I drove my horse hard toward Mikawa.
All along the road I felt more dead than alive, sure that stragglers from the Takeda might turn up. Every shadow, every hiding place scared me. Even so, I didn't slacken the reins. The thought that I had to get to him was the only thing pushing me on.
Ieyasu was in a room deep inside the castle.
He'd sent everyone away. He was alone.
The charcoal in the brazier had long since gone white under its ash, and the room was cold through. He didn't even seem to notice. He just sat there, hunched over.
When I came in, he slowly raised his head. His cheeks were hollow, with dark rings under his eyes. A sorry, wilted face, hardly that of the lord of Mikawa. One look told me he hadn't slept properly in days, not since the defeat.
In front of Ieyasu lay a single painting. He'd had an artist paint it, he said. It was a portrait of Ieyasu himself.
Except—it wasn't the figure of a gallant warlord.
His cheek propped on one hand, his brow furrowed, a bitter face that looked ready to burst into tears at any moment. One hand clenched on his knee, a crushed and broken figure. The very face of that day, when he'd lost the battle and fled home with his life. Not at all a sight a warlord should let anyone see. The most wretched version of himself in his whole life, the kind everyone would want to hide.
And he'd had an artist paint it, on purpose.
"Lord Oda... no."
Ieyasu gave a weak smile. Then he lowered his voice the way he used to when we were hostages. His real voice, the one for when it was just the two of us.
"You came."
"Of course I came."
I let my shoulders drop too. The Demon King mask I wore in front of my household, I could take off in front of him. It was a heavy mask. Take it off, and I could go back to being myself, just a man who scared easily. There were only a handful of people in the world I could do that with.
"I heard you were shaking. How could I leave you alone?"
Ieyasu stared at the painting. His eyes were red.
"I mean to keep this by me for the rest of my life," he said.
"As a warning, so I never make so wretched a mistake again. So I never forget this face, the face of losing."
"..."
"Go ahead and laugh. The sworn ally of Lord Oda, whose name rings across the realm, was so afraid of being killed that he ran for his life. Even now I can't sleep at night, I'm shaking, sure I'll be struck down again."
Ieyasu's voice went hoarse partway through.
"I got so many of my men killed. The great Takeda army was passing right by the castle as if we weren't even there. If I let that go by without a word, they'd come and slit my throat in my sleep someday, no doubt about it—the thought scared me, scared me so much I couldn't stand it. They told me not to leave the castle, but I couldn't sit still, and I charged out. Because of that, some of them died in my place. And yet I myself—I shook on my horse like a coward and ran home."
"I had it painted so I'd never forget how frightened I was then, as long as I live," Ieyasu said.
"This is what I really am. A coward who's good for nothing but shaking and running away. Nothing to be proud of. Not one thing."
When he finished, he hung his head low. The hand clenched on his knee was trembling, finely.
I understood what that trembling meant, so well it hurt. It wasn't shame at losing. One part was a bottomless fear that he might be killed at any moment. And the other was guilt, at having let his men die in his place. He'd let people die, and he alone was still breathing, as if nothing were wrong. That was what he couldn't bear. It was always the same for me too. After every battle, I'd lost count of how many times I'd cursed myself for surviving.
So I had to say it. With him, of all people, I had to tell him that trembling was all right.
I shook my head.