"I heard everything you said," Gessho said. "But there's no need for you to die. Let me take your place."

"Brother, you are a monk, while I am a general. I appreciate your offer, but I cannot let anyone take my place."

"I was the eldest son, and I should have carried on the family name. Instead I chose to enter holy orders, putting you in the position that I should have taken. So today, when you have to commit seppuku, there is no reason why I should prolong what's left of my own life."

"No matter what you say," Muneharu replied, "I will not let you or anyone else commit seppuku in my place."

Muneharu refused Gessho's offer but allowed him to accompany him in the boat, Muneharu felt at peace. Calling his pages, he ordered them to put out a light blue cereonial kimono for him to die in.

"And bring me a brush and ink," he ordered, remembering to write a letter to his wife and son.

The Hour of the Horse was fast approaching. Every single drop of drinking water had been regarded as essential to the lives of the people in the castle, but that day he ordered a bucketfull of water to be brought in, to clean off the dirt that had accumulated on his body during the forty days of the siege.

How peaceful was this lull in the fighting. The sun seemed to climb innocently to the middle of the sky. There was no wind at all, and the color of the muddy water on all sides of the castle was as murky as ever.

The small waves that lapped gently at the castle walls glinted in the sun, and from time to time the cry of the snowy egret could be heard in the silence.

A small red banner was raised at the Nose of the Frog on the opposite shore, indicating that the time had come. Muneharu stood up abruptly. An involuntary sob came from the midst of his attendants. Muneharu walked quickly in the direction of the castle walls, as though he had suddenly become deaf.

The oar made a loose pattern in the water. The boat carried five men: Muneharu,

Gessho, and three retainers. Every single man, woman, and child in the castle was perched on the walls and rooftops. They did not cry out when they watched Muneharu go but either folded their hands in prayer or wiped the tears from their eyes.

The boat sculled peacefully over the surface of the lake. When he turned around, Gessho could see that Takamatsu Castle was a good way behind them, and that the boat was halfway between the castle and the Nose of the Frog.

"This will do," Muneharu instructed the oarsman.

The man pulled up the oar without a word. They did not have to wait for long.

When the boat had set out from the castle, another had left the Nose of the Frog. That one carried Hideyoshi's witness, Horio Mosuke. A small red banner had been fixed to the prow and a red carpet spread over the wooden floor.

The little boat bearing Muneharu in his death robe floated gently as it waited for the Mosuke's boat with its fluttering red banner to pull alongside. The water was at peace. The surrounding mountains were at peace. The only sound to be heard was the oar of the approaching boat.

Muneharu faced the Mori camp on Mount Iwasaki and bowed. In his heart he gave thanks for the many years of patronage he had received. Gazing at his lord's banners, his eyes filled with tears.

"Is this boat carrying the defending general of Takamatsu Castle, Shimizu Muneharu?" Mosuke asked.

"You are correct," Muneharu answered politely. "I am Shimizu Muneharu. I have come to commit seppuku as a condition of the peace treaty."

"I have something else to say, so please wait a moment," Mosuke said. "Bring your boat a little closer," he instructed the retainer at the oar of Muneharu's boat.

The gunwales of the two boats lightly brushed each other.

Mosuke then said in a dignified manner, "I have a message from Lord Hideyoshi. Peace would have been impossible without your consent in this matter. The long siege must have been trying for you, and he would like you to accept this offering as a small token of his feelings. You should not be concerned if the sun climbs too high. Please finish your leave-taking at your leisure."

A cask of the best sake and a number of delicacies were transferred from one boat the other.

Muneharu's face was filled with joy. "This is unexpected. And, if it is Lord Hideyoshi’s wish, I will gladly sample them." Muneharu helped himself, and ladled cups for his companions. "Maybe it's because I haven't had such fine sake for a long time, but I'm feeling a little drunk. Please excuse my clumsiness, General Horio, but I would like to perform a final dance." Then turning to his companions, he asked, "We don't have a drum, but would you clap and beat the rhythm and sing?"

Muneharu stood up in the small boat and flicked open a white fan. As he moved the rhythm of the clapping, the boat swayed slightly, making small waves. Mosuke could not bear to look at him and hung his head.

As soon as the chanting stopped, Muneharu spoke distinctly once again. "General Mosuke, please witness this carefully."

Mosuke looked up and saw that Muneharu had knelt down and cut straight across

his stomach with his sword. As he spoke, his blood turned the inside of the boat red.

"Brother, I'm coming too!" Gessho cried out, slashing his own belly.

After Muneharu's retainers had handed the box containing Muneharu's severed head to Mosuke and returned to the castle, they followed their master in death.

When Mosuke arrived at the Jihoin Temple, he reported Muneharu's seppuku and displayed his head in front of Hideyoshi's camp stool.

"Such a pity," Hideyoshi lamented. "Muneharu was an excellent samurai." He had never appeared more moved. But soon thereafter, he summoned Ekei. When the monk arrived, Hideyoshi immediately showed him a document.

"The only thing that remains now is to exchange pledges. Look at what I've written, and then I'll send a messenger for the Mori's pledge."

Ekei looked over the pledge and then respectfully returned it to Hideyoshi. Hideyoshi asked for a brush and signed. He then cut his little finger and affixed a seal of blood next to his signature. The peace treaty was signed.

A few hours later, shock and a sense of loss swept over the Mori camp like a whirl­wind with the report of Nobunaga's death. In Terumoto's field headquarters, the faction that had opposed peace all along now spoke up loudly, clamoring for an immediate at­tack on Hideyoshi.

"We were fooled!"

"That bastard completely took us in!"

"The peace treaty should be torn up!"

"We have not been deceived," Kobayakawa said firmly. "The talks were initiated by us, not by Hideyoshi. And there was no way he could have foreseen the disaster in Kyoto."

His brother Kikkawa, who spoke for those who favored the resumption of hostilities, urged Terumoto, "Nobunaga's death means the disintegration of the Oda forces; they will be no match for us now. Hideyoshi is the first one you'd name as a successor to Nobunaga, and it should be an easy matter to attack him here and now, especially consid­ering the weakness at his rear. If we were to do that, we would become the rulers of the Empire."

"No, no. I disagree," Kobayakawa said. "Hideyoshi is the only man who can restore peace and order. And it's an old samurai saying that one does not strike an enemy in mourning. Even if we were to tear up the treaty and attack, if he survived, he would come back to take his revenge."

"We cannot let this opportunity slip by," Kikkawa insisted.

As a last resort, Kobayakawa brought up their former lord's dying instructions: "The clan must defend its own borders. No matter how strong or wealthy we become, we must never expand beyond the western provinces."

It was time for the lord of the Mori to give his decision. "I agree with my uncle Kobayakawa. We will not break the treaty and make Hideyoshi into an enemy for a second time."