After their horrible defeat, they had fled to Shoryuji Castle and rested. Later they had disussed what was to be done, but in the end, the only possible plan was to retreat to Sakamoto. All of his retainers had prevailed on Mitsuhide to be patient. Leaving Miyake Tobei in charge of the castle, Mitsuhide slipped out at dusk.

The force that followed him right up to the time he left Shoryuji still numbered about four or five hundred men. But by the time they entered the village of Fushimi, most of them had deserted. The few who remained were his most trusted retainers, and they numbered only thirteen men.

"A great number of us would only stand out to the enemy, and anyone who hasn't resolved to accompany our lord in either life or death would only be a hindrance. Lord Mitsuharu is in Sakamoto along with three thousand troops. All I care about is getting there safely. I pray to the gods to help our poor lord."

The loyal retainers who remained comforted each other in this way.

Although the area was hilly, it had no really steep places. The moon was visible, but because of the rain, the ground beneath the trees was muddy, and the road was dotted with puddles.

In addition, Mitsuhide and his retainers were exhausted. They were already close to Yamashina, and if they could only get to Otsu, they would be safe. That was how they encouraged each other, but to the tired men themselves it seemed more like a hundred leagues.

"We've entered a village."

"This must be Ogurusu. Go quietly."

Thickly thatched mountain huts could be seen here and there. Mitsuhide's followers would have liked to avoid such human habitations as much as possible, but the road led between the houses. Fortunately, not a light was showing. The houses were surrounded

by large bamboo thickets under a white moon, and all indications were that everyone was deeply asleep, completely unaware of the world's confusion.

With narrowed eyes that pierced the darkness, Akechi Shigetomo and Murakoshi Sanjuro scouted far ahead, riding along the narrow village road without mishap. Stopping where the road wound around a bamboo thicket, they waited for Mitsuhide and his group.

The figures of the two men, and the reflection of their spears, could be clearly seen from the shadows of the trees that stood fifty yards ahead.

The sound of bamboo being trampled and the grunt of a wild animal suddenly exploded from the darkness.

Tatewaki, who was leading his horse ahead of Mitsuhide, instinctively looked behind. Darkness lined the brushwood hedge of a hut covered by the gloom of the bamboo thicket. Some twenty yards behind, Mitsuhide's silhouette stood out as if he had been nailed to the spot.

"My lord," Tatewaki called.

There was no answer. The clumps of young bamboo swayed in a windless sky.

Tatewaki was about to turn back, when Mitsuhide suddenly spurred his horse forward and passed in front of him without a word. He was slumped over the horse's neck. Tatewaki thought it strange, but nevertheless followed along behind, as did the others.

They galloped along the road in this manner without incident for about three hundred yards. After joining up again with the two scouts, the thirteen men continued to advance, with Mitsuhide riding sixth from the front.

Suddenly, Murakoshi's horse reared up. In that instant, his drawn sword swept by the left of his saddle.

A loud clanging sound rang out as the sword cut the sharpened tip of a bambo spear. The hands that held the spear quickly disappeared into the bamboo thicket, but the others had clearly seen what had happened.

"What was that? Bandits?"

"It must be. Watch out, they seem to be somewhere inside this big bamboo thicket.”

"Murakoshi, are you all right?"

"What, you think I'm going to be hurt by the bamboo spear of some wandering thief?"

"Don't be distracted! Just hurry along. Distractions will be nothing but trouble."

"What about His Lordship?"

All of them turned around.

"Look, over there!

Suddenly they all turned pale. About a hundred paces in front of them, Mitsuhide had fallen from his horse. Worse, he was writhing on the ground, groaning in agony, and looked as though he was unable to stand up again.

"My lord!"

Shigetomo and Tatewaki dismounted, ran up to him, and tried to lift him back into the saddle. Mitsuhide no longer seemed to have the will to ride. He simply shook his head.

"What's happened to you, my lord?" Completely forgetting themselves, the other men

crowded around in the dark. The groans of the suffering Mitsuhide and the sighs of the men filled the air. Just at that moment, the moon shone with special clarity.

Suddenly the undisguised footsteps and screams of the bandits came clamoring noisily out of the darkness of the bamboo thicket.

"It looks like the accomplices of the man with the bamboo spear are coming up at us from behind. It's the nature of these marauders to try to take advantage of any show of weakness. Sanjuro and Yojiro, take care of them."

At Shigetomo's words, the men split up. A spear was quickly positioned and swords drawn.

"Damn you!" With a thunderous yell, someone leaped into the bamboo thicket. A sound like a rain of leaves, or perhaps a pack of monkeys, split the silence of the night.

"Shigetomo… Shigetomo…" Mitsuhide whispered.

"I'm here, my lord."

"Ah… Shigetomo," Mitsuhide said again. He then groped around as though searching for the arms that were supporting him.

Blood was spurting from the side of his chest, his vision was fading, and he was finding it difficult to speak.

"I'm going to bind your wound and give you some medicine, so be patient for just a little while."

Mitsuhide shook his head to show that binding the wound would be unnecessary. Then his hands moved as though they were searching for something.

"What is it, my lord?"

"A brush…"

Shigetomo hurriedly took out paper and ink and a brush. Mitsuhide took the brush with shaking fingers and looked at the white paper. Shigetomo knew that he would be writing his death poem and began to feel a choking sensation in his chest. He could hardly stand to see Mitsuhide writing such a thing now and in this place, and in his attachment to what he felt was his lord's greater destiny, he said, "Don't take up your brush now, my lord. Otsu is hardly a breath away, and if we can just find our way there, you'll welcomed by Lord Mitsuharu. Let me bandage up this wound."

As Shigetomo put the paper on the ground and began to untie his own sash, Mitsuhide suddenly waved his hand with surprising strength. Then, with his left hand, he lifted himself off the ground. Stretching out his right hand, he grasped the brush with almost crushing strength and started to write:

There are not two gates: loyalty and treason.

But his hand shook so much that he seemed to be unable to write the next line. Mitsuhide passed the brush to Shigetomo. "You write the rest."

Leaning on Shigetomo's lap, Mitsuhide turned his head toward the sky and gazed at the moon for a little while. When the color of death even paler than the moon had filled his face, he spoke with a voice surprisingly free of confusion and finished the verse.

The Great Way penetrates the font of the heart.

Waking from the dream of fifty-five years,

I return to the One.

Shigetomo put down the brush and began to weep. Just at that moment, Mitsuhide drew his short sword and cut his own throat. Sakuzaemon and Tatewaki ran back in shock and saw what had happened. Approaching the dead body of their lord, each man fell on his own blade. Another four men, then six, then eight surrounded Mitsuhide’s body in the same way and followed him in death. In no time at all, their lifeless bodies formed the petals and heart of a flower of blood on the ground.