Shingen the Long-Legged

Although Amakasu Sanpei was related to one of Kai's generals, he had spent the past ten years in a lowly position, because of a unique talent—his ability to run at high speed over long distances.

Sanpei was the leader of the Takeda clan's ninja—the men whose job it was to spy on enemy provinces, form clandestine alliances, and spread false rumors.

Sanpei's talent as a swift walker and runner had amazed his friends since his youth. He could climb any mountain and walk twenty to thirty leagues in a single day. But even he could not keep up this speed day after day. When hurrying back from some remote place, he rode wherever the terrain permitted, but when he encountered steep paths, he would rely on his own two strong legs. For this reason he always had horses stationed at essential points along the routes he traveled—often at the huts of hunters and woodsmen.

"Hey, charcoal maker! Old man, are you at home?" Sanpei called as he dismounted in front of a charcoal burner's hut. He was covered with sweat, but no more so than the horse he had been riding.

It was early summer. In the mountains the leaves were still a pale green, while in the lowlands the buzzing of cicadas could already be heard.

He's not here, Sanpei thought. He kicked the broken-down door, which opened immediately. Sanpei led the horse that he planned on leaving here inside the hut and, fas­tening it to a post, went into the kitchen and helped himself to rice, pickled vegetables, and tea.

As soon as he had filled his stomach, he found ink and a brush, wrote down a mes­sage on a scrap of paper, and stuck it to the lid of the rice tub with leftover grains of rice.

This was not the work of foxes and badgers. It was I, Sanpei, who ate these things. I am leaving you my horse to take care of while I am gone. Feed him well and keep him strong until I pass through again.

As Sanpei was leaving, his horse began to kick at the wall, unwilling for his master to leave. His heartless owner, however, did not even look back, but closed the door firmly on the sound of the hooves.

It would be an exaggeration to say that he flew off on his gifted legs, but he did hurry toward the mountainous province of Kai at a speed that made him look nimble indeed. His destination from the start had been Kai's capital city of Kofu. And the speed at which  he was traveling suggested that he was carrying a very urgent report.

By the morning of the following day, he had already crossed several mountain ranges and was looking at the waters of the Fuji River right at his feet. The roofs that could be seen between the walls of the gorge were those of the village of Kajikazawa.

He wanted to reach Kofu by afternoon, but since he was making good time, he rested awhile, gazing at the summer sun beating down on the Kai Basin. No matter where I go, and regardless of the inconveniences and disadvantages of a mountain province, there's just no place like home. As he said this to himself, hugging his knees with his arms, he saw a long line of horses loaded with buckets of lacquer being led up the mountain from the foothills. Well, I wonder where they're going, he asked himself.

Amakasu Sanpei stood up and started down the mountain. Halfway down, he met the packhorse train of at least a hundred animals.

"Heyyy!"

The man on the leading horse was an old acquaintance. Sanpei quickly asked him,  “That's an awful lot of lacquer, isn't it? Where are you taking it?"

"To Gifu," the man answered, and at Sanpei's dubious expression, he added an explanation. "We finally manufactured the amount of lacquer ordered by the Oda clan the year before last, so I'm just now taking it to Gifu."

"What! To the Oda?" Knitting his brow, Sanpei appeared unable even to smile and wish him a safe trip. "Be very careful. The roads are dangerous."

"I hear that the warrior-monks are fighting too. I wonder how the Oda troops are doing."

"I can't say anything about that until I report to His Lordship."

"Ah, that's right. You're just coming back from there, aren't you? Well, we shouldn't be standing here chatting. I'm off." The packhorse driver and his hundred horses crossed the pass and went off to the west.

Sanpei watched them go, thinking that a mountain province is, after all, exactly that. News of the rest of the world is always slow to arrive there, and even if our troops are strong and the generals clever, we are at a serious disadvantage. He felt the weight of his responsibilities even more, and ran down to the foothills with the speed of a swallow.  Sanpei picked up another horse in the village of Kajikazawa and, with a stroke of the whip, galloped toward Kofu.

In the hot and humid Kai Basin stood Takeda Shingen's heavily fortified castle. Faces that were rarely seen except in times of weighty problems and war councils were now entering the castle gates one after another, so that even the guards at the entrance knew something was afoot. Inside the castle, which was wrapped in the green of new leaves, it was silent except for the occasional buzzing of the summer's first cicadas.

Since morning, not one of the many generals who had come to the castle had left. It was at this point that Sanpei hurried toward the gate. Dismounting beyond the moat, he ran across the bridge on foot, grasping the horse's reins in his hand.

"Who's there?" The eyes and spearheads of the guards glittered from a corner of the iron gate. Sanpei tied the horse to a tree.

"It's me," he replied, showing his face to the soldiers, and walked briskly into the cas­tle. He often passed back and forth through the castle gate, so while there may have been those who did not know exactly who he was, there was not a soldier at the gate who did not know his face and the nature of his work.

There was a Buddhist temple inside the castle, called the Bishamondo after the guardian god of the north; it served as Shingen's meditation room, as a place to discuss governmental affairs, and from time to time as a place for war councils. Shingen was now standing on the veranda of the temple. His body seemed to flutter in the breeze that blew into the hall from the rocks and streams in the garden. Over his armor, he wore the red robe of a high priest, which looked as if it were made from the flaming flowers of the scarlet tree-peonies.

He was of average height, with a solidly built, muscular frame. There was clearly something unusual about the man, but while those who had never met him would re­mark on how intimidating he must be, he was not really so difficult to approach. On the contrary, he was a rather kindly man. Just looking at him, one could feel that he pos­sessed natural composure and dignity, while his shaggy beard gave his face a certain un­yielding quality. These features, however, were common to the men of the mountain province of Kai.

One after another, the generals rose from their seats and took their leave. They spoke a few parting words and bowed to their lord standing on the veranda. The war council had lasted since morning. And Shingen had worn his armor under his scarlet robe, ex­actly as he did on the battlefield. He seemed to be a little tired from the heat and the lengthy discussions. Moments after the council had ended, he had gone out to the ve­randa. The generals had departed, no one else was in attendance, and there was nothing in the Bishamondo other than the gilded walls that glittered in the wind and the peaceful buzzing of the cicadas.

This summer? Shingen seemed to be looking into the distance at the silhouette of the mountains that encircled his province. From his very first battle, when he was fif­teen, his career had been filled with events that had occurred from summer through fall. In a mountain province, there was nothing else to do in the winter but confine oneself indoors and maintain one's strength. Naturally, when the spring and summer came, Shingen's blood would rise, and he would turn toward the outside world, saying, "Well, let’s go out and fight." Not only Shingen, but all the samurai of Kai shared this attitude. Even the farmers and townspeople would suddenly feel that the time had come with the summer sun.