Given that caution, they leaped out once again. Whirling one way, they cut furiously into the enemy; whirling another, they pierced him with spears. Then, like the wind, they withdrew to their ramparts.
Thus, they sallied forward six or seven times to fight.
The attackers had already lost more than two hundred men. It was close to noon, and an intense sun shone high overhead. The fresh blood on the armor and helmets dried quickly, giving off a black luster like that of lacquer.
There were fewer than ten men remaining beneath the commander's standard, and their fiery eyes hardly seemed to see each other. Not one man was uninjured.
An arrow pierced Shosuke's shoulder. As he looked at the fresh blood flowing over his sleeve, he pulled the arrow from his body with his own hand. Then he turned in the direction from which the arrow had come. The tops of a great number of helmets could be seen approaching, rustling through the bamboo grass like wild pigs.
Shosuke used the time he had left to speak quietly to his comrades. "We have fought every way we could, and we have nothing to regret. Everyone choose a respectable enemy and make a splendid name for yourself. Let me be the first, dying in our lord's stead. Do not let the commander's standard fall. Carry it high, one man after another!"
Those blood-smeared warriors so prepared to die raised the standard toward the enemy coming through the bamboo grass. The warriors moving in their direction must have been uncommonly fierce men. They came on unflinchingly, demonstrating the oaths they had made with their spears. Shosuke faced them and yelled out to dampen their spirits.
"How discourteous of you! Low-class nobodies! Are you thinking of putting your spears into the body of Shibata Katsuie?"
Shosuke looked like a demon, and in fact no one was able to stand in front of him. A number of men were speared down almost at his feet.
Observing the man's ferocity and fighting desperately with men who were willing to defend their commander's standard to the death, even the most violent braggarts of the attacking troops broke their encirclement and opened up a path to the foot of the mountain.
"Here I am! Katsuie himself is coming! If Hideyoshi is here, have him meet me mounted and alone! Come on out, monkey-face!" Shosuke yelled out as he went down the slope road.
Right there he pierced an armored warrior with a mortal wound. His elder brother, Mozaemon, had already been struck down; his little brother, Shobei, had crossed long swords with an enemy warrior, and each had struck the other dead. Shobei had fallen to the base of a nearby crag.
Beside him, the gold commander's standard lay abandoned, now completely red.
From both the top and the bottom of the slope, innumerable spears now pressed in on Shosuke's body, every warrior wanting to take the commander's standard and the head they believed to be Katsuie's.
Each man vied with the others for the prize. Beneath the confusion of spears, Menju Shosuke achieved death in battle.
A handsome young warrior of only twenty-five years, he had been held in low esteem by men like Katsuie and Genba because of his reticence, gentility, grace, and love of learning—Shosuke's innocent features were still concealed by his face guard.
"I killed Shibata Katsuie!" a samurai yelled.
"His commander's standard was taken by these hands!" shouted another.
Then every voice was raised, one man claiming this, another claiming that, until the entire mountain shook.
And still Hideyoshi's men had no idea that the head belonged not to Shibata Katsuie, But to Menju Shosuke, the captain of his pages.
“We've killed Katsuie!"
“I’ve held the head of the lord of Kitanosho!"
Pushing and shoving, their cries reverberated through the air. "The standard! The standard! And his head! We took his head!"
Katsuie had barely escaped with his life, but his army had been annihilated. Until that morning, the Shibata standard with its golden emblem had flown in the vicinity of Yanagase, but now only Hideyoshi's standard could be seen. It shone brilliantly in the bright sunshine, impressing all who saw it, symbolizing a reality that transcended ordinary wisdom and strength.
The flags and banners of Hideyoshi's army—which stretched out along the roads, and covered the fields presented a grand spectacle of victory. They were packed so closely together that they resembled a thick golden haze.
The army started eating its provisions. Hostilities had begun early that morning and had lasted for about eight hours. When the meal was finished, the entire army was given orders to advance north immediately.
As the men approached Tochinoki Pass, they could see the Tsuruga Sea to the west, while the mountains of Echizen opened up to the north seemingly right under their horses' hooves.
The sun was already beginning to sink, and heaven and earth burned with an evening glow encompassing all the colors of a rainbow.
Hideyoshi's face was burnt a deep red. He did not, however, appear to be a man who had not slept for days. He seemed to have forgotten that men need to sleep. Constantly advancing, he had not yet ordered a halt. At that time of year the nights were at their shortest. While it was still light, the main army bivouacked at Imajo in Echizen. The vanguard went on, however, having been ordered to advance as far as Wakimoto—more than two leagues away—while the rear guard stopped at Itadori, about the same distance behind the central army. Thus, the camp that night stretched for four leagues from van to rear.
That night Hideyoshi fell into contented slumber—one that even the song of the mountain cuckoo could not disturb.
Tomorrow we'll get to Fuchu Castle, Hideyoshi thought just before going to sleep. But how will Inuchiyo receive us?
What was Inuchiyo doing at that time? He had passed through the area at noon that same day and, while the sun was still high in the sky, had withdrawn his army into Fuchu, his son’s castle.
“Thank the gods you're safe," his wife said as she came out to greet him.
“Take care of the wounded. You can look to me later on."
Inuchiyo did not even take off his sandals or untie his armor; he just stood in front of the castle. His pages were also there, lined up behind him, solemnly waiting.
Finally, corps after corps of warriors marched smartly through the gate, carrying the corpses of their fallen comrades, on top of which they had laid their banners. Next, those wounded in battle were either carried in or walked in, leaning on their comrades' shoulders.
The thirty-odd casualties the Maeda had suffered in the retreat did not compare with the losses of the Shibata and Sakuma. The bell was rung at the temple, and as the sun dipped in the sky, the smoke from cooking fires began to rise from all parts of the castle. The order was given for the soldiers to eat their rations. The troops, however, did not disperse, but stayed in their units, as if they were still on the battlefield.
A guard at the main gate yelled, "The lord of Kitanosho has arrived at the castle
“What! Lord Katsuie here!" Inuchiyo muttered in astonishment. This was an unexpected development, and Inuchiyo seemed unable to bear to meet the man—now a fugitive. For a moment he was sunk in thought, but then he said, "Let's go out to greet him."
Inuchiyo followed his son out of the keep. Descending the last set of stairs, he walked to the drkened connecting corridor. One of his attendants, Murai Nagayori, followed after him.
“My lord," Murai whispered.
Inuchiyo looked at Murai questioningly.
The retainer whispered in his lord's ear, "Lord Katsuie's arrival here is an incomparable and happy opportunity. If you kill him and send his head to Lord Hideyoshi, your and Lord Hideyoshi's relationship will be patched up without difficulty."
Without warning Inuchiyo struck the man in the chest. "Shut up!" he thundered.
Murai staggered back to fhe wooden wall behind him and just barely avoided falling over. Turning pale, he had the presence of mind neither to stand up nor to sit completely down.
Glaring at him, Inuchiyo spoke with undisguised anger. "It is an outrageous act to whisper into a lord's ear an immoral, cowardly plan that a man should be ashamed to utter. You consider yourself a samurai, but you know nothing of the Way of the Samurai! What kind of man would sell the head of a general who had come knocking at his gate, just to profit his own clan? Much less when he's spent as many years campaigning with that general as I have!"
Leaving the trembling Murai behind, Inuchiyo went out toward the main entrance togreet Katsuie. Katsuie had come up to the castle gate still on horseback. He held the shaft of a broken spear in one hand and did not appear to be wounded, but his entire face—his entire being—was suffused with desolation.
The reins of his horse were held by Toshinaga, who had run out to greet him. The eight men who accompanied him had stayed outside the main gate. So Katsuie was alone.
"I'm greatly obliged to you." With those courteous words to Toshinaga, Katsuie dismounted. He looked Inuchiyo in the face and spoke in a loud voice full of self-scorn. "We lost! We lost!"