The monks were flustered by the sudden arrival of so exalted a guest, but Hideyoshi took one of them aside and requested that they omit the treatment they would ordinarily offer to a guest of his rank.

"My retainers have all brought provisions, so don't be concerned about anything other than hot water for tea. And since I've only stopped to visit Takenaka Hanbei, you don't need to entertain me with either sake or tea. After I have my talk with Hanbei, I'd be grateful if you'd make a light meal." Finally he asked, "Has the patient improved since he arrived?"

"It seems he has made little progress, my lord," the priest answered dolefully.

"He takes his medicine regularly?"

"Both morning and night."

"And a doctor visits him regularly?"

"Yes, a doctor comes from the capital, and Lord Nobunaga's personal physician visits him regularly."

"Is he up?"

"No, he hasn't been up for the past three days."

"Where is he?"

"In a hermitage away from the bustle."

When Hideyoshi went out into the garden, an attendant who served Hanbei ran out to meet him. "He's just changing so that he can see you, my lord," the boy said.

"He's not to get up," Hideyoshi scolded, and walked quickly toward the hermitage.

When Hanbei had heard that Hideyoshi was on his way, he had had his sickbed put away and ordered a servant to sweep the room clean, while he himself changed. Then, putting on some wooden clogs, he had stooped over the little stream that wound its way through the chrysanthemums at the bamboo gate, and washed his mouth and hands. He turned as someone tapped him on the shoulder.

"Oh, I didn't know you were here." Hanbei quickly knelt on the ground. "Over there, my lord," he said, inviting Hideyoshi into his room. Hideyoshi sat down happily on the mat. There was nothing in the room but a Zen master's ink painting hanging on the wall. Hideyoshi's clothing had been completely neutralized by the colors of Azuchi, but here in this simple hermitage, both his coat and his armor looked brilliant and imposing.

Bowing as he walked, Hanbei went around and up to the veranda, where he inserted a single white chrysanthemum into a flower container cut from a section of bamboo. He sat down meekly next to Hideyoshi and put the bamboo container in the alcove.

Hideyoshi understood: even though the sickbed had been put away, Hanbei was afraid that the smell of the medicine and the mustiness of the room would still be linger­ing, and instead of incense, had tried to freshen the air with the fragrance of this flower.

"I'm not bothered at all. Don't even think of it," Hideyoshi said considerately, and looked at his friend with concern. "Hanbei, isn't it difficult for you to get up like this?"

Hanbei withdrew to a short distance and once again bowed low. Even through his formality, however, his happiness at Hideyoshi's visit could be seen on his face. "Please don't worry," he began. "For the last few days it's been cold, so I've been careful to keep indoors, under quilts. But today it started to warm up, and I had just been thinking that 1 should get out of bed."

"It'll be winter in Kyoto soon enough, and they say it's particularly cold in the morn­ing and at night. How about moving to a warmer place during the winter?"

"No, no. I'm beginning to get better and better every day. I'll be well before winter comes."

"If you're really getting better, that's all the more reason why you shouldn't move out of the sickroom this winter. This time you should convalesce until you're completely cured. Your body is not just your own, you know."

"You think more of me than I deserve." Hanbei's shoulders slumped, and he sat with downcast eyes. His hands slipped from his knees and—along with his tears—touched the floor as he bowed in obeisance. For a moment he was silent.

Ah, he has grown so thin, Hideyoshi thought, and sighed. The wrists of those hands that bowed at the mat were so emaciated, the flesh around his cheekbones so gaunt. Was this wasting disease really incurable? With these thoughts, Hideyoshi felt a pain in his chest. Who was it, after all, who had pulled this sick man out into the chaotic world against his will? In how many battlefields had he been soaked by the rain and chilled by the wind? And who was it who, even in times of peace, had put him through the hard­ships of both domestic affairs and diplomatic relations without even thinking of a day of rest? Hanbei was a man whom he should have looked up to as a teacher, but he had treated him the same as any retainer.

Hideyoshi felt that he was to blame for the seriousness of Hanbei's condition and finally, as he looked off to the side, his own tears fell heavily. In front of him, the white chrysanthemum in the bamboo container turned whiter and more fragrant as it soaked up water.

Hanbei silently blamed himself for Hideyoshi's tears. It was an inexcusable act of disloyalty as a retainer and lack of resolve as a warrior to have caused his lord to lose heart when the latter's military responsibilities were so heavy.

"I thought you would be exhausted by this long campaign, so I picked this chrysanthemum from the garden," Hanbei said.

Hideyoshi was silent, but his eyes were drawn to the flower. He seemed relieved that the subject of their conversation had changed.

"What a wonderful smell. I suppose that the chrysanthemums were blooming on Mount Hirai, but I didn't notice their smell or color. We probably trampled them with our bloodied sandals," he laughed, trying to cheer up the ailing Hanbei.

The compassion with which Hanbei attempted to sympathize with his lord was equaled by Hideyoshi's efforts to cheer his retainer.

"As I sit here now, I can really feel the difficulty of maintaining my life with body and mind acting clearly as one being," Hideyoshi said. "The battlefield keeps me busy and makes me rough. Here I feel calm and happy. Somehow it seems that that contrast has become clear, and that I have become wonderfully resolved."

"Well, people obviously value free time and a peaceful frame of mind, but there's no real benefit in becoming a so-called man of leisure; it's an empty life. You, my lord, do not have an instant of peace between one worry and the next. So I suspect that it's quite a marvelous medicine to have this sudden little moment of peace. As for me—"

Hanbei was probably going to blame himself and apologize once again, so Hideyoshi suddenly interrupted him. "By the way, have you heard the news about Araki Murashige's insurrection?"

"Yes, last night someone came here with a detailed report." Hanbei spoke without raising an eyebrow, as though it were of little importance.

"Well, I'd like to talk about it a little," Hideyoshi said, and moved forward a little on his knees. "In Lord Nobunaga's council meeting at Azuchi, it was more or less decided to listen to Murashige's grievances and then do everything possible to calm him down and come to terms with him. But I wonder if that is really a good idea. And what should we do if Murashige rebels in earnest? I would like to hear your frank opinion. That's really another reason why I came here." Hideyoshi was asking for a strategy in order to cope with the situation, but Hanbei answered him briefly.

"I think that's fine. It's a very clever measure."

"Well, if an envoy is sent from Azuchi with a soothing message, is Itami Castle going to be pacified without incident?"

"No, of course not." Hanbei shook his head. "It will not. I think that now that Itami Castle has unfurled the banner of rebellion, it is definitely not going to roll it up again and submit to Azuchi."

"If that's true, then isn't it just wasted effort to send an envoy?"

"It may seem so, but it will serve some purpose. You could say that to act first with humanity and show a retainer his mistake would let the world know of Lord Nobunaga's virtue. During that time, Lord Murashige will most likely be anguished and confused, and thus the arrow that is pulled back unjustifiably and without real conviction is going to weaken as the days go by."