In order to bind their tears in a pledge of blood, Saito Toshimitsu broke in and said, I think His Lordship has opened his heart to us because he considers us men he can trust. If a lord is shamed, his retainers die. Is it our lord alone who is being pained? These old bones of mine have little time left, but if I can witness the downfall of Lord Nobunaga and see my lord become the ruler of the nation, I will be able to die without any regrets."
Mitsuharu spoke next. "Each of us thinks of himself as His Lordship's right-hand man, so once he has spoken, there is only one road to take. We should not be late for our own deaths."
The corps commanders all answered in unison. The glint of emotion in every eye and open mouth seemed to say they knew no other word than yes. When Mitsuhide stood up, the men shook with their strong feeling. They congratulated him loudly, as was the time-honored custom when leaving for the front.
Yomoda Masataka looked up at the sky and then urged the men to prepare themselves mentally. "It will soon be the Hour of the Rooster. It's about five leagues to the capital. If we travel across country, we should be able to surround the Honno Temple by dawn. If we can take care of the Honno Temple before the Hour of the Dragon and then destroy the Myokaku Temple, everything should be settled before breakfast."
He had turned to Mitsuhide and Mitsuharu and had spoken with complete conviction. This speech, of course, was neither a recommendation nor counsel. It was to let the main commanders know that the country was already in their hands, and to exhort them to fire up their blood.
It was the second half of the Hour of the Rooster. The road was already dark in the shade of the mountain. The armor-clad men flowed in a black line through the village of Oji and finally reached the hill of Oinosaka. The night sky was full of stars, and the capital below looked like its reflection.
The reddish rays of the western sun fell into the empty moat of the Honno Temple. It was the first day of the Sixth Month. The sun had beat down relentlessly on the capital for the entire day, and now spots of dry mud were appearing even in the comparatively deep moat.
The tile-roofed mud walls ran for more than one hundred yards to the east and west, and for two hundred yards from north to south. The moat was over twelve feet wide, and deeper than usual for a temple. Passersby might look up at the roofs of the main temple and the ten or so monastery buildings, but nothing could really be seen from the outside. Only the famous honey locust tree in a corner of the compound was visible from quite some distance away. It was so large that people called it the Honno Forest, or the Locust Tree Grove.
The tree was as famous a landmark as the pagoda of the Eastern Temple. When the late afternoon sun filled its high branches, a multitude of crows raised a racket all at once. And no matter how fastidious and elegant the citizens of Kyoto tried to be, there were three things they could not avoid: stray dogs at night, cow dung in the streets in the morning, and crows in the afternoon.
Within the grounds of the temple there were still a number of vacant areas. Much construction was needed to complete the reconstruction of the twenty or so buildings that had been destroyed by fire during the civil wars in the capital. If a visitor walked in the direction of Fourth Street from the temple's main gate, he would see the mansion of the governor of Kyoto, the samurai quarter, and the streets of a well-regulated town. But in the northern part of the city, the slums remained like islands, just as they had been iring the shogunate, and one narrow alleyway still richly deserved its old name, Sewer Street.
The children of the neighborhood almost burst from the alleys between the rough walls that wound beneath the twisted eaves of the single-roofed houses. With their boils, rashes, and sniveling noses, they flew through the streets like giant winged insects.
"The missionaries have come!" the children shouted.
"The priests from the Namban Temple are walking by with a pretty birdcage!"
The three missionaries laughed when they heard the children's voices, and slackened their steps as though waiting for friends.
The Namban Temple, as the missionaries' church was popularly known, was on nearby Fourth Street. The chanting of the religious services at the Honno Temple could be heard in the morning in the slums, and in the evening the church bell echoed through the alleyways. The gate of the Honno Temple was very imposing, and the monks who lived there walked through the streets with haughty expressions, but when the missionaries came through, they were humble and friendly toward the locals. Seeing a child with boil on his face, they would pat his head and show him how to treat it; if they heard that someone was sick, they would visit that person. It was said that no one should interfere in a quarrel between husband and wife, but if the missionaries passed by on such an occasion, they would step in and try to settle it. Thus they earned a reputation for being kind and understanding. "They're really working for the sake of society," people said. "Maybe they are messengers from the gods."
The people had been struck with admiration for the missionaries for some time. Their good works extended to the poor, the sick, and the homeless. The church even had something like a charity hospital and a home for the aged. And if that wasn't enough, the missionaries liked children.
But when these selfsame missionaries ran into Buddhist priests on the streets, they did not treat them with the same humility as they did the children. Indeed, they looked at the priests as if they were bitter enemies. For this reason they would take the long way around through Sewer Street, avoiding the Honno Temple as much as possible. Today and the day before, however, they had had to make daily visits to the temple itself, because it had become the headquarters of Lord Nobunaga. This meant that the most powerful man in Japan was now their neighbor.
Carrying a small tropical bird in a gilded cage and some pastries made by the cook they had brought from their own country, the three missionaries now seemed to be on their way to offer presents to Lord Nobunaga.
"Missionaries! Hey, missionaries!"
"What kind of bird is that?"
"What's in the box?"
"If it's cake, give us some!"
"Give us some, missionary!"
The children of Sewer Street came up and blocked their way. The three missionaries did not look annoyed at all, but smilingly admonished them in broken Japanese as the walked along.
"These are for Lord Nobunaga. Don't be disrespectful. We'll give you all cakes when you come to the church with your mothers," one of the priests said.
The children tagged along behind, and ran around ahead of them. While the priests were thus surrounded, one of the children ran to the edge of the moat and fell in, making a sound just like a frog. The moat was empty, so there was no danger of the boy drowning, but the bottom of the moat was as muddy as a swamp. The child squirmed in it like a mudfish. The sides of the moat were made of stone, so even an adult would have had trouble climbing out. Indeed, sometimes a poor drunk would fall in and drown on a night when rainwater had filled it to overflowing.
Someone immediately notified the boy's family. The curious neighbors of Sewer Street clamored out of their houses like water boiling out of a pot, and the parents came running out barefoot. It was a calamity. But by the time they had arrived, the little boy had already been rescued. He looked like a lotus root plucked from the mud, and he was sobbing loudly.
He and two of the missionaries had mud splattered all over their hands and clothes, the third missionary had jumped into the moat after the boy, and he was completely covered in mud.
When the children looked at the missionaries, they ran around happily, hooting, clapping their hands, and shouting, "The missionary has turned into a catfish! His red beard all muddy!"
But the parents of the boy thanked them and praised their god, even though they were not Christians. They bowed at the priests' feet and shed tears of thankfulness with their hands folded in prayer. In the black mountain of people that had formed behind them, words of praise for the missionaries went from mouth to mouth.
The missionaries showed no regret at having come this far only to have to turn back the way they had come, carrying their now useless presents. In their eyes, Nobunaga and the boy from the slums were exactly the same. Moreover, this incident had become talk that would spread from house to house, and the missionaries knew very well what a large and inspiring wave it might grow into.
"Sotan, did you see that?"
"Yes, I was impressed."
"That religion is frightening."
"Yes, it is. It really makes you think."
One of the speakers was a man of about thirty, while the other was much older. They looked like father and son. There was something about them that set them apart from the important merchants of Sakai—a part of their character, perhaps, that spoke of a liberal breadth and depth of upbringing. Nevertheless, looking at them, one knew at once they were merchants.
With Nobunaga in residence, the Honno Temple was no longer a simple temple. From the night of the twenty-ninth on, at the main gate of the temple there was a tumult of carts and palanquins, and the din of people going in and out. The audiences Nobunaga was now granting seemed matters of grave concern to the entire nation. Thus, a man might withdraw after having obtained at least a word or smile from Nobunaga and go home with the happy feeling that he had gained something worth a hundred or a thousand times the value of the rare utensils, fine wines, delicacies, or other gifts he had presented.
"Let's wait here for a moment. It looks as though a courtier is going through the gate."
"It must be the governor. Those look like his attendants."
The governor, Murai Nagato, and his attendants had stopped at the main gate and seemed to be waiting discreetly as the palanquin of an aristocrat was brought out. Very soon afterward, a few samurai led two or three bay and dappled horses behind a small procession of palanquins and litters. When the samurai recognized Nagato, they bowed as they went by, taking the horses' reins in one hand.
As soon as the crush was over, Nagato entered the gate. And when the two merchants had assured themselves that he was inside, they turned their steps in the same direction.
Naturally, the guards at the front gate were exceptionally severe. The people who passed in and out were not used to seeing the wartime glitter that shone from the spear halberds, and even the eyes of the warriors stationed there. The guards all wore armor and if anyone looked suspicious, they stopped that person with loud shouts and yells.
"Wait a minute! Where are you going?" the guard asked the two merchants.
"I am Soshitsu of Hakata," the older man said courteously. When he bowed his head the younger man did the same
"I am Sotan, also of Hakata."
The guards looked as though they couldn't understand anything from that introduction alone, but their captain, who was standing in front of the guardhouse inside, motioned them through with a smile.
"Please, come in."
The Omotemido Hall was the main building of the temple compound, but the real center was Nobunaga's quarters. Outside of the room from which Nobunaga's voice could be heard, a brook murmured from a spring in the garden, and from the buildings a little farther beyond, the bright laughter of women occasionally wafted over on the breeze.
Nobunaga was speaking to a messenger from his third son, Nobutaka, and Niwa Nagahide: "That will be of some help to my old hand, Nagahide. Have him informed that everything is secure. I'll be going to the western provinces in a few days myself, so we'll be meeting there soon."