"I'm very grateful, but why should you do this for my son's sake? If that's the situa­tion, then I should go to Azuchi to explain myself."

"No, the crime of disobedience was mine. The only request I have is that you join Lord Hideyoshi in Harima. I doubt that I'm going to be in the world much longer, whether I'm found guilty or innocent. I'd like you to go to Harima as quickly as possible."

Hanbei prostrated himself in front of his friend as if to beg him. He had a sick man's determination. Even more, he was Hanbei, a man not lacking in mature deliberation; once he had spoken, he did not go back on his decisions.

That day the two friends parted company, one going east, the other west. Kanbei went on to the campaign in Harima, accompanied by Watanabe Tenzo. Hanbei set off for Mino, accompanied only by Kumataro.

As Oyu saw her brother off at the gate of the Nanzen Temple, there were tears in her eyes, for in her mind was the possibility that he might never return. The priests tried to comfort her by telling her that her grief would be as fleeting as all things, but in the end they almost had to carry her back through the main gate.

Hanbei most likely had the same thoughts as well. No, it was clear that he felt an even more intense grief. In the saddle of his horse, his body swayed as he neared a rise.

Hanbei suddenly pulled back on the reins as though he had just remembered some­thing. "Kumataro," he said, "there's something I've forgotten to say. I'm going to write it down, and I'd like you to run back and give it to Oyu." Taking out a piece of paper, he scribbled something and handed it to Kumataro. "I'll go on ahead slowly, so you can catch up with me."

Kumataro took the letter, bowed respectfully, and ran back toward the temple.

I've made mistakes, he thought sadly, as he looked down at the Nanzen Temple one last time. I have no regrets at all about the road I have taken, but for my sister…. He let the horse walk at its own pace.

A samurai's road was a straight one; and after Hanbei had come down from Mount Kurihara, he had not deviated from it. Nor would he have had any regrets, even if his life were to end that day. But what pained him most was that Oyu had become Hideyoshi's mistress. As her brother, he constantly felt censured by his conscience. She had, after all, been at his side at the crucial time of choosing her own path, he told himself. The fault lay with him, not with his sister. He secretly worried about the many years that were ahead of Oyu after his own death.

It was a woman's misfortune that her happiness never lasted her whole life. What was especially painful to him was the feeling that he had stained the pure whiteness of the Way of the Samurai—the way that based itself on death. How many times had he grumbled to himself about this matter, thinking that he should apologize to Hideyoshi and ask to be dismissed, or that he should unburden himself of his anguish to his sister, and ask her to live in seclusion? But the appropriate course of action had never presented itself.

He was embarking on a journey from which he would never return, and naturally felt that he should say something about the matter to Oyu. He had been unable to say anything when she stood so sweetly in front of him, but now, perhaps, he could write few lines of verse, which his sister might appreciate more easily. After he was gone, on the pretext of mourning him, she might be able to extricate herself from the crowd of women that clustered around Hideyoshi's bedroom like flowering vines at a gate.

When he arrived at his own estate in Mino, Hanbei spent the day worshiping at the grave of his ancestors and then went briefly back to Mount Bodai. He had not been there for a long time but would not give in to his desire to stay longer.

On arising the next morning, he quickly arranged his hair and heated up water for a rare bath.

"Call Ito Hanemon," he ordered.

The song of the nightingale could be heard frequently both in the plains around Mount Bodai and in the trees inside the castle compound.

"I am at your service, my lord." With the sliding paper doors at his back, a sturdy- looking elderly samurai bowed deeply. Ito was Shojumaru's guardian.

"Hanemon? Come in. You're the only one I've ever talked to about this in detail, but the day has finally come when Shojumaru must go to Azuchi. We will leave today. I know this is sudden, but please inform the attendants and have them make travel preparations at once."

Hanemon understood his master's distress very well, and the color suddenly drained from his face.

"Then Master Shojumaru's life is…"

Hanbei could see that the old man was shaking, and to reassure him he said, smiling, "No, he won't be beheaded. I'm going to appease Lord Nobunaga's anger, even if it's at the expense of my own life. As soon as he was freed from Itami, Shojumaru's father went to the campaign in Harima, a wordless statement of his innocence. Now the only thing remaining is my crime of ignoring my lord's orders."

Hanemon withdrew silently and went to Shojumaru's room. As he approached, could hear the happy sounds of the child's voice as he beat upon a hand drum. Shojumaru was treated so well by the Takenaka clan that one would hardly think he had been put in its care as a hostage.

Thus, when his guardians, who knew little of the real situation concerning the child, heard that they were to make preparations for a journey, they were fearful for Shojumaru's life.

Hanemon did his best to reassure them. "You have nothing to fear. If Master Shojumaru is going to Azuchi, have faith in Lord Hanbei's sense of justice. I think we should leave everything to him."

Shojumaru knew nothing of what was occurring and continued to play happily, beat­ing the drum and dancing. Even though he was a hostage, he had his father's fortitude and was undergoing the robust training of a samurai. He was by no means a timid child.

"What did Hanemon say?" Shojumaru asked, putting down the drum. Seeing his guardian's face, the child seemed to realize something had happened and he looked worried.

"It's nothing to worry about," one of the guardians said. "But we have to make quick preparations for a trip to Azuchi."

"Who's going?"

"You are, Master Shojumaru."

"I'm going too? To Azuchi?"

The guardians turned away so that the boy could not see their tears. As soon as Shojumaru heard their words, he jumped up and clapped his hands.

"Really? How wonderful!" And he ran back to his room. "I'm going to Azuchi! They said I'm going on a trip with Lord Hanbei! The dancing and drumming is over. Stop, everyone!"

Then he asked loudly, "Are these clothes all right?"

Ito came in and said, "His Lordship reminds you to take a bath and arrange your hair nicely."

The guardians led Shojumaru to the bath, put him in the tub, and did his hair. But when they began to dress him for the trip, they saw that both the underclothes and the kimono provided for him were of the purest white silk—the vestments of death.

Shojumaru's attendants immediately thought that Ito had lied to console them and that the boy's head was going to be cut off in front of Nobunaga. They started to cry again, but Shojumaru paid absolutely no attention and put on the white kimono, a red brocade armor coat, and a skirt of China silk. Dressed in this finery and flanked by his two attendants, he was taken to Hanbei's room.

In high spirits, Shojumaru ignored the tear-streaked faces of his attendants. "Well then, let's go!" he urged Hanbei again.

Hanbei finally stood up and said to his retainers, "Please take care of everything afterward." When they considered this later, it seemed that all of his intent was contained in the one word, "afterward."

*  *  *

After the battle of the Ane River, Nobunaga had granted Hanbei an audience. On that occasion Nobunaga had said, "I've heard from Hideyoshi that he looks upon you not only as his retainer but as his teacher. Be sure to understand that I don't think lightly of you, either."