A Time Traveller's Guide To Feudal Japan

"They’re quiet," Gengyo commented as he rode by the front, referring to the ten guards that they brought with them. They were like shadows as they kept behind them. Their faces were barely visible beneath their black armour, and not a single word came out.

"That’s part of the reason I chose them. This is a diplomatic matter – we don’t need men with loose tongues," Jikouji responded, turning to give the men an approving nod.

"Nah, they just don’t have anything interesting to say," Morohira butted in, spurring his horse into a gallop so that he could take the lead of the party. Hours of travel was not befitting of a man like him, and with Rokkaku left behind, it fell to him to make his own entertainment. His sheathed sword clattered against the side of his horse at it ran, spurring it even faster.

"Was it truly wise to bring him to something as sensitive as this?" Jikouji asked, speaking more quietly, so that the charging Morohira would not hear them.

Gengyo smiled at that, and turned his eyes back to the front. "Father has his own uses. His unpredictablity will be unsettling for both Oda and us. Besides, if you worry about the strength I bring, how many are there that are stronger than him?"

"He’s right, Jikouji-san," Akiko said from the other side, supporting her husband with a sweet smile. "My father is law may act wild, but he’s a reliable man."

"Mm... I suppose," Jikouji grumbled, looking down from his saddle with a frown on his face.

"Jikouji, please do not complain. It is me that has had to listen to his madness all the way here. For a whole hour he talked about the nonsense benefits of breeding a bull with a dog. A bog, he called it? Can you believe that? Am I going insane? Is it possible that this is all a dream?" Togashi said, his voice pleading and desperate.

"Haha," Gengyo could not help but chuckle at the distraught look on the bearded man’s face. "What about that land I gave you, Togashi? Was it to your liking?" The young Lord had made good on his promise, and had urged Togashi away on his horse to inspect the lands that he’d set aside for him. It was an established village whose samurai master had passed away quite suddenly, without an hier to take over.

"It was, my Lord," Togashi said, dipping his head respectfully, "the soil is fertile and the sake they brew is clean. Foreign architects have already begun work on a new mansion. They sat with me for three nights planning it. When it’s complete, it will be a structure to behold, I pray that you’ll visit it."

"Give me a time and I’ll be there. We’ll have to get you married soon, and have a bunch of little Togashis to run around and brighten up the place," he replied with a smile.

"Aye, in time, perhaps. Though I would have thought you’d be with a child long before me," Togashi said with a mischievous smile.

"Well, it’s not for lack of trying," Gengyo put it to him with bold confidence.

"Tadakata!" Akiko gasped, flushing red at his openness.

"Another Miura... How would Japan cope?" Jikouji asked himself quietly. "If he’s anything like his father we’ll be in for a wild time."

"Oh, you’ll be long dead before then, old man," Morohira rushed back at the opportune moment, seizing the chance to poke fun.

"What about you, Yamagata? Any family back home?" Gengyo asked, turning back to include their quieter companion.

"A boy, my Lord, and the wife that bore him," was all he said, but the worry on his face was blatant.

"...We will instil order in those lands before any harm can come to him," Gengyo said gently. "You have my word on that."

The Takeda strategist did not look convinced, but he bowed his head respectfully nonetheless and went back to his brooding silence.

With the stone steps of the temple finally upon them, they dismounted their horses, and tied their reigns up in the branches of a nearby cherry tree. ALready in full blossom, its pink petals were spewed up into the air with every gentle gust of wind.

A monk stood at the top of the steps, in his white robes and with his shaven head. He was old, and his shrine was long since forgotten. It was only he that tended to it now, sweeping the leaves away on the cold autumn days. The village that had once been there had died out, and no one made the long journey any more. When the old man died, so too would the temple.

Aside from its grim future, the quietness of the temple was why Gengyo had chosen it. A completely neutral place for he and Oda to go at their discussions without worry. With a swift look around, he could not spy another man for miles. There were no horses tied up before they came and no men riding out from the horizon. They’d beaten Oda here, and rightfully so, with Morohira urging them ahead by the front.

Gengyo nodded with satisfaction. They had time to seat themselves before their honourable guest arrived. He looked down on himself, and felt the part. He was dressed as well as any daimyo. His black kimono and the black armour above it. He wore wide grey trousers with armoured greeves on legs, and a white obi around his waist, his two swords tucked inside of it. And above all that, he wore a loose red jacket, sitting open on top of the armour, with a coin-sized Miura mon stitched above each b.r.e.a.s.t.

He started up the steps, and motioned with his head for his men to follow, "come, let us have our leisurely drink of tea before the ceremony begins."

They started after him, stoic expressions etched upon their brows, well aware they were entering a holy place.

I’m ready, Nobunaga, are you?