Kampaku, p.1
Kampaku, page 1
Kampaku: The Rise and Fall
of Ishida Mitsunari
David Klason
Austin Macauley Publishers
Kampaku: The Rise and Fall of Ishida Mitsunari
About the Author
Dedication
Copyright Information ©
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Part Two
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Part Three
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Epilogue
Character List
Glossary
Author’s Note
Selected Biography
About the Author
David Klason is an award-winning Australian author and historian specialising in premodern Japanese history. With a masters in both Research and International Relations. An Age of War and Tea is his debut novel, which combines his love of research and detail to provide his readership, with an exciting insight into the cultural richness and real characters who played an important part in shaping Japanese history.
Dedication
To Lyn
Copyright Information ©
David Klason 2024
The right of David Klason to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
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First Published 2024
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Prologue
Kitanosho Castle: Echizen Province
Summer: Tensho Eleven (1583)
“Is it the cuckoo that beckons us to part on this shimmering summer eve?” said the sixty-one-year-old lord of Kitanosho Castle to his beleaguered castle defenders. A sea of grim-faced warriors listened to their lord’s death poem recital as he prepared himself for death. His wife, Lady Oichi no kata, who stood by his side, bowed before her husband and recited, for the benefit of those assembled, her death poem.
“On this summer eve of fleeting dreams, let the cuckoo offer our names to the clouds.”
The castle commanders had gathered in the main hall of the castle keep in answer to their lord’s summons. Outside, the sieging army of Hashiba Hideyoshi pummelled Kitanosho’s walls with cannon fire and the menacing grey skies of an approaching storm enhanced the gloom and despondency that was felt within. Soon, an air thick with humidity descended over the castle and rivulets of sweat poured off the faces of Kitanosho’s commanders burdened by their heavy armour. They watched as their lord, the sixty-one-year-old Shibata Katsuie, a former commander under the late Nobunaga, take off his armour and prepare for death.
“Today, my wife and I will die with dignity. The enemy is at our gates, and we are hopelessly outnumbered. We are ordered to surrender Kitanosho, or else we will all lose our heads. There is no escape for any of us.” The commanders stayed silent, looking at each other, perhaps for the last time.
“My wife and I will not surrender, but when it is done, you can throw open the gates to the enemy and surrender. I am sure the monkey will spare your lives,” said Katsuie, using the derogatory nickname for his nemesis, lord Hideyoshi. No sooner had he spoken those words than a roar of defiance rose from the hall. A chorus of “To the death,” reverberated around the walls of the room.
“Then, we must have one last banquet,” said a smiling Katsuie. “Hideyoshi will not risk a frontal attack just yet, so we have time. The Lady Oichi no kata will see to the arrangements.”
Katsuie had considered Kitanosho Castle to be impregnable. Extensive stone ramparts enclosed the inner bailey, which had a Tenshu of nine storeys at its southeast corner, making it one of the largest towers ever built. A network of deep-water moats surrounded the castle, but its security was also its greatest weakness. For none could escape.
A year earlier, Hideyoshi had taken it upon himself to avenge the betrayal and death of his master, Lord Nobunaga, by his general, Akechi Mitsuhide. Nobunaga’s heir, his eldest son Nobutada, had also died by killing himself to prevent capture by Mitsuhide, resulting in a contested succession to fill Nobunaga’s shoes. Nobunaga’s second and third sons, Nobukatsu, and Nobutaka, each positioned themselves as the rightful heir, opposing Hideyoshi’s efforts to assume control.
Katsuie, like the Tokugawa lord, Ieyasu also viewed Hideyoshi’s attempted takeover with hostility, and both threw their support behind Nobunaga’s quarrelling sons. Katsuie supported Nobutaka while the Tokugawa lord supported Nobukatsu. Hideyoshi, renowned as a cunning and shrewd politician, convened a conference where it was eventually agreed that Nobutada’s one-year-old son, Hidenobu, should inherit once he became of age. Thus began a fragile peace that was soon to be broken.
In the twelfth month of Tensho ten, (1582) Nobutaka became tired of the peace and openly declared war on Hideyoshi. He enlisted the support of Katsuie while his brother Nobukatsu waited to see the outcome. In the fourth month of Tensho eleven (1583) in Omi province, the ultimate battle for control unfolded at a place called Shizugatake. With the mountain passes still closed with snow, Katsuie found himself stuck at Kitanosho Castle as he waited for the first melt of snow. With spring, Katsuie sent his nephew Sakuma Morimasa ahead into Omi province to attack Hideyoshi’s frontier forts and quickly took the fortress of Iwasaki. Fearful of Katsuie also breaking out of Kitanosho, Hideyoshi knew he had to hurry. Covering fifty miles in six hours by night, Hideyoshi arrived at Iwasaki by daybreak with an army of just six thousand. With the advantage of surprise, he routed Morimasa’s eight thousand troops and chased them back into Echizen province to the gates of Kitanosho, where he set about besieging Katsuie.
On the third floor of the castle’s keep, Katsuie and his thirty-six-year-old wife, Oichi no kata, both wearing white kimonos attended to the fifty seated commanders that had pledged to follow their lord into the afterlife. In front of each was a selection of choice fish and rice dishes and each was given a shallow red lacquered Sakazuki cup for the sake that Katsuie and Oichi no kata would soon pour. As the sake flowed, tensions quickly eased and Katsuie took Oichi aside to plead that she flees with her daughters and seeks Hideyoshi’s protection.
“You are my husband, Lord. It is fitting that I follow you and set an example to these loyal men.”
“But there is no need for the girls to die,” said Katsuie. Oichi immediately thought of her daughters and of a time ten years earlier.
The Kami has seen fit for me to relive the pain of that day once again. Then I was married to Azai Nagamasa, lord of Odani Castle in Omi and, just like today, Hideyoshi was at the gates of Odani besieging my husband. My brother Nobunaga had sent Hideyoshi to demand that my husband send me and our three daughters out of the castle. My husband, knowing there was no hope, committed seppuku, but I regrettably lived.
“If it is your will that the girls be saved, then so be it, but I shall not be denied my duty a second time,” said Oichi. A short time later, it was one of Hideyoshi’s men, Ishida Mitsunari, that escorted Oichi’s three daughters—Ocha, Ohatsu and Satoko—out of the castle and into Hideyoshi’s care.
“You are a loving and dutiful wife, Oichi,” said Katsuie, “But there is no need for you to die needlessly. Hideyoshi will take care of you and your daughters.”
“I would rather be dead than live under his care,” said Oichi. “There can be no reconciliation with the murderer of my son. Poor Manpukumaru was only ten, yet Hideyoshi beheaded him and had his head paraded around Kyoto like some common thief. That I cannot forgive.”
“But I seem to remember he was acting under your brothers’ orders,” said Katsuie.
“I will never forgive him or my brother,” said Oichi.
“Then the time has co me,” said Katsuie and each of those in attendance poured the last drink of sake for the other and toasted their lord. Katsuie and Oichi then moved to the front of the room and took their places, kneeling on two white-covered mats. In front of each mat was a low table covered in white cloth. On Katsuie’s table lay his tanto knife, while on Oichi’s table lay a length of silken rope and her Kaiken dagger. Oichi stared at her table and used all her willpower to compose herself for the ritual she must perform. Trained since childhood to master the Jigai, the female samurai ritual of seppuku, Oichi reached for the silk rope and tied her knees together in such a way that her body would be later found in a dignified pose.
“Is everything ready?” Katsuie asked the adjutant.
“Yes, Lord.”
“Then set fire to the castle,” said Katsuie, and the bushels of straw lining the corridors just outside the room were set alight. In a matter of minutes, the fire had taken hold and the flames soon spread to the floors above.
“I will not be requiring help,” said Katsuie, holding his hand up to silence the protests rising from the room. “You will see how a true bushi dies. I have recited my death poem, so all that is left to do now is leave this world.” With that, the lord of Kitanosho opened his kimono, exposing a taut athletic torso worthy of men much younger in years, and reached for the tanto. He smiled and looked at Oichi, who then reached for her Kaiken. In an act of unspoken unison, both Katsuie and Oichi plunged their knives into their bodies. Katsuie into his abdomen, making a left-to-right cut, while Oichi, drawing on her childhood training, plunged her Kaiken straight into the side of her neck and in one move cut across her carotid artery and jugular vein. Oichi was the first to collapse, her blood now pooling around her. In her dying moments, she glanced at her husband’s death throes and beamed with pride, for the Kitano lord had completed the jumonji Giri, a second and more painful vertical cut on the belly.
With the castle alight and flames now licking at the roof of the room, those that remained prepared to face their fate. Each stabbed the other to death while Mitsunari stood outside the castle ramparts with Oichi’s daughters. Together, they watched the billowing smoke melt into the blackness of the sky, and Mitsunari silently vowed: Rest in peace, Oichi no kata. I will look after your daughters and keep them safe from harm.
If a bird doesn’t sing, kill it, says Oda Nobunaga.
If a bird doesn’t sing, I will convince it to sing, says Toyotomi Hideyoshi.
If a bird doesn’t sing, I will wait until it sings, says Tokugawa Ieyasu.
Chapter One
Osaka: Spring/Summer
The Fifteenth Day of the Fifth Month: Tensho Thirteen (1585)
The breaking dawn over Mount Kongo, just south of Osaka, revealed a landscape shrouded in mist. And as the first rays of the sun appeared over the terraced rice fields, the men of the nearby village of Chihaya gathered and waited patiently for the mist to lift. Soon they would scale the mountain slopes and open the sluice gates holding back the mountain runoff to flood the terraces below. The women of the village also stood ready with straw baskets of seed rice on their backs. Once the flooding of the terraces was complete, they would begin the planting of the season’s rice crop.
As the swirling waters of the flooded terraces settled, the rice planters wearing straw hats for sun protection hitched up their simple cotton kimonos away from the ankle-deep water and broke out into song. Several of the village men playing their small hand drums appeared and struck up a rhythmic beat in tune with the women’s song. The tempo of the drummers was suddenly broken by a sharp crack-like sound that echoed throughout the terraces. One of the rice planters had collapsed into the mud, prompting the others who had seen the woman fall to rush to her aid.
A drummer, who had been the first to reach her, knelt to lift the woman’s face out of the mud when another sharp crack sounded. The drummer fell backwards into the mud, with half his face missing. At a distance of ten shaku or one hundred metres away in the nearby hills, the Toyotomi lord, Hashiba Hidetsugu, grinned as he waited for his retainer to reload his newly acquired musket. The shooting had not gone unnoticed as Mitsunari, riding his Kiso mare with the Lady Ocha following behind him, trotted up to Hidetsugu as he prepared to sight another target.
“Is this killing really necessary?” Mitsunari shouted as he neared Hidetsugu.
“And who might you be?” said Hidetsugu, his rifle still firmly aimed in the direction of the rice fields.
“My name is Mitsunari, I am Kanrisha-administrator to Lord Hideyoshi. And I know who you are,” said Mitsunari. “You are the Kampaku’s nephew. We met in Kiyosu last year. I assume you do not remember.” The Hidetsugu Mitsunari saw in front of him, had changed little in a year. A young man, barely nineteen years of age, dressed in an absurd black silk kimono, with embroidered dragons in expensive gold thread.
Hardly a suitable riding outfit, thought Mitsunari.
“Which one, Kunosuki, which one,” said an agitated Hidetsugu, shouting at his retainer and ignoring Mitsunari.
“Over there, Lord. Just to your right. It is a long shot, but it can be done,” said the retainer. Hidetsugu quickly re-sighted and aimed. In fear for their lives, the rice planters had already run away when another sharp crack echoed across the hills. The musket ball hit one of the fleeing women squarely in the back, and she fell face down into the mud.
“Good shot, my lord,” Kunosuki, the retainer, called out.
“Must I ask again?” said Mitsunari. “Why is this necessary? Surely you know the Kampaku has forbidden punishment without trial, even for peasants.” Hidetsugu looked at Mitsunari’s shocked expression and laughed.
“Is that what you think this is?” Asked a smirking Hidetsugu.
“What else would you call it?” replied Mitsunari.
“I would call it target practice.”
“By what right do you murder innocent peasants for target practice?” said Mitsunari.
“Why, Burei-uchi, of course. The law of offend and strike,” Mitsunari knew that even for Burei-uchi, tight rules applied. Hidetsugu would have to prove that his action was just and report the incident to a nearby government official. Then he would need to give his version of the facts and provide at least one witness to corroborate it.
“Tell me, how do unarmed rice planters offend?” Asked Mitsunari.
“I do not have to explain myself to you. Kunosuki here is my witness and this will be reported to the local officials as required by law. Now, as I have to mention your presence here as you are a witness, kindly tell me why you are here,” said Hidetsugu.
“I am escorting the Lady Ocha to the Temporin-Ji temple here on Mount Kongo for her purification ritual to honour her departed mother, the Lady Oichi no Kata.” Hidetsugu looked around and finally noticed a young woman in riding clothes, her hair tied back, astride a horse taking shade under a nearby tree.
“So, this is the lady, Ocha. My uncle has spoken highly of her.” Hidetsugu eyed Ocha closely and smiled. “Such a beauty, do you not think Mitsunari?” Recognising the pointlessness of continuing the argument, Mitsunari bowed to Hidetsugu, and the pair continued up the mountain trail towards the temple.
#
Osaka Castle
The Twentieth Day of the Fifth Month: Tensho Thirteen (1585)
The oppressive humidity from the overnight rains continued to linger over Osaka Castle. It was not until the mid-morning hour of the snake that the rolling mists from the wet grounds and surrounding moats finally cleared. As the sun rose, hundreds of labourers and artisans in their loincloths toiled away, each lending their efforts to complete the castle’s fifth storey of the inner Tenshu.
Within the recently completed audience chamber of the castle, a shaft of bright light penetrated the chamber’s latticed window and fell onto a small area of the room’s raised dais. It was on this very spot that the lord of Osaka castle, Hashiba Hideyoshi, would soon enter and take his seat. Construction of the castle had begun two years earlier and Hideyoshi would make sure that when complete, it would surpass in grandeur even Azuchi Castle that Lord Nobunaga had built to showcase his power.
