After the Oda army withdrew, the air inside Kiyosu Castle did not relax in the slightest. Instead, it grew even heavier, like a bowstring drawn ever tighter. Each retainer harboured his own schemes; the smiles they exchanged grew increasingly forced, while the swords at their waists were fastened ever more tightly.
All of this was observed by one man. His name was Chikuda Yajiūemon, a samurai of middling rank in Kiyosu Castle. In peacetime, he oversaw patrols of the castle defenses. He was reasonably well-liked but not particularly brave. He had witnessed with his own eyes Oda Nobunaga's three-pronged army pressing up to the castle walls, and had seen Matsunoe Castle and Fukada Castle surrender without a fight. His heart had long since been shaken with fear. What made it even harder for him to eat or sleep was that Kiyosu Castle was now surrounded on three sides by Nobunaga's forces, its supply routes cut, reinforcements hopeless. And although the castle's master, Oda Hikogorō, maintained a calm exterior, in reality he was on pins and needles, his temper worsening by the day; at the slightest provocation he would draw his sword and cut down a retainer who had offered advice.
Chikuda Yajiūemon thought it over again and again, and concluded that he could not go down with this ship. Yet to simply surrender directly to Oda Nobunaga would be too blatant; if the plot failed, his would be the first head to fall. He devised a roundabout plan—to offer a borrowed flower to the Buddha.
The nominal master of Kiyosu Castle was not Oda Hikogorō, but Shiba Yoshimoto. The Shiba clan were relatives of the Ashikaga shōgun, hereditary military governors (shugo) of Owari Province, and possessed the highest legitimacy in Owari. But in recent years, as the Oda clan grew powerful, the Shiba had been sidelined and turned into puppets. Hikogorō was nominally a retainer of Shiba Yoshimoto, but in reality he had placed the entire Shiba family under house arrest in a corner of Kiyosu Castle, keeping the governor's title as a decorative front.
Chikuda Yajiūemon reasoned that if he could convince Shiba Yoshimoto to secretly join forces with Oda Nobunaga, striking together from inside and outside to eliminate Hikogorō, he would not only save his own life but also render a great service to Nobunaga. Having made up his mind, he slipped by night, under a dark and windy sky, to Shiba Yoshimoto's quarters.
Shiba Yoshimoto was past forty, with a gaunt face and deep furrows of sorrow between his brows. He had been held under house arrest by Hikogorō for many years, bearing the title of military governor without any of its substance, attended only by a few old servants, and reliant on Hikogorō's whim even for daily necessities. After listening to Chikuda's words, Yoshimoto pondered for a long time—was he not eager to break free of this cage? But he had no troops, no commanders; he would have to depend entirely on outside help. And Oda Nobunaga—that eighteen-year-old—could he truly be relied upon?
Yoshimoto's eldest son, Shiba Yoshikane, was a young man full of hot blood. Hearing Chikuda's proposal, he slammed his hand on the table and rose. "Father!" he cried. "Better to gamble on a single throw than to scrape by in this city. If Nobunaga can truly rescue us from our plight, there may yet be a day when the Shiba house revives!" Yoshimoto was swayed by his son's words, and authorized Yoshikane to join with Chikuda and secretly contact Nobunaga.
But no wall is without cracks. Kiyosu Castle was ground that Oda Hikogorō had worked for many years, and his eyes and ears were everywhere. The furtive movements of Chikuda Yajiūemon as he went in and out of the Shiba father and son's residence were soon reported to Hikogorō.
Oda Hikogorō was a crafty, far-sighted man. On receiving the report, he gave no sign of alarm, nor did he immediately interrogate Chikuda or move against the Shiba. He merely said blandly to his men, "I see. Keep watching." Then he went about his business as if nothing had happened.
He was waiting.
The bushidō of the Warring States period was far from the glorious ideal preached in later ages. So-called "loyalty" was merely a rope with which the strong bound the weak; among true samurai, betrayal, surprise attacks, and treachery flourished. Hikogorō was deeply versed in this art—since the Shiba father and son were plotting against him, he would strike them a mortal blow at their moment of greatest carelessness.
For several days, the surface was calm. At first, Shiba Yoshimoto and his son stayed tense, on guard against a sudden move by Hikogorō. But as the days passed, Hikogorō not only sent no one to interrogate them, but even sent over some wine and food, saying, "The Governor has been living in the castle for a long time, entangled by trivial matters; I have not been able to pay my respects often. I beg the Governor to forgive me." Shiba Yoshimoto looked at the wine and food with suspicion, but as time wore on, his vigilance slowly slackened.
At last, the opportunity came.
It was a clear autumn day, the sky high and the clouds pale, the fields outside Kiyosu Castle white with silver grass like snow. Young Shiba Yoshikane, energetic and restless after long confinement in the castle, asked Hikogorō for permission to go hunting beyond the walls. Hikogorō agreed without a second thought, and even helpfully sent several "guards" to accompany Yoshikane out of the castle. Yoshikane, with his hawk and dog, his bow and arrows on his hip, went happily out the north gate, straight toward the countryside.
When the news reached Hikogorō's ears, a cold gleam flashed in his eyes. He knew the time had come.
That evening, as twilight fell, Shiba Yoshimoto was reading a collection of ancient poems by oil lamp in his chamber, when he suddenly heard the sound of chaotic footsteps outside the courtyard. It was not the rhythm of the usual patrol, but the hurried running of many people, interspersed with the clinking of metal. Yoshimoto's head jerked up; the scroll slipped from his hand and fell to the floor.
The door was kicked open.
Oda Hikogorō, personally leading more than thirty samurai in full armour, the light of their swords cold and thick, crowded into Yoshimoto's narrow courtyard. The flame of the oil lamp flickered violently in the night breeze, casting the figures of the men in the yard into long, shifting shadows like ghosts.
Hikogorō strode into the room, looked at Shiba Yoshimoto, and slowly drew the tachi at his waist. The blade gleamed with a cold, blue light in the lamplight.
"Governor," Hikogorō said, his voice low but each word like ice, "I treated you well, yet you conspired with outsiders to take my life. What happens today—do not blame me for being merciless."
Shiba Yoshimoto's face turned deathly pale. He glanced out the window. The yard was full of Hikogorō's men; his own old servants had already been pinned to the ground, swords at their necks. He knew the game was lost. Instead, he grew calm. Slowly he rose, straightened his cap and robes, and said with detachment, "Oda Hikogorō, you are wolf-hearted and full of ambition. You murder your lord and betray kindness. You will not die a good death."
Hikogorō sneered. "Good and evil will be rewarded in the end? That's what fools believe. Governor, please—take your own life. It will be more dignified."
Shiba Yoshimoto said no more. He knelt on the tatami, faced west, took the short sword offered by a retainer, opened his collar, and bared his abdomen. He drove the blade into his belly and cut a perfect cross. Blood gushed forth, but he did not utter a single sound. A few moments later, the military governor of Owari had collapsed in his own blood.
Hikogorō ordered his men to clean their swords, and further ordered that Shiba Yoshimoto's head be cut off and hung from the south gate of Kiyosu Castle for all to see. As for those old retainers loyal to the Shiba, they were executed that very night, not one spared. The blood flowed along Kiyosu Castle's drainage ditches into the moat, dyeing a wide stretch of water red.
Shiba Yoshikane did not return until dusk, laden with his hunt. Riding up to the castle, he saw from afar a human head suspended from the south gate tower. His heart gave a violent leap. When he drew close enough to recognize that familiar face, he felt as if struck by lightning and nearly fell from his horse.
"Father—!"
Yoshikane's howl was heart-rending. He reined in his horse, which spun twice in place. His attendants grabbed his bridle in panic and cried in a low voice, "Young lord, you cannot return to the castle! Hikogorō has already struck. To enter would be to die!"
Yoshikane bit his lip so hard that blood dripped down his chin onto his armour. He lingered beneath the castle only a moment, then turned his horse's head, lashed it savagely, and galloped away into the southern twilight. Behind him, the lights of Kiyosu Castle came on one by one, like countless indifferent eyes.
He would go to Oda Nobunaga.
Furuno Castle (Nagono Castle) was only a few leagues from Kiyosu Castle. Yoshikane rode at full speed and arrived before half an hour had passed. He gave his name, and the guards on the walls, not daring to be remiss, hastened to escort him to Nobunaga.
Oda Nobunaga was in the middle of a council with his retainers. When he heard that Shiba Yoshikane sought an audience, his eyebrows rose, and he ordered the young man brought in at once. Yoshikane stumbled into the hall, threw himself to the ground, touched his forehead to the floor, and with a hoarse voice told everything that had happened in the city. When he came to the part about his father being forced to commit seppuku and his head hung from the gate, the young man in his early twenties could restrain himself no longer; he wept aloud, prostrate on the floor.
Nobunaga sat at the head of the hall and listened without a word. His retainers exchanged glances; some showed anger, others fell to private calculation. Nobunaga's face was expressionless; his right thumb slowly rubbed the hilt of the short sword at his waist.
After a long while, he rose, walked over to Yoshikane, and reached out to clap him on the shoulder. This gesture surprised everyone—Nobunaga had never been given to warmth, and rarely performed such acts of consolation.
"Shiba Yoshikane," Nobunaga said. "Your father died without injustice. He trusted the wrong man, backed the wrong side. That was his own fault. But you are a man of spirit; you dared to flee to me. I respect that. From today, you will live in my Ten'nōbō. As long as I have a bowl of rice, you will have a bowl of rice."
Yoshikane raised his head, his face streaked with tears, and looked at Nobunaga. His lips quivered several times, but he could only utter two words: "Thank you…"
Nobunaga turned and ordered his attendants, "Take him to Ten'nōbō and make him comfortable. Provide two servants to attend him. Let him lack nothing in food, clothing, and allowances."
After Shiba Yoshikane was led away, Nobunaga sat down again and looked around at the assembled generals. Suddenly, he laughed. The laugh was short and cold, like a blade scraping across a whetstone.
"That fool Hikogorō," Nobunaga said. "He thinks that by killing Shiba Yoshimoto, he can rest easy? I was fretting over the lack of a pretext to attack him, and he goes and puts the knife right into my hand."
Only then did his retainers fully understand—though Shiba Yoshimoto had been a puppet, he was nonetheless a relative of the shōgun and the court-appointed military governor of Owari. For Oda Hikogorō to murder his own lord was an act of supreme treason, unforgivable by heaven and earth. If Nobunaga attacked Kiyosu Castle under the banner of "punishing the rebel," not only would no one accuse him of a retainer attacking his lord, they would praise him for upholding proper order and honouring the governor.
What a splendid justification.
In the deep autumn of Tenbun 21 (1552), Oda Nobunaga issued a proclamation of punishment, denouncing Oda Hikogorō for murdering his lord Shiba Yoshimoto, and called upon all of Owari to join him in destroying this villain. When the proclamation reached Kiyosu Castle, Hikogorō was so enraged that he threw the bamboo scroll to the floor and stamped on it.
But the situation inside Kiyosu Castle was even worse than Hikogorō had anticipated.
He had originally believed that after purging the Shiba's old retainers, the castle would be filled with his own men. What he had not anticipated was that although those retainers had been killed, their retainers, relatives, and former subordinates remained, filled with rage and nowhere to vent it. Inside the castle, hearts were uneasy, everyone felt in peril; even Hikogorō's most trusted samurai dared not remove their armour when sleeping at night.
What troubled him even more was that his master strategist, Sakai Daizen—the man famed as the "smartest in the realm"—had also lost his composure. Sakai Daizen was a calculating man, with a sharp, thin face and narrow, squinting eyes that seemed always to be scheming. He usually loved to devise plans, but this time, the plan he proposed was far from clever.
"My lord," Sakai Daizen said, bowing deeply before Hikogorō, "Nobunaga is coming with fierce momentum. Though Kiyosu Castle is strong, the defenders' morale is low; it will be hard to hold out for long. I have a plan—Oda Nobumitsu at Moriyama Castle, though he is Nobunaga's uncle, is known to value profit above loyalty. My lord should send a messenger with heavy bribes, promising great rewards, to persuade him to attack Nobunaga from the rear. Caught between two forces, Nobunaga will surely be defeated."
Hikogorō thought for a moment, found the idea plausible, and ordered Sakai Daizen to go personally to Moriyama Castle, bearing gold and silver, a fine tachi, and silk, to sound out Oda Nobumitsu.
Sakai Daizen departed full of confidence. What he never imagined was that Oda Nobumitsu and Oda Nobunaga had already secretly joined forces. Nobumitsu was indeed a man who valued profit above loyalty—but he was even better at reading the winds. Nobunaga's star was rising; Hikogorō was a grasshopper after autumn. Why would Nobumitsu throw in his lot with a doomed man for a few trifling baubles?
No sooner had Sakai Daizen arrived at Moriyama Castle than Nobumitsu welcomed him warmly. After several rounds of wine, Nobumitsu pounded his chest and swore to send troops to help, spinning Sakai around so convincingly that Sakai believed his mission accomplished and hurried back to Kiyosu Castle by night to report his success.
What Sakai did not know was that the moment he left, Nobumitsu dispatched a fast horseman to Nobunaga with a message: "Hikogorō has taken the bait. Please send your troops as planned."
In the eleventh month of Tenbun 21, Oda Nobunaga again marched on Kiyosu Castle. This time, he did not linger outside the walls as before, but drove straight ahead and pressed directly to the castle's foot. From the east gate, Oda Nobumitsu's Moriyama forces arrived; from the south, Nobunaga's own contingent, their battle flags fluttering; the north and west gates were also sealed off by Nobunaga's detached units. Kiyosu Castle was surrounded on four sides, tightly sealed.
Hikogorō climbed the castle tower and looked around. On every side he saw banners bearing the words "Eiraku Tsūhō"—Nobunaga's favourite crest, gold characters on a black field, dazzling in the winter sun. He recognized the troops outside the east gate as Oda Nobumitsu's army. He realized in a flash what had happened, and spat a mouthful of blood onto the parapet in fury.
"Sakai Daizen! This is your doing!" Hikogorō shrieked.
Sakai Daizen had long since turned pale as death. He cowered in a corner of the tower, trembling and speechless.
The siege lasted a mere half day. Kiyosu Castle's defenders had been demoralized from the start; seeing enemies on every side, they had even less desire to fight. Nobunaga's forces raised scaling ladders and swarmed up the walls with battle cries; the defenders cast down their weapons and surrendered. Shortly after noon, the outer bailey had fallen.
Hikogorō retreated to the inner keep with fewer than a hundred men remaining. He ordered the gates shut, prepared to fight to the death. But Nobunaga gave him no chance for a final struggle. Nobunaga ordered his men to fire their arquebuses into the inner keep and had brushwood piled at the foot of the walls for a fire attack.
At dusk, the inner gates were smashed open. Nobunaga's samurai poured in like a flood, their swords flashing like snow, the shouts of battle shaking the heavens. Oda Hikogorō fought with his blade, cutting down several men, but eventually, outnumbered, a spear pierced his chest and he fell into a pool of blood. His eyes never closed; they stared straight at the darkening ceiling, as if questioning heaven why it had given him such an end.
As for the ill-advising Sakai Daizen, he changed into a shabby suit of old armour amid the chaos and crawled out through a dark drain in the north gate. Covered in mud, he lay in the reeds beside the moat until night fell, then fled in a tumbling scramble into the darkness. He made his way east and eventually joined the Imagawa clan in Suruga Province—but that is a later story.
Kiyosu Castle had changed hands.
Oda Nobunaga raised his own banner on the castle tower and looked down from his height at the city he had so coveted. The evening wind blew boisterously, snapping the banner. Nobunaga took a deep breath, and the corners of his mouth curled upward.
He decided to move his headquarters from Shobata Castle to Kiyosu Castle. Kiyosu, located in the heart of Owari, with its high walls and deep moats and convenient transportation, was a far better center of rule than Shobata. He ordered repairs to damaged walls, refurbished the buildings inside the castle, and laid out storehouses, stables, and training grounds.
Nor did Nobunaga treat his uncle Oda Nobumitsu shabbily for his great service. He gave Furuno Castle (Nagono Castle) to Nobumitsu to guard, and placed Nobumitsu's younger brother Oda Nobutsugu in charge of Nobumitsu's former castle, Moriyama. These three castles formed a triangle that firmly controlled the heart of Owari's four lower districts.
Everything seemed wonderful.
But the Warring States never let anyone rest in peace for long.
Oda Nobutsugu had happily taken the seat of lord of Moriyama Castle. He was about thirty, handsome, skilled with bow and horse, and could be counted a brave warrior on the battlefield. Yet he had a fatal flaw: a violent temper, unable to bear the slightest affront, and ready to draw his sword at the smallest dispute.
Moriyama Castle was barely twelve kilometres from Kiyosu Castle; a fast rider could cover the distance in less than half an hour. That summer, the heat was suffocating, and the cicadas droned without end. Bored in the castle, Nobutsugu took a few attendants, rode out, and came to a river north of the castle to fish for amusement.
The river was shallow, its banks thick with reeds and willow trees. Nobutsugu took off his outer clothes, leaving only a single robe, sat on a stone by the river, cast his line into the water, and waited idly for a fish to bite. His attendants served him—one wafted a fan, one handed him water, one built a fire nearby to cook the fish later.
After about half an hour, the sudden sound of galloping hooves came from afar. A chestnut horse raced from the north, bearing a rider in red armour, a kuwagata helmet on his head, a "Eiraku Tsūhō"-pattern battle surcoat over his back. He looked gallant and spirited. The rider was about sixteen or seventeen, with a clean, fair face and delicate features; as he rode at speed, his cloak streamed behind him.
He was passing along the path by the river, no more than ten or twelve paces from Nobutsugu.
Nobutsugu looked up, expecting the rider to dismount and bow. According to samurai custom, a lower-ranked samurai encountering a superior was required to dismount and show respect—the most basic of courtesies. Nobutsugu knew most of the notable samurai in the Moriyama area, but he looked left and right and could not recognize this rider in red armour. What infuriated him even more was that the rider glanced at him, did not stop, did not even nod, but rode on, whipping his horse, passing right before Nobutsugu's eyes.
Nobutsugu's face flushed scarlet. He jumped up, the fishing rod cracking on the ground. "Halt!" he roared, but the rider was already thirty or forty paces away, the sound of hooves drowning out his shout.
Beside himself with rage, Nobutsugu snatched a bow and arrow from one of his attendants, nocked the arrow, drew the string, and aimed at the rider's back. "Stop!" he shouted again. The rider seemed to hear and turned his head slightly, but he did not slow his horse at all.
"Shwip—"
The arrow cut through the air with a sharp whistle and struck the rider square in the back. The red-armoured knight went rigid, released the reins, swayed twice in the saddle, and then tumbled from his horse like a sack, hitting the yellow earth road heavily. The chestnut horse shied, neighed, and galloped away.
Nobutsugu threw down the bow and strode over, still seething with anger. But as he drew near, he suddenly froze, as if struck by an invisible lightning bolt.
The red-armoured knight lay on his back on the ground, the arrow having pierced his chest. Blood was seeping from the corners of his mouth. His face contorted in pain, but his features were still unmistakably clear—a young face, the features bearing a five- or six-tenths resemblance to Oda Nobunaga.
Nobutsugu's mind went blank; his legs buckled and he nearly fell to his knees.
He knew this man. How could he not? This was Oda Nobunaga's younger brother—Oda Hidetaka! Nobuhide's fifth son, Nobunaga's half-brother, barely seventeen years old. Though young, Hidetaka was well-liked among the Oda family: gentle in disposition, fond of waka poetry and kemari, the complete opposite of Nobunaga's rough and unrestrained nature. Where had he come from today? Where was he going?
Nobutsugu crouched down, reached a trembling hand to Hidetaka's nostrils—there was no breath.
"It's over…" Nobutsugu muttered. "It's over… all over…"
His attendants had also turned pale with terror, standing like wooden statues. One whispered, "L-Lord… what do we do?"
Nobutsugu sprang to his feet, his face white as paper, his eyes full of fear. He knew: he had killed the lord's own younger brother. With Nobunaga's temper, even if he were not executed, he would never be forgiven. Without another word, he mounted his horse, leaving his attendants behind, and fled eastward like a madman. His horse kicked up a trail of dust, and within moments he had vanished into the twilight.
The news spread like wildfire.
At Suemori Castle, Oda Nobuyuki was practising swordsmanship in the courtyard when a retainer came stumbling in, breathless, and reported: "T-Terrible news! Lord Hidetaka has been shot and killed outside Moriyama Castle by Oda Nobutsugu!"
Nobuyuki's wooden sword clattered to the ground. He stood stunned for a moment, then his eyes reddened instantly. He seized the retainer by the collar and cried, "What?! What did you say?! Who did it?!"
"It-it was Oda Nobutsugu of Moriyama Castle…"
Nobuyuki released his grip, stepped back, and his expression shifted from shock to fury, from fury to grief. Hidetaka was his full brother, his mother's son, and had been closest to him since childhood. They had grown up together, studied and practised martial arts together, their bond deep. That Hidetaka should be shot down from his horse like a bird—how could Nobuyuki not hate the killer?
"Gather the troops!" Nobuyuki said through gritted teeth. "I will make Oda Nobutsugu pay blood for blood!"
Before long, Suemori Castle's forces had assembled. Nobuyuki donned his armour, mounted his horse, and personally led the column, racing toward Moriyama Castle. He ordered brushwood piled at the foot of the walls and the gates set on fire. The flames blazed in the night wind, lighting up half the sky; thick smoke billowed up to the heavens. The defenders inside the castle panicked and shot arrows from the walls, but Nobuyuki's men were red-eyed and would not retreat.
About this time, word also reached Oda Nobunaga at Kiyosu Castle.
Nobunaga had been discussing the allocation of military grain for the next season with his retainers. The messenger knelt outside the hall, gasping, his voice strangulated: "My lord! Great trouble at Moriyama Castle! Lord Nobutsugu has shot and killed Lord Hidetaka!"
The hall fell dead silent.
Nobunaga's brush stopped. He sat with head bowed, motionless, for a long moment. His retainers stole glances at him. His profile looked as though cast in iron, revealing no expression. Yet they noticed that the hand holding the brush grew increasingly white at the knuckles, and the bamboo shaft made a faint creaking sound.
After a very long time—long as an eon—Nobunaga slowly set down the brush and rose.
"To Moriyama Castle."
He spoke only three words, then strode rapidly out of the hall, his retainers hurrying after him. The thunder of hooves arose. Nobunaga's force sped through the night, their torches forming a long dragon winding north from Kiyosu Castle.
Beneath Moriyama Castle, Oda Nobuyuki's troops were still assaulting. The fire lit the sky red. When Nobunaga arrived, Nobuyuki was on horseback, his face contorted with rage, directing the attack. The two forces faced each other, the atmosphere taut as a drawn blade.
Nobunaga rode forward and shouted, "Nobuyuki, stop!"
Nobuyuki turned his head, saw it was Nobunaga, and was taken aback for a moment, then his eyes reddened again. In a voice choked with tears, he cried out, "Brother! He killed Hidetaka! He killed Hidetaka! How can I bear it?!"
Nobunaga was silent for a moment, then said in a low voice, "I know. But you are burning Moriyama Castle now, killing our own people. Oda Nobutsugu has already fled. What use is burning the castle?"
"Then you'd just let him get away?!" Nobuyuki's voice was nearly hoarse.
Nobunaga did not answer. Instead, he rode up to the castle base, looked up at the defenders on the wall. When those on the wall saw that it was Nobunaga himself, they trembled with fear. The archers lowered their bows, and the defending soldiers fell to their knees.
"Who is in charge here?" Nobunaga called out in a loud voice.
An aged figure appeared on the wall—Kakuta. Kakuta was one of Oda Nobutsugu's old retainers, past fifty, his hair gray. At that moment he was crouched in terror against the battlements, his voice quavering: "M-My lord… Lord Nobutsugu has fled. We… we only followed orders to defend the castle…"
Nobunaga glanced at the brushwood still burning at the foot of the wall, then at the terrified faces on the wall, and suddenly shouted, "Put out the fire! Listen well, you inside the castle—I don't care who you are, if you surrender, none will be punished. If you resist, I will level Moriyama Castle and leave no one alive!"
The men on the wall exchanged glances. After a moment, the gate opened. Kakuta, together with a number of old retainers, came out barefoot, knelt before Nobunaga's horse, and repeatedly knocked their heads on the ground.
Nobuyuki started to speak, but was silenced by a glance from Nobunaga.
Just as everyone thought the matter would settle down, another twist came.
Oda Nobunaga had a half-brother named Nobutoki. Among Nobutoki's retainers was one Sakuma Uemon, a sharp-witted and eloquent man. Seeing that Moriyama Castle had lost its lord, he saw an opportunity. He approached Kakuta and the others with honeyed words: "Gentlemen, you have killed the lord's younger brother. Though Lord Nobunaga is magnanimous, who can guarantee he will not revisit this matter in the future? Better to yield this castle to Lord Nobutoki. Lord Nobutoki is the lord's brother; with him as its guardian, Lord Nobunaga will naturally be at ease. You will have redeemed your crime with service—why not do it?"
Kakuta and the others had already felt that their necks were precarious; after hearing Sakuma's words, they found them reasonable and agreed. Oda Nobutoki thus brought his troops into the castle and took over its defense.
But they had underestimated the complexity of human hearts.
Though Oda Nobutsugu had fled, he had administered Moriyama Castle for many years. Many of his old retainers remained, fiercely loyal to him. Seeing Nobutsugu driven away and a brother of Nobunaga stepping into his place, they were indignant. Some whispered, "Lord Nobutsugu simply made a mistake; he did not kill intentionally. Lord Nobunaga hasn't even executed him—why should Lord Nobutoki seize the castle?"
The discontent smoldered like magma underground, building day by day until it finally exploded one night.
That night, deep in the darkness, shouts of battle suddenly arose in Moriyama Castle. Oda Nobutsugu's old retainers mutinied, breaking into Nobutoki's bedchamber with drawn swords. Nobutoki was startled from his sleep; before he could even reach for his sword, he was cut down by a flurry of blades on his own bed. The blood stained the bedding crimson; his body was dragged into the courtyard and left exposed to the sun for three days.
When the news reached Kiyosu Castle, Nobunaga was eating. He put down his chopsticks and was silent for a long time. His retainers expected an explosion of rage, but he only sighed softly.
Nobunaga summoned Oda Nobutsugu back.
Nobutsugu had expected to be executed. He knelt in the hall, trembling all over, sweat streaming down. But Nobunaga merely fixed him with a cold stare and said, "Nobutsugu, you are far too careless. With one arrow you have killed two of my brothers. You are quite skilled."
Nobutsugu knocked his head on the floor like a pestle pounding garlic; his forehead thudded against the wooden floor and blood ran.
Nobunaga waved a hand. "Get up. Stop knocking your head. Moriyama Castle is still yours. Go back and defend it well. If you act so recklessly again, I'll twist your head off and use it for a wine cup."
Nobutsugu, as if granted a reprieve, scrambled out of the room.
Nobunaga's retainers were puzzled by his decision—Nobutsugu had killed Hidetaka and indirectly caused Nobutoki's death. By any ordinary measure, he should have been executed. Yet Nobunaga had only cursed him a few times and restored him to his post. This seemed far too lenient.
Nobunaga offered no explanation. He understood that in the chaos of the Warring States, able men were rare. Nobutsugu might be reckless, but he was a valiant warrior; killing him would bring no benefit to the Oda clan. As for the deaths of his brothers… Nobunaga did not feel no pain, but he buried that pain deep within his heart, keeping his face as ever in that cynical, mocking expression.
He was never one to show his feelings easily.
That year, Oda Nobunaga was nineteen years old.
The situation in Owari seemed gradually to stabilise, but undercurrents never ceased to flow. Within the Oda clan, divisions widened. The older retainers, those of advanced years, could never accept Nobunaga's self-willed, unconventional ways.
They appreciated Nobuyuki's refinement.
Though Nobunaga and Nobuyuki were brothers, their characters were completely opposite. Nobuyuki's bearing was dignified, his manner gentle, his voice soft. He was respectful to his elders, courteous to his peers. He excelled at waka and Chinese poetry, wrote an elegant hand, and spoke with the air of a court noble. When the old retainers looked at him, they seemed to see the ideal lord—cultured, reasonable, diligent in governance, skilled at taking advice.
Nobunaga, by contrast, remained the same old Nobunaga: loud and coarse in speech, slovenly in dress, prone to outbursts of cursing, and often given to bizarre behavior in public. Once he walked through the castle wearing a pair of trousers and a skirt patterned like tiger skin, causing the old retainers to stamp their feet in fury. Another time, at an important council, he suddenly rose, left the table, and went into the yard to practise his spear, leaving his retainers staring at one another in the hall.
"The lord will surely lead the Oda clan to ruin…" the old men sighed in private.
They placed their hopes in Nobuyuki. Nobuyuki had been raised and taught by these old men. In their eyes, Nobuyuki was the one worthy of the Oda family's inheritance. They plotted in secret, trying to find a way to replace Nobunaga with Nobuyuki.
And that seat named "the realm" has never been meant for only one person.
The cracks within the Oda clan deepened day by day, like a wound that slowly gapes open, destined at last to bleed.