The men split into two groups, one going upstream, the other downstream.

"Ah. Here's one!" one man shouted from upstream, stopping in his tracks.

At a spot on the bank where the earth had been washed away during a flood, large purple willows with exposed roots stooped and bowed their branches over the water. The water was calm and dark, like a deep pool. A boat was tied up in the shadows under the trees.

"And it's usable."

The man jumped down and, planning to take the boat downstream, reached down to loosen the mooring rope wound around the roots of a willow. His hand stopped and he gazed fixedly into the boat, a small craft with a shallow draft, used for carrying baggage.  It was close to falling apart, dank with slime, and listing dangerously. Nevertheless, it could be used for the crossing. What held the soldier's attention was a man fast asleep under a rotting rush mat, snoring soundly. He wore strange clothes. Both his sleeves and hem were short, and under his dirty white shirting he wore leggings and coverings for the backs of his hands. He had straw sandals on his bare feet. His age was somewhere be­tween childhood and adulthood. He lay on his back under the open sky, the night dew on his eyebrows and eyelashes. He seemed to be at absolute peace with the world.

"Hey, you!" The soldier tried to awaken him, but when the man did not respond at all, he called to him again and tapped him lightly on the chest with the butt of his spear.

"Hey, you, wake up!"

Hiyoshi opened his eyes, grabbed the shaft of the spear with a shout, and stared back at the soldier.

The swirling water around the boat might almost have been a reflection of the state of Hiyoshi's life. On that frosty night in the first month of the previous year when he had taken leave of his mother and sister, he had told them he would be back when he became a great man. He had no desire to go from one job to another, apprenticing himself to merchants and artisans as he had done so far. What he wanted most was to serve a samu­rai. But his appearance was against him, and he had no evidence of his birth or lineage.

Kiyosu, Nagoya, Sumpu, Odawara—he had walked through all of them. He would sometimes screw up his courage and stand before the gate of a samurai residence, but all of his pleas were met with laughter and ridicule. Once he had even been chased away with a broom. His money was quickly running out, and he realized that the world was just as his aunt in Yabuyama had told him. Still, he refused to let go of his dream, believ­ing his aspirations were reasonable. He was not ashamed to tell anyone of his ambitions, even if he had to sleep out in the open, on the grass, or, like tonight, with water for his bed. How to make his mother, whom he imagined to be the unhappiest person in the world, the happiest, was what drove him on. And how could he do something for his poor sister, who thought she could never marry?

He had his own desires as well. His stomach never felt full, no matter how much he ate. Seeing large mansions, he wanted to live in such places, and the sight of elegant samurai made him reflect on his own appearance; looking at beautiful women, he was overwhelmed by their perfume. Not that his priorities had changed. First came his mother's happiness. His own wants could be taken care of later. For the time being he took pleasure in wandering from place to place, ignoring his hunger, and learning new things—about the workings of the world, human passions, the customs of different areas. He tried to understand current events, compared the military strength of the different provinces, and studied the ways of farmers and townsfolk.

From the beginning of the civil wars to the end of the last century, many men had trained in the martial arts. It meant a life of hardship, and for a year and a half Hiyoshi had followed the Way of the Warrior. But he had not gone about with a long sword at his side, aiming to perfect his martial skills. In fact, with his little bit of money he had bought needles from a wholesaler and had become an itinerant peddler. He had walked as far as Kai and Hokuetsu, his sales pitch always on the tip of his tongue. "Need any needles? Here we have sewing needles from Kyoto. Won't you buy them? Needles for cotton, nee­dles for silk. Sewing needles from Kyoto." His earnings were meager, barely enough to live on. He did not, however, become small-minded, as merchants are prone to do, seeing the world only in terms of their wares.

The Hojo clan of Odawara, the Takeda of Kai, the Imagawa of Suruga. Visiting the castle towns of the north, he sensed that the world was stirring, going through a great change. He came to the conclusion that the coming events would be different from the small battles that had, until now, been symptomatic of internal discord. There would be a great war and it would heal all the country's ills. And if it does, he thought as he walked around selling his wares, then even I… .The world is getting tired of the decrepit Ashikaga regime. There's chaos all around and the world is waiting for those of us who are young.

Having traveled from the northern provinces to Kyoto and Omi, he had learned a little about life. He had crossed into Owari and arrived at Okazaki, hearing that a relative of his father lived in this castle town. He was not about to go to relatives or acquaintances to ask for food and clothing, but early that summer he had become weak and was suffering from a bad case of food poisoning. He also wanted to hear news of home.

He had walked for two days under the bright, scorching sun, but had been unable to find the man he was looking for. After eating a raw cucumber and drinking water from a well, he had felt a sharp pain in his gut. In the evening he had followed the bank of the Yahagi River until he found a boat. His stomach felt sore and rumbled. Perhaps because he had a slight fever, his mouth was dry and felt as though it was full of thorns. Even now, he thought of his mother, and she came to him in his dreams. Later he fell into a deeper sleep, and nothing—neither his mother nor the pain in his stomach nor heaven and earth—existed any longer. Until, that is, the soldier began rapping on his chest the spear.

Hiyoshi's waking shout was disproportionate to the size of his body. He instinctively grabbed hold of the spear. In those days the chest was believed to be the location of the soul, like a shrine within the body.

"Hey, runt, get up!"

The soldier tried to pull back his spear. Hiyoshi held on to it and sat up.

"Get up? I am up."

The man, feeling the strength of Hiyoshi's grip on the spear, scowled and said, “Get out of the boat!"

"Get out?"

"Yes, now! We need the boat, so clear out. Get lost!"

Hiyoshi angrily sat down again. "What if I don't want to?"

"What?"

"What if I don't want to?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want to get out of the boat."

"You little bastard!"

"Who's the bastard? Waking a man from a deep sleep by tapping him with a spear, then telling him to get out and get lost?"

"Shit! You'd better watch how you talk. Who do you think I am?"

"A man."

"That's obvious."

"You're the one who asked."

"Your mouth works pretty well, doesn't it, for a little runt? In a second it may wrinkle up and shrink. We are men of the Hachisuka clan. Our leader is Hachisuka Koroku. We got here in the middle of the night, and we need a boat to cross the river."

"You can see the boat but not the man. Anyway, I'm using it!"

"I saw you and woke you up. Now get out of there and get lost."

"Annoying, aren't you?"

"Say that again?"

"As many times as you like. I don't want to get out. I'm not giving up this boat."

The man yanked on the shaft of the spear in an effort to pull Hiyoshi onto the bank. Choosing his moment, Hiyoshi let go. The spear sheared through the leaves of the wil­lows, and the soldier tumbled over backwards. Reversing the spear, he thrust it point-first at Hiyoshi. Rotting planks, a bilge bucket, and the reed mat came flying out of the boat.