Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3181853.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      炎の蜃気楼[ミラージュ]_|_Honoo_no_Mirage_|_Mirage_of_Blaze
  Relationship:
      Naoe_Nobutsuna/Uesugi_Kagetora
  Character:
      Naoe_Nobutsuna, Uesugi_Kagetora, Uesugi_Kenshin, Yasuda_Nagahide, Irobe
      Katsunaga, Kakizaki_Haruie
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Historical, Drama, Romance
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-01-16 Updated: 2017-04-21 Chapters: 4/? Words: 19360
****** The Prize ******
by lamagicienne
Summary
     Historical AU – 1569: The Hōjō are defeated, their realms about to be
     cut up between their victorious neighbor clans. For outstanding
     services during the siege, General Naoe Nobutsuna is given a very
     special reward: the youngest of the Hōjō brothers.
***** Sixteen years, eight months, eleven days *****
Chapter Notes
     The real fall of Odawara came to pass in 1590. Ujimasa and Ujiteru
     were forced to committ seppuku. I changed the facts a little and
     moved the events to Saburo Kagetora's lifetime.
     To be frank, I have no clue how the members of conquered noble
     families were treated if they weren't allowed to kill themselves.
     Also, I don't know if there was a concept of slavery in medieval
     Japan comparable to let's say medieval Europe. Enjoy anyway :-)
 
Sixteen years, eight months, eleven days
That morning – the last morning of Hōjō rule over Odawara Castle – carried the
scent of cherry blossoms down from the elevated fortress over the battle fields
into the camps of the besieging armies. Irobe Katsunaga had been to the castle
before the war for negotiations. He knew that there were other flowers gracing
its gardens – wisteria, morning glories, chrysanthemums – but the cherry
blossoms drowned any other scent except for the salty tang of the sea right
behind the castle.
Hours later when he entered the castle grounds on horseback, surrounded by the
pitiful moans of the defeated and the victorious cries of his own soldiers, the
stench of blood overlaid everything else. It had been a long siege. Hunger,
disease, shortage of fuel – nothing could break the resistance of Odawara's
defenders. In the end, the allied armies of the Uesugi, the Oda and the Satomi
had to take the castle by storm.
And even then the outcome would have been uncertain if it hadn't been for young
Naoe Nobutsuna's risky maneuver that took down the Hōjō's redoubtable
contingent of archers. Naoe had paid the price while still on the battlefield
when he took an arrow to the chest, right above the heart. After removing the
greatest obstacle to their victory, he couldn't join his comrades when by
midday, war had ended and they were taking possession of the Hōjō's ancient
stronghold. Their archers had been the Hōjō's greatest asset in battle.
And their ninja, of course. Their wretched ninja...
Even now – Hōjō's pride lay in the dust, Nobunaga's banner had been run up over
Odawara's walls – these creatures just couldn't accept that it was over for
their lords, for them. Irobe felt something cold and heavy settle in his
stomach when he came to the inner yard of the castle and found the entrance
blocked by two of them. What exactly did they believe they were protecting now?
The Hōjō were all but extinguished. Only a couple of their family members
hadn't been found yet. But these two representatives of the infamous Fūma clan
seemed bent on standing guard on the orders of their dead lord. The only
difference now was that they actually showed their faces.
At the sight of them, Irobe's personal guard immediately drew in closer around
him, alerted by the mere presence of these two slender figures in their black
attire. Contrary to most in their army he believed the Fūma to be a highly
skilled nuisance, a force to be reckoned with, of course, but not a bunch of
magicians. They could bleed and die just like the rest of mankind – and they
would if they didn't stand aside now. He saw the older and slightly taller one
catch his younger companion's eye as a wordless exchange seemed to take place
between them. Then the latter retreated towards the yard.
Irobe narrowed his eyes. One of the things that made the Fūma such formidable
enemies was their ability to act as one in a fight. Never would they have
needed as crude a method of communication as eye-contact in a situation such as
this. He didn't get around to spend much time thinking about this odd
phenomenon, though, as his men immediately engaged the remaining ninja in
combat. Despite the high alert they had shown earlier, they didn't hesitate now
as Irobe noticed with a flicker of pride. Open combat wasn't the Fūma's
specialty, of course. They stroke in the dark, with daggers, with poison, by
attacking locations of their enemies' bodies that were sensitive to
acupuncture. As a result, it didn't exactly happen every other day that one got
to witness them deploy their fighting skills – leave alone, one of them
fighting for his very life.
It was terrifying and wonderful at once.
It was the end of an era.
The Hōjō were no more, and their demise would lead the Fūma into the obscurity
of history, too. In the beginning, though, it seemed as if the ninja were able
to take on all the Uesugi soldiers opposing him at once. Kicks were flying,
grips to their limbs quick as lightning were rendering grown men unable to lift
a finger. How long he could have kept this up, Irobe never found out, however.
The ninja had decided on the precise moment when he wanted to die. He just
seemed to will his own body to slow down enough for the deadly blow to fall.
His pale, narrow face was completely calm. A strand of hair come loose from his
pony tail was lying against his cheek. Irobe was able to register all those
details exactly before the ninja was stabbed and tumbled to the ground as the
soldier removed his weapon from the dying body.
He had chosen his death, Irobe came to understand. He looked towards the
entrance of the inner yard. And his last mission had been to delay their entry.
What was so important that was happening in there for this Fuma creature to
sacrifice his life?
It was to be expected, Irobe thought as he directed his horse towards the
entrance and the weeping of women reached his ear, that the soldiers were
running wild in the aftermath of this long, uncertain fight with its high death
toll. The more surprised he was by the downright reverent silence of the inner
yard. Hoping to find out what had cast such a spell on his men, Irobe
dismounted and approached his soldiers some of whom recognized him and made way
for him to step into the yard. He immediately summed up the situation.
An old man was kneeling there in perfect composure, his upper body bared.
Irobe's breath caught in his lungs when he positioned a short sword in front of
his stomach, determination in his eyes. Without haste, the old man drove in the
sword almost to the hilt and then drew it right across his belly, through his
intestines. The tendons emerging from his neck, a feral sound, half groan, half
snarl, broke from his throat.
After a few heartbeats, a loud cry cut him off and a second figure that Irobe
became aware of only now moved forward with feline swiftness. Light reflected
from a blade and the old man's head landed on the ground with a soft thud.
The following silence was so absolute that a falling needle could have been
heard. Irobe saw the ninja from before who had aided the old man's seppuku
poising as if in a stupor, sword in hand. Long black hair was spilling over a
slender back, so for an insane moment, Irobe believed it to be a woman, the old
man's wife or daughter maybe, disguised as a warrior to escape being disgraced
by the invading soldiers. Then the blade lowered, the svelte silhouette turned
around and Irobe could now see that it was indeed a man who had dealt the final
blow.
Or in fact, Irobe thought somewhat ruefully, he was little more than a child.
The high cheekbones and slender nose in the fair-skinned, oval face bore no
resemblance whatsoever to the Fūma clan. However, Irobe had seen faces like
this on the battleground, their lightless eyes open to the sky. They belonged
to members of the erstwhile ruling family of the Kanto region.
"Who was he?" Irobe asked with a quick glance at the lifeless body in the
middle of the yard.
"Hōjō Genan-dono, my uncle," the youth answered in a melodic voice and
confirmed Irobe's suspicions.
"And that would make you…?"
"Hōjō Saburō, youngest son of the late Hōjō Ujiyasu-dono."
Ah, yes. If Ujiyasu had been alive, Irobe would have been hard pressed to say
how this war would have ended. Most likely, there wouldn't have been a war at
all. Ujiyasu had been more adept at maintaining a fragile peace than his oldest
son and successor Ujimasa could ever have hoped to become. He had paid the
price, too.
"Will you allow me to finish this?" the youth asked in a voice as calm and
steady as if he were talking about calligraphy lessons and not asking
permission to end his life. His eyes, though, said clearly that he was aware of
the enormity of today's happenings. Irobe saw now that the black attire he had
taken for a ninja's costume was in fact a wooden armor with the insignia of the
Hōjō.
So many times during this siege, Irobe had wished that entire family to the
deepest available pit of all the Seven Hells. But now – faced with this pale,
exhausted child, so composed in the aftermath of what must have been the single
most tragic event of his life – he felt something very akin to sympathy flicker
to life.
"I cannot," he answered more softly than he had ever imagined to speak to a
Hōjō.
The boy lowered his gaze under this last, in a way most fatal blow. It was all
over: his family were dead, his clan defeated, any possession he ever could
have hoped to inherit would be scattered to the winds. His life had come to an
end, but he wasn't allowed to take the only appropriate action - something even
the lowest of all peasants could have decided for himself.
Irobe saw and understood, but it wasn't his place to decide who should be given
permission to flee his defeat.
/\/
"Not too long ago you served the lords of this castle." From his elevated seat
in the back of his tent, way outside the gates of Odawara's castle, Oda
Nobunaga the victorious warlord, swept his gaze over the back of the man who
knelt before him on the ground. Technically speaking, he wasn't a vassal of
his, but of the Satomi clan who had aided the Oda and their reluctant allies,
the Uesugi, in this long overdue campaign to take down the Hōjō once and for
all.
They had accomplished as much. Ujimasa and most of his brothers were dead
either in battle or at their own hands, the rest of them facing the same fate.
Now that the fighting was over, Oda intended to enjoy his enemies' downfall to
the fullest. Or he could have done so, if it hadn't been for those
aforementioned allies.
Since the Uesugi bore the brunt of most of Hōjō's attacks and in addition to
that developed the plan how to get around their archers, Kenshin requested that
his general who had been severely injured the day before the victory "be given
the most precious and best part of all Hōjō spoils".
Those were Kenshin's very words, delivered by a messenger from Echigo, and they
were the reason why Nobunaga had summoned this Hōjō renegade who had become a
Satomi vassal only a couple of years ago after a severe conflict with Hōjō
Ujimasa had him and his brother turn his back on their birth clan. "Of all men
who fought on our side, you are most intimately familiar with everything inside
those walls, every heirloom, every treasure the Hōjō owned. If there were but
one thing you would give to your most deserving warrior, one priceless object
–"
He broke off since there was an obvious answer to the question of what should
be given to the man who had all but won the war for them. Odawara Castle needed
a new master. Nobunaga knew that Naoe had been given a fortress of his own by
Kenshin – a windy shit-hole on a rock somewhere in the northern lands the
Uesugi called home. He had no doubt that the young general would have preferred
Odawara castle with its gardens and beaches on any given day.
But Nobunaga wasn't ready to part with Odawara nor would he ever be. As it
happened, this had been one of his favorite day-dreams for years: walking the
crenellations of the Hōjō's stronghold, knowing that he'd crushed their pride,
their very lives. He wasn't going to abandon that vision, especially not for
Kenshin's self-serving ideals.
So he needed something else for Naoe – and for Kenshin to be satisfied with his
vassal's treatment, it had to be something beyond compare. Now he could only
hope that the Hōjō did own any such thing other than their beautiful castle and
that it would be movable.
"Tell me, Matsuda-dono," he requested. "Of all Hōjō spoils, what is the
greatest prize we won today?"
Matsuda Takahide lifted his gaze from the tatami mats on the ground of the
tent. He was a bulky man, better placed on a battleground than in a palace. Not
the cleverest kind of individual, but not without some amount of cunning when
he had set his mind on something as Nobunaga had come to learn. Now, to
Nobunaga's faint surprise, he noticed a smile lurking on the corner of the
man's mouth. When he lifted his gaze to meet Nobunaga's, there was a glimmer in
the depths of his eyes that the warlord couldn't make sense of. Memories
perhaps of the days he had spent at court in Odawara, of laying eyes on what he
was about to name?
"My lord," the Satomi vassal said finally, phrasing his words carefully. "There
is but one thing of the Hōjō clan that I consider beyond compare."
/\/
They came for him as evening fell – the evening of the first day Odawara Castle
had seen under foreign rule. The Uesugi general who had witnessed his uncle
Genan's suicide had sent him to the small hall where they kept his brothers
prisoners. Ujinori was badly injured and started developing a fever.
Against his better judgment, Saburō spoke up about his brother's critical
condition and was met with crude laughter. He should hope for his brother's
demise, he was told, for it would spare him a life in slavery. As it awaited
him, Saburō concluded from that. The darkest days were indeed upon them.
The others had been spared, Saburō understood, feeling a desperate longing for
Ujiteru-ani wash over him. His favorite brother had died first, in battle.
Saburō had watched it happen from the walls of the castle, bow in hand, but
still unable to prevent his death. The first war-dead in their family of this
generation. But Ujitada and Ujimitsu had followed soon. Ujimasa had committed
suicide when the gate was crashed open or so Saburō had been told. And now
Ujinori would die a dog's death after fighting so bravely…
All this left Ujikuni who had gone stone-cold and silent. He sat next to Saburō
in the tiny shed where they had been placed, separated from the other prisoners
of war. A couple of times, Saburō had believed he heard his sister-in-law's
voice somewhere nearby and even mentioned as much to Ujikuni, but it didn't
coax a reaction from his brother. Therefor it came as a complete surprise to
Saburō when they overheard one guard talking to another that Saburō was wanted
in Oda's headquarters, Ujikuni immediately drew the according conclusions.
"No, by the Gods, you're not taking him!" it burst from Ujikuni's mouth.
Saburō started struggling when he saw one of the Oda soldiers hit his brother
in the face with the blunt end of a spear. Their eyes met, all of Ujikuni's
unvoiced fears plain to read for Saburō. It struck a strange chord with him
that his brother would consider the more heinous possibilities of what could
befall him when his whole family had been so blind about what had happened a
couple of years ago right under their collective noses.
Odawara hadn't given him protection then, much less would it do so now, full of
enemy soldiers who hadn't touched a woman in months. If nobody had tried to
force Saburō yet it was only thanks to the fact that nobody could be certain by
now about what was to happen with the captured Hōjō family members.
He held Ujikuni's gaze as he was yanked away. This is nothing, he wanted to
say, nothing I haven't lived through before.
/\/
Nobunaga was pleased with the latest development regarding Naoe Nobutsuna's
reward. A boy – and be he the youngest of the infamous Hōjō brothers – he could
do without. He had enough pretty playthings. Even if Matsuda claimed the boy
was beautiful beyond the imagination of mortals – that kind of thing was said
of too many young boys.
Kenshin who harbored similar preferences would appreciate the gift for what it
was and his general was the ideal receiver. Naoe Nobutsuna struck Nobunaga as
one cold son of a bitch, a man who would never choose the fulfillment of carnal
desires over the realization of his ambitions. And ambitious he was – he
certainly made no pretense of that. Experience hadn't yet taught him how
imperative it was to pursue his objectives without stepping on his peers' toes
all the time. The young man seriously needed to be taken down a peg or two.
This affront disguised with a pretty face might very well do the trick,
Nobunaga thought gleefully.
But the important thing was that neither Kenshin nor his general could lay
claim to Odawara castle now or later. A boy would come Nobunaga much cheaper
than a fortress. And everything else aside, he smiled to himself, the little
transaction would infuriate Takeda Shingen beyond measure. Matsuda had told him
that the boy had been a hostage in Kai as a young child – and that Shingen had
gone as far as to adopt him. "That's why they called him Saburō when he was in
fact the eighth son of Ujiyasu's, the seventh to survive to adulthood."
It was getting dark when the soft clinking of armors announced the return of
the guards Nobunaga had sent to the castle to collect Naoe Nobutsuna's prize. A
slender figure clad in the plain, uncolored garment typically worn underneath a
samurai's armor was manhandled into the tent and more or less thrown to his
knees in front of Nobunaga.
Ah. He could see at once what Matsuda had been talking about, even though the
boy kept his gaze lowered to the ground the whole time. Even so Nobunaga
received the impression of a fine, even bone-structure, unblemished skin and
long lashes resting on high cheekbones. Black, silky hair had come loose from
the ponytail it had been tied up in before.
Yes, Nobunaga could see why such a pretty face would trouble a hick like
Matsuda. The man had gone very still a few seats next to him, his eyes fixated
on Hōjō Ujiyasu's youngest child. Again, it made Nobunaga wonder what memories
connected the Satomi to this boy. Then again, he was hardly the only one
present who'd forgotten decorum at the sight they were presented with.
Hōjō Saburō had frozen on the ground in a position that would have looked
awkward on anybody else. With him, it seemed that he had left all
considerations of his body behind by now – anticipating perhaps what fate had
in store for him. Nobunaga caught sight of more than one respectable bushi's
attention being captured by their young prisoner. He decided to get to the
point before any of them got their hopes up.
"Irobe-dono," Nobunaga addressed Kenshin's spokesman, the oldest of the Uesugi
generals present. "The youngest son of Hōjō Ujiyasu is to be given to General
Naoe Nobutsuna as a reward for outstanding services to our just cause."
Irobe froze while a murmur went through the room and died down again. Generals
Yasuda and Kakizaki who were flanking their elder, exchanged looks that clearly
spoke of how aghast they were at this unexpected turn of events. Nobunaga
suppressed a smile at their thinly disguised irritation. They were perfectly
able to put two and two together and detect the reason behind this move of his.
Most likely they had also hoped for Odawara castle to go to one of their own.
And now this. It was a deft move, a subtle insult to their injured companion's
achievements, hardly able to ward off for how could they speak up in public
now?
Irobe's frown seemed to have different causes, though, as Nobunaga realized
with some astonishment. He followed the old Uesugi general's gaze to where the
youngest of the Hōjō brothers knelt. There was concernment there, a kind of
regret that seemed all the more remarkable among all the leering stares the boy
had been receiving since they'd brought him into the tent.
However, it was impossible for Nobunaga to tell whether Saburō had become aware
of either the stir he was causing or the announcement and what it meant for
him. His eyes alone might have betrayed what was going on behind that aloof
facade, but he had cast them down when he entered the tent and never lifted his
gaze from the ground.
"Show your face, boy", Nobunaga ordered, egged on by the prisoner's attempt at
escape from the world.
With almost imperceptible hesitation, Saburō lifted his head.
As the Oda's chronicler was later going to put it, "the fertile lands, the
majestic castles, the finest weaponry, all gold and jewelry paled before the
heavenly beauty of Hōjō-dono's last-born son."
Truly, a small voice echoed in the back of Nobunaga's mind. Beyond compare. The
Satomi filth was correct. His eyes… they're like a wild animal's.
And this was also what made the boy special, he understood. Not his physical
beauty, but what shone from his unusually colored eyes. The contrast between
his subdued demeanor and that fiery spirit couldn't have been more harsh.What
might one call this hue, Nobunaga wondered. Gold…amber?
Nobunaga had stopped being attracted to appearances a long time ago. Certainly,
it didn't hurt if a bedmate was good-looking, but to instill a prolonged desire
in him, he had to possess a certain strength of his own – at least some will-
force, some sort of character.
Unfortunately, there weren't a lot of people falling into this category.
Even among the noble classes, there were those born to lead and those born to
follow. Nobunaga had always understood that. And he understood now that this
last-born son of Hōjō Ujiyasu's was of the former kind. Not even the recently
suffered tragedies could take that from him. What a daimyō this child could
have grown into in a different life where he wouldn't have been the youngest of
seven brothers, where his clan wouldn't have been defeated and extinguished.
Others would have cowered, Nobunaga thought, exhilarated by the cold fire that
met his gaze as if the boy had temporarily all but forgotten about his
precarious situation. Others would have bent.
Breaking a spirit this strong promised immeasurable delight.
Regret gripped him, but it was too late now to take his own words back. As
Nobunaga had announced in public, Saburō would go to Kenshin's general and
sweeten that one's nights from now on. He made a gesture to the guards who
yanked the boy up from the ground again and directed him towards the entrance
of the tent when it happened.
Being turned around, Saburō's eyes fell on Matsuda Takahide who had sat in
silence throughout the announcement, without calling attention to himself.
Saburō didn't exactly freeze when he recognized the man, but it seemed as if he
were holding his breath for a long second. Of course, he was bound to recognize
his brother's former retainer, a traitor to the Hōjō clan twice over and now
witness to their ultimate defeat.
As for Matsuda –
Nobunaga frowned ever so slightly at the shine in the Satomi vassal's eyes.
This was more than just the gloating of a renegade who had picked the winning
side after all and now wanted to rub it into his former clan lords' faces. It
seemed to be personal, aimed at Saburō himself and not so much at the fact that
he was a Hōjō.
Again, Nobunaga found himself wondering about their history. Matsuda must have
known Saburō for a long time, he mused. He'd watched him grow up, grow more
beautiful day by day, become more and more untouchable… For obviously, it would
have been completely out of the question for a vassal to ever as much as lay a
fingertip on his lord's own son. Which didn't mean, though, that he didn't
harbor any desire for the boy.
Was that it, Nobunaga wondered. Embittered that he couldn't take the boy
himself he had eagerly played his part in subjecting him to that humiliation at
the hands of another? My, my. This one's mind certainly makes for a fine
cesspool, Nobunaga thought.
Then again, if anybody could bring out such twisted desires in a man, it would
be this golden-eyed youth.
/\/
Saburō looked into the eyes of his tormentor and thought,it was his doing.
If there had been the slightest doubt in his mind about Takahide coming up with
the idea of bartering him away to this still faceless enemy general, it would
have been extinguished at once by the expression the older man wore. He wasn't
exactly smiling, but his eyes conveyed a mixture of satisfaction and excitement
that was oddly contradistinctive to the stupor Saburō found himself in at the
sight of him.
He remembers the red moon and now he wants to pass me on to this Uesugi general
hoping that he will give me new nightmares.
During the last year, he had sometimes imagined coming face to face with the
Matsuda brothers or any of their companions again. The siege of Odawara and the
participation of the Satomi had made it a likelihood after all. The fall of the
castle and all those deaths in his family had stirred his thoughts from that
trail somewhat, but as a matter of fact he had feared somewhat that Ujimasa
might come face them in battle – and that they might tell him of… that night to
unsettle him.
If you want to hate somebody, hate your brother!
He had avoided that pitfall, had protected Ujimasa from that knowledge, but now
new horror gripped him. Would they learn about what had happened, Ujikuni and
Ujinori? There was no way he could prevent Takahide from confronting them about
it.
And he knew it, too, Saburō could read it from his face that he was aware of
holding that sword above Saburō's neck. His thoughts were racing, fluttering
through his mind like caged birds, so he became aware of movements in front of
the tent only dimly. A puff of air hit his face when a soldier in the armor of
the Oda passed him on the way to the podium where he sank to his knees. "My
Lord Nobunaga. Your order has been executed."
"Ah," the warlord said as if only now remembering giving said order in the
first place. With an air of satisfaction, he addressed the assembled officers:
"My clan, my brothers in arms, bushi of the Uesugi and the Satomi. Tonight we
celebrate the fall of the wretched Hōjō clan. In their arrogance, they believed
that they could set themselves up as the rulers of Japan, that they could
enforce their will on us all. Their schemes failed them when they encountered
our combined forces in open battle. And tonight I have forestalled their plans
once and for all times."
Presentiment made the hairs in the back of Saburō's neck rise as Nobunaga
paused for a moment during which every soul in the room seemed to hold their
breath. Then the stroke fell.
"The Hōjō are no more."
Saburō heard the words but as soon as they were uttered a different sound rose
to his ears, almost drowning them, like the roar of rapid water. His gaze
flitted about the room for a few heartbeats, then stilled to complete numbness.
They killed them.
They had taken him away and then killed them. No. Ujikuni had been allowed to
commit seppuku. And Ujinori? Had they just left him to his fever? The interior
of the tent began to swim before his eyes, although it weren't tears veiling
his gaze. Darkness flickered at the edges of his field of vision.
"Come", a harsh voice reached his ear. Someone grabbed his arm – to prevent him
from falling or to lead him outside as they'd been on the verge of doing
anyway, Saburō never found out. He stumbled along, blind to the way he was led
on. On the hem of the man's robes he noticed the Uesugi coat of arms. Were they
collecting their prize now?
The void in his mind suddenly filled with but a single thought: that everything
he had ever suffered had been justified and worth the pain because of the Hōjō
name. As long as he could tell himself that his own sorrow was insignificant
compared to the fate of his clan, he'd been able to overcome any hardship, but
–
This is the end.
With the conquest of Odawara, his very foundation had broken away from
underneath his feet. His clan was erased and shamed in defeat. He was enslaved
and to go to one of the victors, who could do with him as he pleased. A thin
veil lay between him and his own insanity.
Despite having been raised in a temple, Saburō had never considered himself a
devout person. His mind was empty of names safe a precious few – the Kannon,
the goddess of mercy, the war god Bishamon-ten, the patron deity of the Uesugi.
He found his spirit reaching out into the unknown, into what not even the most
pious could claim to know for certain that there was indeed someone or
something out there who would listen to his prayer.
His plea for death.
***** Sixteen years, eight months, twelve days *****
Chapter Notes
     On we go! The cine-enthusiasts among you will recognize a scene I
     borrowed from the movie "The Piano" because it fit in here perfectly.
     Enjoy :-)
"No." In the half-light of their tent, Matsuda Katsuhide whirled around to face
his brother. "This can't be true."
Takahide merely gave a tiny nod to indicate that he'd been heard correctly
"After years, we were close to him like never again since –"
"There is no way they would have let us keep him," Takahide interrupted his
brother, "even if we'd found him ourselves in time. " He knew that Katsuhide
had entertained such thoughts. They had even spoken about it several times
during the siege, how close this brought them to Saburo again.
"But to tell them of him! To rouse their interest in him like this!"
Takahide suppressed a sigh. Did his brother honestly believe that they could
have kept Saburo a secret from everyone else within Odawara's walls? "Nobunaga-
dono asked me what I considered most special of all the spoils of war amassed.
I answered honestly."
Katsuhide's eyes narrowed in complete lack of understanding. "Why? Don't you
remember what it was like – "
"Because he is a curse," Takahide cut his brother short before he could be
reminded too clearly of the myriad ways in which their former charge knew to
please. "Do I have to remind you of what befell those who were with us that
night? Everyone who touches him contracts madness."
Their eyes met, Katsuhide shuddered being reminded of the bad end the others in
their little group had come to.
"Everyone," Takahide whispered and watched as realization slowly dawned in his
brother's eyes.
"And now you hope the curse will strike down on Naoe-dono?"
A silently blistering anger on Takahide's accompanied each and every mention of
the aspiring Uesugi general these days. Naoe had crossed him several times
during strategy meeting throughout the war: a sanctimonious opportunist,
smooth-talking those who were of use to him while being sarcastic and
condescending towards those he considered beneath him. That included the
Matsuda brothers and almost all the rest of the Satomi officers.
It was too bad that the Uesugi were returning to their homeland soon and
Takahide wouldn't be there to see the effect Saburo would have on Naoe's frigid
nature.
Takahide smiled. "Do we understand each other now?"
Katsuhide's face expressed both the strong impression his brother's scheming
made on him and his reluctance to let go of the idea of getting his hands on
Hojo Saburo once more. He regretted deeply that he hadn't been able to get
another taste of the boy before he was handed over to the Uesugi.
Takahide was left with the uncomfortable feeling that he hadn't heard the last
of the whole affair.
/\/
Naoe Nobutsuna, war hero and at twenty-five years of age the youngest general
of the Uesugi army, was inches away from flying into a violent rage.
Of course, for anybody who didn't know him extremely well it would have been
impossible to tell. Outwardly, he presented his usual calm and controlled self
– or as calm and controlled as it was possible to appear on the sickbed to
which an enemy arrow had sent him mere hours before the war had been won. The
day had passed in a blur of pain and troubled sleep.
At least, he would live or so they told him, if he didn't catch gangrene.
Kenshin-ko himself had sent a physician to look after his wound, so Naoe knew
he was in the best hands possible. Everything else was up to fate. He refused
to give the possible outcomes too much thought.
Still, he was in considerable pain. Said pain would have tried his patience in
any case but recent news from the assembly in Oda Nobunaga's tent strained it
almost beyond what was bearable. After all he had accomplished in this war,
after all he had invested, rarely sleeping more than five hours per night for
months, not shying from the most dangerous and unpromising missions – they
dared fob him off with a slave?
Odawara Castle – now that would have been a reward appropriate for his
endeavors. But strategic importance aside, Naoe imagined that the Hojo
stronghold had a special place in Nobunaga's heart. How could it not? Naoe had
been on many campaigns with Kenshin-ko from a young age onwards, seen a lot of
territories and lands owned by various clans, foes and allies, but rarely had
he laid eyes on a more magnificent castle: shining white walls, delicately-
shaped stairways and roofs with shimmering tiles.
But its most beautiful asset was the gardens behind the castle, sloping gently
towards the beach. He had seen them only once when he'd been part of Kenshin-
kō's delegation to Hojo Ujimasa right before the war. At that point in time,
all indications were that they would settle their differences without
bloodshed, but even then, Naoe had for a short while imagined what it would be
like to be the master of this splendid palace – and whether open war would give
him a chance at winning it for himself. His own family's hereditary castle –
even though situated by the seaside – fell short by comparison.
At the thought of what his spiteful, ever-nagging father in law would have to
say about this outcome, Naoe finally got up from thin futon. He staggered
towards the entrance of his tent and grasped one of the poles as he stared into
the approaching dawn.
"Are you sure you should be up and about yet?" Yasuda Nagahide asked. Ever
since he had broken the news to Naoe about his so-called prize he had been
blessedly silent.
"Why ever not?" Naoe asked in a slightly raspy voice in spite of the vertigo
that had gripped him. He imagined Nagahide shaking his head about his
stubbornness.
Among Kenshin-kō's generals, they were closest in age, a fact which made them
natural allies as well as natural competitors when it came to sharing spoils of
war, rank and recognition among the Uesugi. Naoe hadn't gone as far as to
confide his ambitions in detail to Nagahide, but his companion knew perfectly
well which high hopes he had set on the outcome of this war.
He'd left nothing to chance. From the very beginning of the siege, he had made
himself indispensable both on the battlefield and in diplomatic relations with
the other clans. In the process, he had made not only friends, Naoe knew
perfectly well. His mood blackened even further as he imagined his adversaries'
gleefulness as they remarked amongst each other on how he had reached for
Odawara castle, but instead received a pretty plaything – or at least Nagahide
had mentioned that the boy was good-looking.
Which he better be, Naoe thought sarcastically, if the brat was considered
worthy payment for a castle.
/\/
Saburō awoke with a start and instantly remembered that he was dead.
They were all dead: his brothers, his uncle, most of their retainers. The Hojo
were destroyed. Oda's banner flowed over Odawara. All of this made him – a
living dead, Saburō mused, the last remains of a rule fallen down and scattered
to the wind.
Saburō vaguely remembered that right before the war, before Oda had appeared on
the scene and things escalated quickly beyond their imagination, there had been
talk of a peace treaty between the Uesugi and his blood clan. With a guilty
conscience he now recalled his foolish relief at the treaty not being
concluded. Not wholly without foundation, he had suspected it to include an
exchange of hostages as it was so often the case during peace agreements
between clans. And if that came to pass, it was as clear as daylight to him who
would be sent by the Hojo.
He had miscalculated, it turned out. War hadn't spared him from being ordered
away Odawara. Again he was to go and live among strangers far from his
homeland. However, there was an interesting difference between being sent as a
hostage and being taken as war booty: there was no clan any longer that sent
him and held a protective claim over him from afar, however fragile it may be.
The Uesugi would have to answer to no one if they abused or killed him.
And, of course, what he left behind now was no longer his home. The people
which had made it so were no longer alive. His whole family – dead. His clan –
extinguished.
Saburō knelt in the first light of day in what had been a small side room to
his brother Ujimasa's apartments, focusing on his breathing in hopes that it
would make the pain subside. What would his father have done, he wondered, had
he been standing in his shoes now. What would he have wanted him to do? His
older brothers, his Uncle Genan – what would they expect from him now?
Seppuku was the obvious way out, but it had been barred to him. Belonging to
the defeated, he would have needed the victors' approval to follow through with
it. It didn't seem as if they were going to change their minds on the matter.
Vengeance also featured heavily in his mind, his upbringing providing him with
the mindset that required such a train of thought. However, revenge for the
downfall of a daimyō was typically wrought by his retainers not by family
members, especially not fledgling brothers. Or at least, Saburo had never heard
of such a thing.
Ujiyasu-dono in such a situation most likely would have summoned the Fūma and
sicced them on Oda Nobunaga. Saburō couldn't do this. The Fūma were no longer,
either. A bitter laugh almost escaped his throat. They had all been so busy
saving their own honor – Genan and Ujimasa by committing suicide, Kotarō by
seeking out his own death in battle.
He was completely on his own.
Footsteps approaching made him raise his head apprehensively. A young man in
the armor of a Uesugi lieutenant appeared in his field of sight, flanked by two
guards.
"I am Kakizaki Haruie", he said. He didn't bow so neither did Saburō although –
as a lowly slave – he probably should have done so. He realized he didn't know
how to do this: being a servant. There were all kinds of rules and requirements
he wasn't aware of because he had never looked at the world from this
perspective before.
Then again, Kakizaki didn't seem to take umbrage. He was bound to know who
Saburō was and how he'd fallen from grace. They might very well be a bit at a
loss about how to treat him, Saburō figured.
/\/
It was hard not stare.
Kakizaki Haruie had heard received hints of what to expect when he came here if
one could call it that. After they had seen the last surviving member of the
Hōjō clan, fellow nobles Haruie never would have thought had it in them sang
his praises. Haruie's own father had gone as far as to mutter something to the
effect into his boots. Haruie had rolled his eyes and taken to polishing his
katana only to be interrupted by a messenger from Irobe Katsunaga who ordered
him to go fetch Naoe Nobutsuna's prize.
Witnessing negotiations prior to the war, Haruie had met several other members
of the Hōjō clan. They were a good-looking family for certain. But none of them
possessed the delicate beauty of this adolescent. They seemed about the same
age, Haruie figured, even though the Hōjō boy was considerably lighter and
smaller with slanting eyes the color of dark amber in a fine-boned, porcelain
face.
His perfect composure seemed astounding to Haruie. Had he been in Hōjō Saburō's
place, he would have thrown a tantrum – or several. Yesterday's happenings must
have come as a shock to him. The war had been going on for several months and
he must have entertained thoughts of an unfortunate outcome from time to time,
but was it even possible to apprehend the worst?
Sympathy gripped him, he couldn't help it. Haruie tried to remind himself that
this was the enemy. For months, his own thoughts as much as everybody else's in
the Uesugi clan had been preoccupied with nothing but the defeat of the Hōjō.
He hadn't been exactly crestfallen when he heard of the end they had come to.
But for some reason it was difficult to associate this boy with the rest of the
family or the image they had in Haruie's eyes.
It was difficult to address him, Haruie thought. Until yesterday Saburō had
been his superior in power and standing, now he was to be treated as a piece of
possession, the lowliest of servants.
"I will take you to Naoe-dono," he finally said. Saburō spared him the
embarrassment of having to give an actual order by getting up from the ground
immediately with a graceful, fluent movement that once again made Haruie do a
double-take. One of his lieutenants, a young man named Hiroto, almost eagerly
stepped up to grip the boy's arm. For the first time Saburō betrayed some kind
of emotion by letting a flicker of distaste creep over his even features. A
moment later he showed a carefully blank face again.
"You might as well get used to that, beautiful," Hiroto suggested to him as he
hadn't failed to notice the tiny lapse. Promptly, Saburō's step faltered ever
so slightly.
"If you can't handle him, I can take that over from you," Katsuo, Haruie's
other lieutenant, teased his friend.
"I don't think Naoe-dono will respond favorably to either of you getting too
friendly with him", Haruie threw in calmly.
"Sheer waste if you ask me, Haruie-gimi", Hiroto bluntly gave his opinion on
the matter as he led Saburō outside.
"I agree", Katsuo said bemusedly. "Will Naoe-dono know at all what to do with
him?"
"It's none of our concern", Haruie shrugged unfazed by the two of them speaking
that openly. They had grown up together in Haruie's family home near
Kasugayama. When he'd been allowed to join Kenshin-kō's latest campaign, they
hadn't hesitated to come along. He probably should have reprimanded them for
their lack of decorum more often, but he knew he didn't have it in him to
exercise such strict a discipline among his men. "There might be sides of him
we never get to see." He had to stifle a laugh as he said so.
Haruie didn't know Naoe Nobutsuna that well – several years of age separated
them. If they ever crossed one another's paths, it was usually during strategy
meetings which Haruie was allowed to attend as long as he kept quiet. Either
way, Haruie didn't feel they would have had a lot to say to each other. Cold
was actually the quality most often attributed to the general and – as far as
Haruie was able to tell – for a good reason.
The others clearly weren't in the mood of abandoning the topic any time soon.
"You know rumor has it the only time he ever embraced his wife was when she was
scared of a thunderstorm."
"Well, everyone knows he even married her just for the sake of being adopted by
old Sanetsuna-dono."
"A real shame," Katsuo sighed. "They say she is a beautiful lady."
"He truly must have ice-water running through his veins. Or does he let it all
out on the battlefield?"
"Possible", Haruie figured. "He's still young after all, not that much older
than we are. He's bound to have… urges."
The thought was indeed puzzling that only a few years ago, Naoe had been a
rookie to warfare, going on campaign for the first and – Haruie grimaced –
being made run errands such as this one…
He sneaked another glance at the slender figure walking between them. Hōjō
Saburō didn't give the slightest indication that he was taking notice of
anything they were talking. Wasn't he the least bit curious about the man who
held custody over him now, Haruie wondered.
Then again, when it came to imagining how Naoe would take to being given this
lad, he was at a complete loss, too.
/\/
Already, Saburō thought, he was a thing to them. They felt that they could talk
absolutely freely within his earshot. A slave had no voice nor hearing – or the
right to be heard. Part of this explained why they weren't thinking twice about
adopting such a disrespectful tone when they were talking about the man he'd
been given to.
On the other hand, this behavior bewildered Saburō somewhat: if Oda Nobunaga
considered it necessary to honor him with a reward and publicly announce it,
too, Naoe must have done something right in the course of this war and should
have commanded other soldiers' respect as a result. Then again, bushi from one
and the same household were often badmouthing each other behind their backs.
And success bred jealousy, of course.
For the first time Saburō vaguely considered what kind of man Naoe Nobutsuna
might be. He hadn't seen a lot of the Uesugi army leaders so far. Most of the
war he'd spent behind the walls of Odawara castle, and now that the war was
over, they'd kept him in confinement. Yesterday when they'd brought him to Oda
Nobunaga's tent to hear his sentence, he might have had a chance to take a
closer look at some of them. However, he had been too much out of it all to pay
them much attention leave alone figure out which of them was Naoe Nobutsuna.
The only Uesugi noble he had come in contact with was the one who had witnessed
his uncle Genan's suicide. It was the very same man who had led him away from
the assembly after learning of his brothers' fate.
Maybe it's him, Saburō wondered. He had never learned the man's name, but it
had been written all over his face that – had the decision been up to him –
he'd have granted Saburō an honorable death right then and there. If he had to
surrender himself to someone, he much rather would have to this benevolent-
seeming man.
However, Kakizaki had mentioned that Naoe was young. The general from yesterday
was middle-aged at best. The thought of younger men – their inherent
boastfulness, their ambitions, their animal instincts – immediately brought the
Matsuda brothers to his mind. For some reason, Saburō imagined someone like
that in the place of the faceless Uesugi general. With burly hands and little
concern for anybody's wellbeing but his own.
Walking besides Kakizaki and his men, he felt like a man approaching his own
execution ground. No, this felt worse. Execution would have meant that it would
all be over soon. For him, every step brought him closer to a future where
every day would provide for new, unknown distress.
A vicious thought entered his head as Kakizaki and the guards brought him on
board of a bark which would take them to the other side of the bay where the
Uesugi camp was situated. There were those who came back from death, weren't
there? Tales told of vengeful spirits who haunted the living, those who had
harmed them, caused their suffering, driven them to their deaths.
And wouldn't that be a worthy final chord for the Hojo? Their youngest and
weakest, the only one of them who hadn't yet completed training as a bushi
defying death, retaliating his clan's demise. It might very well be passed on
as a myth for future generations. The wind freshened, resounding loudly in his
ears. It was an idea born of madness in the face of what awaited him, he knew.
But once born, the idea sank into his mind with tiny barbs.
"Anchors aweigh!" The order being yelled from the navigating bridge brought
Saburō back to what was happening around him. He watched a whole group of men
jumping at the command and starting to loosen the heavy anchor. The anchor's
chain was coiled right next to him.
As they were putting out to sea, Saburō's eyes roamed the water surface. The
interplay of clouds and sunshine made it glitter with silver, blinding at one
moment, soothing the next. The practicality of his suicide almost bewildered
him. He didn't have to ask for his captors' permission to become a vengeful
spirit. And the sea was there, as it always had been, providing him with the
necessary means.
As soon as they reached the other side of the bay, the soldiers from before
cast the anchor again. There were five of them, Saburō registered
absentmindedly, the necessary amount for a weight that heavy. Again his eyes
sought out the anchor chain. A quick glance over his shoulder showed that
Kakizaki and his men weren't paying him close attention for the time being.
Knowing it was now or never, Saburō put his foot into the rapidly uncoiling
chain.
The pull was like nothing else he'd ever felt. He was gripped and pulled
overboard in less than the blink of an eye. The board was iron-hard, leaving
his arm and thigh with bruises he would never see now. Then the sea drowned out
everything else. The anchor sank quickly and so did he. The impact might have
made him slightly dizzy, Saburo thought, but his eyes slowly opened and
adjusted to Benzaiten's realm.
It was beautiful, swirls of green and silver. In a way it was befitting to end
his life in such a manner when the sea had always played such an important role
in it. Maybe the water was soothing to his turbulent feelings from before,
maybe this memory of his early childhood triggered a general need for
reconciliation with the world. Either way, his anger and vindictiveness had all
but evaporated. Now, all of a sudden, he was only sad.
Familiar faces rose before his inner eye. His father, a powerful, all-
encompassing presence in his mind as he grew up; his uncle Genan, the scars of
a warrior all over his body when he bared it during his final moments alive;
Ujiteru-ani, his hands (slender and long-fingered just like Saburo's own) as
they guided his around his first flute, his first bow, the hilt of his first
bokken…
In his mind's eye, the light fell through the clouds illuminating his oldest
brother's garden. The wind pulled at his hair as he rode along the beach of
Odawara. The bells of Soun temple sounded in his ears ile a faraway echo of
happier times.
I want it, Saburō realized dimly.Shame, loss, slavery notwithstanding, I want
my life.
But the anchor steadily pulled him down. He reached down to loosen the chain
around his ankle but this simply proved a foolish undertaking. He could hardly
reach down and the chain sat tightly around his foot. Some deity seemed to mean
well with him today, though. When he shook his foot, his shoe came lose and
As if his decision had triggered help from outside being provided, he noticed
someone else in the water above him. A strong hand gripped his forearm. The
other moved with forceful strokes, pulling him upward towards the light. And he
was just as powerless as he'd been when the anchor's weight pulled him down.
Saburō could tell they were coming closer to the surface by the rising
temperature of the water around him.
On the last meters, consciousness left him. The next thing he knew was that he
was lying on his side, coughing, belching up water. Then sweet, blessed air was
streaming into his bursting lungs.
"That's a good lad," someone murmured to him, stroking back his dripping hair
from his face. His lungs hurt. His breathing was erratic at first, never able
to take his fill of air. There was yelling all around him, he noticed only
within the blink of an eye before he was roughly pulled to his feet.
"Give him a moment!" He finally recognized Kakizaki's voice and looked up
searching for the young man. He was standing next to an older Uesugi officer
whose features strongly resembled his and the middle-aged general Saburō had
met the day before in the inner yard.
Between them, Saburō briefly met an unfamiliar pair of eyes, strangely pale
against the clouded sky. They were examining him coolly, establishing maybe
whether he was going to stay alive. For whatever reason, in his hazy state of
mind the gaze from those ice marbles seemed to go straight through the various
layers of numbness that had wrapped themselves around his mind.
They belonged to a warrior in his twenties, tall with long limbs and broad
shoulders. He was wearing no helmet, just his armor. His hair was tied up in a
small knot. A few strands had come lose and were flying in the wind.
Something about the way he carried himself made Saburō's eyes linger on his
chest. He held his head high and kept his shoulders straight, but even so he
seemed to be in pain. Underneath the armor, there were bandages visible. Saburō
knew what they were for: an arrow wound the man had suffered the day before
when he'd attacked the entrance gate of Odawara castle and been shot from right
above.
Saburō knew.
He knew because he'd been the one to shoot the arrow.
/\/
***** Sixteen years, eight months, thirteen days *****
There were those in the Uesugi camp who claimed Kakizaki Haruie still too young
and inexperienced at his mere sixteen years to be campaigning alongside his
father. Steering clear of such fruitless discussions on principle, Naoe's
opinion on the matter was only formed now when the young man, tossing his
dripping wet hair out of his bright-red face, furiously shouted at his father
in front of the gathered crowd: "What? Should I just have let him drown?!"
Naturally, Kakizaki Kageie had a word or two to say about is only son jumping
overboard after someone else's slave. Said son reacted to the rebuke with
complete incomprehension and let everyone in his environment in on the
sentiment.
This lack of self-control seemed astonishing to Naoe. The best one could do
when reprimanded by an elder was take the blame with a straight face – there
was no use in arguing back as Naoe himself had found out the hard way some
twenty years ago. One should think that any son of a retainer's of Kenshin-ko
must have gone through similar experiences, but Haruie acted as if he'd been
badly wronged. His education sincerely seemed to have lacked. Instead of
further reprimanding his son, Kakizaki Kageie murmured something about how
death would have been more merciful on the Hojo child.
Why, it's always good to be held in such high esteem, Naoe thought
sarcastically. Kageie-dono would do better to spare such delicacies for people
who had fought on his own side.
This was war. There was no place here for sentimentalities. The Hojo had known
what was at stake, what awaited them and their loved ones if they lost, but
they hadn't hesitated to attack the Uesugi when they'd been at war with the Oda
and the Satomi already. Kenshin-ko had been given no choice but to join
Nobunaga, even though he and most of his senior officers were loath to ally
with their erstwhile archenemy.
His eyes sought out the soaked bundle on the ground. So this was what he'd been
gifted with, he thought suppressing a grimace. A suicidal child.
He had forgotten his name, Naoe suddenly realized as the boy was pulled to his
feet none too gently which prompted the younger Kakizaki to step in again. It
was a common name, not starting with Uji as did the names of all the other Hojo
brothers.
That was a little odd, come to think of it.
Naoe was standing by calmly watching the guards approach, his prize between
them. Eyes the color of wild honey travelled over him for a moment. It evoked a
strange reaction in him, almost a sensation, like being touched by the midday
sun. Naoe's eyes narrowed. Perhaps he was running a fever from his injury.
There was a saying, wasn't there, about how true beauty cannot be tarnished, he
dimly recalled. Having just been fished out of brackish water, pale with the
shock of nearly drowning, wet strands of hair clinging to his cheeks, there was
no mistaking the boy for anything other than beautiful.
He was fairer than Osen, even.
They were waiting for his orders. Naoe cleared his throat. "Take him to camp.
Jiro will see to him." It wasn't exactly a profound decision on his part to
hand the boy over to his armorer, but Jiro would do just as well as any other
of his men. Time would tell what to do with his prize, he thought suppressing a
sigh.
"Naoe." Irobe stepped closer as soon as the boy was out of earshot. "Please be
thoughtful of how you treat Saburo."
Saburo, right. That was his name. "Most certainly", Naoe replied automatically.
"May I ask why you feel the need to point that out to me?"
Irobe gave him a stern look. "It's unusual for a member of such a high-ranking
family to be enslaved, even during wartime, you know that. My feeling is that
Kenshin-ko will have a word with you on all this after your return to Echigo."
Naoe winced inwardly. So on top of everything else, Nobunaga's so-called reward
might cause strains between him and his daimyo.
"Don't forget who and what he is," Irobe urged him. "He was born and bred for a
different kind of life."
"How could I." Naoe knew he sounded cold and disdainful, Irobe's frown told him
so. His wound hurt. His patience with the whole situation was wearing thin. His
prize held no value for him, but possessed the potential to cause all kinds of
trouble.
He almost regretted that the boy hadn't been successful in his attempt at
drowning.
/\/
Ironically, the night after his life had almost come to a watery end, Saburo
dreamt of fire.
In his dream, he was right in the middle of it, in full armor, kneeling on
tatami mats in the hall of what he believed was an old castle. A firebrand was
raging through the ancient timberwork above him. Shouts resounded through the
distant hallways, but he couldn't recognize them as belonging to his men or the
foe storming the castle.
He had to make an end. Sparks were falling from the ceiling, his hands closed
tightly around the hilt of his sword…
He awoke with a start, pushing himself up on one elbow. He was lying on a
tatami mat covered by a thin woolen blanket both of which had probably seen
better days. He'd been shown his sleeping place in a corner of the tent Naoe's
footmen and servants were sharing. Surrounded by those men, their calm
breathing and snoring, he had fallen asleep eventually, the day's events still
occupying his thoughts to the very last moment.
And now that he was awake they came to life quickly, taking off right where
he'd left them the night before.
His attempt at vengeance of the supernatural kind had failed before he'd ever
truly started it. Saburō believed in such things. His ideas of how to go about
it might be vague at best, but there was no doubt in his mind that it could be
done.
Just not by him. His desire for vengeance was outweighed by far by his fear and
disgust of what awaited him at the hands of Naoe. It was the prospect of being
used in such a manner that had propelled him towards his attempt at suicide.
Not his family's honor was right at the center of things but his own selfish
desire to escape such humiliation.
Again he thought of the frigid look of the one whom he now had to call his
lord. There was no sympathy to be expected from such a stern man. He probably
wouldn't do it right away – not with that injury plaguing him. But once he was
well again…
Saburō berated himself for not having better aim, for having missed out on his
sole opportunity to do away with this man who had after months of siege, after
putting them through famine and any hardship imaginable, breached through their
defenses without them being able to stop him.
And now that man was going to do the same with him.
Saburo's nails painfully dug into the palms of his hands. As a matter of fact,
he knew his line of thought to be illogical. Had he not ended up with Naoe
there was an endless line of others eager to fill his place. They were all the
same, those men, all full of hatred for the Hōjō. Many would have taken the
opportunity of making their abasement complete by subjecting the only surviving
family member to their personal gratification.
For the time being, he was better off with the wounded man, Saburo assumed. Of
course, it was merely a question of time until the general started to recover
and then he'd remember that he never got to try out his prize…
"So you're awake."
Saburo was startled from his thoughts by a jovial voice. Two men were leaning
in the doorway, watching him.
"Then you can set to work."
/\/
Irobe spotted Saburo walking between tents in the part of the Uesugi camp that
belonged to Naoe's men. He briefly considered going over and speak with him for
a moment, to let him know that he was going to talk to Kenshin-ko on his
behalf. But he shied from instilling hope in the youth, knowing that he
couldn't make any promises he might not be able to keep later on. It was
difficult to say which view Kenshin-ko would take.
He had sent a messenger to Echigo the very night when Nobunaga had announced
that Saburo was to become Naoe's reward for his role in the war.
Irobe had known of Saburo's wish to commit suicide and felt remorse that he
couldn't grant it. But this was so much worse than what he could have imagined.
He had hinted as much in his letter to the Uesugi daimyo, but it was most
urgent that Kenshin heard about this from him directly.
/\/
"So what are you going to do with him?" Nagahide asked conversationally.
Naoe didn't answer as he poured himself another cup of sake. He'd never been
much of a drinker, more often than not the lone sober person in a hall full of
inebriated noblemen at Kasugayama castle, but he felt that the alcohol somewhat
dulled the pain of his injury.
It had been smarting the first day and night, then subsided into a throbbing
ache. By now it was a strangely warm kind of pain that seemed to stretch over
his entire chest. Never having been wounded to that part of the body before, he
couldn't say whether it was healing properly. He took it as a good sign,
though, that he wasn't running a fever.
"You can't exactly set him to work in the kitchen at home, you know."
Naoe suppressed the slight irritation creeping over him. Nagahide hadn't named
the person he was talking about, but then, he didn't need to. Talk could be
only of the Hojo brat. "I haven't given it a lot of thought."
It was the plain truth. He had much more important things on his mind.
Unfortunately, everybody else seemed to want to get back to the topic
continuously.
"Have you considered trading him?" Nagahide asked as if reading his mind.
Naoe threw a look over his shoulder. "Are you offering?" he asked, only half
joking.
Nagahide snorted. "Not very likely."
Was it? Naoe frowned. There were those in the camp who seemed to understand
Saburo's value – a value that to him was nonexistent or he simply couldn't see
it yet. All the bushi who came by just to throw a glance at him, Irobe with his
thinly veiled concern for the boy's well-being, Nagahide who thought more
practical but wouldn't let the topic rest either…
I don't see the reason why everyone is making such a fuss over this child.
/\/
"Has he spoken yet?" The taller of Saburo's overseers enquired from the other
then, upon being answered with a shake of the head, turned to look Saburo in
the eye and ask. "You can talk, can't you, boy?"
Saburo briefly met his gaze and nodded. They were cousins, these two who
assigned his tasks to him, but they couldn't have been more different. Ichiro,
the cook, was tall and gaunt with a deep voice and bushy eyebrows. Jiro, the
armorer, was smaller and of considerable girth. Swift movements of his chubby
hands accompanied everything he said.
"Good." Ichiro paused. "Or not so good since he won't talk to us."
"Even without talking, he's saying quite a lot", Jirō said with a faint
chuckle.
Saburō focused on the bowls he was cleaning as if he'd never been presented
with anything more special and fascinating. It was easier this way, he thought.
Over time, maybe they would even assume that he was a bit slow in the head.
"Right now he's saying we can drop dead for all he cares."
The contrary was true, actually. All of Saburo's senses were tuned in to his
environment of which he still couldn't say to which extent it was hostile or
friendly. One thing was for certain, though: the cook and the armorer were much
less hesitant to order him around than Kakizaki Haruie had been. There was no
doubt in their mind that – whoever he had been before – he was now one of their
own. A servant.
"It could be worse", Ichiro sounded bemusedly. "I had an apprentice once who
would never stop talking. Even babbled on in his sleep. At least young Saburo
here won't grate my nerves like that one did."
"Now we have Ichirō, Jirō and Saburō, what do you know!"
"I'm certain that's why they picked him for Nobutsuna-dono. Can't think of any
other reason, at least. "
Saburo sighed inwardly. So far, the servants of the Naoe family seemed to be an
amazingly cheerful bunch. It wasn't exactly what he'd expected of the entourage
of Nobutsuna-dono. The man didn't exactly come across as a quipster.
He spent the morning with kitchen duties under Ichiro's watchful eyes. As the
son of a daimyo, he was used to being presented with the results of those
efforts, but he had never prepared food himself or cleaned tableware.
Apparently he wasn't making too much of a mess of things, although Ichiro
laughed heartily at his attempts to chop vegetables ("That's not a sword you're
holding, you know!"). It might have been the hour of the snake when a page came
in and murmured something to Ichiro which had the man quickly set to action.
Ichiro prepared a tablet with a cast-iron teapot and several chawan which the
page wanted to take from his hands, but Ichiro shook his head. "A taciturn
person like our Saburo here is perfectly cut out for serving tea to Nobutsuna-
dono and his guest", he remarked and pressed the small tablet into Saburo's
hands. "I'll show you the way to Nobutsuna-dono's tent. Come on, Saburo, don't
dawdle."
/\/
"Oda-dono." Naoe sank to his knees. Saburo nearly dropped the tablet. "This is
a most unexpected honor."
Frozen with shock, Saburo stayed hidden behind one of the shoji parting the
tent into a main room and a small vestibule. Of course, Ichiro hadn't thought
it necessary to mention who was the guest Naoe was receiving. He was supposed
to bring them fresh tea, but he felt that wild horses couldn't drag him into
that room now. He hadn't forgotten how Oda Nobunaga had looked at him right
after sealing his fate by giving him to Naoe.
Saburo certainly had no desire to come across that man ever again, but he found
himself sinking to his knees, placing the tray on the ground, careful not to
make any noise. He brought his face close to a fissure in the shoji's framework
through which he was able to peer into the darkened room. He could see the two
men kneeling opposite each other, each holding a tea cup. To his relief, they
could make do without what he was carrying on his tray.
"You are heading home already, Naoe-dono?" Nobunaga asked. "I was under the
impression you'd oversee the partitioning of the Hojo realms for Uesugi-dono."
"My lord, since I am not to be granted with Hojo soil, Kenshin-ko nominated
Yasuda-dono to take part in the conferences for the Uesugi."
There was something there, Saburo thought, an undercurrent he didn't
understand, as if both men were speaking in hints and never saying right out
what they really meant. Nobunaga's next choice of topic seemed to confirm this.
"Your prize. Is he to your liking?"
Saburo breathed in sharply, but Naoe merely inclined his head as if he had been
expecting the question. "He certainly is exquisite."
A phrase, Saburo thought. Naoe hadn't as much as looked at him, if you didn't
count their brief encounter right after he'd been fished out of Sagami bay. He
was reasonably sure there had been nothing exquisite about him, then.
Nobunaga's gaze swept through the room. "Since he so pleases the eye, I assumed
you would employ him as a page. I had expected to see him here."
Naoe took a small gulp from his tea cup. "My apologies, Oda-dono. I sent him on
an errand I'm afraid."
Why is he lying, Saburo wondered, but he knew better than make himself known
right now. He stayed as quiet as a mouse, safely hidden behind the frail paper
screen. Naoe wouldn't call for him, not after an outright lie like that. His
frantically beating heart calmed down a bit.
"I have given the matter some thought during the last days. I wonder if I
wasn't acting impetuously when I bestowed him on you."
"I was most honored to receive him", Naoe responded lithely. "An unusual gift,
coveted by many." A brief silence settled over the room. "What else of the Hojo
spoils could compare – assuming that you wished to offer something in his
place?"
A sick feeling spread in his stomach. Had Oda come to take him back? Naoe
hadn't harmed a hair on his head so far. Oda Nobunaga would have no such
restraints. And – worst of all, perhaps – the Matsuda brothers were part of his
entourage.
" – as Odawara is."
He had missed part of the conversation, but the mentioning of his birth place
recaptured his attention. To his surprise, Oda lightly threw his head back and
laughed. "They say you have ambitions. Nobutsuna-dono."
A faint smile tugged at Naoe's mouth. "I was merely considering the value of my
prize."
Oda laughed again. "Exquisite as he may be, he is not worth a castle."
Relief had him nearly sag against the shoji. He was to stay with the Uesugi,
then. Eavesdropping, Saburo decided that it was only natural if he didn't
understand everything the two men had been talking about. But the last hint of
Naoe's he believed to grasp completely, especially in the light of what the two
men had been discussing earlier, the partition of the Hojo realms.
He feels cheated, Saburo understood all of a sudden. He probably hoped for a
fiefdom, ideally Odawara. Instead he has to make do with me!
He almost started laughing. Could that be true? That he'd been given to the one
man in the enemy camp who wouldn't know how to make use of this possession?
/\/
Seeing the warlord off, Naoe almost would have liked to laugh if the whole
matter weren't so annoying. It was true then what Nagahide had said, men would
offer. Nobunaga would even. But as long as he didn't get Odawara in exchange,
Naoe saw no reason to leave the castle to him and hand over the boy to this
daimyo who had insulted him.
On the contrary, it was highly satisfying to keep Saburo out of Nobunaga's
reach. However, he sensed a potential conflict here and wasn't eager to push
his luck. Better to leave right away and take the boy with him. Honestly, what
did they all see in that scrawny child?
It might not be convenient to travel with such an injury, but he didn't feel
much worse than the day before. He crossed the room to the side entrance of his
tent with a view to give the necessary orders to his officers.
The object of their conversation was standing right behind the screen, tea tray
in hands, giving him a wary look from widened amber eyes.
You heard?
Well, at least the boy could think straight enough not to walk in when he was
supposed to be "on an errand" even though he'd probably been instructed to
bring them refreshments. That would have made for an awkward situation. With a
movement of his head he directed Saburo to enter the main tent and place the
tea tray there.
The boy cast down his eyes and gracefully stepped past him. Naoe wondered how
much he had understood of their conversation. Saburo was – what? Sixteen,
seventeen maybe? It could be assumed that he was familiar with how men dealt
with their needs between themselves. As the son of a daimyo, it was unlikely
that he had engaged in any such relationship at his age, but then again –
hadn't Nagahide mentioned something about the boy having been sent to Kai as a
hostage? He might have caught somebody's eye. A hostage had barely more rights
than a slave…
And that was also what Irobe had been hinting at, Naoe suddenly understood. He
had wanted to advise that Naoe keep his hands of the boy due to his noble
descent.
Naoe snorted as he went outside, becoming aware of the pain in his chest again
after the conversation had distracted him for a small while. The old man
needn't have troubled himself. Battered as he was, such avidities were about
the last thing on his mind.
/\/
"Sent him away, did he?" Matsuda Katsuhide stroked his chin. In deep thoughts,
he reigned in his horse when it started to sidle about.
"I heard him say so to Nobunaga-sama." Ukon regarded him closely.
Katsuhide had been thrilled when Satomi-dono had told him that they would
accompany Oda Nobunaga to the Uesugi camp where the supreme commander had
business to discuss with Naoe Nobutsuna. His brother might have had something
to say about his eagerness, but Takahide hadn't been present when the order
came. After their last conversation on the topic, Katsuhide hadn't been keen on
clueing him in. This was something he would take only for himself.
However, Saburo had slipped through his fingers once again.
It could be a trick. Naoe might have been lying when he claimed that Saburo had
left the camp. At least, Katsuhide thought with his eyes on Naoe's tent, it was
what he himself would do if he were running the risk of having Saburo taken
away from him – which might very well be what Oda Nobunaga had in mind when he
called on Naoe. Katsuhide wondered if Naoe had taken the boy yet.
"Maybe it's better that way", Yoshiteru remarked lightly. "With the way you
were talking about him, I was afraid you'd try and steal him…" He fell silent
at the look in Katsuhide's eyes and raised a brow. "You never mentioned how
well acquainted you actually were with young Saburo-dono."
The others remained quiet. He was the only one of them who hadn't seen Saburo
when Nobunaga had summoned him in front of the assembled nobles right after the
fall of Odawara. Afterwards, their talk of him wouldn't cease and Katsuhide had
caught onto that. He looked at Yoshiteru. "I've seen enough of him to know I
would break away from the army to get to him – and if it were for only one
night."
Their eyes were on him, catching on the implication of what he was saying. Talk
was of Naoe leaving for Echigo soon, catching up with Saburo along the way no
doubt. Following him and robbing his prize from him should be a simple thing.
Katsuhide smiled. With him, they were five by coincidence.
/\/
"Come on, Saburo, don't dawdle!"
He picked up speed as he helped stow the tent's rain fly on a carriage. Orders
had been given all of a sudden to pack things up. They were leaving for Echigo.
Saburo wondered if this rushed departure had anything to do with what he had
overheard between Naoe and Nobunaga earlier today.
Their conversation and his own little encounter with Naoe afterwards continued
to occupy him. The man had appeared in front of him so suddenly, all he could
do was stare at him and Naoe…
He…
He looked at me as if at an insect, Saburo thought, surprised that this kind of
thing would get under his skin. He blamed the fact that his life had been
turned upside down, the vulnerable position he was in. He had difficulty
adjusting to all the codes and regulations that came with his inferior
position. It didn't bother him with other Uesugi nobles if they treated him
with disdain – on the contrary, he much preferred that to blatant stares which
left nothing to his imagination.
Naoe's gaze was different, but Saburo wasn't sure if the man's total lack of
interest wasn't even more insulting. There was something chilling about it.
Ichiro and Jiro seemed pleased with the orders they'd been given, they didn't
even try to hide how happy they were with the prospect of seeing "the family
home" again. They were referring to the Naoe family home of course. To Saburo,
this was just another hint at how closely bound all these people were to Naoe.
As for Saburo, he was leaving his own family home. For good, as far as he could
tell. It was no longer his choice if he might ever return. Then again, he had
never truly been free to choose whether he wanted to stay in Odawara before. It
was the only home he'd ever had, but he had lost it before, the prospect of
return more than vague. It was naive to think he would have been spared being
sent away again if the Hojo had won the war.
"Where is the family home?" he asked, referring to Naoe's.
"Oho, he's talking!"
Saburo rolled his eyes. Well, he had brought it onto himself with his self-
induced silence. He'd intended to keep it, too, but the need to have at least a
vague idea where he was going proved stronger.
"The ancestral home of the Naoe family", Ichiro answered his question. "It's
about one and a half hour on horseback north of Kasugayama."
"It will take us about three weeks to get to Echigo province", Jiro added. "A
rider would make the distance in much shorter time, but with all the equipment
and all these people on foot…"
Echigo. Kasugayama. The familiar names triggered something in his mind.
Strategy meetings, sitting in silence, listening carefully to every word his
brothers exchanged with the Hojo retainers. Ujimasa had mentioned those places
from time to time when the conversation had turned to Uesugi Kenshin.
"Don't dawdle." Jiro stressed again. It seemed to become a catch phrase of
theirs, but Saburo hardly cared.
Kenshin had been but a silhouette in this war, a mirage beyond the mountains in
the snowy land he ruled. Nevertheless, he must have made the decision to go to
war alongside Nobunaga. Lots of the actions taken by the enemy soldiers must
have been commanded by him. He had as much responsibility in the demise of the
Hojo as did Nobunaga.
Saburo's thoughts were spinning. He hadn't been able to lift a weapon against
Nobunaga. And he hadn't been granted revenge against the Matsuda brothers. But
Kenshin… Kenshin was a different matter.
Maybe, Saburo wondered, he'd be able to kill him.
His life was forfeit either way. Rather than spend what was left of it in
servitude, he might enter the provinces of the Uesugi with a blade up his
tattered sleeve. He had shot men with arrows, how difficult could it be to take
a knife to someone's heart?
Provided that he ever got close to Kenshin.
That was where Naoe came in. The general was eager to return home, to his
castle, his wife and his adoptive father. Who could blame him after months and
months in the field… but before he was allowed to see his family he would most
likely report to his supreme commander.
Yes. Naoe Nobutsuna, his strange, reluctant, disdainful slaveholder, would take
him there, to Kasugayama. To where Kenshin was.
/\/
***** Sixteen years, eight months, twenty-one days *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
/\/
"I hear you're familiar with how to make medicine."
"Whom did you hear that from?"
A flat hand hit the back of his head. "It's not your place to ask questions,
Saburo. Just answer."
But Saburo couldn't help wonder. The fact that he had learned the basics of
healing during his childhood in Soun temple shouldn't have been known to the
Uesugi. Except… When he had pleaded for Ujinori's life, he had asked their
captors permission to fetch some herbs against his elder brother's rising
fever. They had laughed into his face, but afterwards, they must have told
someone and so the information had spread. However, he was far from
accomplished when it came to healing. His scarce training had taken place years
ago and never been completed.
Jiro's hand pressing his shoulder reminded him that he still had to answer the
question. "It depends on the kind of medicine", he said honestly. "I don't know
a lot about illness, but I have some experience in tending to flesh wounds,
inflammations and the likes."
The young officer who had asked him held up his hand. "Excellent. That is
precisely what we are in need of."
"Hidetsuna-dono, I have to object!" An older man with hair the color of fresh
snow held back by a headband stepped in, leaving Saburo to wonder whom he was
supposed to look after. A slightly queasy feeling settled in his stomach. They
had been on the road to Echigo for about a week as one of several small clans
belonging to the Uesugi which had participated in this war. Several were still
tending to smaller wounds they had received on the battlefield, but the only
person in a condition bad enough -
"It's madness to entrust the lord's life to this boy who has but a hundred
reasons to wish him harm!"
Saburo cringed. So it was just as he had thought.
"Nobutsuna-dono will not have it, I'm telling you!"
A tiny smile flitted across Hidetsuna's even features. "Nobutsuna-dono is not
exactly renowned for taking advice when it comes to his health. But with his
fever rising, very soon he might be too ill to object." He lifted a graceful
finger. "That is when I intend to strike down on him."
"Why -" The old man sputtered in the face of this mixture of mischief and
irony. "I never -"
"Kagehiro-dono, please calm yourself", a nervous-looking man threw in.
"I am very calm!" Kagehiro exploded. "Damn it, Munechika, what do you make of
all this? Shall we give a Hojo free reign about Naoe's life? Say something,
man!"
Munechika looked unhappy, but was spared an answer since Hidetsuna made a small
bow in the direction of his elder. "Forgive me, Kagehiro-dono, but Nobutsuna-
dono's life is too valuable to our lord and us all to take any risks."
"Then why not arrange for a healer? We're splitting up the troops anyway and
send the majority on the Echigo since Naoe is to ill to travel at speed."
"Because it might be too late! I will return with a trained healer from Echigo
straight away, but in the meantime it is vital that someone looks after
Nobutsuna-dono." Hidetsuna paused. "I'm not going to take it on me if the hero
of the Hojo war dies from a fever because we couldn't make up our minds. Will
you?"
Kagehiro fell silent, so did the others.
"Willow", Saburo spoke up. Everyone looked at him as if they had temporarily
forgotten that he was there at all. "If Naoe-dono is running a high fever, then
I'll need willow for an infusion."
/\/
He knew something wasn't right.
His eyes blinking open to an unfamiliar ceiling, it took Naoe a small span of
time to remember that he wasn't in his Echigo home, in the small austere room
where he saw to his correspondence and slept alone, most nights. There was a
fog in his head that kept him from realizing more quickly that he was lying in
his tent, that they were on their way home, about to cross the border to Kai
province, the heartland of the Takeda clan.
Suppressing a moan, he rolled onto his good side, all too aware of the pain
radiating from his chest wound. It was festering, as if whoever had shot him
that last day of the siege had laid all the hatred and despair the Hojo were
bound to feel at this point into this one shot, striking down their most
determined attacker. Their poison had spread underneath his skin, in his blood
and now the time was ripe to strike him down with a fever.
Journeying cross country with an injury such as this more and more seemed like
a suicide mission to him, but even faced with this harsh reality he still
thought his decision the only possible one. He would have given the orders to
depart soon anyway, what did it matter if they left a week earlier or later?
Naoe sighed. Whom was he trying to convince?
He had fled Nobunaga and his schemes as much as he wanted to give his final
reports to Kenshin. He had seen the man's calculating eyes when they had spoken
of the Hojo slave boy. Naoe didn't stand to wait until Nobunaga had come up
with a plan how to strip him of this prize he had never asked for… The derisive
gesture still rankled, but that didn't mean he would willingly part with the
boy. It was the principle of the thing. He had assumed that some minor physical
inconveniences on his part would be a small price to pay.
Naoe grimaced. Hadn't his father in law always said his pride would be the
death of him?
/\/
These days, living felt like carrying a load of rocks up an endless mountain
slope, Saburo found. He didn't think about laying a hand on himself any longer,
but that didn't mean that he drew much joy from the fact that he was alive.
He had never turned around as they left Odawara behind - not like the last time
when he had been nine years old and had looked over his shoulder time and again
behind the back of the bushi he was riding to Kai with. He knew the others
found this odd: his apparent lack of interest in his birth place, but to Saburo
it seemed completely logical. That part of his life was over. He would never
return to those shores and he would never go by the name Hojo Saburo again.
Yet now, as he knelt in front of the small kettle with boiling water, images of
Hakone in the fall flashed before his eyes. The Hojo had been engaged in combat
with several of their neighboring clans the year Saburo turned seven. His own
brother Ujiteru had been brought to Soun temple with an injury. It was the
first time that Saburo had seen him in almost three years. He remembered
cowering next to his brother's sickbed, the young man's huge hand patting his
head as if trying to make him feel better when he himself was actually the one
in pain.
Saburo tried to shake off the memory. Now which was it again, he wondered
looking at the ingredients for the herbal tea the Uesugi had spared no efforts
to provide. Juniper first and then thyme or the other way round? The willow was
to go in last, he was sure of that at least. It had been roughly ten years
since he had last prepared that infusion and even then he had been supervised
by one of the monks.
He just had to gamble. He threw in the juniper first.
"It's done", he announced several minutes later as he drew the bubbling liquid
from the fireplace and lifted his gaze to meet Jiro's eyes. The man hadn't let
him out of sight during the procedure.
"Good", Jiro answered. "Come with me now."
He led the way to Naoe's tent. Saburo hadn't seen much of their young commander
these days and was quite content with it. He remembered those glacial eyes and
the looming presence too well to miss the sight of the man. Traveling cross-
country, he saw him from afar sometimes during the day, sitting on that huge
black stallion of his.
It was fair to say he was completely unprepared for the gaunt face sickness had
given to Naoe, the bags underneath his eyes and the sallow color of his skin.
The man was sitting in the grass behind his tent, his back against a broad
tree, his long legs folded neatly underneath him. Saburo mused that he had
picked this particular spot because he was shielded from any looks here. He
wouldn't want his soldiers to worry about him.
As Jiro explained what they were here for, Naoe merely gave a small nod that
seemed to indicate that he had been informed about the medication. As Jiro
excused himself, Saburo knelt, filled a cup with the infusion and presented it
to the general with a bow. A long-fingered hand took the cup from his. Saburo
wondered why everyone had been so convinced Naoe would shun any care.
As he sat with his head slightly bowed, Saburo for the first time had a chance
to study the general's features thoroughly - if from the corner of his eye,
since he didn't want to be caught doing this. It was the hour of the snake, the
sun rising high as its light caught in the general's polished harness. Being
dressed in military gear wouldn't exactly do wonders for his injury, Saburo
thought with a frown. The back of his head resting against the tree's bark,
Naoe was staring into space, an exhausted, yet almost dreamy expression on his
even features. Between his fingers he turned the now empty cup around and
around. If he had taken notice of Saburo to begin with, he now seemed to have
forgotten about his presence completely.
Ever since he had been placed into Naoe's responsibility, Saburo had done his
utmost not to draw any attention to himself and for excellent reasons. He now
understood that part of him had been convinced that as soon as they came face
to face with each other one time too many, he would have to deal with the
consequences almost immediately. The fact that Naoe was but an arm's length
away now and still paid him no heed was astounding to say the least. Saburo
looked on, studying his reluctant new master as he would a drawing or the map
of a battle ground.
Again he noticed that the general was indeed quite young to inhabit such an
important post. For the first time Saburo wondered just how many years
separated them. Surely not more than ten, rather less than that. There were no
lines marring his even features, especially not now that they were this open
and relaxed. Saburo figured that Naoe indeed must have forgotten where he was
and who was nearby. He looked like a man who could get lost in his own musings,
completely independent of other people's opinion and not afraid of making them
uncomfortable.
Is it possible? he thought. That I really don't have to worry?
There was only one way to find out.
Look at me.
He inwardly shook his head about himself even as he fixed his gaze on Naoe's
face as if willing the man to turn towards him.
What's wrong with me, he wondered as he took a deep breath. Perhaps I am the
one with the fever.
/\/
"Are you not afraid?"
He couldn't immediately place the voice penetrating his musings. It was so
melodic, almost reminiscent of the sound of a flute, that Naoe wondered for a
fleeting moment if it wasn't part of a fever dream that had him imagining
things. He looked around and noticed the Hojo boy kneeling in a small distance,
holding a kettle of the infusion Naoe was drinking from.
"The enemy gave you this", Saburo added, watching him with a strange coolness
and a mere hint of curiosity. "You cannot know what's truly in it. Yet you
drank with no hesitation."
If one of the horses had suddenly spoken to him, Naoe couldn't have been more
surprised. Almost amused by this blatant overstepping of bounderies, the
thought of silencing his insolent slave never even crossed Naoe's mind. He
looked down at the cup in his hands. Its contains tasted good although they
were supposed to be medicine. Was it possible that the sweetish taste was to
cover up more unpleasant ingredients? But only a madman would try and poison
him in his own camp with dozens of soldiers nearby to avenge his death.
"I need not be afraid", he finally said, feeling that he meant the words.
"Because there are no enemies here. Just a slave and his master."
Not a muscle moved in the boy's face. They held each other's gaze and again
Naoe noticed the the strange color of his eyes, so different from anybody he
knew. A fresh breeze moved the bangs above them, yet Saburo didn't blink.
"A slave such as myself", he breathed softly, "what would I have to lose by
killing you?"
"You might wish to consider your own life."
"I tried to take it myself a fortnight ago."
"You changed your mind."
"I might change it again."
"A sure way to end us both. And before your life ends…"
Torture.
Rape.
He didn't have to spell it out, the words hang between them all the same. His
men would never let his murder go unpunished. Saburo's eyes betrayed neither
shock nor fear, just resentment tinged with bitterness about a fate that left
him with no way out.
"Naoe-dono."
He looked up at the messenger, surprised how the youth's golden gaze had
drowned out everything but the two of them. It wasn't his habit to get into
discussions such as this with servants. With veiled threats and accusations
being exchanged, it resembled much more the conversations he had held with the
members of noble enemy clans.
"The troops are ready for you to see them off now."
Ah, yes. This meant he had to get up now and leave his refuge behind the tree.
He looked at the cup in his hand and held it out to Saburo who refilled it a
bit surprised. Naoe drank again. He couldn't claim that he felt much better,
but that might be because he had squandered his energy during their little
trial of strength.
/\/
What a strange man, Saburo thought suppressing a shiver as he watched the
general get up and leave to inspect his troops. Even when he'd sick and
exhausted, nothing seems to shake the ground beneath his feet.
Talking to him was slightly reminiscent of talking to Fuuma Kotaro. Saburo
found himself thinking of the ninja's emotionless way of speaking, his contempt
for everyone who wore their hearts on their sleeves. But at the same time, it
was something entirely else. Kotaro had been cold and contemptuous, there
hadn't been a sentimental bone in his body. Still, he had never given Saburo
the feeling to be dirt underneath his heal.
And yet, he was so weirdly trusting it flabbergasted Saburo. It did seem like
madness to consume anything a former enemy turned slave provided him with. Or
was it arrogance, really? The conviction that he couldn't be harmed by such a
lowly creature who would cower in fear to the prospect of punishment if any
evil should befall its master? Scaring the general with the idea of poisoning
hadn't worked out in any case.
Puzzled, Saburo returned the kettle to the kitchen where Hidetsuna came to
speak to him before leaving for Echigo with almost all the rest of Naoe's
troops. "Is it gangrene?" the young man asked in an unsteady tone of voice as
if he were afraid of the answer.
He really must be fond of the general, Saburo thought not for the first time.
"It's too early to tell", he said honestly. "Also I would need to examine the
wound, but…" Asking Naoe to let him take a look had been completely out of the
question.
"I understand", Hidetsuna answered in a crestfallen sort of voice. It was one
thing to have their master drink an infusion his new slave had made, but
something very different to let him touch his body.
"They are all kin," Ichiro explained to him when Hidetsuna had left. "All
belonging to the Nagao family, Kenshin-ko's blood clan. Hidetsuna-dono is the
son of one of Kenshin-ko's sisters. And Nobutsuna-dono originally belonged to
the Joensuu branch of the Nagao clan."
"How did he come to be a Naoe then?" Saburo asked while dutifully chopping
vegetables.
"By adoption. Also, he married -"
The sudden arrival of one of the servants interrupted these explanations. The
man practically stumbled in between the cooking pots and sacks of rice and
vegetables. "Damn nag!" was all he said when he let himself sink to the floor
and extended an arm from which he had hitched up the sleeve to reveal a severe
bruise that started to turn blue already.
"Control yourself!" Ichiro said in a harsh tone of voice even as he reached for
a small jar from among his supplies. He seemed to require no explanations as to
what had caused the injury.
Saburo paused in his work to watch the man cast down his eyes in embarrassment
as Ichiro applied ointment to his injury.
"Ah, Tsubame." Ichiro nodded appreciatively after the injured man had returned
to his duties. "A fine horse, if I ever saw one. A little wild, though. Likes
to bite every once in a while."
Saburo understood at once that it must be Naoe's stallion they were talking
about. The horse had a coloring unlike any Saburo had ever seen: he was pitch-
black save for a white spot that covered his complete chest and extended to his
belly. It was easy to see where he got his name - swallow - from. It struck
Saburo as odd, though, that they were having such difficulties with the horse.
It seemed to behave just fine when Naoe was riding it. He remarked as much to
Ichiro.
The older man nodded. "The grooms are always having trouble with him. Naoe-dono
is the only one able to handle him. Kenshin-ko gave him to Naoe-dono after the
successful campaign against Oda a few years ago."
Inwardly, Saburo shook his head. What was it with Naoe and his rewards? For
some reason, the man seemed to always end up with livestock of some kind! Not
that there was anything wrong with the horse. For Tsubame at least, Naoe had a
use.
/\/
"Moron!"
"It wasn't my fault -"
Katsuhide quickly shushed his men up. He liked to think of them as his men even
though they were merely following him on this foolhardy undertaking. For the
last eight days, the Uesugi had led them across the country. They had made sure
to always keep their distance so Naoe's impedimenta wouldn't become suspicious.
As a result, they had caught mere glimpses of Saburo from time to time.
It was enough, though, to remind them of what they were after.
He'd been put to work by the Uesugi, but even clad in the plain garments of a
kitchen slave, he stood out. In a way, Katsuhide thought, this outward
reference to his social decline in the world added to the thrill of being close
to him again after all this time. If possible, he had learned his place
already, Katsuhide mused, unconsciously licking his lips.
Today, they had come closer to the camp than ever before. Surrounded by thick
leafage, they hadn't worried about being spotted. Unfortunately, one of the
horses had scented them and gotten unruly, going as far as biting one of the
ostlers trying to calm it down.
"It wasn't my fault that the damn horse is so sensitive", Yoshiteru finished
his apology.
"Calm yourself", Katsuhide stepped in. The long wait was dragging on their
nerves. His brother's voice rose from his memory, he is a curse. Katsuhide kept
shooting glances at the faces of his four comrades. Everyone who touches him
contracts madness.
Was it happening already, he wondered. Was he doomed to let Saburo slip through
his grasp yet again because his companions couldn't keep their heads cool? He
wouldn't let it come to that, he decided.
"They set up camp here to stay for a little while, probably because their
commander is wounded." It had seemed a little odd that Naoe had departed from
Odawara that quickly instead of giving his injury a few more days to at least
start healing. "We figured out already where Saburo is staying." Which wasn't
with Naoe, Katsuhide had noticed somewhat perplexed. Maybe the Uesugi general
was as frigid as many people claimed him to be. "And now Naoe sent off the
larger part of his men."
"Tonight, then?" Ukon flashed him a quick smile in the gloom of the forest.
"Tonight, it is."
/\/
There were about fifteen of them left, the general included. Having never been
one for large groups, Saburo felt much more comfortable with this reduced
number of men around him. He was helping Ichiro prepare dinner, when Jiro came
over calling for him to look after Naoe again.
Saburo had foreseen this. It was common for fever to rise in the evening hours
and break during the night. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he reminded
himself that he wasn't a healer, all he could do for Naoe was apply what little
he had picked up by watching others heal wounded soldiers, a long time ago.
Jiro's trust in him was completely misplaced.
What made things worse was the knowledge that he was personally responsible for
the general's injury.
When he was ushered into the tent, Saburo had to take a deep breath at the
sight of Naoe lying on his futon, stripped of his armor, his upper body bare
except for the bandages. He had wounded many by arrow, killed a few. Considered
too young and inexperienced to accompany his brothers into battle, he had been
placed among the archers early during the siege.
This was the first time, however, that he was confronted with the results of
his handiwork.
In spite of the slight frown on his face, the general seemed to be asleep.
Sweat plastered strands of his feathery hair against his forehead. Or was this
a delirium already? Saburo desperately wished he knew more about feverish
infections. One thing seemed certain to him, though: the man's temperature must
be brought down as soon as possible. He was pleased to see that someone had
been smart enough to apply cold compresses to Naoe's lower legs.
"You didn't use vinegar, did you?" he asked.
Jiro lifted a brow. "For the compresses? Now why would we do that?"
"Can you fetch me some?" Saburo asked ignoring the question and started to undo
the compresses. "And fresh water, please, as cold as possible."
As the other man left, Saburo cast a glance at his sleeping patient, his eyes
fixating on the bandages. Sooner or later he would have to remove those and see
how things were underneath. For the first time he wondered about the wisdom in
adhering to protocol rather than overstepping those boundaries from time to
time when someone's life was at risk. The edges of the injury, he recalled,
they had to be…
Jiro's return interrupted him trying to remember what he had picked up from the
old monk who had taken care of Ujiteru-ani's injuries all those years ago.
Saburo quickly took the water bowl and the vinegar from the man's hands and set
to removing the compresses under Jiro's watchful eyes.
Naoe's skin burnt underneath his hands. Even now that the man was in deep sleep
on a sickbed, Saburo could feel the strong muscles of his limbs as he wrapped
the fresh compresses around Naoe's legs. There wasn't an ounce of fat on his
body. Stamping out the Hojo must have been good training, Saburo thought
bitterly.
/\/
Lime blossoms were fluttering down like snow flakes, moved by a faint breeze.
He could feel their gentle touch on his face. He was back in Joensuu and eight
years old, the warm scent of the blossoms washed over him, mixed with the first
raindrops announcing a thunderstorm coming up.
His eyes flew open.
There was a hand on his forehead, cool and dry against his skin. It brought him
back to the present, to his hurting body, to the smoky scent of the fire place
in his tent. The shame of it, having to retreat to his tent when all his men
were sleeping out in the open.
In the fire light he could vaguely recognize a slender figure clad in dark
cloth by his bedside
pitch-black hair swept up into a ponytail. A pair of amber eyes in a fine-boned
face. Naoe would have laughed if he could have mustered the strength.
The enemy was here to end him.
/\/
"Is there anything else you need?" Jiro asked. He was watching closely what
Saburo was doing. Saburo paused, startled. For a moment, the general's eyes had
been open and caught his own, but they fluttered shut again almost immediately.
"I will need to take a look at the wound", Saburo announced without
circumstance. "Will you lend me a hand?"
The weapons master eyed him curiously for a moment, but then seemed to come to
the conclusion that protocol could be disregarded from time to time when his
lord's life was at risk. He knelt next to the sickbed and helped holding the
general upwards as Saburo carefully undid the bandage.
The edges of the wound were red. Saburo wondered what this meant and inwardly
cursed that he hadn't memorized that particular detail about the treatment of
flesh wounds. The skin around the wound was even hotter than the rest of the
body, but there wasn't too much pus, just something blackish that must be dried
blood. Some kind of herbal mash had been applied to the open spot.
"What's in there?" Saburo wanted to know.
Jiro sighed. "I've no idea. One of the healers at camp in Odawara saw to him
and all we did ever since was clean the wound and change the bandages and… If
you can think of anything else that might help…"
Saburo grimaced. He knew indeed which herbs could be applied to open wounds,
but who was to tell that he wouldn't leave anything necessary out? "Honey is
good against inflammation. And I'll go looking for yarrow and shepherd's purse
for a stupe right away."
They carefully lowered the general back onto his sickbed. Even though his
sympathy or bad conscience were stirred by the man's pitiful state, Saburo
couldn't help thinking of how his life, his body were in the hands of that man
– quite literally. There might be reason to regret this kind of sentiment later
when Naoe was healthy again and his urges had returned.
But if he didn't make it, everybody in the camp would hold Saburo responsible.
And before they killed him…
As he got up to gather the herbs he needed, he cast a last glance at the
sleeping figure on the futon, vowing to make sure Naoe stayed alive at all
costs.
It was his last conscious thought before thundering hooves and loud yells from
outside drowned out everything else. Next to him, Jiro sprang to his feet and
bolted out of the tent. Saburo quickly followed him outside. His first idea was
that a messenger had come riding into camp at full speed, but such an arrival
never would have provoked all these men swarming throughout the camp into one
and the same direction. Saburo overheard Jiro converse frantically with some of
the men.
"We're under attack!"
"But who would -?!"
"I can't figure", came the answer. "But Masahiro said he recognized one of them
as Satomi…"
Saburo could feel his blood run cold.
Of course, there might be hundreds of reasons why soldiers wearing a Satomi
crest might attack them. Maybe Nobunaga had decided to break the treaty with
Kenshin and this was his way of letting the Uesugi know. But his instinct told
him this had something to do with him. He looked around for a weapon.
"Quick!" Saburo turned around as he felt a hand on his arm. Jiro was pointing
towards Naoe's tent. "We have to ensure the general's safety. See to him and
bring him outside, I will have his horse ready." Saburo briefly wondered if the
tent might not be easier to defend, but then understood that in the midst of a
battle, the safest place for Naoe was on horseback. He made a dash for the
tent, cursing his sense of duty that made him obey orders from an elder even
now that he he'd be well-advised to run for it.
"Naoe-dono!" he called. "We're under attack."
In spite of his fever, the general's eyes flew open immediately, searching for
possible threats. His eyes were clouded and he winced as he lifted his upper
body from the futon. Saburo swiftly knelt beside him and helped him on his
feet.
For a moment it seemed that Naoe was going to shake off his hands. "What is -"
"There are intruders", Saburo explained as he flung one of the general's arms
over his shoulders, supporting him on the side that wasn't injured. "Your horse
is being brought as we speak."
Naoe gasped for air. "Who -"
"They might be from the Satomi clan", Saburo interrupted again without
thinking. "Save your breath, tono." He had a feeling that in spite of the
deferential salutation, the man would give him a stern rebuke for his insolence
if he could only recover his breath.
Naoe leaning heavily on him, Saburo had to grit his teeth as he lead the
general towards the door. Tall and muscular as he was, the man was anything but
a lightweight. Sweaty and suffering from an open wound, he didn't exactly smell
like cherry blossoms, either.
Serves me just about right, Saburo though with a grimace. He had caused this,
now he had to take care of the injured man.
Outside the tent, they were fighting with the general's horse. Tsubame rose,
shaking his head angrily as if he hoped for the reins to tear of he kept this
up long enough. Jiro cursed loudly as one of the flying hooves grazed his arm.
A dry laugh escaped the man leaning on Saburo. Naoe seemed to draw new energy
from the sight of his stallion resisting any attempt to reign him in.
"Calm down, my boy, calm down…"
To Saburo's surprise, the obstinate horse returned to the ground as if indeed
acquiescing at the voice of his master. Snorting, he sidled about for a moment,
then took a few steps towards Naoe, bringing a flabbergasted Jiro with him. But
even more puzzling, Saburo could feel his own pulse slowing down as well at the
gentle words. So far, he hadn't noticed, but the general had a very pleasant
voice.
Tsubame let Naoe stroke his nostrils and whinnied softly. Then he sniffed
curiously at Saburo's hair, recognizing an unknown human being close to his
master. Saburo laughed - and with a slight shock realized what was happening
around them.
Night had fallen completely by now. The only light seemed to come from a fire
which had broken out in the part of the camp where Saburo knew the kitchen to
be located. The wind carried the scent of smoke. Worry about Ichiro seized him.
"Hold his reins", Naoe ordered. Saburo quickly held on to the horse and watched
as Jiro helped the general into the saddle. Once up there, however, Naoe's
strength dwindled. Saburo could see him swaying in the saddle, his eyes
fluttering shut as he was hit by a fainting spell. Quickly, Saburo stepped
forward, supporting Naoe as well as he could from the ground. His efforts
weren't crowned with success. The man slumped down in the saddle.
Shouts and blades clashing sounded very close by. Saburo grew worried about how
his men could protect the general when he was in such a state. In the dark, he
still couldn't see how many attackers they were dealing with, but they seemed
to be coming closer.
"Don't stand there and dawdle!" Jiro yelled at him. "Get up there with him!"
Saburo didn't have much of a choice but to get up on Tsubame's back behind him
and fling an arm around his middle. It couldn't hurt, he mused, for him to be
in a safe spot as well. At once, as if alarmed by the presence of a foreign
person on his back, Tsubame rose again.
It was difficult to stay in the saddle with the weight of the unconscious
general in his arms. Saburo try to reach the reins from one side while Jiro
tried the same from the other side. Tsubame whinnied shrilly.
Saburo never knew what made him shift his attention however briefly from the
shying horse to what was going on in the camp. He saw Naoe's men engaged in
combat with a handful of strangers that Saburo assumed were the presumable
Satomi warriors. One of them suddenly stopped in his movements, alerted perhaps
by the noise Tsubame was making and freezing at the sight of Saburo.
Time seemed to slow down. He had been right, Saburo thought dimly. Right to
worry, right to be afraid. They were indeed here for him.
Tsubame shook him from his stupor by bolting out of the camp, towards the
nearby forest. Still feeling Matsuda Katsuhide's glittering eyes on him, Saburo
didn't do anything to stop him.
/\/
Chapter End Notes
     Naturopathy, you make my brain ache! Seriously, I've no clue about
     herbs or which might be good for what. Much less do I know if what I
     named here does actually grow in Japan, or just here in Europe… I'll
     just hope no witch doctor is reading this…
     Anyway, I hope you still like where this is going! Looks like Naoe
     and Saburo will be on their own now for a little while or longer ;-)
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