War and Friendship, Cruelty and Mercy

“Please understand that we are fighting a war on two fronts,” pronounced Sir Morimoto, our domain’s most senior general and an expert tactician. 

Alas, our domain’s overlord — our daimyo — was an insouciant and boisterous fellow named Lord Yoshitsuru. I was his adviser and long-time friend.

“To the East,” continued Morimoto, his whole body trembling beneath his silk robes with subdued rage, “Ichibangase’s samurai are raising a forest of spears against our people. To the West, militant Buddhist monks brandish their halberds and sharpen their swords — undoubtedly to carve out a chunk of our province for themselves.”

Lord Yoshitsuru, sitting on a futon on a dais, produced a paper fan that was tucked into his obi sash. 

“Scalding weather we are having today, don’t you think?” was Yoshitsuru’s response. 

Morimoto’s face flashed scarlet. He was tall and thin and always dressed impeccably in the finest brocade. As a warrior, he was ruthless — demonic even; he was a terrifying force on the battlefield. But his diplomatic skills left much to be desired. Indeed, diplomacy was my area of expertise.

“So then,” continued our overlord, while waving away a pesky fly, “what do you suggest we do about this, well, this quandary?”

Sir Morimoto sighed with relief; he had been waiting for Yoshitsuru to pronounce those very words the whole morning.

“I say we concentrate all of our riflemen on the eastern border; we will meet the Ichibangase phalanx with a torrent of lead and gunpowder. With volley fire, we will fell their spearmen and their horsemen — should they summon reinforcements. At the same time, we will send heavy cavalry and spearmen to the West and they will engage in a brief skirmish with the warrior monks. I predict that the monks — who tend to shy away from open field combat — will retreat to their fortified temple, where they will be able to shoot at us from the safety of their pagodas and shrines. All we have to do is surround the temple, hide behind shields and fire a few flaming arrows in their direction. Soon enough, the ancient, wooden temple will be ablaze and all its occupants will be exterminated.”

Morimoto breathed heavily after his tirade. He was pleased with his plan; it seemed foolproof. Lord Yoshitsuru, on the other hand, was less convinced. He grimaced as though he was expected to do all the marching and shooting and chasing and burning. 

“Burning down a temple seems a bit excessive,” moaned our insouciant daimyo, still frowning, “as does the idea of killing all those neighbouring samurai. You must remember that I am married to Lord Ichibangase’s sister. I think that stands for something.” 

Morimoto shook so much, the small, lacquered eboshi hat sitting on his head looked like it might tumble off. I intervened.

“Perhaps,” I suggested, “we can chase the monks out of our domain and threaten them with extermination should they invade again. As for Ichibangase’s army, we can position our musketry on our eastern border and send our neighbour a message suing for peace; should he decline, we will defend ourselves fiercely.”

Lord Yoshitsuru closed his fan and tapped his chin with its tip. Even my moderation struck him as extreme.

“Placing the musketry on the border might incite Ichibangase’s rage,” the daimyo eventually explained. “Our relationship will forever be broken. I suspect his invasion of our domain is but a jest; he simply wants to show his other neighbours that he is martially capable. It is a bluff. I am sure that he would never attack his brother-in-law. As for the monks, surely we can pacify them if we let them build a temple in our domain—”

“You are very much mistaken, my liege,” Morimoto interrupted. “If we appear weak, all the other daimyo and their samurai will fall upon us like starved sharks on a whale’s carcass. It’ll be like horse dung and flies.” 

“We will reconvene tomorrow morning,” said Yoshitsuru. “No, wait, I remember. We have a contest tomorrow in the morning. We will reconvene tomorrow afternoon, then, and continue this discussion.”

All of us — the daimyo’s generals and advisors and heralds — kowtowed to our reluctant overlord.

*** 

Solemnly, we made our way out of the hall. We walked slowly, as though at a funeral. The procession of generals was accompanied by a persistent hiss as the hems of our silken trousers slid on the cypress floorboards.

We reached a doorway where a kneeling attendant returned to us our tachi swords. We entered a large garden, filled in many places with gravel and sand. The hiss became an underfoot rumble.

One of the generals, Yamagata — a robust but vain man who hid a terrible, canyon-like scar that crossed his face with too much makeup — could no longer hide his discontent.

“I cannot believe this,” he growled, while tearing his hat off and chucking it in a pond. “Lord Yoshitsuru fails to see the trouble we are in. Our clan is doomed along with our families and legacies.”

“We will reason with him tomorrow,” I said.

“Yoshitsuru cannot be reasoned with,” uttered Sir Morimoto.

“He is beyond help,” hissed another general.

Then, suddenly, Morimoto faced me and fell to his knees. A few other generals did the same. 

“The soldiers and people respect you the most,” Morimoto said. “You should be our daimyo.” 

I was staggered.

“You must take Yoshitsuru’s position as head of this clan,” he continued. “It is the only way to save it. You will crush Ichibangase and the monks.”

“Are you suggesting treason?” roared one of the generals who did not kneel.

“I am not suggesting it, I am announcing it. With Yoshitsuru leading us, our clan is a crucified convict and our enemies are carrion birds. We need a new leader.”

“You keep saying that!”

The general who did not kneel drew his tachi. Morimoto stood up and did the same. I jumped between the two.

“Please,” I begged, “let us not resort to bloodshed among ourselves.”

The general who initially resisted treason lowered his sword and sighed.

“I am being delusional,” he confessed. “Morimoto and Yamagata are right.”

Again, I was astonished. Morimoto nodded curtly and addressed me.

“Tomorrow, during the archery contest, you will kill Lord Yoshitsuru.”

“Why does it have to be me?” I protested.

“If you are to lead this clan as a good and strong ruler, everyone must know that it was you who took destiny in your own hands. Of course, we could poison Lord Yoshitsuru, but that would make us seem like cowards and the overlord would die in way that is not befitting his military position.”

“It is for the best,” confirmed Yamagata, who placed a hand on my shoulder.

***

I could not stand the pungent smell of lacquer anymore. I sat there, coiled up in my wooden palanquin, waiting to burst out. I tore my socks off and removed my hat. In my mind, I replayed the events of the morning: Yoshitsuru naïvely disagreed with Morimoto’s plan, the generals agreed to betray our overlord and they chose me as his successor and his assassin. 

Yes, I knew that Yoshitsuru was wrong to be so passive, but surely there was another way. To remove him from power was not in itself a bad idea, but to kill him was another matter. After all, Lord Yoshitsuru was like a brother to me: my mother was his wet nurse. As kids, we would duel playfully with reeds in the place of swords, leafy branches in the place of steeds. 

The thought of delivering death to such an inoffensive and kind person was unbearable. It felt like killing a child. Yes, exactly! I had always felt that Lord Yoshitsuru never matured properly. The duties that were placed on him, even at a young age, the high expectations, the memory of his cruel father all seemed to have forced Yoshitsuru into a regression. He was so innocent, he didn’t even have an heir. 

I felt the palanquin’s motion slow down and stop. Very carefully, the porters deposited their burden and a page slid open the palanquin’s lacquered door. I stepped out, shielding my eyes from the sun. My guards placed their spears on the ground and knelt. 

As I stood in front of my mansion, a horrific vision flashed in my mind; Ichibangase’s samurai had torched my home and foot soldiers were busy looting my furniture and armour. Pyramids of headless corpses dotted the surrounding landscape. The domain’s castle was a pyre and the clan’s banners were shredded. 

I realised that there was no time to seek an alternative. I needed to take control of the domain and save the clan.

***

The mounted archery contest was delayed by a few hours. Apparently, Lord Yoshitsuru awoke very late, so we only started competing at noon. We dressed smartly and mounted our horses. Our quivers were full and our huge bows — each one taller than a man — had been checked for faults and polished for this occasion. 

There was a long path down which we would ride in turns. Three wooden targets were propped up along the side of this path. Lord Yoshitsuru sat on a foldable chair, up on a scaffold close to the track. 

Most of the archers could only use padded arrows. However, due to my status and experience, I was permitted to compete with proper, two-pronged, steel arrowheads. These were designed to kill armoured opponents; imagine the damage they would deal to someone wearing only a silk hitatare! I shudder at the thought. 

Soon enough, it was my turn. Lord Yoshitsuru was cheering loudly for me. The other generals were also watching, along with a crowd of samurai, servants, priests and peasants. Sir Morimoto’s gaze weighed heavy. Beads of sweat formed on my brow. 

The umpire fluttered his fan and I set off at a gallop. To my left, the first wooden target was fast approaching. With my right hand, I wrested one of the long, three-foot arrows out of its quiver; my left hand held the bow. The target seemed so close now; just a few more seconds before I would have to hit it. 

At that point, I was controlling my stallion with just my knees. My arms moved semi-automatically; they positioned the arrow and drew the bow, ready for the kill. Of course, my mind had to share its coordinative talents between several tasks; controlling the galloping horse, orchestrating my muscles to perform the delicate but strenuous operation of shooting accurately with such a powerful bow, making hairbreadth adjustments to my bearing so that I would not fall off and preparing myself mentally for the regicide that I would commit. 

The figure of the target flashed and I loosed my arrow. The projectile’s flight was manic: the shaft convulsed and the feathery fletchings bristled. I was reminded of a falcon about to kill; with frantic movements, the raptor nevertheless catches the pheasant and breaks its neck with a blow from its hooked bill. 

In much the same way, my mad arrow hit the target with such force that it cut it in twain. The two halves of the target sprung away from each other, leaving behind a flurry of splinters. The crowds cheered and I enjoyed a brief moment of euphoria.  

Alas, I could not pay much attention to their praise, for I had to focus on the next wooden target. I repeated my lethal routine, but this time with greater precision. The very hairs on my palms seemed to react at my behest. 

I loosed my arrow and the target exploded into an effervescence of confetti-like splinters. The crowds were wild. The reedy flutes and thumping drums of a nearby orchestra sounded more energetic. Again, I could not pay them attention. I had another target to fell. I was about to gallop past Yoshitsuru’s scaffold and this was my only chance to kill him. 

The drumming of my stallion’s gallop mirrored the frenzied pounding of my heart. I aimed; the arrow would land in his chest. But just then, I saw the excitement in his smile. I saw his humanity. I could not kill Lord Yoshitsuru. My horse galloped past the scaffold and I shot the third wooden target instead. My turn was complete and I had not killed my lord. 

Lord Yoshitsuru and his attendants waved their paper fans in excitement. In the crowd, I witnessed Morimoto’s blazing eyes. The other generals were also irritated. I knew I would be their next target.

A priest handed me a sacred, white cloth, which I placed over my left shoulder like a sash. I was deafened by the cheering, so my other senses became even more acute. The sweet smell of cakes being prepared by vendors mingled with the intoxicating perfume of wisteria flowers. Yet, sneaking amid this olfactory bliss, was another smell, that of horse dung. 

Evil fomented by the clash of various human interests slithered among the cheering crowds, setting ablaze uncontrollable emotions in the hearts of otherwise descent people.

I noticed general Yamagata’s hand rest on his sword’s hilt. He moved towards the lordly scaffold with leonine determination. Deep down I knew that my friend, Lord Yoshitsuru, was moribund. His death was imminent. 

But, I could not stand the thought of Yamagata killing him; the old fool was clumsy with a sword and he would make Yoshitsuru suffer unnecessarily, a torment no human should endure. Still on my horse, I took another arrow from my quiver, drew my bow and aimed. 

I saw the look of confusion on the daimyo’s face. His grimace only lasted a few moments. I sent the arrow off and it embedded itself deeply in his chest, shattering his sternum and severing his aorta. The impact threw Lord Yoshitsuru off of his chair. Arterial blood painted a flower on his silken robes. The orchestra stopped playing and the cheering died.

Though I may have saved my clan that day, I never forgave myself for the treachery.