"Don't give me any excuses!" Nobunaga interrupted. "Throw everything away! Get something else for tonight's banquet!"
Turning a deaf ear, Nobunaga walked away.
Mitsuhide sat silently for a while, almost as though he had lost the power to move his legs. At that point a messenger arrived and handed him a letter ordering him to collect his forces and leave immediately for the western provinces.
The Akechi retainers carried the many delicacies they had prepared for Ieyasu through the back gate and dumped them into the moat, exactly as they might have thrown out trash or a dead dog or cat. Silently, suppressing their tears, they poured their feelings into the black waters.
At night the frogs croaked loudly outside Mitsuhide's lodgings. What are you brooding over? the frogs seemed to ask. Were they crying in sympathy for him, or laughing at his stupidity? It depended on how one listened to them.
Mitsuhide had ordered that no one be let in, and now he sat alone in a large, empty room.
Though it was only the beginning of summer, a cooling, delicate breeze blew silently into the gloom. Mitsuhide was terribly pale. It seemed that the hair of his sidelocks stood straight up each time the candle flickered. His anguish could be seen in the disarray of his hair and in the dreadful color of his face.
Finally he slowly raised what Nobunaga had dubbed his "kumquat head" and looked out into the darkened garden. In the distance he saw a great number of lamps shining between the trees. It was the first night of the banquet in the castle.
Should I go like this, just as I was ordered? Mitsuhide asked himself. Or would it be better to go and pay my respects at the castle once before leaving? Mitsuhide had always been confused by such things. His ordinarily clear head was so tired at that point that he had to think hard in order not to make a mistake.
Having made this question into such a great issue, no matter how he long he considered the matter, he was at a complete loss about what to do. Most of the pain of confronting his difficulties welled up in an unconscious sigh of grief and he wondered: Are there other men in this world so difficult to understand? he wondered. What can a person do to suit my lord's temperament? He's so hard to please.
If he had been able to put aside the absolute nature of the lord-and-retainer relationship and speak honestly, he would have criticized Nobunaga. Mitsuhide had been endowed with critical faculties far beyond the common man's, and it was only because Nobunaga was his lord that he was cautious and, in fact, afraid of his own criticism.
"Tsumaki! Tsumaki!" Mitsuhide called, suddenly looking at the sliding doors on either side of him. "Dengo? Dengo, are you there?"
But the man who finally opened the door and bowed in front of him was neither Dengo nor Tsumaki. It was one of his personal attendants, Yomoda Masataka.
"Both men are busy with the disposal of the material we were going to use for the banquet and with the sudden preparations for our departure."
"Come with me to the castle."
"The castle? You're going to the castle?"
"I think it's proper to pay my respects to Lord Nobunaga once before we depart. Make the preparations."
Mitsuhide quickly got up to dress himself. He seemed to be spurring himself on before his resolution faded.
Masataka looked flustered. "This evening when I asked what you wanted to do, I thought you might want to go up to the castle, for just that reason. But we had no time, with His Lordship's sudden command. And you said then that we would leave without paying our respects to either Lord Nobunaga or Lord Ieyasu. Now, all the attendants and servants are engaged in cleaning up. May I ask you to wait for a little while?"
"No, no. I don't need many attendants. You'll be enough. Bring my horse."
Mitsuhide went out toward the entrance. There was not one retainer in the rooms he passed on his way. Only two or three pages followed behind him. But once he stepped outside, he could see small groups of retainers with their heads together, talking in the shadows of the trees and in the stables. Quite naturally, all the Akechi retainers were concerned about suddenly being dismissed as officials of the banquet and being ordered on the very same day to set out for the west.
Back and forth they expressed their resentment, their eyes filled with tears of grief. Their antagonism and anger toward Nobunaga, which had been intensifying since the Kai campaign, like oil poured on firewood, had been ignited by this latest incident.
At the camp in Suwa during the Kai campaign, Mitsuhide had already met with an unbearable public humiliation, an event that had not been hidden from his retainers. Why had Nobunaga been tormenting their master so much recently?
But today's shock was by far the worst, because the incident would be known to all the guests: Lord Ieyasu and his retainers, the nobility from Kyoto, and Mitsuhide's fellow Oda generals. To have suffered an insult here was the same as having one's shame exposed to the entire nation.
Such public humiliation was unbearable to anyone born a samurai.
"Your horse, my lord," Masataka said.
The retainers had still not noticed the attendant leading Mitsuhide's horse. Distracted by the events of the day, they still stood in small groups, discussing the matter.
Just as Mitsuhide was about to leave, someone dismounted in front of the gate. It was a messenger from Nobunaga.
"Lord Mitsuhide, are you leaving?" the man inquired.
"Not yet. I thought I would go to the castle once more, pay my respects to His Lordship and Lord Ieyasu, and leave."
"Lord Nobunaga was worried that you might consider doing that, and sent me here so that you wouldn't have to go to the castle in the middle of your haste to depart."
"What? Yet another message?" Mitsuhide said. He immediately went back inside, sat down, and listened respectfully to his lord's wishes.
The order for you to be dismissed from today's function and take your leave still stands as before, but there are further instructions concerning your departure as the vanguard to the western provinces. The Akechi forces are to march from Tajima into Inaba. You may enter Mori Terumoto's provinces at will. Do not be careless, and do not allow time to pass. You should return to Tamba at once, prepare your troops, and protect Hideyoshi's flank along the Sanin Road. I myself will soon head westward as a rear guard. Do not waste time and possibly cause us to miss this strategic opportunity.
Mitsuhide prostrated himself and responded that he would follow the instructions to the letter. Then, perhaps feeling that he had shown too much servility, he sat up, looked directly at the messenger, and said, "Please speak to His Lordship as you see fit."
Mitsuhide walked to the entrance to see the man off. With each step, his senses were set on edge by the wind that wafted through the almost empty building.
Until a few years ago, when I was given leave to return home, he always wanted me to see him once before I left, even if it was the middle of the night. How many times had
Nobunaga said, Come by for a bowl of tea, or If you're leaving in the morning, come by before dawn. Why has he come to despise me like this? He's even sent a messenger so he won't have to see me in person.
Don't even think. Don't even consider it. The more he made an effort not to, the more he grumbled and the more his heart was flooded by a silent monologue. The words were like bubbles rising up through fetid water.
"Does anyone see these flowers? They're useless too!"
Mitsuhide reached out for the large vase in the alcove and shook the flowers that had been beautifully arranged. As he carried the vase to the veranda, the water spilled noisily onto the floor. "Let's get out of here! It's time to leave! Are you ready?" he shouted to his retainers. Mitsuhide raised the vase over his head, aimed at a wide stepping stone, and threw it with all his might. It exploded amid a spray of water with a comforting sound, and water flew back onto Mitsuhide's face and chest. Mitsuhide turned his soaked face up ward the empty sky and laughed out loud. He laughed completely alone.