Chapter 2 – Mitsunari Returns
Mitsunari patted his horse's neck from the saddle and mentally prepared himself to die. Yoshitsugu was dead. The soldiers were crowding him. He was prepared. He would announce his charge toward Tokugawa. He would kill the bastard then die from his wounds. For Lord Hideyori, he would die.
"Lord Mitsunari!" A woman was riding at top speed toward Mitsunari. Her face was covered in sweat. She reached Mitsunari and yanked her horse to a stop. "A letter has arrived," she said, holding out a piece of white paper inscribed with elegant black characters.
"A letter from whom?" asked Mitsunari.
"Lord Hideyori, sir."
Mitsunari's face paled and he took the letter. It read thus:
Dearest Mitsunari,
I know of your situation. I know what you're planning to do. Read closely.
DO NOT ADVANCE TOWARD IEYASU TOKUGAWA.
You cannot win this battle. Have all troops retreat to Osaka immediately. Do not try to be a hero.
Mitsunari, you are precious to me. Come home safely.
Sincerely,
Hideyori Toyotomi
Great Lord of Osaka
The letter shook in Mitsunari's hands as he read it over and over. He wasn't sure which part to process first: that Lord Hideyori knew what had transpired on the battlefield hours before it had happened, that he seemingly knew what Mitsunari would do, or that Lord Hideyori considered him… precious. That was surely due to a mistake with the inkbrush when writing the character – not that Lord Hideyori would ever make a mistake. Perhaps he meant valuable in a military sense. Yes, that was it.
He pinched the top of the paper with the thumb and forefingers of both hands, as if to rip it. His hands shook. Such an act would surely be the highest form of sacrilege. He sighed and his body slumped.
"Sound the horn to retreat!" yelled Mitsunari, snapping his war-fan closed and sheathing it on his back in one fluid motion. "We are retreating to Osaka!"
It was sunset. Hideyori rounded the corner to Osaka Castle's front courtyard.
"My Lord, please wait!" called Lady Kai, high swirly ponytail in place. Hideyori paid no heed to his bodyguard, running out into the courtyard. Since his hurried letter that morning, he'd changed into a black kimono, overlayed with a yellow sleeveless tunic and purple hakama (flared pleated trousers). Rank after rank of soldiers filed through Osaka's gates. All were covered in blood. Many were lost, cut down in the retreat.
The left side of the courtyard quickly became the infirmary, a dozen healers rushing out with stretchers. The right side was slowly being lined with bodies, over which people were pulling white sheets and crying. He ran along the line of dead bodies, hoping, hoping, hoping. He caught sight of a familiar white-robed form and at first refused to believe. No. Oh god, he had been too late.
He stood stiffly looking down at the man, whose face was obscured by his high collar. "Yoshitsugu," he whispered. Yoshitsugu had been one of his most loyal retainers.
Hideyori's vision blurred with tears. The world began to tilt.
Lady Kai ran up behind him. "Please come away, My Lord."
Hideyori tried to blink away the tears. He had to stay strong. "Where's Mitsunari?" he said to Lady Kai. He took Lady Kai by the forearms. "Where's Mitsunari?" A tear rolled down his cheek. "I need Mitsunari." God, please don't let him be…
"Lord Hideyori." A castle guard ran up to them and bowed before Hideyori. "Lord Mitsunari awaits you in the Audience Chamber."
Hideyori blinked as a boulder-sized weight lifted from his chest. He felt faint at the relief and sagged.
Mitsunari's alive. Mitsunari's alive.
He sprinted, purple hakama flapping around his legs. He automatically headed for the door that opened onto the dais in the Audience Chamber, rather than the main door, which was closer. No amount of longing could replace a lifetime of habit.
He slid back the door.
Mitsunari sat on his heels on the Audience Chamber floor facing the dais, which held the empty seat of honour. Everything in the room was beautiful, from the art on the walls to the patterns on the screen doors. Mitsunari took in none of it.
Usually, there would be six retainers kneeling below the dais, three on each side of the seat of honour facing each other. Their absence made Mitsunari wince. All dead or traitors. The thought tore him apart.
The door behind the dais clacked open. Lord Hideyori stepped out in all his golden radiance, long brown ponytail perfectly in place. Mitsunari stopped breathing for a few seconds, staring up at his Lord with wide eyes. Then he pitched his body forward and pressed his forehead to the reed matting. Red hair fell around his face.
"Lord Hideyori," he choked, and cried into the floor. "What I've done is unforgiveable."
"Mitsunari." footsteps told him his Lord had moved to the edge of the dais. "Sit up."
Mitsunari sat up and bowed his head, tears streaming silently down his cheeks and dripping onto the matting. "I failed you, My Lord. Please – I beg you – allow me to pay the ultimate price for this crime."
Mitsunari's hand went to his scabbard, but didn't dare draw his sword without his Lord's permission. After a few seconds, Mitsunari dared to look his Lord in the eyes – red, as if he'd been up since dawn or crying, or both.
"Are you really that selfish, Mitsunari? Are you really that blind?" This was the most sadness he'd ever heard from Lord Hideyori.
"My Lord?"
"Look around you. Do you see anyone else here? Every retainer who would sit in this room has either turned their back on me or is lying dead in a field." Hideyori's voice cracked as if he was about to cry, but he didn't. He stepped off the dais. "You would truly leave me with no one and nothing? Leave our enemies to overrun Osaka and take my head?"
A wave of guilt overtook Mitsunari's shame and he pressed his forehead to the floor, harder this time. "Please forgive my selfishness, Lord Hideyori. I swear I will live to do everything in my power to atone for my failure."
"Mitsunari." Hideyori's voice was unimaginably kind as he walked up to his retainer. "Look at me."
Mitsunari raised his head. His Lord reached out and grasped one of the horns on his headband. He gently eased Mitsunari's head and body back until they were eye-to-eye. Hideyori had to bend slightly. Mitsunari found himself staring into a pair of burning brown eyes.
"You are here. You alone did not desert me. You alone did not allow yourself to be killed. You did not fail me, Mitsunari. You exceeded my wildest expectations."
Mitsunari sobbed. "I am not worthy of such words," he said, and suddenly a great weight slammed into his chest and arms were thrown around his neck and his Lord was crashing to his knees and weeping into his retainer's shoulder armour. His brain short-circuited. Lord Hideyori was touching him. Lord Hideyori was touching him. Mitsunari held his arms limply by his sides – he wouldn't dare touch or hug back without permission – surely that was one of the greatest of sins.
"Mitsunari, you idiot. You were going to die for me."
"I would die for you a hundred times over, My Lord."
Hideyori detached himself from Mitsunari and stood, cheek and clothes now smeared with blood. Mitsunari berated himself. He should have washed before he came.
"Ishida," said the brunet. Mitsunari's stomach dropped – his Lord only ever used his surname when he was displeased. "You're not allowed to die on me, understand?"
The red-haired man – tears finally stopped – answered clearly. "Yes, My Lord."
"Good." The sun had set and servants had lit the wall lamps, sending flickering shadows over Lord Hideyori. The brunet stepped back onto the dais, turned his blood-streaked cheek to his retainer and smiled. "After all, how will I crush Tokugawa without you?"
