Japan 1561
The snow was a blanket of white across the coast of the Sea of Japan, coating Kasugayama castle
in solemn brilliance. The icy quiet was ignored by the locals, the residents of Echigo Province
were as used to snow as they were to the bloody affairs of the warlords of Japan, each striving
for dominance.
Their warlord was carved from the same icy countenance as the residents. Usesugi
Kenshin kept the shutters of his mountain-top villa open so he could survey his defences even in
the white gloom, stoic, stubborn and driven as a blizzard.
Before him was a stack of maps and books, each made of the finest washi paper. They
were as much his treasure as his sword and armour.
Winter was safety, no army could pass the mountains and he intended to capitalise on it.
But how? Diligently, his eyes scanned every line of the histories his forefathers had left behind.
On a separate piece of paper, his elegant hands scrawled notes with his brush. Ideas and
strategies. The past would lead to a better future for his people.
To become shogun, to take control of the country as the head of a new dynasty, he would
have to fight his way through his neighbour Takeda Shingen, the legendary Tiger of Kai
province.
Four times they had faced each other by the running waters of Kawanakajima.
Four times he had been unable to deal a final blow.
“What do you seek, my lord,” his page boy Kouta asked.
“History,” Kenshin answered, his thirty years of life hanging heavily on his shoulders. He
had ruled the clan for almost half of them, crushing his foes with steel and innovative tactics.
“We must crush the Takeda before we turn our eyes on those Oda upstarts. Only then can we
control the capital. I seek something to give us an edge.”
Returning to silence, Kenshin stared at his books. The snow swirled outside in the
garden, the serenity of the whispering winds giving him pause for a moment.
His meditations were interrupted by the patter of running feet on cold floorboards.
“Master, forgive the interruption!” the runner abased himself at the door touching his
forehead to the woven mats.
“What news?”
“Word from Kai province,” the messenger gasped. He had run for hours through the
blizzard. Kenshin signalled his page to bring the man tea.
“What does Takeda plan?”
“Nothing my lord, the Oda have cut off his supply of salt, his people will starve by spring
without it,” the messenger panted.
“We’ve won then!” Kouta exclaimed. “And we don’t have to lift a blade.”
Kenshin shot a glare of disapproval at his page before turning to the messenger, “Send a
caravan of supplies to Takeda immediately. Wars should be won with swords and spears, not rice
and salt.”
History would remember him for his battles won against warriors, not for turning his
back as the peasants of his enemy starved to death.
Image attribution: “Samurai Armies 1550-1615.” Oxford: Osprey Publishing., Public Domain, By Unknown author – Scanned from: Turnbull, Stephen (1979).
Part 1