Genpei

by Kara Dalkey

  But all he learned this morning was that a “certain visitor” was to be expected and allowed to see Nijō, by permission of the Minister of the Right.

  Then it cannot be anyone of consequence, thought Nijō.

  Hours passed, and then at last there came the sound of hushed women’s voices outside his door. For a moment, Nijō thought that Nobuyori had sent him more dancing girls to entertain him. Nijō felt quite uninterested in such delights.

  And then the door slid aside and she entered. Nijō felt his breath catch in his throat. A stray beam of sunlight illuminated the wall behind her just before the shōji slid shut again. The Imperial Consort Yoshiko bowed low, and said, “My great lord, how fare you? I regret that only now have I again been permitted to be with you.”

  Nijō could hardly speak—as was often the case when he was in her presence, ever since he had met her. Yoshiko was no giggling dancing girl overawed to be in an Emperor’s presence. For Yoshiko had been married to an Emperor before, Nijō’s uncle. Her mature, beautiful face was composed with elegance, a mask of exquisite sorrow. How well you mirror the feelings of my heart, Nijō thought. In that moment, a small voice within noted that had he another kingdom, he might gladly exchange it for her as well.

  Yoshiko glanced at the spilled food, then looked back at Nijō. “Have you eaten today, my liege?” she asked carefully.

  “My only sustenance this day is the sight of you,” Nijō answered. “And on that I might feed forever.”

  A very slight smile appeared on her lips, and she gracefully walked on her knees over beside him. Her hands caressed his arm and, he noted, transferred some rice cakes from her sleeve into his. “Then, I pray you, look long and feed well.”

  “I will. How have you been, my lady?”

  “Sad for not being with you.” Yoshiko placed her cheek against his. With her lips near his ear, she whispered, “Show no sign. But your father and aunt are held prisoner in the Single-Copy Library.”

  Nijō’s hands gripped Yoshiko’s arms tightly, and he shut his eyes. Nonetheless tears leaked onto his cheeks. “How can I bear this? How can I live with myself?” he moaned softly.

  “You must. For the sake of your people. There is hope.”

  “What hope can there be?”

  “Hold me close, for I have ached for the embrace of your arms, my lord.”

  Nijō gladly did so, pressing her as close to him as their many layers of garments would permit. He was momentarily lost in the perfume of her hair.

  “The Lord of the Taira has returned to Rokuhara,” she whispered into his neck.

  “Ah!” he moaned. Then, understanding the game, he traced the curve of her jaw with his nose, and whispered, “So, there will be battle in the city again?”

  “Perhaps.” Yoshiko sighed. She began to loosen the layers of her kimonos around her neck and breasts.

  Nijō eagerly slid his hand under her layers of soft, warm silk to caress the soft, warm skin beneath. “Will he attack the palace?” He breathed into her hair.

  Yoshiko gently removed his hand and placed it against her cheek. “It would be thought unwise to move so quickly and boldly. Too much stands in the way.”

  “Then for what can I hope?” asked Nijō, gazing into her dark, gold-flecked eyes.

  “Why, release, my lord, of course.”

  “And … how will this come about?”

  “If you will let a lowly woman guide you, my liege, I have been informed of a plan that I think you will find most pleasing.”

  Indeed, for some hours after, Nijō allowed himself the first pleasure he had felt in a very long time.

  And so it came to pass, on the evening of the Twenty-sixth Day of the Twelfth Month, an Imperial ladies’ ox-carriage left the Imperial Compound via the Jōtōmon, the northeasternmost gate. It was accompanied by Korekata, the Commissioner of Police, who wore only informal dress and rode with a casual air.

  The guards at the gate, unnerved by waiting for a Taira attack, regarded the carriage suspiciously. “What is this? Who are these people and where are they going at this hour?” the guards demanded.

  “It is the Imperial Consort and her ladies-in-waiting,” said Korekata. “She has learned that a cousin is deathly ill, and she wishes to see her. I am Commissioner of Police Korekata, and as the streets have been safe these many nights, I saw no problem with granting her request.”

  “If you will pardon us, Lord Commissioner, we will verify your word for ourselves.” One of the guards lifted up the blind of the carriage window with the tip of his bow and, holding up his torch, looked into the carriage.

  There he saw four stunningly beautiful noble ladies, their hair done up in elaborate pins and face powder elegantly applied, dressed in their finest silk brocade robes. The ladies demurely hid the lower half of their faces behind their sleeves.

  “What is the meaning of this rude intrusion?” the Imperial Consort demanded. “My cousin is ill! She could be passing away this very moment. Let us continue our journey at once.”

  “Your pardon, ladies,” said the guard, embarrassed, and he immediately lowered the blind. He waved Korekata and the ox-driver on.

  The ox-driver whipped the animals until they trotted down the thoroughfare and turned a corner. Three ladies and the young Emperor Nijō lowered their sleeves from their faces with a relieved sigh.

  “It worked,” Nijō said, with amazement. His foot nudged the scabbard of the Sacred Sword Kusanagi, hidden on the floor of the carriage. The ladies sitting in the carriage across from him had stolen the sword from Nobuyori’s bedroom under their voluminous kimonos after getting the Great Commander quite drunk and distracted.

  “People see what they expect to see, my lord,” said Yoshiko. “And, you know, you do make a most beautiful woman. The way that guard gazed at you, I think he was falling in love.”

  Nijō made a face at her, and the other ladies giggled.

  Two streets later, the carriage was stopped again. Nijō peered out through the curtains and saw three hundred mounted warriors. “What is this?”

  “Fear not, my lord,” said Yoshiko. “This is our escort.”

  Then Nijō saw the butterfly crest on the helmet of the foremost rider. “Ah. The Taira.”

  As one, the three hundred warriors silently dismounted from their horses. They knelt in the street and bowed low to the carriage. Nijō felt quite moved by this, and understood how his grandfather Toba could have come to trust the Taira so.

  The warriors got back on their horses and surrounded the carriage, guarding it as one would the most precious jewel. Nijō ducked his head back into the carriage as it again moved forward.

  “Did you see the tall one there?” asked Yoshiko. “That is Shigemori, Kiyomori’s son. It is said he is the finest Taira there has ever been. Perhaps you should flirt with him.”

  “Hush,” said Nijō, starting to blush, “or I shall be jealous.”

  Before long, the ox-carriage bump-bumped over the threshold beam of a manor gate. The carriage stopped, and the back door was flung open. Framed in the doorway was a powerful-looking, stocky, middle-aged man who Nijō realized could only be Lord Kiyomori himself.

  “Welcome, Most Revered Majesty!” Kiyomori declared, bowing low. “Welcome to Rokuhara.”

  Green Robes

  An hour later, Retired Emperor Go-Shirakawa and his sister were startled by the sliding aside of first the bolt and then the door itself of the Single-Copy Library. Kneeling in the doorway, smiling, were two men. One of them was the Archivist Lesser Counselor of the Right, Nariyori. In his arms was a lacquered wood chest.

  He bowed, and said, “You have asked that I bring you news, my ruler, and the news I bring tonight is of the best and most amazing sort. The world has been thrown into confusion, and the Emperor, your son, has fled the palace to Rokuhara. I respectfully suggest that you flee somewhere as well.”

  Go-Shirakawa smiled. “You are truly sent from the gods, good archivist. But is escape possible?”

 
; “This man,” said Nariyori, indicating the fellow beside him, “is Taira no Yasuyori. He is a warrior of much courage and has offered to stay here in your place, acting as you do, so as to allay suspicion. I have brought in this chest the green robes of a Sixth Rank courtier. No one would expect to see a former Emperor in such a guise. And for you, my lady, I have brought the poorer kimonos of a waiting woman. If you both do not mind wearing such lowly apparel, we can ease your escape.”

  Go-Shirakawa smiled. “May the Amida bless you both. I will certainly not mind stepping below the clouds for a time.”

  “Nor I,” said Jōsaimon’in.

  And so the Retired Emperor put on the green overrobes. His sister, Jōsaimon’in, went with the archivist to mingle with the court servingwomen.

  Go-Shirakawa slipped out of the library with the intention of making his way to the palace stables. But to do so he had to cross nearly the entire Imperial Compound, and just ahead of him was the Imperial residence itself. Numerous black-robed men of First Rank were gathered just outside the Kenshu Gate of the residence. Go-Shirakawa lowered his head and hurried by them, meanwhile overhearing some of their conversation:

  “—Dead drunk again. They have tried to rouse him, but it is no good.”

  “Well, I do not want to be the one to give him the news in the morning. He will be furious!”

  “What will it matter now? It is clear his power is gone. There is nothing to be done about it. Let him rave all he likes.”

  Go-Shirakawa was nearly past them when one of the nobles called out, “You, there. Green robes. Who are you, and what are you doing?” The Retired Emperor recognized the voice as being that of Middle Counselor Narichika.

  Adopting a deferential stance and more quavering voice, which was not difficult in his situation, Go-Shirakawa said, “Oh. Your pardon, most noble lords. I am no one of importance. I have been working late in the Secretaries Office, and I heard there was some commotion.”

  “This is no matter for you,” said Narichika. “Go back to your offices.”

  “If I may, noble lords,” Go-Shirakawa said, keeping his head low, “I was on my way to deliver a request from a lady in the Empress’s Household to the Bureau of Medicine. She is having … woman’s troubles. You understand.”

  Narichika waved his fan impatiently. “Go on, go on. But tell no one else of any commotion here tonight. Nothing of importance is happening, do you understand?”

  “I understand perfectly, my lord. Nothing of importance.”

  Narichika came closer. “You look familiar. Have I seen you before?”

  Go-Shirakawa tried to look even more humble than before. “Oh, quite possibly, most noble lord. I am on the palace grounds a great deal and often deliver papers requiring signature to the Central Affairs Ministry.”

  “That must be it, then. Be on your way.”

  Gladly, Go-Shirakawa bowed low and hurried off. The Bureau of Medicine was right beside the Imperial stables, and so his direction, he knew, should not give suspicion. How true it is that men see only what they expect to, he marveled. Narichika has indeed seen me many times, back when I wore vermilion robes and sat upon the throne.

  Go-Shirakawa had no further interruptions before he reached the palace stables. There he found a horsegroom, and he said, “I wish to have a horse brought to me.”

  “Begging your pardon, my lord,” said the stable hand, “but most of the horses have been taken by Lord Yoshitomo and his men for defense of the palace. And it may not be safe to leave the palace at this time.”

  Go-Shirakawa recognized the young man as one who had served as an Imperial page when Go-Shirakawa was Emperor. Poor fellow, how you have come down in the world. Moving more into the glare of the torchlight, Go-Shirakawa decided to reveal himself. “My good fellow, it would not be safe for me to stay.”

  The groom gasped and bowed low. “My… my liege, my former Majesty!”

  “Shhh. Quietly. Will you get me a horse and help me escape?”

  “Of course! I will bring you the best that is left.” The groom quickly brought out a horse of fine breeding that was calmer than the preferred warhorse. “This is Kazan, who was left behind because of his age, but he will serve you well, Majesty. All we have left are saddles and tack needing repair.”

  “I will be content with the most serviceable of those. It will only aid my disguise.”

  So the horse was fitted with a cracked saddle whose silver embellishments were tarnished and a bridle missing its bright tassels. The groom insisted on accompanying Go-Shirakawa. “I may be branded a traitor if I stay and my service to you is discovered. I would much rather continue to serve you than that toad Nobuyori.”

  Go-Shirakawa was again grateful for the assistance, a feeling that was new to him in these strange days. The groom said, “Yoshitomo and his men are gathered at the southern gates awaiting a Taira attack. We will have an easier departure if we leave by a north gate.”

  Go-Shirakawa allowed the servant to guide him to the Jōsai Gate at the northwest corner of the Imperial Compound. To their astonishment, no guards were there. No horsemen or lancemen at all. “This is a sign of the gods,” said Go-Shirakawa, “that I am permitted to escape.” He dismounted his horse and made obeisance toward the Kitano Shrine, to the north, in acknowledgment of this gift. Then he remounted his horse and continued on.

  A heavy snow began to fall as they made their way toward the Temple of Ninna-Ji, where one of Go-Shirakawa’s brothers, Kakushō, an Imperial prince himself, was the abbot. The snow obscured the houses and the street, and the Retired Emperor felt isolated and alone. He made many vows to the gods and to himself: to not be so careless of government; to be more watchful of those striving for power beneath him; to never again believe that all was well; to trust no one who might be a threat to the country.

  Alas, Nijō my son has proven himself too weak to govern. He let Nobuyori lead him as this servant leads my horse. I dare not permit him to rule—it would bring disaster. Yet, I cannot remove him from the throne just now. But if the gods permit, I will do all I can to keep my hold on power and see that the country is governed securely.

  Go-Shirakawa wished he had another noble with him, one with whom he might discuss these things. But all he had were his horse, one servant, and the falling snow.

  He composed a poem in his mind:

  What sort of blossom grows from sorrow?

  One knows when it bears fruit within oneself.

  Kusanagi

  There was no winter’s isolation in the Rokuhara mansion that night. Instead, the compound bustled as if it were New Year, all the lamps and candles blazing, people bustling about trying to make proper accommodations for their new guest, the Emperor.

  Lord Kiyomori played the proud host, ensuring that the kitchens were busy, for he’d heard that the Emperor had not been fed well for many days. One whole wing of the mansion was set aside for the Imperial entourage, and Kiyomori himself assigned which of his servants would wait upon the Emperor.

  In a small, darkened side chamber in the South Wing, which had been given to the Imperial entourage, Kiyomori had just received the inventory of the Emperor’s needs from one servant and sent another servant to arrange their acquisition, when he turned around—and stopped. There, lying humbly on a lacquered chest, was Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi, the Sacred Sword itself.

  Kiyomori was profoundly aware that at this moment he was alone, and no servant was likely to enter again for some minutes, if not longer.

  Kiyomori knelt before the sword and stared at it. There it was, Grass-cutter, Dragon-slayer, the very symbol of the Empire itself, divine seal of the right to rule, a sword out of legend. Unlike the slim, curved tachi blades Kiyomori and his sons wore into battle, Kusanagi was a wide, straight, doubled-edged sword, of the sort carried in the great Empire of Chang’an. It lay within a wooden scabbard, inlaid with gold and silver, wrapped in fish skin. Appropriate, Kiyomori thought, for a sword made by the Dragon King of the Sea.

  Legend said t
he sword was as old as the Empire itself, and to Kiyomori’s eyes it looked as ancient as the Earth. He could easily believe it had once lain in the tail of a seven-headed dragon. Kusanagi was said to be able to control all the winds of the Heavens if wielded correctly by the proper ruler of Nihon.

  And yet I must someday, somehow, return it to the Dragon King, Kiyomori thought, sadly. It occurred to him that an opportunity such as this one might not occur again. But what can I do? It is too large to hide beneath my clothing. Should I summon Tokiko and have her steal it? When its absence is noticed, should I claim that a Minomoto spy stole it? That would give pretext to destroy that rival clan for good.

  But should the ruse be discovered, Kiyomori and the Taira would be denounced as thieves, as evil as Nobuyori. What would become of the great Taira destiny then? Things were unsettled enough as it was, and the young Emperor needed the sword to show he was the rightful one to occupy the Jeweled Throne. And we Taira need the trust of the young Emperor.

  Kiyomori wavered, knowing he might only have a little time in which to choose. I cannot yet leave the capital with matters as they are. Even if I could steal the sword, when could I make my way to the sea to return it? Surely my theft would be discovered before I could grant Ryujin’s request.

  And would theft not be a shameful way to treat Kusanagi? To simply throw it into the sea, as it was said the Shin-In had done with his sutra scrolls? Would it not be better to wait for a better time and return it to Ryujin with full ceremony? Perhaps my grandson could do it himself upon his coming-of-age day. Though a boy is often given a sword on that day, how more gracious that a young Emperor should give one to the Dragon King. Perhaps the grand shrine at Miyajima will be finished by then.