"Lift me up, Lord Jester!"
"Sing us a song!"
"Show us a dance!"
They jumped up on his lap. They played with him. They clung to him. They looked into his ears.
"Lord Jester! There's hair growing out of your ears!"
"One, two."
"Three, four." Singing out the numbers, little girls pulled out the hairs while a little boy sat astride his back, pushing down his old head.
"Play horsy! Play horsy and whinny!"
Chokansai crawled around submissively, and when he suddenly sneezed, the little boy fell off his back. The ladies-in-waiting and attendants laughed so hard they held their sides.
Even as night fell, the laughter and hubbub did not stop. The atmosphere of the ladies' apartments was as different from that of Mitsuhide's room in the main citadel as a meadow in spring might be from a snow-covered moor.
"Uncle, now that you're getting on in years," Mitsuharu said, "I'd be grateful if you'd stay here and take care of the family rather than coming with us on the campaign. I think I should tell our lord that."
Chokansai looked at his nephew and laughed. "My final role may have to be something like that. These little ones just won't leave me alone." Night had fallen, and they were badgering him to tell them one of his famous stories.
This was the last day left before the departure for the campaign. Mitsuharu had expected that there would be a general conference that evening, but as the main citadel was quiet, he went over to the second citadel and slept.
The next day Mitsuharu waited in anticipation all day, but no orders were forthcoming. Even when night fell, there was no movement in the main citadel. When he sent one his retainers to ask about the situation, the answer came back that Mitsuhide had already gone to bed and was asleep. Mitsuharu was suspicious, but there was nothing he could do except go to sleep himself.
At about midnight Mitsuharu was awakened by the sound of whispering coming from the guardroom two doors down the hallway. Footsteps approached, and the door of his room slid open noiselessly.
"What is it?" Mitsuharu asked.
The guard, who must have thought Mitsuharu would be asleep, hesitated for a moment. Then he hurriedly prostrated himself and said, "Lord Mitsuhide is waiting for you in the main citadel."
Mitsuharu got up and began to dress; he asked what time it was.
"The first half of the Hour of the Rat," the guard replied.
Mitsuharu went out into the ink-black corridor. When he saw that Saito Toshimitsu was kneeling by the doorway, waiting for him, Mitsuharu wondered what the reason was for this unexpected summons in the middle of the night.
Toshimitsu walked ahead, holding a candle. They met no one during their long walk down the winding corridor. Almost everyone was peacefully asleep in the main citadel but an unusual atmosphere permeated this one part of the building, and it seemed that men were up and about in two or three rooms.
"Where is His Lordship?"
"In his sleeping quarters."
Toshimitsu put out the candle at the entrance to the corridor leading to Mitsuhide’s bedroom. With a look, he invited Mitsuharu to enter, and opened the heavy door. As soon as Mitsuharu had gone in, Toshimitsu shut the door behind him. It was only from the farthest room in the corridor—Mitsuhide's bedroom—that the faint light of a lamp leaked out.
When Mitsuharu looked into the room, he could see neither attendants nor pages. Mitsuhide was alone, dressed in a summer kimono of white gauze, his long sword beside him, his hand on an armrest at his side.
The light of the lamp was particularly pale because it was filtered through the green gossamer mosquito netting that hung around Mitsuhide. When he slept, the netting surrounded him on all four sides, but now the front was held up by a strip of bamboo.
"Come in, Mitsuharu," Mitsuhide said.
"What is this all about?" his cousin asked, after kneeling in front of Mitsuhide.
"Mitsuharu, would you risk your life for me?"
Mitsuharu knelt in silence, looking as though he had forgotten how to speak. Mitsuhide's eyes were ablaze with a strange light. His question had been simple and direct—the very words Mitsuharu had been afraid of hearing since Sakamoto. Now Mitsuhide had finally spoken, and though Mitsuharu was not surprised, the blood in his veins felt as though it had turned into ice.
"Are you against me, Mitsuharu?"
Still he did not answer. Mitsuhide, too, fell silent. His face displayed a certain paleness that was not due to the green netting or the guttering of the lamp, but to the reflection of some emotion in his heart.
Mitsuharu knew, almost by intuition, that Mitsuhide had prepared a contingency plan to use if he opposed him. Built into the wall beyond the mosquito netting, in the corner of a large alcove, was a secret chamber that could conceal an armed man. The flecks of gold on the surface of the hidden door shone ominously, as if glinting with the bloodthirsty intent of the hidden assassin.
To Mitsuharu's right was a large sliding door. He could hear nothing from behind it, but he could sense the presence of Saito Toshimitsu and several other men who had their weapons drawn, just waiting for Mitsuhide's word. Mitsuharu could not resent Mitsuide's heartless and underhanded behavior; pity came before that. Had the intelligent man he had known since his youth disappeared? He felt as though he were looking at nothing but the wreck of that man now.
"Mitsuharu, what is your answer?" Mitsuhide asked, edging closer.
Mitsuharu felt his cousin's hot breath burning like the fever of a sick man. "Why do you want me to risk my life?" he finally asked in reply. He knew very well what Mitsuhide was planning to do, so he was now deliberately feigning ignorance. He held on to the hope that somehow he could pull his cousin back from the brink.
At Mitsuharu's words, the veins on Mitsuhide's temples stood out even more. His voice became unusually husky as he said, "Mitsuharu, don't you know that something has been gnawing at me since I left Azuchi?"
"It's obvious."
"If that's so, then why are all these words necessary? A yes or a no will suffice."
"My lord, why are you the one who is refusing to speak? It is not only the fate of the Akechi clan that depends on what you say now but the future of the nation."
"What are you saying, Mitsuharu?"
"To think that you, of all people, should consider committing this outrage." Tears spilling down his cheeks, Mitsuharu drew closer to Mitsuhide and dropped both hands to the floor in supplication. "I have never understood human character less than I have tonight. When we were both young and studied together in my father's house, what was it that we read? Was there a single word in the books of the ancient sages that approved of killing one's own lord?"
"Speak more quietly, Mitsuharu."
"Who's going to hear me? All you have here is assassins behind secret doors, waiting for your command. My lord… I have never once doubted your wisdom. But you seem to have changed so much from the man I used to know."
"It's too late, Mitsuharu."
"I must speak."
"It's useless."
"I must, even if it's useless." Bitter tears fell on Mitsuharu's hands.
Just then something moved behind the hidden door. Perhaps the assassin had sensed that the situation had become tense and was eager to act. But there was still no signal from Mitsuhide. He turned away from his cousin's weeping figure.