"I shall deliver it to him without fail."

"Undoubtedly, that Mori retainer left on his errand with no less resolution than your own. But he was captured, and a letter containing the intentions of both Muneharu and Kikkawa fell into my hands. Be extremely careful."

Hideyoshi sat facing the lamp. The letter he had entrusted to the messenger to take to Azuchi requested Nobunaga to lead an army into the west.

The fate of the solitary Takamatsu Castle was like that of a fish already in the net. The combined armies of Mori Terumoto, Kobayakawa Takakage, and Kikkawa Motoharu had come. The hour was now! The conquest of the west could be completed with a single blow. Hideyoshi wanted to show this grand spectacle to Nobunaga, and he believed his lord's personal attendance would guarantee a momentous victory.

"Kumquat Head!"

The castle town of Azuchi had become the bustling center of a new culture. Lively, color­fully dressed citizens thronged its streets, and above, the brilliant golds and blues of the castle donjon looked as though they had been embroidered with the green of the new spring leaves.

Conditions could not have been more different from those in the west. In the Fifth Month, while Hideyoshi and his men had been toiling day and night in the mud to ac­complish their attack on Takamatsu Castle, the streets of Azuchi were hung with decora­tions, and the town was so animated that it looked as though its citizens were celebrating the New Year and the Midsummer Festival at the same time.

Nobunaga was preparing to welcome a guest of some importance. But who, people wondered, could be that important? The man who arrived at Azuchi on the fifteenth day of the Fifth Month was none other than Lord Tokugawa Ieyasu of Mikawa.

Less than one month before, Nobunaga had made his triumphal return from Kai through Ieyasu's province of Mikawa, so he might have been doing nothing more than re­turning the courtesy. But the visit was clearly in Ieyasu's interest; it was an era of sweeping change, and no time to neglect the future. Thus, though it was rare for Ieyasu to make formal visits to other provinces, he was coming to Azuchi, attended by a brilliant retinue of retainers.

The best lodgings in the town were set aside for him, and Akechi Mitsuhide was given responsibility for his reception. In addition, Nobunaga had ordered his son Nobutada, who was about to leave for the western provinces, to help with the preparations for an extravagant three-day banquet.

Some wondered aloud why Nobunaga was giving such a lavish welcome to Ieyasu, who was eight years his junior and the lord of a province that until recently had been small and weak. Others countered that there was nothing strange about it at all. The alliance between the Oda and the Tokugawa had endured for more than twenty years without suspicion, broken agreements, or fighting, which was a miracle in those days of berayals and feudal power struggles.

A third group were of the opinion that the reason for the event was not something as trivial as repaying Ieyasu for his hospitality. They argued that in the future the lord of the Oda was going to accomplish great things. The west was a springboard to Japan's southernmost island of Kyushu, and from there to the rich lands of the Southern Seas. If Nobunaga was to succeed in their conquest, he would have to entrust the north of Japan to an ally he could trust.

For some time now, Nobunaga had planned to go to the western provinces himself to establish his own rule, just as he had done in Kai. Even now he was in the middle of busy preparations to leave for the front. Nevertheless, he put aside that important work to welcome Ieyasu.

Quite naturally, Ieyasu was given the best of what Azuchi could provide in terms of lodgings, furniture, and utensils, sake and food. But what Nobunaga wanted to give Ieyasu most of all were things that could be found in the humble tenements of the people and around the hearths of country folk—his friendship and trust.

It was these two things that had ensured the survival of their alliance. And, for his part, Ieyasu had proved himself a reliable ally time and time again. Ieyasu knew very well that his own interests were strongly tied to those of Nobunaga, despite the latter's occasional selfishness and willfulness. So even if he had drunk from a very bitter cup at times, he supported Nobunaga and had sworn to follow him to the very end.

If a disinterested third party were to look at the twenty-year alliance between the two men and to judge who had gained and who had lost, he would most likely have to say that both men had benefited. Without Ieyasu's friendship when he was young and beginning to set the direction of his life, Nobunaga would not have been in Azuchi. And if Ieyasu had never received Nobunaga's assistance, the weak and small province of Mikawa very likely would not have been able to withstand the pressures from its neighbors.

Aside from having bonds of friendship and self-interest, the two men had characters that were clearly complementary. Nobunaga had ambitions—and the will to realize them—the likes of which a prudent man like Ieyasu could not even imagine. Ieyasu, Nobunaga was the first to admit, had virtues that he himself lacked: patience, modesty, and frugality.  Nor did Ieyasu seem to be ambitious for himself. He looked after the interests of his own province but never gave his ally cause for concern. He always stood his ground against their common enemies, a silent fortress at Nobunaga's rear.

In other words, Mikawa was an ideal ally, and Ieyasu a reliable friend. In looking back over the hardships and dangers they had faced over the past twenty years, Nobunaga was moved to call Ieyasu his "good old comrade," and praised him as the man who had done the most to make Azuchi a reality.

During the feast, Ieyasu expressed his heartfelt gratitude for Nobunaga's treatment, but periodically he felt that someone was missing, and finally he asked Nobunaga, "Wasn't Lord Mitsuhide in charge of the banquet? What's happened to him? I haven't seen him at all today, and I didn't see him at the Noh performance yesterday."

"Ah, Mitsuhide," Nobunaga answered. "He returned to Sakamoto Castle. He had to leave so quickly that he had no time to pay his respects." Nobunaga's answer was delivered in a voice that was refreshing and clear, and he showed no particular emotion as he spoke.

But Ieyasu was a little concerned. There were disturbing rumors spreading in the town. Nobunaga's brief and untroubled answer, however, seemed to belie the rumors, and Ieyasu let the matter drop.

Nevertheless, that night Ieyasu returned to his lodgings and listened to the stories that his retainers had heard about Mitsuhide's departure. And he could see that the situation was complicated enough not to be ignored. Listening to the different versions of the story, he pieced together what seemed to be the reason behind Mitsuhide's sudden departure.

It had happened on the day of Ieyasu's arrival. Without previous notice, Nobunaga had made an official inspection of the kitchens. It was the rainy season; Azuchi was hot and muggy. The smell of raw fish and preserved vegetables offended the senses. Not only that, but the foodstuffs that had been collected in great quantities from Sakai and Kyoto had been unpacked and piled up in terrible disarray. Flies swarmed over the food and on Nobunaga's face.

"This place stinks!" he growled angrily. Then, as he walked into the preparation room he continued, speaking to no one in particular, "What is this? All this dirt! All this waste! Are you going to cook for our honored guest in this stinking place? Are you going to serve him rotten fish? Throw all this stuff away!"

Nobunaga's anger was completely unexpected, and the kitchen officials flung themselves at his feet. It was a pitiful scene. Mitsuhide had done his best to purchase the finest ingredients and to have exquisite dishes prepared, going almost without sleep for several days, supervising his retainers and the kitchen workers. Now he could hardly believe his ears. He ran out in surprise and prostrated himself before his lord, explaining that the of­fensive smell was most certainly not caused by rotten fish.