“Takeda Shingen remains true to his motto, and stands as still as a mountain,” said Captain Muraki. “Lord Ieyasu has taken up a strong defensive position. The Takeda will bide their time, unless something happens to change the situation.”

Snowflakes started to fall, flurrying in the wind.

Captain Muraki looked up at the sky.

“That’s it!” he said. “If this snow settles, it will hamper the Takeda cavalry. Prepare yourself, Jimmu!”

The captain had hardly finished speaking before muskets began to crackle.

15 - OUTSIDE HAMAMATSU CASTLE TOTOMI PROVINCE

15

OUTSIDE HAMAMATSU CASTLE TOTOMI PROVINCE

WINTER 1572

Snowflakes blew into Jimmu’s eyes and melted into rainbow colors when he blinked. He heard one of his men murmuring a prayer, the chattering teeth of another man, and the rumble of approaching hoofbeats.

Jimmu drew on what he had learned from Captain Muraki, and concentrated until a strange calm crept over him. Everything that followed seemed unreal, as if a dream were being acted out in front of him.

Takeda cavalrymen loomed up out of the swirling snow. Some drew on bows, some wielded long swords. They had the faces of grimacing demons.

A horse fell screaming, its legs buckling, mane and tail flowing as it crashed to the ground. The thrown rider appeared to float on air for an instant, before another rider’s horse trampled over him.

“Lower spears!” commanded Jimmu, his voice sounding as terse and gruff as Nichiren’s.

The spearmen obeyed, and then a cavalryman burst upon them, his sword slashing, trying to keep off the merciless points of the spears that jabbed at him. A spearman collapsed in a spray of blood. The cavalryman tumbled from his saddle.

Jimmu sprang forward and thrust his sword through a gap in the fallen man’s armor. The blade grated on bone. Life drained out of the cavalryman’s eyes.

The spearmen readied themselves for another horseman.

Jimmu entered a trancelike state. He felt detached from the falling snow, the choking-sweet smell of gunpowder smoke, the latrine-stink of death. The air was filled with the sound of clashing weapons and the agonized cries of the wounded. Riderless horses with foaming mouths galloped by. None of it made any sense to Jimmu. He was numb.

Twice more he was called on to dispatch an unseated cavalryman, and then the Takeda switched their attention to another section of the line. Jimmu’s men took time to catch their breath and bind their wounds.

Kambei hunkered down to address the corpse of a comrade.

“Goodbye, Beni!” he rasped. “We had good laughs together. If I live to drink sake again, I’ll get drunk in your honor. I’m sorry you’re dead, but rather you than me, my friend.”

Captain Muraki appeared at Jimmu’s side.

“Casualties?” he inquired briskly.

“Two dead, sir,” Jimmu replied. “Three Takeda killed.”

The captain leaned closer and spoke confidentially.

“You fought well,” he said. “Lord Ankan has expressed his satisfaction with your conduct.”