Mitsuhide had been blessed with an exceptionally large family of seven daughters and twelve sons. Two-thirds of them were married or had been adopted by other families, but several of the younger ones, as well as children of his kinsmen and their grandchildren, were still living at the castle.
His wife, Teruko, always said, "How old will I be when I no longer have to look after children?" She took in the children of clan members who had died in battle and even raised the children her husband had fathered with other women. This gentle, wise woman was contented with her lot, and although she was already fifty, she put up with the children and their mischief.
Since leaving Azuchi, Mitsuhide had not found a comfort equal to being at home, and he slept peacefully that night. Even on the next day, his children's cheerfulness and his faithful wife's smile soothed his heart.
It might be supposed that spending such a night would cause him to change his mind. But he did not waver in the least. On the contrary, he now had the courage to realize an even more secret ambition that lodged in his heart.
Teruko had been with him from the time he had had no lord to serve. Happy with her present estate, she had no other thoughts than to be a mother to her children. Looking at her now, Mitsuhide formed silent words in his breast. Your husband is not going to be like this forever. Everyone will soon be looking up to you as the wife of the next shogun. And as he gazed at the children and other members of his large household, for a moment he was caught up in his own fantasy. I'm going to move you all from this provincial castle to a palace even more elevated than Azuchi. How much happier you will then!
Later that day, Mitsuhide left the castle, accompanied by a few attendants. He was lightly dressed and was not being waited upon by his usual retainers. Though there had been no official announcement, even the soldiers at the castle gate knew that their lord was going to spend the night at Atago Shrine.
Before departing for the west, Mitsuhide was going to the shrine to pray for good luck in battle. Accompanied by a few of his closest friends, he would stay in the shrine to hold a poetry party and would return the following day.
When he said that he was going to a shrine to pray for victory in battle, and that he was inviting some friends from the capital for a party, nobody suspected what was really Mitsuhide's mind.
The twenty servants and half a dozen mounted retainers were dressed more lightly than they would have been had they been going hawking. On the day before, the monks of Itokuin Temple and the priests of Atago Shrine had been informed of the visit, so they were waiting to welcome their lord. As soon as he had dismounted, Mitsuhide asked for a monk by the name of Gyoyu.
"Is Shoha coming?" Mitsuhide asked the monk. When Gyoyu replied that the famous poet was already there waiting for him, Mitsuhide exclaimed, "What? Here already? Well, that's perfect. Has he brought other poets from the capital?"
"It seems that Master Shoha had very little time to prepare himself. He received your invitation yesterday evening, and found that whoever he tried to invite was unable to attend at such short notice. Along with his son, Shinzen, he was only able to bring two others: a disciple by the name of Kennyo, and a relative called Shoshitsu."
"Is that so?" Mitsuhide laughed. "Did he complain? I knew it was an unreasonable request, but after honoring him time and time again by sending palanquins and escorts, this time I thought it would be much more elegant—and more enjoyable—if he was the one who went to some trouble to meet me. That's why I invited him to this place so suddenly. But just as you might expect, Shoha didn't even feign illness. He scurried up the mountain at once."
With the two monks walking ahead and his attendants behind, Mitsuhide climbed a flight of high stone stairs. Just when it seemed as though there would be flat ground to walk on for a while, the stairs would begin again. As they climbed, the dark green of the cypress trees deepened even more, and the dark violet of the summer sky edged into evening. They felt the night approaching quickly. With every step, their skin could feel the sudden drop in temperature; it was considerably colder at the summit than it had been at the foot of the mountain.
"Master Shoha sends his apologies," Gyoyu told Mitsuhide when they had reached the guest room of the temple. "He would have come to meet you, but since he thought
you would probably pray first at the temples and shrines on the way, he said he would greet you after your devotions."
Mitsuhide nodded silently. Then, after drinking a cup of water, he asked for a guide. "Before anything else, I'd like to offer a prayer to the patron deity, and then I'll visit the Atago Shrine while there's still some light."
The shrine priest led the way along a neatly swept path. He climbed the stairs of the outer shrine and lit the sacred candles. Mitsuhide bowed low, and stood in prayer for some time. Three times the priest whisked a branch of the sacred tree over Mitsuhide's head, and then offered him an earthen cup of sacred sake.
"I've heard that this shrine is dedicated to the fire god. Is that true?" Mitsuhide asked afterward.
"That is true, my lord," the priest replied.
"And I've heard that if you pray to this god and abstain from using fire, your prayers will be answered."
"That has been said since ancient times." The priest avoided giving a clear answer to the question, and turned it back on Mitsuhide. "I wonder how that tradition originated?" Then, changing the subject, he began to talk about the history of the shrine.
Bored by the priest's monologue, Mitsuhide gazed at the holy lamps in the outer shrine. Finally he stood up silendy and descended the stairs. It was already dark when he walked to the Atago Shrine. Leaving the monks, he went alone to the nearby Temple of the Shogun Jizo. There he drew his fortune, but the first lot he pulled predicted bad luck. He drew again, and that one too read "Bad luck." For a moment, Mitsuhide stood as silent as stone. Picking up the box that held the fortunes, he lifted it reverentiy to his forehead, closed his eyes, and drew for the third time. This time the answer was "Great good fortune."
Mitsuhide turned and walked toward his waiting attendants. They had watched him from afar as he drew his fortune, imagining that he was only indulging a fancy. Mitsuhide was, after all, a man who prided himself on his intellect and who was, above all else, rational. He was hardly the kind of man who would use fortune-telling to reach a decision,
The flickering lamps of the guest room shone through the young leaves. For Shoha and his fellow poets, it would be a night of grinding ink on the inkstones as they recorded their own verses.
The night's entertainment began with a banquet at which Mitsuhide was the guest of honor. The guests bantered and laughed and drank many rounds of sake, and they were so engrossed in their conversation that they seemed to have forgotten all about poetry.
"The summer nights are short," their host, the abbot, announced. "It's getting late and I'm afraid it's going to be light before we finish our hundred linked verses."
In another room, poetry mats had been arranged. Paper and an inkstone had been set in front of each cushion as though to encourage the participants to write elegant verses.
Shoha and Shoshitsu were both accomplished poets. Shoha was regarded affectionately by Nobunaga and was on familiar terms with Hideyoshi and the leading tea master
of the day. He was a man who had a large circle of acquaintances.
"Well, my lord, would you give us the first verse," Shoha requested.
Mitsuhide, however, did not touch the paper in front of him. His elbow was still on the armrest, and he seemed to be looking out into the darkness of the garden where the leaves were stirring.