Maruoka Castle

Put your hand on the stone at the base of this hill. It is rough, uneven, and cool, even on a warm afternoon. Now look up. Above you sits a small, compact keep under a grey roof, and the roof does not quite look like other Japanese castle roofs. It looks heavier and duller, almost like slate. That is your first clue that Maruoka Castle is a little different from the castles on postcards.

You are in the old town of Maruoka, now part of Sakai City, a short drive north of central Fukui. This is the Hokuriku region, the strip of Japan that faces the Sea of Japan. Winters here are long and snowy. Cold, wet wind comes in off the water. Keep that weather in mind, because it explains almost everything strange about the building in front of you.

The castle dates to 1576. It was built by Shibata Katsutoyo, the nephew of Shibata Katsuie. Katsuie was one of the leading generals under Oda Nobunaga, the warlord who began the long work of uniting Japan after more than a century of civil war. Katsuie ruled this region from a great castle in what is now Fukui city. Maruoka was a smaller outpost in that network, guarding the northern approaches.

Here is the first surprise. Japan once had hundreds of castles. Most were torn down after the 1870s, when the new Meiji government abolished the old feudal domains. Others burned in fires or in the bombing raids of the Second World War. Today only twelve castles in the whole country keep an original keep from the feudal era. Maruoka is one of those twelve. For a long time it was even promoted as the oldest surviving keep in Japan, although historians still debate that claim.

Now, back to that roof. Look closely at the tiles. They are not fired clay. They are cut from stone — a local volcanic stone called Shakudani stone, quarried in the hills around Fukui. Clay tiles can crack when water soaks into them and freezes. Stone handles the deep snow and hard frosts of this coast much better. The result is a roof of enormous weight, carried by a timber frame that has to be very strong underneath.

The second surprise is in the foundations. Walk around the stone base and notice how irregular it is. The stones are rough, natural shapes, stacked with gaps filled by smaller stones. This style is called nozura-zumi, which roughly means natural-face stacking. It is an older, simpler technique than the smooth, tightly fitted walls you see at later castles. It looks almost casual, but it drains water well and has held for centuries.

That strength was tested in 1948. In June of that year, a powerful earthquake struck the Fukui plain. The city was badly damaged, and many people died. Here at Maruoka, the keep collapsed. It could easily have been lost for good. Instead, the people of the town gathered the original timbers and stones. By 1955 the keep had been reassembled, largely from its own original materials. What you see is an old building that was carefully put back together.

The castle has a gentle nickname: Kasumi-ga-jo, the Castle of Mist. Legend has it that whenever enemies came near, a thick mist rose around the hill and hid the castle from view. In some versions of the story, the mist comes from a giant serpent living in the castle well. Nobody claims this as history. But on a damp spring morning, when low cloud hangs over the paddy fields, the name makes perfect sense.

There is a sadder legend too. According to a popular local tale, the builders struggled to keep one of the stone foundations stable. A poor woman named Oshizu agreed to be buried alive as a human pillar, a sacrifice meant to steady the walls. She asked in return that her son be made a samurai. The story says the promise was not kept. Locals say the rains that fall here each spring are Oshizu's tears. A small memorial near the castle remembers her.

Maruoka is also connected to one of the most famous short letters in Japanese history. Honda Shigetsugu, a hard-edged retainer of Tokugawa Ieyasu, wrote home to his wife from a military camp. His letter is only a few lines long. It says, in essence: a short note — be careful with fire, do not make Osen cry, keep the horses fed. Osen was their young son. That son later became lord of Maruoka. Today the town celebrates the letter with a stone monument and a yearly contest for very short letters to family.

When you go inside the keep, slow down. The interior is plain, dark wood, with thick beams and small windows. The stairs between floors are extraordinarily steep — closer to ladders than staircases. Ropes are fixed alongside them to help you climb. Take your shoes off where asked, and carry them in the bag provided. The wood is smooth and polished from many socks and bare feet.

At the top, look out of the narrow windows. You can see the low roofs of Maruoka town, the flat farmland of the Fukui plain, and on clear days the mountains to the east. The keep is not tall, but the hill gives it a wide view. In spring, the castle grounds fill with cherry trees in bloom. The area is counted among the best cherry blossom spots in Japan, and the trees are lit up at night.

When you step back outside, take one more look at that grey stone roof. Remember that each tile was cut by hand, carried up this hill, and set in place to face the winters of this coast. Then listen for a moment. You may hear crows in the pines, children in the park, the wind moving through the branches. The castle has seen war, earthquake, and rebuilding. Today it simply stands here, quietly, above an ordinary Japanese town.