Prince Shuzo Tahara explained, “These forty-seven men laying dead in the house and in the gardens, besides three others who you may already have learned were killed yesterday, were the slayers of the Imperial Swordsmith Okio and of his entire family. It was necessary to fight them because of their crime. I trust you will think well of us for acting appropriately.”
“Just so,” said the magistrate. Indeed, if everything was as explained, the laws of kataki not only permitted, but required the deed performed. Yet the magistrate was not entirely convinced. He asked, “Where are the bodies of the family you say were murdered?”
Bonze Shindo stepped forward, smiling as had Hidemi, mostly to be disarming. “I took them secretly to a nearby temple yesterday. Their unfortunate deaths will be reported to you later today, as per my instructions.”
“You are a mountain priest,” said the magistrate, seeming vaguely annoyed that strangers from outside his district appeared to be the only ones present. “Who else was involved in the vengeance-taking?”
“A famous warrior!” said Hidemi Hirota, indicating Tomoe. “She is Tomoe Gozen of Heida. This other fellow with his back to us is a ronin named Ich ’yama, who is recently married to Tomoe.”
“I will make a full report,” said the magistrate. “I am sure there will be no problem.”
That would have been the end to it, except for Yoshinake, who had still not turned around. With his back turned rudely to the others, he growled a query to the magistrate:
“Who told you to come here.”
The others looked at him harshly, for Yoshinake’s tone could cause unnecessary trouble. But he did not face them and did not see their disapproval, not that he was likely to be concerned if he had noticed. The magistrate’s reply was equally abrupt:
“My informer’s identify is not your business!” He pointed his pronged jitte at the back of the rude man and said, “You dress nicely for a masterless samurai! Let me see your face so that I can judge if you are a criminal!”
Yoshinake did not turn around.
“Be polite, Ich ’yama,” said Hidemi. The magistrate added harshly,
“Face me and bow, or I will arrest you immediately!
Yoshinake turned slowly. As he did, the magistrate backed away, lowered his jitte, and looked surprised. He fell to his knees at once and said, “I was informed correctly!” He lowered his head and begged, “Forgive my bothersome interrogations, Lord Kiso.”
“Kiso!” said the bonze, equally surprised; but certainly it made sense to him. Hidemi looked puzzled, but Prince Tahara clarified the so-called ronin’s identity for the vassal: “He is Yoshinake.”
In that instant, Yoshinake’s sword licked out like a flame. The marvelous sword of Okio cleaved through the magistrate’s metal hat and divided his face to the chin. Hidemi Hirota took a step forward, shocked by Yoshinake’s grim and unexpected deed. A moment later, Hidemi’s head flew off and Yoshinake turned upon Prince Tahara.
Tahara drew his sword and exclaimed, “Why this? We are friends!”
“Husband!” cried Tomoe, appalled.
“Don’t meddle!” he commanded; and she dared not disobey a husband.
Shuzo Tahara managed to deflect Yoshinake’s attempt to decapitate, but was not quick enough to keep himself from being gutted by the second slash of Yoshinake’s weapon. Finally, Yoshinake looked toward the bonze.
Bonze Shindo had a similar kind of training and knew what to expect from Yoshinake’s sword. The bonze wove a defense, striking with the metal shaku at the head of his staff. He strove to capture the tip of the deadly sword inside one of the shaku’s rings. But Shindo was only a novice priest while Yoshinake was a warrior tested in a hundred battles. After a few moments of keeping the attacker at bay, the ornate, rattling shaku was shorn off its pole. The bonze hopped back, helpless, and cried, “Permission! Permission!” He fell upon his knees in a begging posture.
“Permission for what?” Yoshinake growled.
“I will tell you in a minute!” said the monk, shaking but belligerent. He remained on hands and knees and did not look up. He tried to sound rude, but his life of good-naturedness gave him no skill at it. “Explain yourself to me,” he said, “if there is any respect left in you for the sect that made you so skillful!”
The warrior-in-white held back. He said, “You think you recognize my style, but it is not true that I was a student of the yamahoshi. As a matter of fact I studied with the yamabushi, your rival sect; but that is not why I attack you. Even as a mountain-born youth, I knew that I must seek more notice than the solitary lives of monastic warriors would permit, be they yamahoshi or yamabushi. So I left my prefecture and fought to my present station. I became the Rising Sun General at the center of Naipon’s intrigues. A gentler warrior could not have come so far. It is unfortunate to kill you, but cannot be helped. A year from now I will be in position to snatch more power than other samurai dare imagine. That is because I am close to the Shogun, who trusts no one before me. I have treason in mind, I will tell you; and there must be no indication of it until that time. There can be no witness to my role in the revenge performed for Okio, for it is something the Shogun would not approve, and to learn of it would shake his faith in me. I have liked you, bonze. But you must die.”
Shindo looked up from his posture, then sat back on his knees and folded his arms. “I am not relieved that you say you are fond of me. It seems to be no privilege. Nor am I enthused about your high-blown intentions. Talk is the measure of insincerity! Action is what matters! If you want to kill an insignificant monk, or commit treason against the high Shogun, do not worry about consequences. Only … be certain the action itself is meritorious.”
“I do not seek merit, Shindo, and will not be swayed by your subtle insult. Humanity is essentially benign; there is no sin, no goodness. Age, illness, mishap, death … we are destined to be failures in the end. Human beings and humane feelings are a fleeting impermanence. Nothing we do is important. Our swords are more eternal than ourselves. Doom is all that lasts.” Saying this, Yoshinake raised his sword to strike.
“Husband!” said Tomoe, who could keep obediently silent no longer. “What good is killing Shindo? He is an honorable man and if he promises to say nothing, there is no problem. There is anyway another witness: the woman who informed the magistrate.”
He looked at her. “Woman? So. It must have been that young warrior who challenged you in the street, then slipped away on seeing me. I will consider her your problem. She has forced you to fulfill her desire. Kill her when next she asks to duel!”
Tomoe stared at him in disbelief, trying to think of some way to save Shindo. “You are too wise for this,” she said. “You have slain a lord’s heir, and the favorite vassal of another lord. They will want to know who did this! They will not rest without an answer!”
“They cannot find out,” said Yoshinake. “I will break those three swords of Okio which were carried by Shindo and the two I’ve already killed. Thereby the blame will fall on Uchida Ieoshi, who everyone knows was jealous of the swordsmith. Uchida is smart enough to find some way out of the trouble, perhaps blaming his uncouth hirelings; but he is not smart enough to guess who sent the blame his way.”
“Can my husband be so cruel?” asked Tomoe, surprised at herself for pleading like wives are known to do, surprised at her husband for considering the ruin of three of Okio’s last five swords. Her eyes were sober and her thoughts unclear.
“Do not look at me as though I were a monster!” Yoshinake snapped. “I will pursue my end with strict sincerity, whatever you may feel. Nothing I do is villainy. Humanity itself is the fiend.”
Tomoe lowered her eyes and said softly, “Would that your soul could be as graceful as your body.”
Bonze Shindo interrupted. “I see that you cannot be swayed by my words or Tomoe’s. If you will grant me the permission, then: since you are certain my death is necessary, I would prefer to die by the hand of someone I respect, not by the hand of a fellow who c
an kill friends unhesitantly.”
“You mean Tomoe,” said Kiso Yoshinake. “It is a fair request, since you so abhor my philosophy. Your wish is granted!” Yoshinake sheathed his sword and said to his wife, “Tomoe! Kill him.”
Tomoe wavered. Shindo said to her, “Please grant this favor.” He bowed with forehead to ground.
“As you desire,” said Tomoe, but could not disguise her sorrow. She looked from bonze to Yoshinake and to Shindo once again. She drew her sword and raised it.
“One more thing,” said Shindo calmly, groping for the shaku which Yoshinake had cut from the head of the staff. “If it is no burden, it would be kind of you to return this to my fight-instructor in the yamahoshi retreat. Tell him for me that I apologize for not returning as I promised.”
“I will,” said Tomoe, her eyes filled with tears. The bonze set the shaku down near Tomoe’s feet. Then he bent his head to make his neck accessible. Tomoe took a half-step backward and said, “Human lives are too long,” meaning she would rather not have lived to see this day. Then she brought her sword down swiftly. Shindo’s torso slumped forward. His head with its pill-box hat was attached by the thinnest section of skin. Kiso Yoshinake’s severity softened and he said to his wife, “You are stronger than I guessed! Together, we will someday rule Naipon.”
Tomoe sheathed her sword and bent to take up Shindo’s shaku and placed it in her obi. “I believe you,” she said to her husband. She believed him, but was not certain that she cared.
PART TWO
Into the Hollow Land
The pilgrim traveled with a largish wooden box strapped to her shoulders. She wore a flat-topped hat which hid her face. Her kimono’s hem was folded upward and tucked into her obi, baring her legs, so that she could take long strides. Her sandals were woven of straw. Through her obi was a shortsword.
She entered the valley by the lesser used roads and came to a small cemetery surrounded by forest. None of the towns were nearby, so it was silent but for a few evening birds. Against the graying sky the highest towers of the valley’s fortified castle were silhouetted above the trees. The pilgrim avoided looking at the castle.
At the edge of the cemetery was a house for a groundskeeper to live in. It was plain but not homely, for it was surrounded by pleasantly arranged shrubbery and thickets which made the cemetery, house and forest blend into a harmonious whole. The pilgrim put her burden down at the bottom of the steps which led to the house. She opened the top of the box, revealing the head of some stone carving. With it was a parcel which she removed and tucked under her arm. She also removed a longsword which was kept in there. Then she resealed the box and went up the mossy staircase and called out to the groundskeeper within.
A woman came to the door. It was impossible to guess her age—thirty-five or sixty. She was healthy but only the least attractive. She was dressed in white, like a Shinto priestess; but the scarf which covered her head and neck was saffron, suggesting marginal acceptance of Buddhist doctrine. In this day and age it was rare to find any pure Shintoists. The cemetery itself was a mixture of Shinto graves and Buddhist ones. Doubtlessly the two religions shared the expense of keeping a priestess here; so even if this woman were wholly Shinto in her heart, she must make some obeisance to the powerful Buddhist institutions.
A big white dog stood beside the priestess in the doorway, its tail between its legs and its ears pressed back. The pilgrim bowed from the waist and introduced herself, “I am Tomoe Gozen of Heida. I believe a messenger told you I would come.”
The priestess looked surprised. The dog’s ears perked up, too. “I did not expect to see the famous warrior and wife of a bakufu general in tawdry pilgrim’s clothes.”
Tomoe said, “You will appreciate that it is difficult for someone of my station to go anywhere without a large retinue. I thought it better to travel incognito during my vacation, or life would be as troublesome a coordinating venture as usual; and also my disguise has saved you from the imposition of thirty or forty soldiers and servants, the minimum I could otherwise have brought along.”
“You are right,” said the priestess. “There would be no room for them here. However, there is a growing castle-town around the recently completed Shigeno Castle, where you and a retinue could have been accommodated without problem.”
“As my messenger implied,” said Tomoe, “I do not want the Lady of Shigeno Castle to know of my presence. It is a bad mark on my past that I failed to be a good retainer to her, but ran off and became married instead. I don’t have the strength to see her yet. I could only lose face.”
“You are harsh with yourself,” said the priestess, “but it will be as you desire. Please come into my house and make it your own. My name is Shan On, gardener of this place.”
Tomoe entered, doffing hat and sandals, allowing the dog to sniff her hands and knees. The priestess said,
“My companion’s name is Taro. He seems to like you already, which is rare.”
Tomoe petted the dog vigorously and its tail went like a switch. “I like him, too,” she said. “He looks familiar to me, although I cannot remember ever having seen a white dog before.”
“Perhaps you knew him in a previous life,” said Shan On. “He is fond of the horses of samurai which are sometimes ridden along these back roads. I think he was himself a horse before he was a dog.”
The house was clean and well arranged, although very small. Tomoe looked about, quickly making herself feel comfortable. She said to the priestess, “I have brought a change of clothing.” She held up her bundle. “I would not want to visit the graves of my friends dressed as I am now.”
Shan On smiled. “You would boast to them a little about your good fortune, heh?” Tomoe flushed and returned the smile, admitting, “I guess you are right.” She unwrapped her bundle, which contained a tightly folded pair of silk hakama and other nice garments, as well as some paper spirit-gifts and a pretty bottle of good saké. The priestess brought a shallow, wooden pail of water so that Tomoe could clean and groom herself, for she was dusty from the road. Then she dressed as befits a samurai, the priestess helping to comb out Tomoe’s long hair, binding it back with a tie. When Tomoe looked the part of a general’s wife, the priestess said, “I will prepare a meal for us while you visit with your friends.” Tomoe thanked her and went out into the cemetery. At first she went with long, proud steps; but as she drew closer to a specific monument, her feet began to drag, her head lowered, and she looked sad or ashamed.
The largest monument in the cemetery was one which she had personally helped to raise several years earlier. It was built upon the place where a psychotic samurai named Ushii Yakushiji had been swallowed up by the earth. The other graves surrounding the monument were those of eight thousand samurai killed in the War of Shigeno Valley, of which only Tomoe and one other survived.
Buried directly beneath the monument was Ushii’s victim and childhood friend Madoka Kawayama. It was considered that they were buried together, even though Ushii’s body went far deeper into the ground and had never been recovered.
In front of the monument there were two narrow posts standing upright, the names of the luckless men printed thereon. Tomoe got down on her knees between these two posts, faced the monument, set her longsword at her side, and bowed. When she raised her head, she said,
“Ushii, Madoka, forgive my not coming to see you for so long. It has been more than a year since I left Shigeno Valley and circumstances have not allowed me to return until just now.” She told them of her recent adventures, including the encounter with Old Uncle Tengu, the death of her father, the plight of the Strolling Nun who was possessed by evil Naruka, the vengeance taken for the swordsmith Okio, and her marriage to Kiso Yoshinake. She unburdened herself as she rarely dared with living folk. “That was almost a year ago,” said Tomoe, “and although it began ill-omened, the marriage has been good. Yoshinake and I have fought seven large battles for the Shogun, repressing rival lords, and increasing the stability of the bakufu, Kama
kura’s office of the military. It has been one of the happier times of my life. I have rarely been more useful to our country and to a lord. My other time of happiness was when Lord Shojiro Shigeno lived, when the two of you lived, and together with Goro Maki we four protected Lord Shigeno’s estates. When tragedies separated us, I never thought to feel that closeness and importance again.” Her eyes were filled with tears at these remembrances, but she stoutly wiped them away and looked severe, adding in the quietest possible voice, “I will admit to you, my friends, that all this excellent service for the Shogun leads eventually to treason. My husband has sworn many of the conquered lords to his service. He hopes they will side with him when he turns against the Shogun. Even if the other lords consider their first duty to the bakufu, or try to use the inevitable confusion to grab power for themselves, Yoshinake will be secure. We have allies in the mountain provinces, especially among the yamabushi who have been troublesome to the Shogun but are secretly Yoshinake’s friends. He seeks a treaty between the yamabushi and their rivals, the yamahoshi. If these two sects of martial priests can be united in service to the Knight of Kiso, nothing can keep us from occupying Imperial Kyoto and saving the Mikado from forced seclusion. It is only through Amaterasu’s godchild that the Shogun legitimizes his regency; but the Mikado resents being a figurehead and will reward whoever frees him from virtual imprisonment.
“I hope the two of you appreciate this plan and do not think ill of the conspiracy. As for my own feelings about it, I obey my husband and am glad of every victory we have. But you would be surprised, Ushii, Madoka … you would be surprised how little he masters me. See this crest?” She pointed to the seal printed on each shoulder of her garment. The design was of three comma-shapes arranged in a circle. “This is not Yoshinake’s family seal. It is my personal seal, for he says I am his equal and not his subject. ‘Tomoe’ means ‘comma,’ so it is an appropriate symbol for me. He lets me be independent, knowing I am devoted to his cause.
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