Nitobe slowly walked toward the main column. The bloody deed was done. It was in the best interests of his friend, he reassured himself. Iwami won't suffer needlessly. He shook his head at the thought. It was but karma, he reflected. The fiendish brutality of the Onin No Ran[1] period which continued up to Kampaku, now Taiko, Hideyoshi's wars had been inflicted on the land and people of Joseon.
Taiko. Hah. Retired Kampaku? A meaningless title. Everyone in Nippon knew he was still the true Imperial Regent. The man’s cunning knew no bounds, thought Nitobe with a sneer. Even the ashigaru referred to him as Kampaku among themselves, he reflected. The titular Kampaku, his nephew Toyotomi Hidetsugu, was but a decoration in the lavish confines of the newly constructed Jurakudai castle.
The incredible cruelty of the Onin No Ran, or the civil war between the leading daimyo contesting for the domination of Nippon, found fertile ground in the present campaign. The young ashigaru had heard the stories and even saw such cruel practices in the war to conquer Joseon. Nitobe couldn’t help but consider it inevitable. The time-frame between Hideyoshi’s victory and the war against the Ming through Joseon was virtually non-existent. The bloodlust spawned by the Onin No Ran couldn’t be dispersed by a mere year. Unfortunately, after the initial successes, it was now the turn of the warriors of Nippon-koku to be hunted and tortured.
His mind returned to the savagery and depravity of his comrades, especially among the ashigaru. It ran counter to the warrior tenets taught by his foster father, not to mention the teachings of Buddha and even the preachings of that new god of the kirishitans. Wholesale rape, pillage, and massacres marked the march of their army. Even babies were not spared in the bloodlust of battle and conquest. In retrospect, Nitobe had also heard of the unimaginable cruelties inflicted upon defeated daimyo clans and hostile religious sects during the Onin war. Sometimes, he had to forcibly repress impudent questions arising in his mind. The many instances of barbarity he had heard and even witnessed violently clashed with his conception of a warrior living the way of the long and short swords. Such a life was ideally guided by the norms of righteousness, loyalty, honor, respect, honesty, courage, and consistency[2].
Even now, he found his beliefs constantly being challenged. But who was he to intervene? Being a lowly yari-ashigaru was his current lot and his life had been pledged to his daimyo, who was even a kirishitan! The recent Bateren-tsuiho-rei, or religious purge of those converted to the religion of the southern barbarians, on daimyo and hatamoto alike, had minimal effect on the cruel predisposition of the bushi and samurai. There was nothing of the pacifist faith of the new god of the southern barbarians, or the nanbanjin, in the ongoing war. Even if, by some fortuitous quirk of fortune, he ascended and became a true samurai, his entire being would still be subject to the whims of his lord. Against such an ordained fate, the only alternative was to become a bandit. Nitobe had never considered such a lawless path. He'd rather slit his own throat.
Now that the Joseon prey had grown fangs, they've taken lessons in inflicting pain and humiliation from the invaders from Nippon-koku. Not that they didn't have their own ways before the samurai landed on their shores. The invasion merely taught the locals additional creative and brutal ways of warfare and torture. In the present army's miserable retreat, captured samurai and ashigaru face the vicious ministrations of their pursuers.
Nitobe paused and looked back at the dead Iwami. Then he glanced at the field of the dead and dying. The broken caricatures of men seemed to be unholy travesties against the blanket of snow. Only the smudges of blood appeared to be a natural part of the grim vista. Sorrow rose in the young man.
These warriors won’t be granted the honor of being cremated, he mused with sadness. Their comrades didn't even have the time, much less the strength, to bury them. Fires would alert our pursuers and any energy the army had was better spent on defending itself. Dying in a foreign land was indeed a miserable fate. During the Onin wars, the dead would at least have the chance of being buried.
At least, Iwami is now free to enter samsara. He won't suffer humiliation before dying, Nitobe told himself with a heavy sigh. At any rate he has a blade left in his heart against yokai[3]. That is, if yokai are found in Joseon. Ahhhh! This is so confusing! Where’s a Shinto monk when you need one?
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As Nitobe continued walking in a daze, he was rubbing his hands together, driven by a strange, depressing feeling. It was a novel emotion for the young ashigaru. He stopped and stooped, gathering clumps of snow, and then wiped his hands. Most of the blood and dirt came off. He gathered more and continued cleaning. The act was already instinctive. His unseeing gaze was on the group of bushi gathered in front, yet Nitobe's mind was absorbed in an unfamiliar state.
Killing people was already ingrained in his soul. The violent campaign of the contingent from the time they arrived in Joseon had bloodied Nitobe as a seasoned veteran. The brutal and cruel sights he had seen had hardened his soul. Yet he had to accept that killing Iwami unsettled him. Who would want to be tortured slowly before being killed? It was a belief that kept repeating itself in his mind. It was a surprising feeling. Why was he finding an excuse for what he had done? Was it guilt?
Why am I so unsettled? He asked himself. It couldn't because of what I just did. That was for the best and avoided great suffering for Iwami. Killing? I had more than my fill. The source of this unnatural agitation can't be that shallow. I've cut and stabbed people who spat blood at me as they died. I can't even remember their faces except for a few. Mostly those mad monks. They’re as bad as the Ikkō-ikki[4]. Never expected that those bald Joseon priests could also be so... tenaciously ferocious.
Realizing his thoughts were getting jumbled, he closed his eyes and tried to calm down, reciting a Shinto norito for calmness and dispelling bad fortune. After a few minutes, Nitobe roused himself, his mind a lot calmer. Almost everybody was resting, save for a few walking around looking for replacement gear and weapons. Nitobe himself had taken Iwami’s undamaged suneate, or shin guards. Shaped leather reinforced with steel, they were a far better proposition than what he wore. Iwami’s storage bag wasn’t on his body and must have been torn loose in the frenzied fighting back in their final redoubt. Or was it during the river crossing? For some reason, he bewailed the opportunity of obtaining Iwami's belongings. It could have contained something which could help him survive.
Did Iwami have food? He wondered, and then guiltily reproached himself for thinking of looting Iwami's things. Not an idea a friend should have. But was Iwami really a friend?
Nitobe wasn’t sure and remembered he had few interactions with his townmate who was assigned to a different section. His mind focused on the insignificant detail for several minutes before Nitobe caught himself and jolted out of the fixation. Exhaustion had finally caught up with him. Pure adrenaline had been keeping him active, even as his muscles were crying out in protest. But everything had its limit. He had carried Iwami all the way from Pyongyang up to this point, only to end up taking the man’s life.
I am going to be distracted again by strange and dangerous thoughts! thought Nitobe. Forcibly clearing his mind of the distracting considerations, he walked as fast as his strength could manage to the gathered ashigaru of the column.
Nitobe heavily dropped and sat down next to an acquaintance who stared at him. They were on the outer line of the column and stationed in a sector assigned to their group. Misano was a lot older than him, a veteran of several battles during the rampage of Hideyoshi across the length and breadth of Nippon. Unlike Nitobe, the older man didn’t have the right to bear a surname. There wasn’t any question as to his humble origins. He was a peasant down to the tips of his waraji, the ubiquitous straw-rope sandals of his humble class and of younger ashigaru, though the privation of his footwear was overshadowed by the dented yet still expensive-looking ornate shin guards that extended to cover part of his humongous feet.
“Don’t let it get to you, wakai bushi[5]. If we survive this latest glorious victory, you’ll be sending off more. Or they’ll be doing the same to you,” called out his companion as Nitobe was about to sit down. The subdued laughter of nearby warriors rumbled through their group.
“Hold on to your balls, Nitobe. The wind’s still against us,” echoed another hardened bushi at the rear.
“I heard the uibyong women like to cut off the dangling bits of the valiant warriors of Nippon,” commented another.
“Then they’d really be unhappy once they get their hands on you, Asahi!” retorted another.
Another bout of laughter followed. Nitobe could only shake his head.The jokes may be morbid, but they brought back a semblance of lucidity to their current situation. It reminded the young ashigaru that the bushi around him had already considered themselves dead. Such a unique perspective would last until they reach Hanseong or if another disaster loomed on the horizon.
***
Lore and Definitions:
1 The 1467 to 1477 civil war involving leading daimyo of Japan. It sparked the rise of the daimyo giants of the likes of Oda Nobunaga, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, and Tokugawa Ieyasu.
2 The principles of Bushido according to some scholars and samurai. Though some set it at eight principles - justice, courage, benevolence, politeness, honesty, honor, loyalty, and self-control.
3 Yokai - Demons in Japanese myth.
4 Militant, militaristic, and aggressive Buddhist sects in Japan found up to the Tokugawa period.
5 Young warrior.