A Time Traveller's Guide To Feudal Japan

They marched onwards for a good few days, and were entertained by some light skirmishes along the way. They took note as the landscape changed around them. From rolling hills, to thick forests, before they could once more step upon the flat plains.

They had yet to catch any sight of Oda’s main force, and those amongst their large army liked to joke that Nobunaga had fled with his tail between his legs, and was on a ship somewhere, sailing to China, or Korea – anything to escape the might of their colossal force.

But as they saw scout after scout, those thoughts were revealed to be what they were: simple, childish dreams. Despite the challenged presented to him, the young Daimyo seemed to be refusing to go down without a fight.

They soon joined up with Matsudaira. The union of the two forces seemed more complicated than it might otherwise have been. Matsudaira – much to the distaste of Imagawa – held within his forces a large number of matchlock ashigaru, peasants who had been trained to wield one of the imported foreign firearms.

They were weapons of the future, but many reputable men still failed to recognise their power. Matsudaira was one of the few people with enough vision to see past their negatives. And negatives, there were plenty. The weapons were prone to misfire, and when they got wet, things became even more complicated. They took almost three times as long as a bow to reload, and sometimes, the small bullets could even bounce off armour, leaving the enemy unharmed.

But, they were effectively skilless. It only required basic training to teach peasants how to reload them, and then they simply needed to point the rifle straight, and the volley of bullets would decimate the enemy forces. The lack of skill required to operate them allowed him to recruit more of them in his forces than they could archers – the only limiting factor was coin. But of course, he still had 100 or so bowmen, in case of the special situations where bows were required.

"Ha! You still have your men carry around those little trinkets, Matsudaira."

Imagawa laughed, upon seeing so many of his men lugging the matchlock rifles on their shoulders.

"I would have more of them if I could."

Matsudaira refuted emotionlessly. He did not care for Imagawa’s opinion. He was forced to serve as his retainer, due to the oppressive might of the Imagawa clan’s military. But that was all he would do. He would simply serve.

"Hoh? You would waste more coin on such useless weapons? They’re no good for anything, except a battle on the plains."

"It was a bullet that claimed Sakuma Morishige’s life."

Matsudaira said pointedly. In the siege of Marune he had made use of concentrated musket fire throughout, battering the defending forces quite severely, even taking the commander’s life with one of the rounds.

"Hoh?"

That made Imagawa pause for a second. He had not expected the matchlock units to have any use at all during the siege. The wood of the archer cage – which was designed to stop even arrows – would have protected them easily against those measly bullets. But he had failed to see the bigger picture. One thousand men were firing continuously, even if they were poorly trained, simple probability stated that some of the bullets would land. And they were able to fire further than archers, so the advantage was theirs.

"Pah! Luck. Wise men deal in reason, not in luck, Matsudaira! Remember that."

He said, attempting to counsel the man.

Gengyo almost choked hearing his words. It was perhaps a valid statement, but not applicable in the least to what they were talking about.

’How can you even... If you say, one man, firing a single bullet, has a 1 in 10 chance of hitting, fine. But, what about if ten men fire? Or one hundred men? Of course, some are going to hit! It’s about "luck", perhaps, but more probability. You can’t disregard it. ’

He scolded himself for getting so fired up about an argument he was not even part of, and settled down. It was in that moment that he understood why Matsudaira had been so quick to join the Oda after Imagawa’s defeat – the man was an imbecile, and not someone who’s legacy was worth fighting for.

A few days prior, he might have been worried about Imagawa’s lack of competence, but now he did not feel anxious in the least. The reason was twofold: he had confidence within his own plans, and he had seen that there were some highly capable men who were subordinated to the Daimyo, and who had much to gain from making him Shogun.

Matsudaira had simply shrugged in response to the Daimyo’s attempt at wisdom, and rejoined his own clan by the rear.

They marched deep into a forested gorge called Dengaku-hazama, taking out some of Oda’s scouts as they did so, and there they camped for a good few days. Because of the gorge, it was impossible to set up all the tents right next to each other, so the army ended up being split into smaller sections.

This splitting up of the forces had been part of the reason for Imagawa’s defeat, historically. Oda had simply dealt with each camp separately, killing them off before they had the chance to warn the others.

But one should not discredit Imagawa’s men for advising that he camp here. It provided good protection from nighttime arrow harassment, so it was rather suitable. None in their right mind would expect a frontal assault from the meagre force of 2,500. Even just a single one of their small encampments outnumbered them by almost three times!

It was on their first evening camping within the forest that the scouts returned with a report on where the Oda’s main army lay. It caused quite the stir within the camp, as this was the first time in their entire campaign that they had even caught a glimpse of them.

They were informed that the army had set up camp within the temple of Zenshō-ji. It sat upon one of the steepest hills in the area. It might have been impossible to scale it without the aid of the single staircase that ran up it. But of course, they had fortified the encampment to the extreme, so any attempts at seizing their hill would be met with a great amount of bloodshed.

Oda’s choice of location caught everyone off guard. They had expected him to lay low inside the fortress of Kiyosu, and try to weather the storm. That of course, would have been the sensible option – at least to them. And so, as Imagawa and his military advisors gathered within his tent to discuss the plan ahead, there were numerous disagreements.

"We crush them at dawn!"

Imagawa had announced straight away, looking forward to a straightforward battle after over a week of scurrying around, hunting down tiny forces. There was no thrill to it. And he could not enjoy the victories.

"...Begging your pardon, Daimyo-sama, but perhaps that might be a little rash."

A brave soul had attempted to be the first to refute him.

"Why? We’re running out of supplies. The quicker we conquer this measily little province, the better our chances of capturing Kyoto will be!"

He spoke passionately, truly believing his words to be right. He had be schooled within the art of strategy throughout his youth, and well into his twentities. He had been tutored in it far longer than anyone else, and remember a great deal. But there was an unbridgeable gap between knowledge and application.

"Yes! Quite right Daimyo-sama, I fear we all might have overlooked that... However, I fear the cost of men required to conquer Zenshō-ji would not be worth it in the long run. Their position is too secure. We would have to offer up too many lives."

Someone else joined in, seizing the opportunity to praise his lord.

"Mmm... How many?"

Still confident, Imagawa pressed on, eager to set his plan in motion.

"Half, my lord, at least."

"...Did you say: half?"

"Yes, Daimyo-sama."

"...That’s much too many."

Even he was able to reach that conclusion, and his mind went blank. He hated problems without straightforward solutions, and began to grow stressed, reaching for a tender salmon steak with his fingers, ignoring the chopsticks beside them.

He dangled it above his mouth, before lining it up perfectly, and fitting it all in at once. He clearly relished the flavour, as his face was an undeniable mask of pleasure.

He greedily licked the grease off his fingers, before gesturing for the men to continue.

"Ahem... I propose that we wait it out. They will be needing supplies. We can rob those supplies, and raid surrounding villages, and then, when their men are weak from starvation, we will pluck the weed up by its roots."

A suggestion was given by an elderly member of the group, who the rest clearly held a high opinion of, as they voiced their agreement.

"Here, here! A fine decision!"

It was not to the Daimyo’s liking, however. As there was one thing he clearly understood was required for success on the campaign: speed. The thought of waiting made him anxious. It would give Kyoto time to bolster its defences, and call in its allies. It would also mean their supplies dwindled.

"Is there nothing else?"

Matsudaira knew what he would do, but offered no solution to the council. The last thing he wanted was for this man to become Shogun. Instead, he sat there, hand playing with his short, pointed goatee, as he looked to be the very epitome of a man in thought.

’I wonder if a duck could outrun a chicken...’

Was foremost on his mind.

His average face distracted you from his brilliance, and his shaved head showed his lack of regard for fashion. He was a man of his own heart, but a man whose feet were tied. It was how he had to be, in order to deal with the crushing helplessness of his servitude to such a pathetic individual as Imagawa.

"It seems the council has no other solutions to offer, my lord. But fear not! We will do our best to conclude matters quickly."

The old councilman said, having looked round to see if anyone else was willing to speak.

"Beauty in harmony, is it?"

Imagawa spoke, reciting another piece of his knowledge in an attempt to give off some glimmer of intelligence.

Matsudaira had to physically restrain himself from sighing. There was little worse than a foolish man who could not recognise his own foolishness.

"Quite right my lord, poetic as ever!"

A councilman praised.

’Oh, how you crows chirp and chirp, craving more gold and more power.’

Matsudaira lamented internally. If not for his clan, he would have taken his life long ago to escape from this mundane reality. And what was worse still, was the others refused to represent themselves honestly, and so he sat in a circle playing an endless game where the snake continually professed itself to be a wise old owl.

He might have felt sorry for Imagawa, considering how almost all his subordinates were using him. But the man was so blown up on arrogance that it was all but impossible to feel anything for him other than disgust.

//Author’s Note

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