide. The closing verse that tied the work together was also composed by Mitsuhide:
Time for the provinces
To be at peace.
After the monks had extinguished the lamps and withdrawn, Mitsuhide appeared to fall asleep immediately. As he finally lay his head on the pillow, the mountain wind outside shook the trees and howled through the eaves of the roof as strangely as if that mythical, long-nosed monster, Tengu, were raising a fearful cry. Mitsuhide suddenly recalled the story he had heard from the priest at the shrine of the fire god. In his head he imagined Tengu rampaging through the jet black sky.
Tengu gnaws on fire and then flies up into the sky. A huge Tengu, and smaller Tengus without number, turned into fire and mounted the black wind. As the fires fell to earth, the shrine of the fire god immediately became a mass of firebrands.
He wanted to sleep. He wanted terribly to sleep. But Mitsuhide was not dreaming; he was thinking. And his brain could not stop the illusion in his mind. He turned over and started to think about the coming day. He knew that on the morrow Nobunaga would leave Azuchi for Kyoto.
And then the borderline between wakefulness and dream began to blur. And in this state, the difference between himself and Tengu disappeared. Tengu stood on the clouds and looked over the nation. Everything he saw was to his own advantage. In the west, Hideyoshi was nailed down at Takamatsu Castle, grappling with the armies of the Mori. If he could collude with the Mori and take the advantage, the army under Hideyoshi, which had spent so many wearisome years on the campaign, would be buried in the west and would never again see the capital.
Tokugawa Ieyasu, who was in Osaka, was a clever survivor. Once he saw that Nobunga was dead, his attitude would depend entirely on what Mitsuhide offered. Hosokawa Fujitaka would no doubt be momentarily indignant, but his son had married Mitsuhide's daughter, and he had been a devoted friend for many years. He would not be unwilling to cooperate.
Mitsuhide's muscles and blood were tingling. In fact, his ears burned with such intensity that he felt young again. Tengu turned over. Mitsuhide let out a groan.
"My lord?" In the next room, Shoha rose a little and called out, "What's the matter, my lord?"
Mitsuhide was dimly aware of Shoha's question but intentionally gave no answer. Shoha quickly went back to sleep.
The short night was soon over. Upon arising, Mitsuhide bade farewell to the others and descended the mountain while it was still shrouded in a thick morning mist.
* * *
On the thirtieth day of the month Mitsuharu arrived at Kameyama and joined forces with Mitsuhide. Members of the Akechi clan had been coming in from the entire province, swelling the already significant army from Sakamoto. Thus the castle town was crowded with horses and men; carts of military supplies jammed every intersection, and the streets had become nearly impassable. The sun shone down brightly, and it was suddenly almost like midsummer: porters filled the shops and argued with their mouths full of food; outside, the foot soldiers squeezing between the oxcarts yelled back and forth. Along the streets, flies buzzed and swarmed over the droppings left by the horses and oxen.
"Has your health held up?" Mitsuharu asked Mitsuhide.
"Just as you see." Mitsuhide smiled. He was much more amiable than he had been at Sakamoto, and the color had returned to his face.
"When do you plan to leave?"
"I've decided to wait it just a little, until the first day of Sixth Month."
"Well, what about Azuchi?"
"I've informed them, but I think Lord Nobunaga is already in Kyoto."
"The report is that he arrived there without incident last night. Lord Nobutada is staying at the Myokaku Temple, while Lord Nobunaga is at the Honno Temple."
"Yes, I've heard that." Mitsuhide's words trailed off into silence.
Mitsuharu suddenly got up. "I haven't seen your wife and children for a long time. Perhaps I'll go pay my respects."
Mitsuhide watched his cousin walk away. A moment later he looked as though his chest were so congested that he could neither spit nor swallow.
Two rooms away, Mitsuhide's retainer Saito Toshimitsu was conferring with other generals, studying military charts and discussing tactics. He left the room to talk with Mitsuhide.
“Are you going to send the supply train to the Sanin ahead of us?"
“The supply train? Hm… well, we don't need to send it ahead."
Suddenly Mitsuhide's uncle, Chokansai, who had just now arrived with Mitsuharu, looked in.
"Hey, he's not here. Where did the lord of Sakamoto go? Anybody here know?"
He looked around, goggle-eyed. Although he was an old man, he was so sunny and cheerful that he drove others to distraction. Even if the generals were about to leave on a campaign, Chokansai seemed as cheerful as usual. He turned in another direction. When he casually showed up at the ladies' apartments in the citadel, however, the women and their many children ran up to him.
"Oh, Lord Jester has come!" the children cried.
"Lord Jester! When did you get here?"
Whether he stood or sat, the happy voices around him did not cease.
"Are you staying overnight, Lord Jester?"