by Kara Dalkey
The shōji slid open and Shinzei emerged again. He knelt before Yoshitomo, and said, “We have considered your advice, Yoshitomo-san, and for the most part we think it wise. We Who Dwell Above The Clouds are untutored in war, and so it is natural that matters of strategy fall to you. It is said that he who is first shall control, he who is last shall be controlled; therefore your plan to attack at once, tonight, is appropriate.”
Yoshitomo acknowledged this with a grunt and nod of the head.
“However,” Shinzei continued, “matters of diplomacy are our concern. His Majesty feels that any heartfelt show of support is of great worth in these troubled times, and therefore should be given the greatest respect. For that reason, His Majesty insists that Lord Kiyomori and the Ise Taira will join the Seiwa Minomoto in the attack upon Shirakawa Palace tonight. It is His Majesty’s hope that this show of power will crush the rebellion all the more swiftly and show how foolish it is for any rebel to defy the Imperial will.”
Yoshitomo nodded once. “It shall be as His Majesty commands, then.”
The ghost of a smile appeared on Shinzei’s face again. “His Majesty is aware that there is some … rivalry between the Taira and the Minomoto. I would suggest you forget your concerns. If your plan succeeds, as we have every expectation that it will, I can assure you that His Majesty will be generous in his gratitude and that promotions for you and yours are sure to follow. I suspect you will even receive the privilege of entry into the Imperial Presence.”
Yoshitomo gazed toward the open shōji. “As you may know, my lord Shinzei, we warriors must expect to die in any given battle, for each man’s luck gives out sometime or other. For all I know, this may be the last day of my life. What good is privilege to come, if I do not live to see it? Would it not be better to see a thing now and have it to remember as I leave this world?” With that, Yoshitomo abruptly stood and strode to the open shōji.
Shinzei sputtered behind him, “But, but, but … my good general, you cannot, you mustn’t—” but he did not act fast enough to stop Yoshitomo.
Yoshitomo stepped across the threshold into the Great Meeting Room. Sudden, shocked silence fell among the black-robed nobles gathered there. Yoshitomo looked past them and saw the Imperial dais, ringed with gauze curtains, a golden guardian lion standing, one paw raised, at each corner. On the wall beside the dais hung the jade Sacred Jewel, the round Sacred Mirror, and the Sacred Sword, Kusanagi. Within the gauze curtains of the dais, Yoshitomo caught a glimpse of a man in vermilion robes wearing a tall black hat and an astonished expression.
Yoshitomo fell to his knees and did obeisance to the dais. “Forgive me, Most August Imperial Majesty,” he said, pressing his face to the floorboards, “but I wished to see a bit of Heaven Upon the Earth before I see the Heaven after Life.”
The silence went on a long moment more, and then he heard gentle laughter coming from the dais. Laughter caught, then, among the nobles as fire catches from house to house. Yoshitomo felt safe to sit up, his face only somewhat red from embarrassment.
“You are impetuous, Yoshitomo-san,” said Emperor Go-Shirakawa. “Yet we hope that this bodes well for tonight’s battle. Very well. Look your fill. And whether you live or die this day, keep it as a bright memory for the rest of your life.”
“I will, Great Majesty,” said Yoshitomo, bowing again. “I will.”
The Whistling Arrow
At the Hour of the Tiger, the hour before dawn, two armies set out from East Sanjō for Shirakawa Palace; one under the command of Minomoto Yoshitomo, the other led by the Lord of Aki, Taira Kiyomori. Each were followed by nearly two hundred mounted warriors and their retainers.
Kiyomori breathed in the crisp winter air, felt it cold and sharp in his nostrils like the edge of a knife. The red light of the torches carried by his men glimmered off the snow and ice on the street. His blood quickened with the thought of battle. It had been some years since he had ridden at the head of an army. He had forgotten how keen it made the senses, much like the night he had visited his first woman, long ago. His hands gripped the reins of his horse tighter as the susurrus of the hooves on the paving stones soothed him like the waves on the shores of Ise.
Kiyomori had dressed with meticulous care in armor laced with red braid over a robe of oyster-colored silk, and his helmet bore the image of the butterfly, the Taira crest. He sat in a polished red-and-black lacquer saddle upon a spirited, well-groomed copper-bay horse. While a warrior’s courage in fighting was, by nature, a necessity, it was no less required to be impressive in appearance. A warrior who was careless in dress might be careless in battle. And Kiyomori knew from his father’s sad experience that one’s looks played a major part in a man’s reputation.
Even though he had been clan head now for three years, Kiyomori still had a need to prove himself. His disapproving uncle, Tadamasa, had now become his adversary, siding with the Shin-In. In a way, Kiyomori could not blame him. Gambling was a traditional vice of warriors, and to join an Imperial rebellion was the greatest gamble of all. If the usuper wins, Tadamasa will have greater power than he has ever known and can supplant me easily. Probably have me and my family executed. If he loses, he loses his life, which he counts of little value without power.
Beside Kiyomori rode his first son and heir, Shigemori, now eighteen years of age. The young man rode on a light bay horse and wore armor braided in water-plantain design with green cord over a red brocade robe. On his helmet were silver studs in the shape of stars, and he held a bow double-banded with rattan.
Shigemori’s eyes were wide with excitement and, no doubt, a little fear. Kiyomori gazed at his son’s eager face and felt both admiration and sorrow. Kiyomori still fondly remembered the boy’s trouser ceremony, and the later cap ceremony at which Shigemori received his adult name—could they have been so long ago? Shigemori had learned well from Tokiko’s instruction, and he was an accomplished flutist and poet, well-spoken and widely admired in noble circles. He had already achieved the appointment of Junior Vice Minister of Central Affairs. And now he was a strapping young warrior facing his first major battle with the eagerness of a bridegroom.
What a fine Taira he will be, Kiyomori thought. He silently sent a prayer to the clan kami. Bring my son courage and glory this night. Let him kill many of the enemy. But if he should fall tonight, may he fall with honor and not bring shame upon our clan.
“Father,” said Shigemori, “I have heard it said among the other men that the Shin-In has a demon fighting for him, a creature named Tametomo who is taller than any normal man. His arms are longer and stronger, too, and he can shoot an arrow through anything!”
Kiyomori chuckled. “It is common, my son, for tall tales to be spread to the enemy to frighten them. I expect the warriors we will face will be no more supernatural than we are.”
“But what if it is true?” Shigemori persisted. “Think what glory there might be in bringing down a giant or a demon, something greater than an ordinary man?”
“It is no easy thing to defeat even an ordinary man, and these Minomoto are well-trained Eastern warriors, my son. Do not discount them merely because they are flesh and blood and bone. Be mindful of their skill, and you are more likely to survive and win. Be content with human opponents. There should be glory enough for you in that.”
Two riders, a man and a boy, from the group of warriors ahead slowed their horses to ride beside them. Kiyomori saw from the torchlight reflected off the man’s helmet crest, a polished brass crescent, that it was General Minomoto Yoritomo himself. “Did I hear you speaking of Minomoto no Tametomo? I can tell you more about him, for he is my youngest brother. He is only eighteen or nineteen, your age I believe, young Taira. He was always a rough and unruly boy, but I doubt he has become a demon.”
Shigemori ducked his head. “I was merely mentioning rumors I had heard, Lord General. I meant no offense to your family.”
“A well-spoken boy,” Yoshimoto said to Kiyomori.
“I am proud of him,” sai
d Kiyomori.
“This is my eldest,” Yoshitomo said, indicating the boy riding a gray horse beside him. “He is Akugenda Yoshihira, and is just fifteen. This is his first battle.”
The boy leaned forward over his saddle to peer around his father at Shigemori. “I’m going to take more heads than you,” he taunted.
“We shall see about that,” replied Shigemori.
The two generals laughed.
“A spirited lad,” said Kiyomori. “But how will he feel if the heads he takes are those of his grandfather and his uncles?”
Yoshitomo’s face hardened into a scowling mask. “A warrior does what he must. I believe you also have an uncle who serves the Shin-In, do you not?” He kicked his horse and pulled on the reins of his son’s mount, and they cantered ahead to rejoin the men farther ahead.
“Father,” asked Shigemori softy, “should you have said such a thing? Is it wise to antagonize a man we must fight beside?”
“Though the battle may be paramount,” said Kiyomori, “do not forget the war. Yoshitomo is our ally, but he is not our friend. If I unsettle him, perhaps he will not fight so well in the encounter to come.”
Shigemori turned in his saddle wearing a bewildered glare. “Of what possible use is that to us?”
Kiyomori sighed. “Then we Taira will make better account of ourselves, by comparison, and receive more of the credit for the victory, and therefore more of the honors to follow. That is how things are done.”
“Is it? It seems so … dishonorable.”
“Do you think the Fujiwara achieved their power by following the Twelve Precepts to the letter? Your mother may have taught you philosophy, but I see she has taught you little of politics.”
“I think I am glad of it.”
“Oh, no, my son, politics is the most important study there is. You are my heir and will be Chief of the Taira yourself someday. You must remember this, and take heed.”
“Yes, Father,” Shigemori agreed, reluctantly.
General Yoshitomo was seething from Kiyomori’s rudeness when his son Akugenda Yoshihira distracted him with a question. “What is going to happen, Father? When does the battle begin?”
“Well, if this were an ordinary battle in the East, on an open field, my son, I could tell you easily. But this will be in a city, and, therefore, it is harder to predict. Normally, proper armies will settle beforehand on a time and place to fight. But this must be a surprise attack at night, and the rebels should not be expecting us. Then, to announce the beginning of battle one side or the other will fire the whistling arrows—it sends quite a thrill through your blood, I can assure you, when you hear hundreds of them humming through the air. But if we are fortunate, the enemy will not have time for whistling arrows, and we do not intend to announce ourselves.
“After that, both sides send flights of ordinary arrows into the enemy, to kill as many as possible before closing distance. It is to be hoped that tonight we will be the only side to fire our bows. Once the sides have ridden close to one another, some warriors may call out their name and where they come from in hopes of finding a warrior of equal quality with whom to fight. There are many Minomoto full of pride serving the Shin-In, and they may do this calling-out during the battle. Should someone challenge you in this way, remember how I have instructed you. Use your sword, but do not expect to kill a man from horseback. Your best chance is to knock your opponent off his horse and then stab him while he is on the ground.”
“And then cut off his head?” asked Akugenda Yoshihira eagerly.
“Yes, my son. Then cut off his head,” Yoshitomo patiently replied. He had often wondered why the omen at the Hachiman Shrine had been directed toward his youngest son and not this one, his eldest. Akugenda Yoshihira was so impetuous, Yoshitomo could easily imagine him as needing careful guidance to avoid recklessness and indulgence in darker passions. But the gods surely had their own plans for him. “Remember, however, if you should be mortally wounded, try to have one of our own take your head first, so that you will not dishonor us.”
“I will remember,” said Akugenda Yoshihira. “And … if it should be my uncle or grandfather that I defeat? What then?”
Yoshitomo sighed. “In that unlikely circumstance, you must do a clean cut and permit no suffering. Show no mercy beyond that, however, for they are rebels against the Imperial Throne.”
“Is that what you will do, Father, if you meet them?”
Yoshitomo closed his eyes. “If I must, I will.”
The army of mounted warriors turned down Nijō Street, riding eastward toward the Shirakawa Palace. Lord Kiyomori suddenly stopped his horse.
“Father, what is it?” asked Shigemori.
“I have had a thought.” Kiyomori picked one of his men to be a messenger and told him, “Ride forward to General Yoshitomo and tell him this. Before we left Sanjō Palace, one of the Yin-Yang Office prognosticators informed me that the kami Konjin sits in the east today, and it would be dangerous to shoot arrows into the morning sun. Therefore, to ensure victory, I should consider that direction taboo. Tell Yoshitomo I will be choosing a different direction by which to approach the enemy. Go.”
The messenger bowed in his saddle and rode off to catch up to Yoshitomo’s forces.
“Is this more … politics, Father?” asked Shigemori.
“Strategy,” replied Kiyomori. “If we divide our attack, the Shin-In’s men must divide their defense.”
“But with our forces separated, there will be fewer to aid General Yoshitomo should he face strong opposition.”
“Would there?” said Kiyomori with a slight smile. “Well, then there will be all the more glory for him should he be victorious. We are doing him a favor, neh?” He gestured to the riders behind to follow him, and Kiyomori turned his horse south. He led his warriors south for a block, then east very briefly, then rode across the bed of an ornamental stream before turning north again. All along their route, those merchants and administrators who had risen early to do their business saw the two hundred armored horsemen riding by and ran back to their homes. Commerce and government in Heian Kyō would be somewhat delayed that day.
The Taira rode northward along the east bank of the ornamental stream. A mist rose from the surface of the water, almost glowing in the predawn light. It wreathed the shaped pines and dead reeds that lined the stream bank. Though he would have expected the sky to be getting lighter, Kiyomori sensed an increasing darkness descending upon them as they came to where the stream ran under the Shirakawa Palace wall. A small iron-barred gate had been placed there, so no scouts could wriggle in and cause havoc from within.
Kiyomori led his men along the wall to the southeast gate of Shirakawa Palace. Dark figures lurked behind the tall wood lintel of the gate, lit from behind by lanterns and torches. The accoutrements of their helmets and armor made them appear more demonlike than human. It was impossible to tell of what clan they were or how many. Kiyomori sent a vanguard of fifty of his riders forward to within a few yards of the gate.
The first of these men called out, “You who watch the gate, identify yourselves! We are warriors who serve the Lord of Aki, Taira Kiyomori. We are residents of Ise and vassals of the Kammu Taira. We come in the name of the true and just Emperor, Go-Shirakawa. Be warned, we will deal harshly with any who support the usurper!”
Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but Kiyomori thought he saw a dark, unnatural smoke billow from the courtyard behind the wall. Lit from within and below by fire, the smoke had an orange-red glow not unlike the paintings of the fires of Hell. At first Kiyomori thought Yoshitomo might have set fire to the palace as part of his attack, but there was no sound of fighting, and the smoke did not smell of burning wood.
A shadowy figure emerged from the smoke to stand atop the palace wall, a figure taller than a normal human, with long arms and stooped posture. It spoke with a snarling voice that, indeed, sounded more demon than man. “So, it is Lord Kiyomori who leads you, eh? Hah. I have heard much of him. A pr
oud pretender to honors he has not earned. A would-be noble who thinks wearing tall shoes will place his head Above The Clouds. One who hopes the tail of the Dragon King will sweep him into the arms of the Imperial Court.
“I am Chinzei Hachiro Tametomo of the Seiwa Genji, myself only nine generations from the Heavenly Throne. And you dare to call yourselves Kammu Taira,” the creature at the gate continued to growl, “trying to make much of your Imperial descent. Hah. You Taira have degenerated much in the eleven generations since your ancestors dwelt in the Court of Abundant Pleasures. Begone, all of you. None of you, especially not that poser Kiyomori, is a worthy opponent for me.”
Kiyomori felt his blood run cold with rage at the insults. Yet he also felt a shudder of fear. Whoever this was who barred the gate knew that Kiyomori was guided by supernatural forces. How was that possible unless … the rumors were true and the Shin-In had supernatural help as well? Legends said there were ways a man might be changed into a demon. What if this youngest son of the Minomoto had, in fact, become an oni?
The Dragon King had offered Kiyomori his protection, but this battle was nowhere near the sea, Ryujin’s domain. While Kiyomori had learned much of the arts of warfare, he knew nothing useful about what to do if faced with demons.
One of the vanguard nudged his horse slightly ahead of the others, and he called out to the gate, “I am Ito Kagetsuna of Furuichi. Perhaps you have heard of me. We once served under the same commander, years ago.”
“Kagetsuna!” the demon replied. “Of course I have heard of you. You served my former lord well. Step aside! I’ve no quarrel with you.”
“That cannot be, Hachiro-san. Your current lord has defied the Emperor. I am now Vice Commander in Chief of the Imperial forces, and, therefore, I now face you as your enemy. So though I have no particular claim to renown, other than having once captured one of the worst bandit lords of Ise, I challenge you. Let us see whether an arrow shot by a lowly fellow such as I is worthy of striking you.” With that, he drew his bow to the full and let an arrow fly. But even in the uneven torchlight, it was clear that he missed.