A Time Traveller's Guide To Feudal Japan

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And so, they were gathered. The jovial mood of the departing party was sobered, as they saw that the fires of the funeral pyre still burned. There was not a single man amongst them who would dare disrespect the fallen. A warrior who and fought and died with bravery was to be honoured.

The mess of chaos had been cleaned by them, it seemed, as the wreckage of tents no longer existed. In fact, there were no tents at all that stood standing. Perhaps they had all been burned, because no sign of them was to be found.

Instead, the men stood waiting, clutching all that they owned, stern faced. They had cried their tears the previous night, and now they were ready to face the future. To explore a new avenue of conflict, a truer one. An avenue closer to the source. An avenue that mattered.

Matsudaira lead by the front with Gengyo by his side, and all could see as they looked upon the two that they did not share the dynamic of a prisoner and his captor or guard. And so, the soldiers felt an internal wave of agreement amongst them. This was the man that they would follow. He would represent the interests of their defeated general – his true interests. Not those of Imagawa.

Not a single man had left, as Matsudaira had assured Gengyo they wouldn’t, and so, the Red Feather men truly did gain the addition of a thousand.

"Are you all ready?" He asked rather casually, as was his custom.

"YES GENERAL!" They stamped their feet into the ground, and slammed their fists into their sternum. A few were out of sync, but their discipline was remarkable by the standards of a normal army. Still, there were some improvements to be made.

"Not bad." He spoke his approval towards Matsudaira, who did naught but nod.

"Very well men, we will begin our march towards Shigeto. Your training will begin when we setup camp, at sundown today."

The soldiers shared a few sheepish glances, wondering just what this training might entail. There was an eagerness there as well. What man did not wish to grow stronger?

The Red Feather men wished to groan at the thought of training, but they would never let on their displeasure in front of these recruits.

And so, their march began, back along the path the Matsudaira men had taken here, towards the never before breached Shigeto castle.

Gengyo mounted up, and offered a horse to Matsudaira beside him. They discussed many the idle topic as they marched, and during which, the defeated general voiced something of surprise.

"Would it be possible for me to join in with this training of yours?" There was a degree of unease in his voice, as he humbled himself in the request of such a favour, despite the fact that in status, he was still a prisoner.

"Hoh..." Caught off guard by the sudden ask, Gengyo stroked his chin. "I am not opposed to it... yet I had not expected that to be your want. You have a strategical mind, do you not? Your current level of martial skill is sufficient."

"A general should be a man the men can look up to. He should be one of the strongest – if not the strongest – amongst them, as you are. And also," he lowered his voice a little as he voiced this second part, "as a child, I dreamed of being trained by the Menryo-ji monks. I had thought that if I grew as strong as them, then I would be able to save my clan. As you are well aware, that certainly did not come true."

He was unable to meet Gengyo’s gaze as he looked towards him curiously. He had never shared such thoughts with anyone before. As the head of the Matsudaira clan, and the general of his army, he had to adopt an infallible persona, and to share such pathetic dreams would be ludicrous.

Finally, in meeting a man even more exceptional than him, he was allowed to be imperfect, and – as he was now discovering – such a thing was liberating. It gave him room to breathe, and room to think and change properly. A snake that did not shed its skin was destined to die, and such was the case for man incapable of change, though his death was a far more agonising one.

"I see. A noble dream. I will see it fulfilled to the best of my abilities. When I was a child, my dreams were a good deal more foolish. In the summer when I was six, I wished to be a frog."

"A frog..?" He stared at him bemused, furrowing his brow, trying to decide the value of such a dream, but soon the ridiculousness overwhelmed him, and he let loose a chuckle.

"Getting the stern-faced Matsudaira to laugh? It seems the heavens are blessing me today."

"Haha... It is wrong for my humour to be coming back now. Surely with my defeat it should worsen?"

"I would not say so. Forgive me for putting it like this, but have your past victories not been meaningless to you? To fight for a cause you do not believe in would not bring you pleasure, even if you were to win. Perhaps it might even serve to make you more miserable."

"And, if you were to look upon the face of Imagawa every day, and observe his wobbling chins as he spoke, you would need to kill off your humour, or risk getting beheaded for laughing at his ridiculous body." Jikouji joined in, having rode in silence for a while, merely listening.

"I suppose you are right, but to dare to dream of a day when I might be freed from my vow? That was never possible until now. There was no other course of action, and so I do not feel any regret."

"Nor should you. I do not wish for you to. You’ve played it perfectly, from the way things have lined up. After all, we’ve met, haven’t we? We have very different minds in regards to strategy. Does the thought of doing battle on the same side not excite you?"

Matsudaira shook his head. "The demise of our foe would be certain, no matter the odds."

"Even against Oda?" Gengyo pressured.

"Oda is talented, it is true, but it is his boldness that propels him forward. He has done battle against butter – thought there has been a good amount – and he had merely need charge forward, and pierce it with ease. But the day he faces a brick wall, is the day he will fall. Even as we pursued him and gave siege, his strategy lay entirely with offence, and with it, that was what forced us to withdraw. Against disciplined and defensive minded troops, he would splinter."

"He adopts the matchlock too, does he not? It is difficult to play defensively against such a dominating weapon."

"It would be good a fight, no doubt. Yet I stand by what I say: none of his victories would have happened had our defence been more adequately constructed."

"I’ll trust you on that. We should be meeting with the man soon enough."

As their conversation reached its conclusion, the sun began to set on the horizon. They had only marched for two or three hours at most, the soreness of their aching muscles irritating each step. Soon, they became numb to such pain, and were able to fall back into the routine of marching long distances, with all the comforts available to them. Morohira played nearer the back of the caravan, flirting with Fuku, as other men tried their hands at other forms of entertainment.

As was to be expected, there was a distinct separation between Matsudaira’s troops – or the new Red Feather recruits – and the old five hundred Red Feather men. It was noted by the two commanders, and as the order was given to stop for the night and setup camp, thought was put into trying to solve it.

The tents went up, and food was served. Having eaten nothing since the previous night, they ate rather ravenously, and then the dreaded gong sounded once more, beat sadistically by Jikouji, calling them all to training.

By torchlight, they formed up their ranks and waited, standing to complete attention, as Gengyo finished up with his meal, and munched on an apple, deliberating how he might go about their first training session.

When he stood, walking casually in front of them, their attentive states only grew, as they anticipated the order, but he merely continued to walk past, and placed a hand on Jikouji’s shoulder, indicating that he should begin without him.