The Fool and the Falcon
Lashings of rain rushed from the roof of the pagoda, falling down before the keen eyes of Mitsuhide Akechi. He was sat on the porch of the main hall, looking out over the small walled garden that ajoined the rooms of power. Often it was used to take tea when guests were present, but right now it was swamped in an indomitable rain that hissed through the air loud enough to obscure the approaching footsteps behind Mitsuhide.
"Mitsuhide; I thought you had already departed," came the voice of Nobunaga. Mitsuhide shivered as the calm yet authoritative tone brushed into his ears.
"I would have, my Lord. But this rain has caused the road to become impassable to the horses, let alone the carts. It seems it is the will of Heaven that I remain."
Mitsuhide looked back at his liege as he finished his words. Nobunaga stood as boldly as ever, clad in his open-chested crimson tunic with gilded collars, and displaying the first signs of the facial hair expected of the mighty Daimyo he had become.
"Then Heaven is on my side," Nobunaga remarked as he moved up to sit beside Mitsuhide on the porch. The cold air pushed in by the rain crept down his bronzed chest, giving him a brief chill that shook his whole body and brought water to his eyes; Mitsuhide noticed the shimmer immediately.
"But my Lord, with out those provisions Master Hashiba will surely struggle against the Mouri?" Mitsuhide said, averting his eyes from the drop of rain that had fallen from a rafter and now ran down Nobunaga's thick neck.
"Ha, you don't need to worry about that Monkey," Nobunaga laughed with a shake of his head that prompted his youthful bangs to brush his smooth forehead. "I just know he will find a way to win. I am not worried about that at all. I only meant to say that Heaven is on my side because you, Mitsuhide, are still here."
For a moment a shot of red coloured Mitsuhide's pale cheeks, but he quickly realised that he was engaging in wishful thinking, and that of course Nobunaga was simply seeking some military advice.
"Ah yes. You are worried about the defences here at Honnoji? I have identified several weaknesses that you should attend to soon. Even here in the capital we are still close to the dens of many wolves."
Mitsuhide nodded as he spoke, and gestured out towards the garden as if Nobunaga's enemies were as close as the roses growing in the nearby bed. Their scent teased their noses, only sometimes breaking past the wall of rain to grace them.
"They don't call you the White Falcon of Oda for nothing I see," Nobunaga remarked, leaning back and carefully removing his scabbard. "Even in the cold of the rain do you think about future. I am truly blessed to have you at my side."
"You humble me, my Lord," Mitsuhide said. He eyed the fine jewels embedded in Nobunaga's ornate sword-casing. Nobunaga was quick to notice.
"Not only are you a great strategist, but I have heard you are a master swordsman," he said. Mitsuhide turned back to view the trickles of water running down the fence posts.
"People say thing like that of many in his land. Who of those men is truly fit to grip a fine sword in their hands... It is... hard... to say," Mitsuhide said, his words trailing off as he pulled his own sword from its plain white scabbard. The blade shone brightly; in it Mitsuhide could see Nobunaga's reflection looking not at the sword, but at something in Mitsuhide's lap. Mitsuhide dared to hope for the impossible at first, but quickly realised he was viewing the embossment on the tip of his scabbard that now lay across his legs.
"I have no doubt that you are one of the finest swordsmen in the land," Nobunaga said. "And the finest swordsmen are bound to end up with the finest swords."
"But my Lord, your sword is the finest the world has ever seen," Mitsuhide was quick to argue, extending his hand towards the fine violet scabbard now lain beside him, but stopping short of touching it. Nobunaga took his wrist softly and pressed his hand down the handle. It was still warm; Nobunaga must have been using it very recently.
"I won't deny that I too am very experienced when it comes to handling my weapon," Nobunaga said. "Who is the better of us both is, as you put it, hard... to say. Perhaps though we could settle this issue, seeing as there is no other business to attend to."
"Settle the issue, my Lord?"
"Yes," Nobunaga said, standing up and slowly revealing the blade of his sword to Mitsuhide. The agonisingly slow grind of the blade of the laquered wooden coating accompanied the appearance of a huge, smooth sword, capable of defeating any man. "I propose that we engage in a little sword-play, to see who has the greater skill."
Mitsuhide thought that his dreams were coming true, but was still composed enough to realise that Nobunaga was simply asking for a sparring partner to train with. He took a deep breath, tried to remain calm, and followed Nobunaga into the main hall.
Nobunaga assumed a strong pose, his sword thrust out in front of him. Mitsuhide pulled his sword out with a youthful passion and tossed the scabbard away. He held it up high, and carefully watched as Nobunaga began to move, shifting back and forth as each looked for an opening. Sometimes their eyes would meet. Nobunaga's eyes held the traditional serenity of the seasoned warrior, but his mouth was turning up at the edges, unlike the stern pout of a samurai. Mitsuhide could not hold his gaze for long.
Their swords clashed at the tips. The point of friction then slid down towards their straining hands before bouncing away. The two friends exchanged many bouts of such action, each trying to get into a position that would allow them to dominate the other. Such force was being used that it seemed like the weapons might break, but true to the heroes who weilded them, then remained as hard and strong as a warrior could hope for.
Sweat began to ooze from the brows of both men, the beads bending this way and that with the rythmic flow of the battle. Mitsuhide could feel the heat growing beneath his thick chestplate, and wanted nothing more than to remove it, but he was unsure what Nobunaga would think of this for he was in fact barechested beneath it.
Thus he was thankful when the issue was decided for him. With a stunning display of vigour, Nobunaga delivered a powerful thrust that cut the paltry strips of silk holding the armour to its wearer. It clattered to the floor. There was a pause as Nobunaga looked at Mitsuhide's body – as pale and pristine as the winter snow.
"Even if this driving rain we have found a way to keep warm," he remarked with a laugh, before throwing off his own tunic, revealing a body more tanned and toned than Mitsuhide's. There were scars, showing his vast experience despite his youth.
Mitsuhide took in the sight before him with great pleasure, but could not look for long as Nobunaga was already upon him with his sword, swinging both sides and up and down, occassionally hitting home with a lunging thrust. Mitsuhide put up an equal effort, matching his every move with harmony and grace, never letting his liege take control of the situation.
Now warmed up, both men held nothing back. They roared as they advanced and let out deep breaths as they retreated, sparring across the room in a winding spiral, leaving no spot unvisited. Sparks jumped from the ends of their swords when the clashes grew too powerful for the metal to handle, and yet the blades themselves showed no sign of losing their shape.
Mitsuhide was happy with his performance so far, but it seemed Nobunaga still had tricks left to reveal. In one motion he pushed Mitsuhide's blade to one side with his own and moved in close, landing an open hand on Mitsuhide's damp chest and lauching him back into the wall. Within the blink of an eye Nobunaga had his blade pointed right into Mitsuhide's face with no hope of escape.
"You truly are my master," Mitsuhide said, his voice weak with exertion.
"No no, this was merely chance," Nobunaga insisted with a smile. "Even the best of us lose control of our swords once in a while."
A drip of sweat from Mitsuhide's brow fell onto the tip of Nobunaga's sword and began to run down towards the base. Nobunaga flourished the blade around his head and picked up Mitsuhide's in his free hand. Now gripping both swords he pointed them at Mitsuhide's face.
"My lord may do what he wishes with the sword of the defeated man," Mitsuhide said. Nobunaga grinned.
"You surrender yourself too easy. I prefer a challange, you know?"
With that, Nobunaga casually tossed Mitsuhide's sword right at his chest. Mitsuhide caught it with both hands and immediately thrust it upon Nobunaga's sword.
"That's more like it!" Nobunaga said, drawing his blade back before returning to clash with his friend's long, slightly curved blade once again. Mitsuhide knew that now it was his turn to beat his Lord, and so drew up all the strength he could find and started to advance with quick, powerful movements. Nobunaga seemed impressed and perhaps surprised at the performance, allowing his face to break from its serenity and his breathing to become deep and he pushed to hold out against Mitsuhide's unstoppable techniques.
Then, with a loud call, Mitsuhide made one huge attack, dipping his head down beneath Nobunaga's raised sword and winding his oppenent as he rose. Nobunaga fell backwards, letting his sword slip from his hand and letting a sharp gasp escape his mouth.
"You see, my Lord, when the time comes I always manage to get the job done," Mitsuhide remarked as he eyed his own sword, now lowered.
"I am left with no doubt of that, White Falcon of Oda," Nobunaga said. It looked for a moment like he might get back up, but then the effort appeared to fail. His shimmering chest rose and fell as his head lent back and settled on the dry mats of the hall.
"In battle, one always tries their hardest when they know the end is coming," Mitsuhide said. "It is just like you, my Lord, to get impatient and exert themselves too much right away. Perhaps that is why they call you the Fool of Owari?"
"You may be right Mitsuhide, you may be right," Nobunaga sighed. The two men remained still, letting their body-heat pass into the breeze running through the hall as they thought about what they had learned from the encounter. Mitsuhide was cursing himself for his previous assumptions about what Nobunaga had wanted from him, whilst Nobunaga, pretending to have his eyes closed, was actually peeking at Mitsuhide's perfect chest.
"Perhaps we will try this again another time," Nobunaga said.
"Of course, my Lord. Whatever you wish," Mitsuhide replied with a bow.
"That's right. Whatever I wish..."