Genpei

by Kara Dalkey

  “Is that it?” she said, tilting her head. “Or does a sweetness beyond dreams await? No matter. The warning I must give is not of a domestic sort.”

  “We must not speak of the sword here!”

  “Not that either, though I am heartened that you still remember your promise. It is this matter of the palace going unoccupied through the New Year.”

  “What is that to us?”

  Tokiko stared at him as if he had gone mad. “It may be everything, husband. No one is protecting the Imperial palace at a time when demons and evil spirits run free. No one is giving His Majesty the Medicinal Offerings to keep him in good health. His Majesty is not performing the Worship Rite prayers before the Sacred Mirror, to keep the country in harmony.”

  “There are practical reasons for all of this.”

  “Yes, so it is said. But now is not a time for complacency. The Minomoto general and his sons are still at large. It benefits the wise man to be cautious and remain vigilant.”

  Kiyomori sighed. “All is being done that need be done. What matter that we pause to take a little pleasure in life?”

  Tokiko turned her face away. “My father thought you a man of great foresight. I regret that his choice of heroes may have been mistaken.”

  Kiyomori felt himself flush with anger. “If you are so disappointed in me, why do you stay? Why don’t you return to the sea and your father’s kingdom?”

  Tokiko gazed back at him, her eyes cold. “I cannot. I swore an oath to save you sorry mortals from your doom—though I am beginning to think my efforts are in vain.”

  “Perhaps your father should have sent a man to become a hero among us, then, instead of a woman who can only fight with her tongue.”

  “My father has no sons,” Tokiko hissed. “Only daughters. Perhaps my father hoped my loins might produce the hero you want.”

  Kiyomori gazed back over his shoulder at his sons. “Shigemori?”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps our grandson yet to be. Who can say? But hear me, husband. Now is not a time to rest from care. The battle is over, but the war is not. I beg you once more, be vigilant!”

  His patience at an end, Kiyomori stood. “Believe me, I do not forget your words of warning. They follow me day and night. But your habit of seeing every flaw in a silver mirror is tiresome, woman. We have won. The Emperor is safe. The Taira are ascendant. Your father and all the kami look after us. We need no longer start at the chirp of every cricket or imagine that the rain on the roof is a rain of arrows. Be at peace, wife, and give me peace as well.”

  Kiyomori strode away, not looking back at Tokiko. He hoped the dancer could keep his evening from being completely spoiled.

  A Ghostly Procession

  Taira no Munemori, Lord Kiyomori’s third son, also slipped away from the celebration early, in order to have a tryst with a completely unsuitable woman. For once, Munemori was glad that he was the unimportant son. All attention was paid to the shining Shigemori, somewhat less to the dutiful if sickly Motomori. No one cared at all when Munemori excused himself and hurried out to where the ox-carriages were kept.

  Munemori chose to take no escort, only the ox-driver of the carriage. The house he was visiting was in the deteriorating northwest quarter of the city, the lady of a family that had fallen into poverty and deep disfavor. The fewer witnesses there were to this ill-considered visit, the fewer tongues there would be to wag to his wife and parents.

  Munemori settled onto the seat of the carriage and heard the whip crack ahead of him. The carriage lurched forward and bumped over the threshold gate beam. As it rumbled down the street, Munemori drifted into reveries about the poor creature he would be seeing soon. He tried to form a poem in his mind, but he was never good at poetry, he had always found the art rather silly and worthless, in fact. Fortunately, his lady of the tall weed house would not care about such things. She would be flattered enough that a Taira was paying call on her. Munemori knew her hopes of advancement through him were in vain, but there was no need to discourage her just yet. Not when she was so giving of herself for the sake of those hopes.

  A strong, cold wind was blowing from the north, making the eaves of the houses they passed creak and moan. Now and then, Munemori would peer out through the carriage window curtain. There was no moon in the clear, dark sky, but the stars were very bright. The streets were deserted, few wishing to venture out on a night when demons might be abroad, few wishing to leave the New Year’s celebrations in their warm homes.

  After some time and travel, the carriage suddenly stopped.

  It did not seem to Munemori that they had gone far enough to be at his destination. “What is it? Why have we stopped?” he called up to the ox-driver.

  The response was only a strangled cry of fear.

  “What is wrong? Is it bandits?” For a moment, Munemori regretted not having brought a few horsemen along, but whom could he have trusted? Any bandits foolish or desperate enough to attack a Taira carriage would surely know there would be swift retribution.

  “N-no, my lord,” the ox-driver said at last. “We are at Suzaku Avenue, and the oxen will not continue.”

  “Well, whip them, man.”

  “My lord, if you could see what they and I see, you would not wish to continue either.”

  With a grunt of impatience, Munemori opened the back door of the carriage and stepped out. He was prepared to grab the whip and apply it to the back of the driver himself if need be. Munemori walked around beside the oxen, the high stone wall of the Imperial Compound to his right. Munemori looked down Suzaku Avenue, and his breath caught in his throat.

  A ghostly procession was coming up the avenue. It consisted of a tall, ornate palanquin borne by five men in front and six in back, all dressed in warrior’s armor. The procession approached at a stately pace, the pale men marching with gaze straight forward, never wavering.

  Munemori would have liked to run, but his feet seemed frozen in place by fear. As the procession came closer, Munemori could see the dark lines that crossed every one of the ghostly warriors’ necks.

  “I know those men,” Munemori said softly. “That is my great-uncle, Tadamasa, in the front, with his sons. Behind is Minomoto Tameyoshi and his sons. These men were all executed at the end of the Hōgen.” Behind him, he could hear the ox-driver muttering rapid prayers to the Amida Buddha.

  The gate to the Imperial Compound was just ahead and to their right. Munemori watched as the palanquin proceeded right up to the gate itself, stopping right in front of them.

  “Surely they cannot enter,” murmured the ox-driver. “The Imperial palace is a holy place, guarded by Fudō-Myō with sword and rope.”

  But Munemori knew, for he had overheard his mother, that the palace was poorly guarded this New Year’s night.

  The curtain of the palanquin was pulled aside, revealing a darkness seen only by the denizens of Hell. Within it was a creature that might once have been a man, but the hair was wild and unkempt beneath a stained silk scarf, and his fingernails were long and clawlike. His eyes were deep-sunken, and a pale light glimmered in them: his skin was sallow and his chin pointed. This creature smiled and nodded at Munemori, one nobleman graciously greeting another.

  Munemori did not know what compelled him, but he fell to his knees on the cold wet paving stones and walked upon his knees up to the palanquin. There he bowed low to the creature as if it were the Emperor himself. “Wh-who, what are you? What do you want of me?”

  A long, thin arm snaked down from the palanquin, and cold fingers wrapped around his head. “Ahhhh. Taira Munemori. Wise of you to give obeisance to your former sovereign. I sense you are somewhat empty of spirit. Good. There is room for me here.”

  Munemori felt a chill of fear in his bones, as if they had become icicles. “You are the Sh-Shin-In?” Everyone in Heian Kyō had heard tales of the Emperor who had become a demon.

  “I am. Be on your way. We will meet again.” The icy hand withdrew from his head. The curtain of the palanquin was drawn c
losed once more.

  Munemori looked up as the procession moved forward again, passing right through the thick wooden gates of the Suzakumon and into the Imperial Compound itself. He jumped to his feet and ran back to the carriage.

  “The ghosts have entered the palace! W-we must warn someone!” said the ox-driver.

  “No!” said Munemori. “Who would believe us? And there would be questions as to why I was here and where I was going. No, we will continue on as if nothing has happened. It is merely a vision from the New Year’s wine, nothing more.”

  Munemori got back in the carriage, reassured as the whip cracked again and the carriage rumbled forward. There were cold, wet stains on his long robe where he had knelt on it. He suspected the silk might be torn. Munemori knew the lady of the tall weed house would pay little attention to such things. But he doubted even she could lift the dread that had settled on his soul.

  Bathwater

  General Minomoto Yoshitomo gazed at the gate of the Osada country mansion, his soul as numb as his feet. He had come many li, fighting through bands of rogue monks, and pushing through blinding snowstorms in the mountains. In Ōmi Province, he and his sons had been forced to remove and leave behind all the Minomoto heirloom armor in the snow, and then had to abandon their horses.

  In Mino Province, they had been set upon while taking refuge at an inn. One of his retainers disguised himself as the General and then killed himself so that Yoshitomo might get away. Yoshitomo had had to kill his second son, Tomonaga, who had been wounded in the leg so badly that he could not continue the journey.

  Yoshitomo’s other sons, Yoshihira and Yoritomo, had fallen behind in the blizzards. For all Yoshitomo knew, he was the only member of his immediate family still alive.

  Only he and his retainer Kamata had continued on together, hiding in a boat that took them downriver to Owari Province and the town of Utsumi, where the Osada family, hereditary retainers of the Minomoto for generations, lived. One of the Osada family was Kamata’s father-in-law, so the two of them felt certain that, at last, here they would find help.

  Guards came out of the gate of the Osada mansion and confronted them. “Who are you? Are you ruffians? Vagabonds? What do you want?”

  Wearily, Kamata replied, “Do you not know a great man when you see him? This is the Lord Director of the Stables of the Left, briefly Lord Governor of Harima, Minomoto Yoshitomo.”

  The guards gasped, for that name was known everywhere in the land.

  “And I am Kamata Hyoe, son-in-law of Osada Shoji Tadamune, who, I believe, is one of the family you serve.”

  “Ah! Please, forgive our not knowing you both! Come in, come in at once, and we will announce you have arrived.”

  The two of them were guided into an outer chamber of the mansion, where they were seated before a hearthfire and warm braziers. They were given warm cloaks and dry stockings for their feet. Ladies of the household brought them cups of warm broth and cooked rice. Throughout the household they could hear servants whispering to each other in awe, “The great general is here! Yoshitomo is here!”

  At last, Osada Tadamune himself came in to greet them, smiling nervously at his unexpected guests. “My lord, my son, what a great honor and joy it is to see you. Please forgive our unprepared state, but we had no idea you were coming this way.”

  “This is all very well,” said Yoshitomo, unable to enjoy the hospitality. “But I do not need fussing. I need men and arms and horses, and I need them quickly.”

  Tadamune’s smile fell a little. “Well, but that will take time to assemble, my lord. And it is clear you are both exhausted and in great need of rest before you face whatever trials are to come. Kamata, it has been so long since you have graced our house with your presence. I have already sent word out that there is to be a welcoming party in your honor, and all the family who are here are assembling to see you. Surely you must stay for at least a while.”

  Yoshitomo saw the happiness and hope on Kamata’s face. After suffering so much hardship together, he could not deny his faithful companion a little familial pleasure. “Very well,” Yoshitomo grumbled. “We will stay through the night.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” said Kamata softly, bowing very low.

  “But I expect, Tadamune,” Yoshitomo went on, “that you will also send word to all the able-bodied men of your house that they must bring arms and horses by morning to serve at my command.”

  “Of course, my lord, rest assured it shall be done. Now, if you will excuse me, I will see that suitable quarters are prepared, and that a hot bath is drawn for you. For there is nothing that so restores a man’s health and wits as a soothing soak in hot water.” Tadamune bowed and departed.

  Yoshitomo allowed his mind to drift through the hours of the late afternoon, answering solicitous questions from the Osadas with only grunts. When Kamata was at last summoned to go join his family reunion, Yoshitomo waved him away with no happy words.

  He tried to focus his thoughts on the days ahead, how many men he needed, where he could find more, what households in the Kantō could be counted on to support the Minomoto now. It all had seemed so clear when Nobuyori was in power—how persuasive that despicable man was! But now that the Emperor had made cause with the Taira, now the Minomoto were the rebels against the throne, and that was a difficult position to take, given that Nijō-sama had done no wrong.

  Yoshitomo thought about Rokuhara, and how the compound might be breached with even a small force, although fires would have to be set right away. Even the thought of Kiyomori and the Taira burning in flames gave him no pleasure. It was only the cold prospect of a task that needed to be done.

  Success at great cost, the priests at Hachimangu had said. What greater cost could a man pay, than the death of all his sons? Yoshitomo thought briefly of his youngest boys, children of his concubine Tokiwa. By now, no doubt, the Taira will have found and killed them. And what of Tokiwa, beautiful Tokiwa herself? Yoshitomo dared not think about her, for it might bring a pain too difficult to bear.

  “My lord?” said a servant from a doorway. “Your bath is prepared. If you will please do me the honor of following me.”

  Yoshitomo rose and followed the servant to a room in which a large, round tub was set into a raised wooden floor. Wisps of steam rose from the hot water, dancing like ghosts at a festival. Yoshitomo disrobed and eased himself into the water, his muscles and skin at last convincing him that rest and a bath were a very good idea. He closed his eyes and breathed in the soothing steam and tried to empty his mind as monks were said to do through chanting of the sutras. He wondered if, after his battles were done, he would ever retire to take the tonsure, sit in a lonely mountainside temple, and copy sutras until his spirit passed to the other world. Somehow he could not imagine such a future for himself. More likely a Taira arrow would take him when he again attacked Rokuhara.

  He heard noises and opened his eyes. Servants were entering the room bearing towels, averting their faces. “Be quick about your task and then leave me in peace,” Yoshitomo grumbled at them.

  “We will, my lord,” they said. They drew knives from under the towels and leapt onto the platform. Before Yoshitomo could pull himself from the water, the knives plunged into his chest with a cold shock.

  Betrayed … was all he had time to think as his blood mingled with the bathwater, running out as his luck surely had.

  Matters of Disgrace

  Seven days later, Kiyomori watched from the wall of the Imperial Compound as the Osadas, Tadmune and his son, hurried away in their carriage in shame.

  They had brought the heads of Minomoto Yoshitomo and his retainer Kamata to the capital, proud of themselves. The Emperor had dutifully given them minor governorships in reward, but there was underlying loathing for the Osadas. A sworn hereditary retainer who betrays and kills his master, as well as killing a son-in-law of the family, cannot expect respect. When the Osadas expressed displeasurs with their appointments and demanded greater reward, the court saw fit in
stead to summarily strip them of the posts they had been given and throw them out. As the carriage proceeded down Suzaku Avenue, rocks and vegetables rained down from the palace walls onto the carriage roof, and jeers and insults were shouted after them.

  Kiyomori looked to his right, where the Imperial prison stood. On a great tree beside the prison hung the heads of Yoshitomo and other rebels. Already a crowd had gathered by the tree, paying respects and staring up at Yoshitomo’s head, as if waiting for it to speak, or give an omen as Shinzei’s head was said to have done.

  It was a bad sign. If the cause of the Minomoto gained too much sympathy, it could only cause more problems for the Taira. Already, Kiyomori had sent his warriors out in search of all of Yoshitomo’s male children. One should not leave heirs to seek revenge in future years. Kiyomori had learned that Yoshitomo’s favorite concubine, Tokiwa, had fled the city with three children, all boys. Rather than chase her down, Kiyomori had cleverly arrested the woman’s aged mother and let it be known throughout the capital that the old woman would be tortured and killed unless Tokiwa presented herself and her children to the Taira.

  Although this was only practical, there were whispers spreading that Kiyomori was a disrespectful brute. Kiyomori had had to send several bands of his red-jacketed boys after such whisperers to see that they did not speak such hateful slander again.

  At last, at midday, Kiyomori left the wall and called for his own carriage. As he was riding back to Rokuhara, the carriage stopped, and there was a rapping on the roof. Kiyomori peered out through the curtain, wondering who would dare to stop a Taira carriage. He was pleased to see it was his son Shigemori, on a horse.

  “Father, I am sorry to interrupt your journey, but I bring you excellent news!”