Jimmu shut out the voice. He strung his bow, notched an arrow in place, and stared out at the night. Retreating Tokugawa soldiers straggled continuously through the gates, but the garrison was nowhere near strong enough to withstand the might of the Takeda. If Lord Ankan’s plan failed, the Tokugawa and their allies would be wiped out.

A few minutes passed in what seemed like a year, then the flow of stragglers abruptly stopped, and the sound of advancing horsemen swelled in the darkness.

“Here they come!” muttered Kambei.

The most distant bonfires winked as passing cavalrymen interrupted their light. The advance slowed when the riders registered the open gates of the fort, and came to a halt outside musket range. Firelight gleamed on metal; silken banners fluttered in the freezing wind.

Jimmu could almost hear the astonishment of the Takeda generals.

“Lord Shingen’s out there somewhere,” said Kambei. “He’s calculating the odds. What’s the strength of his enemy? How many casualties will he suffer if he storms Hamamatsu? If he loses too many men, how long will it be before Oda Nobunaga attacks him?”

Down in the courtyard someone raised a cheer. It spread through the fortress, until at last everyone was cheering. The cheer sounded scornful, defiant, the voice of an army that was confident of victory, and it evidently proved too much for Takeda Shingen. The cavalry turned about and headed back for their camp near the gorge.

The volume of the cheering in Hamamatsu increased as men vented their relief.

Kambei hopped gleefully from foot to foot.

“Didn’t I tell you?” he crowed. “Lord Ankan could show a fox a trick or two. Plenty of women will bless him for saving the lives of their husbands and sons, eh, Jimmu?”

Jimmu was too tired to answer, too tired to think; his mind was blank.

Jimmu fell asleep with his back resting against the battlements. Scraps of the day’s events came back to him in disjointed dreams: the expression in the eyes of the Takeda cavalrymen he had finished off; a spearman screaming as he tumbled; Captain Muraki’s air of resignation. Jimmu’s limbs twitched, and he mumbled to himself.

Kambei woke Jimmu and presented him with a bowl of hot barley soup.

“Get that inside you,” Kambei advised. “It’ll help keep out the cold.”

Jimmu carefully blew on the surface of the soup before he sipped it.

“How long was I asleep?” he said.

“A couple of hours, maybe three,” said Kambei.

Jimmu became awake enough to notice that Kambei was on edge and could not keep still.

“What’s wrong?” demanded Jimmu.

“Lord Ankan has sent round a messenger to ask for a hundred volunteers,” Kambei said.

“Volunteers for what?”

“Why don’t we go and find out?” Kambei suggested.

Jimmu swallowed another mouthful of soup. Its warmth filled him with a sense of well-being.

“Of course,” he said, standing.