That same night a mountain ascetic was challenged by another patrol. In contrast to the cringing manner of the fake blind musician, the monk was haughty.
"I'm a disciple of the Shogo Temple," he announced arrogantly. "We mountain ascetics often walk the whole night through without taking a rest. I walk where I will, path or no path. What do you mean by asking me a trivial question like where am I going? Someone with a body like traveling clouds and flowing streams has no need of a destination."
The ascetic continued in this vein for a while, and then tried to run away. A soldier caught him in the shins with the shaft of his spear, and the man fell down with a scream.
Stripping the monk half-naked, the soldiers found that he was not a mountain ascetic at all. He was a warrior-monk of the Honganji, who was carrying a secret report to the Mori about the events at the Honno Temple. He too was immediately sent like a piece of baggage to Hideyoshi's camp.
There were only two captives that night, but if either of them had slipped through the cordon and accomplished his mission, the Mori would have known by the next morning about Nobunaga's death.
The fake ascetic had not been sent by Mitsuhide, but the man posing as a blind musician was an Akechi samurai with a letter from Mitsuhide for Mori Terumoto. He had left Kyoto on the morning of the second. Mitsuhide had sent another messenger that same morning—by sea from Osaka—but storms delayed him, and he reached the Mori too late.
"I thought we would be meeting in the morning," Ekei said after he greeted Hikoemon, "but your letter said to come as quickly as possible, so I came immediately."
"I'm sorry to get you out of bed," Hikoemon replied nonchalantly. "Tomorrow would have been fine, and I'm sorry my ineptly worded letter has deprived you of your sleep."
Kanbei led Ekei to an isolated spot vulgarly known as the Nose of the Frog, and from there to the empty farmhouse where they had held their previous meetings.
Sitting squarely in front of Ekei, Hikoemon said with deep feeling, "When you think about it, the two of us must be bound by a common karma."
Ekei nodded solemnly. The two men silently recalled their meeting in Hachisuka some twenty years before, when Hikoemon was still the leader of a band of ronin, and went by the name of Koroku. It was during his stay at Hikoemon's mansion that Ekei first heard about an extraordinary young samurai by the name of Kinoshita Tokichiro, who had lately been taken into Nobunaga's service at Kiyosu Castle. In those early years, when Hideyoshi still ranked far below Nobunaga's generals, Ekei had written to Kikkawa Motoharu: "Nobunaga's rule will last for a little while longer. When he falls, Kinoshita Tokichiro will be the next man with whom to reckon."
Ekei's predictions were astoundingly accurate: twenty years ago, he had perceived Hideyoshi's ability; ten years ago he had guessed Nobunaga's fall. That night, however, there was no way he could have known how right he was going to be.
Ekei was not an ordinary monk. When he was still a young acolyte studying in a temple, Motonari, the former lord of the Mori, had ordered him to enter his service. During Motonari's lifetime, his "little monk," as he affectionately called Ekei, had accompanied him on all his military campaigns.
After Motonari's death, Ekei had left the Mori and wandered throughout the empire. When he returned, he was made abbot of Ankokuji Temple, and served Terumoto, the new lord of the Mori, as a trusted adviser.
Throughout the war with Hideyoshi, Ekei had consistently argued for peace. He knew Hideyoshi well and did not think that the west would be able to endure his onslaught. Another factor influencing him was his long friendship with Hikoemon.
Ekei and Hikoemon had met any number of times before, but each time they had parted ways at the same impasse: Muneharu's fate. Hikoemon thus addressed Ekei:
"When I spoke to Lord Kanbei earlier, he told me that Lord Hideyoshi was far more generous than he has been perceived to be. He suggested that if just one more concession were made by the Mori, peace would surely ensue. Lord Kanbei said that if we were to lift the siege and spare Lord Muneharu's life, it would seem to the world as if the Oda army had been forced to conclude a peace treaty. Lord Hideyoshi could not present those terms to Lord Nobunaga. Our only condition is Muneharu's head. You should have no trouble bringing the matter to a conclusion."
Hikoemon's terms had not changed, but he himself seemed a different man since their last meeting.
"I can only restate my position," Ekei replied. "If the Mori clan cedes five of its ten provinces, and Muneharu's life is not spared, they will have failed to abide by the Way of the Samurai."
"Nevertheless, did you verify their intentions after our last meeting?"
"There was no need to. The Mori will never agree to Muneharu's death. They prize loyalty above all else, and no one, from Lord Terumoto to his most lowly retainer, would berudge the sacrifice, even if it means the loss of the whole of the western provinces."
The sky was beginning to grow paler; a rooster was heard in the distance. Night was turning to the dawn of the fourth day of the month.
Ekei would not agree, and Hikoemon would not give in. They were deadlocked.
"Well, there's nothing more to be said," Ekei concluded fatalistically.
"With my limited abilities," Hikoemon apologized, "I haven't been able to find common ground with you. With your permission, I'd like to ask Lord Kanbei to take my place."
"I'll be happy to speak with anyone," Ekei replied.
Hikoemon sent his son to get Kanbei, who soon arrived on his litter. He alighted and sat down clumsily with the other two men.
"I was the one who encouraged Hikoemon to trouble you once more for a final discussion," Kanbei said. "So, what is the outcome? Haven't the two of you worked out a compromise? You've talked half the night."
Kanbei's frankness had the effect of raising their spirits. Ekei's face brightened in the morning light. "We tried," he said, laughing. With the excuse that he had to prepare for Nobunaga's arrival, Hikoemon took his leave.
"Lord Nobunaga will stay for two or three days," Kanbei said. "Except for the time we have now, it's going to be difficult to meet again for peace talks."
Kanbei's diplomacy was simple and straightforward. It was also extremely highhanded: if the Mori wanted to argue about terms, no outcome but war was possible.
"If you can help the Oda clan today, surely you will be guaranteed a great future," Kanbei said.
With this change of adversary, Ekei lost his former eloquence. His expression, however, appeared to be far more buoyant than it had been when he was negotiating with Hikoemon.
"If there is a definite promise that Muneharu will commit seppuku, I will ask His Lordship about the condition of ceding the five provinces, and I'm sure he'll agree to a compromise. At any rate, won't you ask Lord Kikkawa and Lord Kobayakawa to reconsider the matter once more this morning? I suspect it will make the difference between peace and war."
When Kanbei put the matter in this way, Ekei felt compelled to act. Kikkawa's camp at Mount Iwasaki was only one league away. Kobayakawa's camp at Mount Hizashi was a little less than two leagues. Soon after, Ekei whipped his horse into a gallop.
After seeing the monk off, Kanbei went to Jihoin Temple. He looked into Hideyoshi's room and found him asleep. The lamp had gone out, the oil having burned dry. Kanbei shook Hideyoshi awake and said, "My lord, the day is breaking."
"Dawn?" Hideyoshi asked, rising groggily. Kanbei immediately told him of the meeting with Ekei. Hideyoshi scowled but got up quickly.
The pages were waiting at the entrance to the bathroom with water for his morning wash.