"What are you going to do?" Katsuie asked as if he could not bear the silence any longer. "We've heard that the Imagawa army may number as many as forty thousand men. Our force is less than four thousand. There are only seven hundred men at Marune Castle, at most. Even if the vanguard of the Imagawa, the forces under Tokugawa Ieyasu of Mikawa, number only two thousand five hundred, Marune is a single ship driven be­fore the high waves."

"Katsuie, Katsuie!"

"We cannot hold Marune and Washizu until dawn—"

"Katsuie! Are you deaf? What are you babbling about? There's nothing to be gained by repeating the obvious."

"But—" Just as Katsuie began to speak, he was interrupted by the clattering footsteps of yet another messenger. The man spoke ostentatiously from the entrance of the next room.

"There is urgent news from both the fortresses of Nakajima and Zenshoji."

The reports from those at the front lines who had resolved to die gloriously in battle were always pathetic, and the ones that arrived just now from the two fortresses were no different. Both began, "This is, perhaps, the last dispatch we will be able to send to Kiyosu Castle…."

The last two dispatches contained the same information about the disposition of the enemy's troops, and both predicted an attack on the following day.

"Read the part about the disposition of the troops again," Nobunaga ordered Katsuie, leaning on his armrest. He read the itemized part of the document again, not only to Nobunaga but to all of those who were sitting there in a row.

"The enemy forces approaching the fortress at Marune: about two thousand five hundred men. The enemy forces approaching the fortress at Washizu: about two thousand men. Lateral auxiliary forces: three thousand men. The main force advancing in the direction of Kiyosu: approximately six thousand men. The main Imagawa army: about five thousand men." Reading further, Katsuie went on to comment that beyond what was apparent in these numbers, it was unclear how many small groups of the enemy were trav­eling undercover. While Nobunaga and all the others listened to Katsuie, he rolled up the scroll and placed it in front of him.

They would fight to the very end. The course was determined. There was no more room to debate. But it was agonizing for all of them to stand idly by and do nothing. Nei­ther Washizu, Marune, nor Zenshoji was far away. If you put the whip to a horse's ribs, you could arrive at any of these places quickly. They could almost see this great army of

The Imagawa's forty thousand men approach like a tide. They could almost hear them.

From one corner of the depressed group came the voice of an old man sunk in grief. “You've made a manly decision, but you shouldn't think that dying gloriously in battle is the only way open to the samurai. Shouldn't you think this over again? Why, even if I'm called a coward, I say there's still room for more deliberation, just in order to save the clan.

It was Hayashi Sado, the man with the longest service among them all. Together with Hirate Nakatsukasa, who had admonished Nobunaga with his suicide, he was one of the three senior retainers ordered by the dying Nobuhide to take care of Nobunaga. And he was the only one of those three who was still alive. Hayashi's thoughts had the sympathy of all the men there. And they all secretly prayed that Nobunaga would take the old man's words to heart.

"What time is it now?" Nobunaga asked, changing the subject.

"It's the Hour of the Rat," someone replied from the next room. As the words trailed off and the night deepened, melancholy seemed to settle on them all.

Finally Hayashi prostrated himself and spoke with his white head bowed to the floor in Nobunaga's direction. "My lord, think this over one more time. Let's negotiate. I beg you. At dawn, all of our men and fortresses are likely to be crushed before the forces of the Imagawa and will probably suffer an irreversible defeat. Rather than that, a peace conference, to bind them in a peace conference just moments before—"

Nobunaga glanced at him. "Hayashi?"

"Yes, my lord."

"You're an old man, so it must be difficult to sit for a long time. The discussion here is over, and the hour is getting late. Go home and sleep."

"That's going too far  " Hayashi said, shedding copious tears. He wept because he thought the clan had reached its final days. At the same time, he regretted being considered a useless old man. "If you're that determined, I'm not going to say anything else about your intention to fight."

"Don't!"

"You seem to be immovable in your desire to leave the castle and fight, my lord."

"I am."

"Our forces are small—less than one-tenth of the enemy's. To go out into the field and fight would give us less than one chance in a thousand. If we closed ourselves in behind the castle walls, we should be able to devise some plan."

"A plan?"

"If we could block the Imagawa for even two weeks or a month, we could send messengers to Mino or Kai and ask for reinforcements. As for other strategies, there are more than a few resourceful men at your side who know how to harass the enemy."

Nobunaga laughed loudly enough for it to echo off the ceiling. "Hayashi, those are strategies for ordinary times. Do you think these are ordinary times for the Oda clan?"

“That's hardly necessary to answer."

“Even if we could extend our lives by five or ten days, a castle that can't be held can't held. But who was it that said, 'The direction of our fate always remains unknown'? When I think about it, it seems to me that we're at the very bottom of adversity now.

And adversity is interesting. Our adversary is huge, of course. Still, this may be the mo­ment of a lifetime given to me by fate. Shutting ourselves up in our tiny castle in vain, should we pray for a long life without honor? Men are born to die. Dedicate your lives to me this time. Together we'll ride out under a bright blue sky and meet our deaths like true warriors." When he finished speaking, Nobunaga quickly changed his tone of voice.

"Well, nobody looks like he's had enough sleep." A forced smile appeared on his lips. "Hayashi, you sleep too. Everyone should get some sleep. I'm sure there's no one among us so cowardly that he won't be able to sleep."

This having been said, it would have been unseemly not to sleep. But in fact, there was no one among the retainers who had slept properly for the last two nights. Nobunaga was the only exception. He slept at night and even took naps during the day, not in his bedroom, but anywhere.

Mumbling almost in resignation, Hayashi bowed to both his lord and his colleagues, and withdrew.

Like teeth being pulled, every man got up and left one by one. Finally, only Nobunaga remained in the wide audience chamber. And in the end, he even looked rather carefree. When he turned around, he saw behind him two sleeping pages leaning against each other. One of them, Tohachiro, was just thirteen years old that year. He was Maeda Inuchiyo's younger brother. Nobunaga called to him.

"Tohachiro!"

"My lord?" Tohachiro sat straight up, wiping the dribble from his mouth with his hand.

"You sleep well."

"Please forgive me."

"No, no. I'm not scolding you. On the contrary, that's high praise. I'm going to sleep a little too. Give me something to use as a pillow."

"You're going to sleep just as you are?"

"Yes. The dawn comes early these days, so it's a good season for naps. Pass me that box over there. I'll use that." Nobunaga curled up as he spoke, supporting his head with his elbow until Tohachiro brought over the box. His body felt as if it were a floating boat. The lid of the box was decorated with a gold-lacquered design of pine, bamboo, and plum trees—symbols of good luck. Putting it under his head, Nobunaga said, "This pillow will give me good dreams." Then, chuckling to himself, Nobunaga closed his eyes, and finally, as the page put out the numerous lamps one by one, the faint smile on his face faded like melting snow. He fell into a deep sleep, his face at peace amid his snores.