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  "If the plan demanded strictest security, why didn't the lord call a private meeting to inform at least the three of us present on this campaign? Did he fear that we might not keep his secret? I don't exactly resent him, but I deplore his lack of confidence. What have we done to incur his disfavor? How have we come to deserve such distrust? On the other hand, who is Chōkan after all? We all know he was banished by Lord Shingen, but bought his way back into the new lord's service with a severed head he was lucky enough to pick up during a peasant uprising in Kōshū! Does the lord consider us inferior to this fellow? To think that he excludes us from his confidence yet so freely extends it to Chōkan!" Sharing the same bitter thought, Naitō and Yamagata sat silent, arms folded and heads lowered.

  Baba, however, resolved to continue to speak his mind at this critical point in the young lord's life. Out of his desire to minimize tactical errors, he proposed a third alternative, similarly designed to prevent a rash aggressive move and to expedite withdrawal:

  "I suggest that we capture Nagashino Castle directly and set up your command post within. Most of our forces ought to be stationed on the high ground behind the castle to make full use of the topographical advantage. In the meantime, Generals Naitō and Yamagata and I shall lead our own units across the river to keep the enemy in check. If we try to evade actual combat, but at the same time show that we are ready to hold our positions at any cost, it will be only a matter of time before the opposition shows signs of strain. They have a long and arduous supply line and will have experienced a prolonged encampment in mountainous terrain quite unlike their native plains. Known to be an impetuous sort, Nobunaga is not likely to keep his spirit up for long. When he succumbs to tedium, we will surprise him with a night raid or a dawn assault. Discretion is indispensable in a battle against a numerically superior opponent. If you feel disinclined to accept General Naitō's earlier advice or my own first suggestion, I beseech you at least to adopt this plan, though it is admittedly far from the best."

  "General Baba seems to be the victim of a peculiar obsession," countered Chōkan with the persistence of a fox. "How do you expect Nobunaga, praised as a superb tactician by none other than General Naitō and yourself, to sit still at the mercy of our clever maneuvers? What if he decides to annihilate your three thousand troops camped right under his nose?"

  "In that case, old Chōkan," said Baba unperturbed, "I would have no choice but do my best to fight back."

  "My point exactly!" pounced Chōkan with a treacherous smile. "If you are to fight at all, you might just as well fight at your lord's command. Since it is all the same, wouldn't it be more sensible for you to obey the lord rather than making know-it-all objections?" Intent upon currying favor, the glib-tongued Chōkan, pandering to Katsuyori's whim and fancy, summarily thwarted the veteran generals' efforts.

  The entire assembly fell into a chilled silence. Not only the three generals, but the other loyal vassals were also reacting in various manners: some silently lamented the fact that their lord failed to see the reason and merit in the well-conceived and well-presented suggestions; others were furious at the prattling Chōkan, who was single-handedly misleading the lord; some had closed their eyes in glum anguish; some glared at Chōkan with their brows raised in rage.

  The awkward spell continued until Atobe made a motion: "In view of the serious disagreement among you, it seems best to call a recess. All of you ought to retire and deliberate more thoroughly in private."

  Having no recourse, the counselors filed out. Before reluctantly leaving his lord, Baba repeated, "I implore you, sire, to reconsider."

  [9]

  Anxious though he was to have his own way, Katsuyori was beginning to vacillate in the face of the opposition from the foremost warrior-counselors that the House of Takeda had to offer. In this quandary he turned to Atobe, who had remained behind. "I want to give battle, but all my counselors are against the idea. This war council was fruitless because of our differences. Do you have any suggestions?"

  A weak-willed opportunist, Atobe had no intention of dissuading his lord. Assuming an air of sagacity, he proceeded to say exactly what Katsuyori wanted to hear:

  "Once you have decided to give battle, sire, no vassal should be allowed to question that decision. If your father were still with us, none of them would dare to venture an opinion. Young as you are, you have shown your own generals more deference than they are due, which has given rise to their presumption. As the late lord himself often told us, numbers do not decide the outcome of a battle. If you issue an order, they cannot oppose you. If any of them dare, you can easily stifle them with a written oath, as prescribed by the house tradition, that you shall stand firm on your decision regardless of remonstrations and appeals. Even the humblest footsoldiers, not to mention Baba and Yamagata, are well acquainted with the established rule that once sworn upon the flag of Lord Minamoto-no-Hachiman-Tarō Yoshiie and the Shieldless Armor handed down from your ancestor, Lord Yoshimitsu, an oath shall not be breached even if mountains split asunder and oceans turn dry. Your oath will put an end to all dissension."

  Having momentarily wavered between reason and emotion, the young and inexperienced leader was now reconfirmed in his willfulness. With a complacent smile on his face, he nodded and said, "Summon back Baba and the others promptly."

  When the group had reassembled, Katsuyori tartly informed them, "Since the war council failed to arrive at a resolution, I have, upon careful consideration, made it for you. We shall give battle. Make your preparations without further ado. That's an order."

  Naitō and Yamagata had been clinging to a shred of hope that Katsuyori might still be moved to change his mind. They along with Baba and the other commanders were all plunged into despair by their lord's announcement, though it was not totally unexpected. The ordinarily taciturn Yamagata stepped forward briskly, no longer able to hold his silence.

  "Has my lord taken leave of his senses?" he thundered. "Did he not comprehend the counsel of Naitō and Baba? No, my lord, you could not have failed to understand, but you still insist on having your own way. Do you mean to dismiss as utterly worthless the elders whom Lord Shingen left behind expressly to assist you? Humble and unworthy though we may be, it would be a grave mistake for you to ignore the practical counsel of seasoned warriors whose battlefield experience has yielded many a new tactic over the years. Admonition always grates upon the ear, as medicine is bitter to the taste. Not even the late Lord Shingen was above rejecting advice occasionally, but once proven wrong, he was quick to mend his ways. That is how he earned the well-deserved reputation of not taking a single serious misstep in his life. At my age I still believe that a lack of self-command, which may give the impression of strength, is nothing but a sign of weakness. If one listens only to pleasant words and feeds only on sweet food, the dire consequences are probably beyond measure. The kind of man who urges his lord to persist in a wrong decision enjoys his favor, but he is the ultimate bane of his lord's welfare. Beware of such a man's advice. Who counseled you to give battle at this time? I suspect either a sycophant or an idiot with the tactical insight of an infant. I hereby challenge him to a debate. If I lose, I shall surrender my head to him; if I prove him wrong, I shall not let him leave here alive, for in misguiding you he is much the same as a traitor working for the enemy. My lord, you must not give battle. You must not on any account."

  "Silence, Yamagata! Speak no more! I refuse to listen," exploded Katsuyori, his face aflame and his eyes blazing. "Here and now, upon our sacred flag and armor, I pledge my decision to wage war. Not another word of objection from any of you. I have made my oath! If we lose, so be it. My late father used to assure you that battles were not won or lost by numbers. Furthermore, we fight under the divine protection of the god of Suwa Shrine and the war god Hachiman. Barring the unlikely waning of their divine grace and power, the House of Takeda could not possibly lose such a crucial battle. Cast aside your doubts, and prepare the troops to move at my command."

  At t
he sight of their leader's expression, maniacal and seeming to threaten to halve any dissenter with a flash of the sword, the assembly shuddered.

  [10]

  Shocked into silence by his lord's shameful display of temper, Yamagata hung his head for a long time. At last, his deep voice supressed, his impassioned face blanched by grief, and his fierce eyes giving way to tears, he said, "Now that the lord has spoken thus, what more can we say? Our lives are dedicated to his service; regardless of right or wrong, we shall obey his command to fight any enemy to the best of our abilities. I trust Generals Baba and Naitō have made the same decision. What do the rest of you say?" Yamagata turned to sweep his eyes over his colleagues, spattering hot teardrops across the scarlet sleeves of his suit of armor.

  Baba and Naitō were also tearful, frozen in dejected silence for some time before responding.

  "As General Yamagata says, we will never hesitate to give our lives. Seeing that the lord has sworn on the Flag and the Armor, we have no choice. Whatever Nobunaga and Ieyasu may be, they are not made of stone or iron. We must resolve to carry out our lord's wishes—to wield our swords as long as their blades last, to fire our guns until their barrels burst, and to press onward ready to fall dead in the river bed if need be. No more time for councils and debates. Posterity will sit in judgment over us—whether Old Chōkan was justified in calling us cowards, and whether or not our counsel against war was actually motivated by our reluctance to die. By the way, Old Chōkan and Atobe-dono, you have been rather eager to send our lord off to battle, but what do you intend to do if we lose? I wonder if you will have the nerve to flee before the enemy and show your disgraced faces to our people minding Kōshū in our absence after losing the war that you personally insisted on starting. We are the ones who opposed your idea, but we do not dream of getting out alive to face the colleagues of ours who took no part in this campaign." The two expressed their shared feelings, speaking alternate sentences.

  Everyone then retired to begin combat preparations. Five companies of eight hundred men each under Baba and five other leaders headed for the enemy sector commanded by Hideyoshi, Sakuma, and Akechi; Naitō and six more with their forty-six hundred proceeded toward Gamō Ujisato's camp; Yamagata, Atobe, five others, and some forty-five hundred troops set out to face a Tokugawa wing. Katsuyori himself advanced between the forward and the rear contingents into Pure Well Field to bear down on Ieyasu's command position. All thirteen units made their bold, imprudent approach toward the Oda-Tokugawa lines, which had been cautiously entrenched behind impromptu fortifications.

  [11]

  The next day, May 20, the Takeda commanders took an inspection tour of the area soon to be the battlefield. Already resigned to a fight to the death, they were concerned only with forestalling tactical blunders and thus safeguarding their honor. A party including Baba and Naitō rode along the bank of the Iwashiro River to survey the conditions of the ground, the grade of slopes, the breadth of roads, and to make note of significant landmarks such as a grove or a tall, solitary tree. They shared one wish—to leave behind a name honored for its owner's valor even as his body fell into decay unmourned. At the small hamlet of Pure Well Field they dismounted and took a brief rest on their campstools. They had all lived through countless battles, gasping amid the acrid clouds of gunpowder fumes and drenched in the vermilion showers of fresh blood. Knowing that tomorrow they would at last fulfill their appointment in the judgment hall of the nether world, they today were in no mood to enjoy the fragrance of the young leaves that adorned the sky with their proud green or the birds twittering cheerily above the clouds. Although the place at which they stopped commanded a pleasing view, none of them so much as mentioned the scenery.

  "Will tomorrow find my body lying in that yonder bamboo grove? Am I to seek my permanent abode in the shade of this old tree, which has been kind enough to spread its silky green-boughed canopy?" Tacitly sharing such ominous visions, none uttered a word to shatter a stillness so deep that the butterflies might have deemed it safe to alight on the armor of the bewhiskered samurai.

  Long-time comrades at arms, Naitō and Baba had once stood side by side on a battleground, unruffled by spears dancing like the silver-tipped pampas grass in the autumn field and arrows showering down like rain and hail all around them. "Here's a riddle for you," one had said. "However hard you make it, I promise I won't need any more time to solve it than I need to fell that enemy warrior over there," replied the other, enjoying the little game in the thick of battle. In the present crisis, each remained his usual self, the one cool-headed, the other open-hearted.

  "What do you think, General Baba?" said Naitō cheerfully. "The fifth month is already half over. The blossoms are gone, but their scent is still drifting through the tree-tops. The sky is not all that bright, but neither is it cloudy. The air is warm, even without a strong sun. If we were peasants free of care, armor, and helmet, we could sprawl on a bed of grass with a tree root for our pillow, comfortably loosen the collars of our humble cotton kimonos, and enjoy an innocent nap. Is it for want of meritorious karma from previous lives that we are deprived of even the simplest pleasure of enjoying the quiet music played by the wind upon the pine trees? From spring, when willows burgeon new leaves, through winter, when snow mantles the landscape, we spend all our time handling bows, arrows, guns, shields, swords, and halberds. We never have the time or inclination to appreciate flowers and the moon, except when we happen to realize that a scarlet-braided suit of armor is named "cherry blossom" or when we see the cream-tinted color of a "moon-coat" horse. If we ever do notice them, it is usually during a lone scouting mission along a mountain path. But how can we really enjoy the white cloud of blossoms cloaking the mountainside if we must suspect the enemy lurking in the shadows of the trees and tall grass? (How our hearts used to jump, mistaking the smoke from a farmer's field fires for human figures!) And the bright moon on a frosty autumn night only reinforces our tragic resolve—when we see it over a helmet visor above the sooty smoke of torches or while we keep a tense vigil against surprise attacks from a formidable enemy.

  "I do not mean to bemoan the sad lot of the samurai, who must turn his back to the moon and flowers, but in this ephemeral world how can I help feeling sorry for myself, an aged warrior who has never known as much peace as a bird singing above the clouds on a blissful early summer day such as this. In my youth my sole concern was not to fall behind others, and my middle years were dedicated to aiding the late lord in his attempt to unify the country. Now toward the end of my life, the truculent new lord forces me into a hopeless battle. I hope you won't laugh when I say this, but somehow my entire past seems to be passing before my eyes, as though in admonition for all the wrongs that can be committed in the human life-span of twenty thousand days. It has been a long, long dream since the time when I struggled into my first suit of armor until this very day when my helmet strap is about to break. More than ever I envy the humble lot of woodcutters and mountain men. How I regret that I was born a samurai, to squander a whole lifetime fretting and gloating over vain glory! You are more learned than I, General Baba. How do you feel about this?" Naitō ended his monologue on a somber note.

  "Your feelings are shared by all of us, I believe," replied Baba, the same sorrow clouding his face. "Just as the last bright light is reflected off the eastern mountains at sunset, so is our past projected in our mind's eye at the approach of our last day on earth. No one can blame you for your heartfelt lament, General Naitō, for all but a few among us must feel exactly the same way. But there is no use voicing regrets now. How sorry I am that fortune has deserted the House of Takeda and that our loyalty has proved inadequate to forestall tomorrow's battle. I too regret our futile life, bereft as it is of the freedom enjoyed by birds riding the clouds or the tranquillity accorded butterflies wafting serenely upon the wind. Alas, such is Heaven's ordination. Today we may envy woodcutters and mountain dwellers, but isn't it also true that we were lucky enough to encounter a brilliant lord, one who
led us to discover the glory of being men and warriors? We aspired to follow him over hundreds of miles in pursuit of exploits and honor, forsaking salvation, defying death, and gladly shedding the sweat of blood to serve him. The bones within our flesh and the fire in our blood have allowed us no idle life. How could we be content to emulate birds and butterflies?

  "Think of it, General Naitō. Have we not found our share of pleasure in the way of the samurai? It is true of any other way, but pleasure means nothing more than self-satisfaction, or a smile that brightens your face unawares. If you have experienced such a smile even once in the pursuit of a particular way, you ought to be glad to dedicate your life to it. What I myself find most shameful and regrettable is for a human being to end his life without ever having committed himself to any way, and consequently without ever having smiled such a genuine smile. Putting aside a life of idle ease, which is beneath our consideration, hasn't each of us arrived at his own understanding of the way of the samurai by now? If only in just payment for the precious smile that we have been fortunate to attain, we are obliged to give our lives to the sword and the spear, forgoing the luxury of envying birds, woodcutters, and mountain men. I am certain that you did not mean it that way, General Naitō, but some ill-wishers might take your statement as an expression of resentment toward the lord. At this point we can do nothing but regret our own failure to protect him from his own mistake. We are as trivial as specks of dust floating between the boundless earth and the vast sky. Of what possible consequences are our opinions? Let us laugh, General Naitō, let us laugh it all off and look forward to racing our steeds side by side, competing to be the first to gain the iron gate of Hell!"

  "You are right, General," said the ungrudging Naitō, joining in Baba's sonorous laughter. "I did resent the fact that our lord refused to heed our sincere counsel, only to accept the unctuous words of Chōkan. Perhaps a case of spring fever, but those careless remarks may very well be my last slip of the tongue. Ha, ha, ha! Oh, well. Even if the foxy Chōkan and his cronies catch me in my indiscretion and slander me, their clever tongues shall wag to little avail this time in my permanent absence! Let's not even mention them. Then again, it depresses me to think that having failed to impress our loyal intentions upon the young lord, we have no happy report to bring to Lord Shingen in the nether world. I must admit that my own injudicious rebuke of Chōkan at the last year's war council prompted his clique to intensify their animosity. For that incautious provocation, which was directly responsible for thwarting your loyal efforts, I would like to extend my sincerest apologies to all of you in our last brief moment together. With your kind forgiveness I shall be able to go to my death with a clear conscience." Naitō bowed his head before each of his colleagues in turn with the innocence of an uncorrupt soul.