He was that mistaken about how much at peace the world was, and had completely forgotten that this was truly just one more day in the civil war.

"What! Akechi forces?" His astonishment lasted no more than a moment. "Damn!" and he leaped out of the mansion with almost nothing more than the clothes on his back. As soon as he saw the dense crowds of armored, mounted men, bristling with swords and spears in the dark morning mist, he hurried back inside the mansion, put on his armor, and grabbed his sword.

With a force of only thirty or forty men, he hastened off to fight at Nobunaga's side.  The various Akechi corps had blocked off all the streets leading to the Honno Temple. The encounter with Nagato's force started at a corner of the compound's western wall and developed into fierce hand-to-hand fighting. Breaking through one small patrol, Nagato's little party pressed fairly close to the main gate; but once a detachment of the Akechi forces turned and witnessed this impertinent action, they readied their spears and charged. Nagato's tiny force was hardly a match for them, and both he and his son were wounded. With their numbers reduced by half, they were forced to retreat.

"Try to get to the Myokaku Temple! We will join Lord Nobutada!"

Above the huge roof of the Honno Temple, jet black smoke could be seen billowing like thunderclouds. Was it the attacking Akechi forces, Nobunaga's retainers, or Nobunaga himself who had set fire inside the temple? The situation was so chaotic that no one could tell.

The smoke began to billow out from the outer temple, from a room in the court, and fromm the kitchen almost all at the same time.

A page and two other men were fighting in the kitchen like demons. It seemed that the monks from the temple kitchen had risen early—though not one of them was to be seen—because beneath the huge cauldrons the firewood had been kindled.

The page stood in the door of the kitchen and stabbed at least two of the Akechi men who had broken in. His spear finally taken from him and facing too many of the enemy, he jumped up to the wooden floor and kept the men at bay by throwing kitchen implements and anything else he could lay his hands on.

A tea master and another man who were also there brandished their swords and fought bravely alongside the page. And though the enemy felt scorn for these three lightly armed opponents, a group of samurai was unable to step up onto the wooden floor because of them.

"What's taking so long?"

A warrior who seemed to be the commander looked in, grabbed a firebrand from an oven, and threw it into the faces of the three men. He then threw a firebrand into the store room and one up toward the ceiling.

"Inside!"

"He must be inside!"

Their objective was Nobunaga.

In that instant they pushed their way inside, kicking the burning firewood around with their warriors' straw sandals as they split up inside the building. Flames quickly crawled up the sliding doors and pillars like red-leafed ivy. The figures of the page and the tea master were motionless as the flames enveloped them, too.

The stables were in a complete uproar. Ten or more horses had panicked and were kicking the walls of their stalls, knocking out the boards. Two of them finally broke the crossbars and bucked violently outside. Running wild, they galloped into the center of the Akechi forces while the other horses whinnied more and more violently as they saw the flames. The samurai at the stables left their post and went to defend the steps of the court  where Nobunaga had last been seen. Making this their last stand, they were all struck down and fell together.

Even the stableboys, who could have escaped, stayed behind and fought until they were all killed. These men were ordinarily completely inconspicuous, but on this day they silently demonstrated with the sacrifice of their lives that they were not inferior to men who had large stipends or a high rank.

Carrying his blood-soaked spear, an Akechi warrior running from room to room stopped when he saw a comrade through the smoke.

"Minoura?"

"Hey!"

"Have you accomplished anything yet?"

"No, not yet."

Together they searched for Nobunaga—or, more accurately, they competed in finding him. Soon they separated, making their way through the smoke.

The fire seemed to have spread beneath the roof, and the inside of the temple was crackling. Even the leather and metal fittings on the warriors' armor felt hot to the touch. In an instant, the only human forms to be seen were either corpses or the warriors of the Akechi, and even a number of the Akechi ran outside as the fire crept along the roofs.

Of the men inside who still stood their ground, some were choking from the smoke while others were covered with ashes. The doors and sliding panels had been kicked out in the hall, and now the flaming gold brocade and pieces of ignited wood swirled thick and fast, burning as brightly as a field on fire. But inside the small rooms and recesses it was dark, and forms were indistinct. Thick with smoke, the various corridors could not even be distinguished.

Ranmaru leaned heavily against the cedar door leading to the room he was guarding and then quietly stood up. With a bloodied spear in hand, he looked to the right and then to the left. Hearing footsteps, he readied his spear.

Focusing his entire being on his sense of hearing, he listened for some sign from the

room. The white figure that had rushed inside just now had been that of the General of he Right, Oda Nobunaga. He had fought until the very end, when he saw that flames were engulfing the temple and that all of the men around him had been struck down and killed. He had fought hand-to-hand with the common soldiers as if he had been one himself. Yet he had made the decision to commit seppuku not simply because he had conidered his reputation and found it regrettable to leave his head to a nonentity. A man's death was predetermined, so he did not even regret the loss of his life. What he did regret losing was the great work of his life.

The Myokaku Temple was nearby. The mansion of the governor was also in the neighborhood. And there were samurai who were lodged inside the city. If by some chance contact was made with the outside, escape might be possible, Nobunaga thought. On the other hand, this inspiration, or rather this conspiracy, had been planned by that kumquat head, Mitsuhide. Mitsuhide's character was such that if he decided to take an action like this, he would carry it out with such care that not even water might leak through. Well then, it was time to be resolved.

Those two thoughts struggled with each other in Nobunaga's mind.

Looking on the corpses of the attendants who had died together in battle, he knew that his final moments were at hand. Quitting the battle, he withdrew into a room and placed Ranmaru outside to guard the door, saying, "If you hear my voice inside, you can take it that I am committing suicide. Put my body under some sliding panels and set them on fire. Until then, do not let the enemy make their way in." As Nobunaga gave these instructions, he looked steadily into Ranmaru's eyes.

The wooden door was secure. Nobunaga gazed for a moment at the yet unmarred gilded paintings on the walls. A thin wisp of smoke began to flow through from somewhere, but it seemed that it would be a little while before the flames would spread inside.

This is a matter of departure. I don't have to hurry.

He felt as though someone were speaking to him. As soon as he had entered the room, he had felt—even more than the heat that surrounded him on four sides—a burning thirst. He almost collapsed as he sat down in the center of the room, but quickly reconsidered and moved to the slightly elevated alcove. The area beneath him was ordinarily reserved for his retainers, after all. He imagined a cupful of water running down his throat, and for a moment he made an effort to settle his spirit securely just below his navel. To this purpose, he knelt formally with his legs tucked underneath him, straightened his posture and his clothes, and tried to behave as though his retainers were sitting before him just as they did in ordinary times.