A Time Traveller's Guide To Feudal Japan

The festivities were loud and the smell of smoke and alcohol hung heavily in the air. It was to the point that a sober man might begin to feel tipsy merely by opening the doors to that palace throne room. Once it had been coated in gold and silver and littered with jewels, and then it had been stained with the thick red of Imagawa’s blood, and now it was lined with rows and rows of tables filled with men and whole trays of food.

Serving girls negotiated through the boisterous crowd, carrying jugs of the finest summerwine, pouring refills upon refills. Most men wanted more than simple food and drink however, and the alcohol had made them bold. They reached out and grabbed the girls in their drunkness, pulling them in close and seating them on their laps. Most were simply pushed away and laughed at, but some had mastered that art of charm, and with their triumph arose the cheers of their friends.

These men here were not merely common soldiers either. They were only a few hundred of the most distinguished and elite soldiers, both Takeda and Miura and Matsudaira alike. Men of standing. For the rest of the men, there were benches outside and torches were lit. They feasted just as well as their superiors.

Stray dogs wormed their way around the people’s feet, often being met with a kick of distaste, but sometimes they might be rewarded with a near-clean bone of chicken, and so they carried on.

Morohira sat at the head table with Gengyo and the other Generals, though he would have done just as well in the lower section. He drank with the thirst of three men, and his cheeks were flushed a deep red. He laughed loudly at every jest, and kissed Fuku with unreserved passion whenever the fancy took him. His wife had the good grace to blush, and Rin wrinkled her nose in distaste, but it was clearly a relaxing evening for many.

There was many a toast. To men departed in battle. To the heroes of the field, and to Miura himself. Their frequency only grew the drunker the men got, and most evoked a loud response from a multitude of soldiers.

There was many wounded amongst them, all clad in bandages, some attempting to instigate brawls, only to be held back by the intense pangs of pain from the opened wounds and the new flowing of blood. Their comrades would be on hand to pull them back when the time arose.

Gengyo drunk as much as the others, but his was a quiet watchfulness, like an owl perched high in the tree. That was not to hint at a dissatisfaction, for a smile always hung playfully on his lips, and he responded to Akiko’s affections with eagerness, and allowed her to nuzzle her head into his chest. But beyond that, he tried to see more, and think more.

He was pleased to see Morojo welcomed back by his friends. He sat in between Rokkaku and Togashi, and downed many a cup of saké in their name. Little Takeshi involved himself as much as he could as well. He had established a friendship with one of Morojo’s sons, a young man in his twenties, but with a sharp mature look to his eye and a forked beard that made him seem older.

"Go on lad, tell me what is you see," Jikouji said, munching down on a b.r.e.a.s.t of chicken with his bare hands, enjoying the lack of formality. The sauce spilt down his chin and ran through his beard, taking some credibility from his questions.

"Now why would you be asking that?" Gengyo responded, a knowing look in his eyes.

"It’s always the quiet one who sees what’s really going on. Is there something that displeases you?" His words were slurred, but his question was sober enough.

"The opposite. There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong, and that’s what worries me." It was a pessimistic offering that should have been paired with a frown of some sort, but that smile did not waver.

Jikouji looked taken aback. His old yellow teeth were caught slightly ajar. He looked to Akiko rather than Gengyo, and barked his laughter. "Do you never relax? It’s like you want there to be a problem."

"Mm�� He has a point, you know? You never switch off." Akiko lazily murmured her words up at him, apparently having trouble staying awake.

"My hands do not do very well being idle," he responded evenly. It was his nature. A more conscientious man it was hard to find.

"Then we’d better give them something to do," she purred, taking his hand to cup her cheek with. She dove in for a kiss, and he reciprocated for a moment, before drawing back.

"You’re drunk," he warned her. Without the aid of liquor, she would have been beyond embarrassed to be caught kissing in front of all their friends, but as she was now, modesty was the furthest thing from her mind.

"Sow?" A single slurred question that came off especially drunk.

"He’s right you know, you’re really drunk," Rin chipped in from her right, pointing a laughing a finger.

"Says you," Akiko shot right back with a point of her own. Her finger landed on a boy that Rin had stolen from the ranks of the officers below. Some samurai’s sandal bearer who didn’t have the nerve to refuse her. He’d been plucked up and had looked to his master for help, but the gaudy warrior merely laughed and slapped him on the back, wishing him luck. He was a year younger than her, and she had him kneeling without the offer of a seat, looking like a whipped dog.

"Mind your business," Rin said with a pout. "Usho likes being with me, don’t you Usho-kun?"

"My name isn’t Us-" The youth began weakly, but she talked over him immediately, forgetting that he existed.

"See, he likes it," she announced confidently.