When Hanbei witnessed his friend's efforts, he forgot about his own suffering and tackled his own arduous task. Hideyoshi had a strange field staff, indeed. Neither of his two chief generals, whom he valued like a pair of bright jewels, was in perfect health. One was chronically sick; the other had to direct the fighting from a litter.

But the considerable help these two men gave Hideyoshi went beyond their resourcefulness. Every time he looked at their tragic figures, he could not help but be moved to tears by sublime emotions. At this point his field staff was absolutely of one body and mind. It was only because of this that the morale of the troops did not waver. It had taken at least half a year, but now the resistance of Miki Castle was beginning to weaken. If the field staff of the attacking troops had not had this indestructible center, Miki Castle might never have fallen. Then the Mori fleet might have broken through the encircling troops and brought in provisions, or their troops might have crossed the mountains, combined with the soldiers in the castle, and crushed the attacking troops. And the name of Hideyoshi might have met its end right there. With this kind of spirit, there were times when even Hideyoshi felt outstripped by Kanbei's quick wit and re­sources, and, half in jest, would express his admiration by calling Kanbei "that damned cripple." But it was clear that in his heart he felt a deep respect for this man upon whom he relied so much.

The rainy season was long over, the intense heat of the summer had passed, and the coolness of fall had come in with the beginning of the Eighth Month. Hanbei's illness suddenly took a turn for the worse, and this time it seemed as though he would never be putting armor on his sick body again.

Ah, is heaven abandoning me, too, at last? Hideyoshi lamented. Hanbei is too young and talented to die. Can't fate give him more time?

He had shut himself in the hut where Hanbei lay, sitting with his sick friend day and night, but that evening, when he was called to other important affairs, Hanbei's condi­tion appeared to worsen hourly. The enemy fortresses at Takano and Mount Hachiman were wrapped in the evening mist. As night approached gunfire echoed through the mountains.

It must be that damned cripple again! Hideyoshi thought. He shouldn't go that far inside enemy lines.

Hideyoshi worried about Kanbei, who had pressed in on the enemy but had not yet returned. Hurried footsteps approached and stopped at his side. When he looked around, someone was tearfully prostrating himself.

"Shojumaru?"

After Shojumaru had joined the camp at Mount Hirai, he had gone into battle on several occasions. In a short time he had been transformed into a stouthearted adult. About one week before this, when Hanbei's condition had seemed to be deteriorating quickly, Hideyoshi had ordered Shojumaru to watch Hanbei.

"I'm sure the patient would be more pleased with you at his bedside than someone else. I would like to be there taking care of him myself, but I'm afraid that if he worried about troubling me, his condition would worsen."

For Shojumaru, Hanbei was both teacher and surrogate father. Now he waited upon Hanbei day and night without taking off his own armor, putting all his energy into preparing the man's medicine and caring for his needs. This was the Shojumaru who had come running in and had tearfully prostrated himself on the ground. Intuitively, Hideyoshi felt as though he had been struck in the chest.

"Why are you crying, Shojumaru?" he scolded him.

"Please forgive me," Shojumaru said, wiping his eyes. "Lord Hanbei is almost too weak to speak; he may not last until midnight. If you can take time from the battle, could you come for a moment?"

"He's on the verge of dying?"

"I-I'm afraid so."

"Is that what the doctor says?"

"Yes. Lord Hanbei strictly ordered me not to tell you or anyone else in camp of his condition, but the doctor and Lord Hanbei's retainers said that his departure from this world is imminent and that it would be better if I told you."

Hideyoshi was already resigned. "Shojumaru, would you stay here for a short while in my place? I suspect your father will be withdrawing from the battlefield at Takano soon.”

"My father's fighting at Takano?"

"He's directing everything from his litter as usual."

"Well then, could I go to Takano, lead the fighting in my father's place, and tell him to go to Lord Hanbei's bedside?"

"You've spoken well! Go, if you have that kind of courage."

"As long as Lord Hanbei is still breathing, my father will want to be with him. He won't say it, but I'm sure that Lord Hanbei wants to see my father, too." Shojumaru spoke gallantly and, grasping a spear that looked much too big for him, dashed off toward the foothills.

Hideyoshi walked off in the opposite direction, gradually lengthening his stride. Lamplight spilled from one of the huts. It was the one Takenaka Hanbei slept in, and just at that moment the moon began to shine faintly over the roof. The doctor Hideyoshi had sent was at the bedside, as were Hanbei's retainers. The hut was hardly more than a wooden fence, but white coverlets had been piled on the rush mats, and in one corner stood a folding screen.

'Hanbei, can you hear me? It's me, Hideyoshi. How do you feel?" He sat quietly at his friend's side, looking at his face on the pillow. Perhaps because of the darkness, Hanbei’s face was as luminescent as a jewel. One could not help shedding tears, wondering that a man could become so thin. It was a heartrending sight for Hideyoshi; just looking at the man was painful.

"Doctor, how is he?"

The doctor could say nothing. His silent answer meant that it was only a matter of time, but Hideyoshi really wanted to hear that there might be some hope.

The sick man moved his hand slightiy. He seemed to have heard Hideyoshi's voice, and, barely opening his eyes, he tried to say something to one of his attendants, who replied, "His Lordship has been kind enough to come visit you…to be at your bedside…."

Hanbei nodded but seemed to be fretful about something. He appeared to be ordering the man to help him up.

"What do you think?" an attendant inquired, looking at the doctor. The doctor was hardly able to answer. Hideyoshi understood what Hanbei wanted.

"What? You want to sit up? Why not stay in bed?" he said, soothing him as though he were calming a child. Hanbei shook his head slightly and once again chided his attendants. He was unable to speak in a loud voice, but his desire could plainly be seen in his hollow eyes. They gently raised the upper half of the sick man's plank-thin body, but when they tried to help him sit up, Hanbei pushed them away. He bit his lip and gradu­ally got out of bed. This act clearly require a huge effort on the part of a sick man who by now could hardly breathe.

Transfixed by what they were witnessing, Hideyoshi, the doctor, and Hanbei's retainers could only hold their breath and watch. Finally, when he had crawled a few paces from his bedding, Hanbei knelt properly on the reed matting. With the sharp points of his shoulders, his thin knees, and his sallow hands, Hanbei looked almost like a young girl. He closed his mouth tightly and appeared to be controlling his breath. Finally he bowed so low that it seemed he might break.

"My farewell to you is approaching this evening. Once again I must show my gratitude for the many years of your great benevolence." Then he paused for a moment. "Whether the leaves fall or bloom, live or die, when you reflect deeply on the matter, it would appear that the colors of autumn and spring fill the entire universe. I have felt that the world is an interesting place. My lord, I have been tied by karma to you and have re­ceived your kind treatment. When I look back, my only regret at parting is that I have been of no service to you at all."