by Kara Dalkey
Shigemori reached over and squeezed Koremori’s forearm hard. “I pray you never see me become what I have just seen in my own father.”
“What’s wrong with Grandpapa? Why did he do that to Uncle Narichika?”
“I do not know. Men who seek only power often fear everyone is trying to take that power from them. I had hoped, Koremori, that you would grow up in a Heian Kyō like that of centuries past, a peaceful and gracious one. But it appears that is not to be.”
“What are you going to do? Will we have to fight?”
“I do not know. But somehow, withought committing the sin of filial disrespect, I must let Kiyomori know that he cannot continue to issue sweeping, fatal orders without consulting others. A man in his position cannot think only of the Taira. Somehow …”
Hours passed as evening became full nightfall. Kiyomori sat in a darkened meeting chamber with only one lamp for illumination, drinking many cups of sake and pondering his argument with Shigemori. I no longer understand him, Kiyomori thought over and over. We raised him well. When he was young, he knew the importance of his family and blood. Now his studies have addled his mind so, he wants me to think of everyone when I make a decision. As if all of humanity were one family, one clan. What nonsense. It is Tokiko’s fault. She wanted him to be a scholar not a warrior. She said the Dragon King wanted heroes to save us poor mortals from ourselves. What sort of hero is it who defends his clan with scrolls and pithy sayings and hides behind the Five Virtues as if they were a shield?
A warrior, still in full armor, coughed discreetly from the shōji. “What is it?” Kiyomori demanded gruffly.
“My Lord, some of us were wondering what is to be done with Middle Counselor Narichika.”
“Huh. Since my son has spoken so eloquently on the Middle Counselor’s behalf,” grumbled Kiyomori, “we will not execute him. Give Narichika more comfortable quarters but keep him watched closely. With Imperial permission, I will have him exiled.”
The samurai bowed and ran off to do Kiyomori’s bidding. Kiyomori could not help but notice that the man seemed to be smiling with relief. Weak. My forces have become weak under my son’s influence. What will become of the Taira when Shigemori takes full power?
He heard a commotion outside and walked out to the open corridor. By the light of the flickering torches in the courtyard, he saw the guards at the gate gathering up their helmets and bows and sending for their horses. Like the recent conflagration, some spark of urgency passed from man to man among those warriors gathered in the courtyard, and they, too, began silently to don their helmets and quivers and run to their horses, some in such hurry that they rode out the gate more out of the saddle than on it.
“What is the matter?” Kiyomori shouted. “What is happening? Where are you all going?”
But the warriors did not answer him, did not speak at all, only casting nervous glances in his direction as they hurried past.
“Stop! I command you!”
But no man stopped.
Finally, Kiyomori jumped off the raised corridor and grabbed the arm of a very young warrior, pulling him to the ground. “Tell me what is happening, or I will take your head off myself!”
The young man’s eyes rolled back in his head. “M-my lord, I know not how, but we are summoned to Lord Shigemori’s Hojijō Mansion.”
“Why?”
“My lord, I do not know. I only know that it is an emergency. He is calling for us. Please let me go.”
Kiyomori released him, and the young samurai hurried after the others out the gate and down the street. At his departure, Kiyomori was left alone, abandoned, in the courtyard, all his warriors gone.
It is done,” Tokiko said, her eyes closed. “They are coming.” Shigemori took a deep breath, inhaling the smoke of the burning sakaki leaves on the brazier before him, and then released it. He shuddered, and said, “I had intended never to use my scholar’s knowledge for sorcery.”
“Do not berate yourself, my son,” said Tokiko. “It was wise that you chose to do this. It is a small thing which does no harm, yet may bring great benefit.” She released his hands and sat back on her heels.
“I feel… unclean.”
“Some scholars feel unclean when they pick up a sword,” said Tokiko, “and yet a sword is merely a tool. You swung a sword before you ever learned the sutras.”
“But I have never before used the sutras as a sword. It is said that is how the Shin-In became a demon—by a perverted use of holy words.”
“But your intent is not evil, as the Shin-In’s was.”
“If my father is right and what a man thinks does not matter, what then?”
Tokiko sighed. “That is all very well in war and politics. But prayer and sorcery are different. In these intent is what truly matters.”
Koremori ran into the room. “Father, the warriors have started to arrive! What shall I tell them?”
Shigemori slowly stood. “I will talk to them myself. It is only right. I expect they will be quite surprised.”
An hour later, the warriors drifted back through the gates of Nishihachijō, confused and sheepish. They said to Kiyomori, “Lord Shigemori said he was testing a new way to summon forces should an emergency happen. He only wanted to see if we would come, and how quickly, when he summoned us, that is all.”
But Kiyomori learned the lesson Shigemori had intended. He has powers I knew nothing of. The Taira warriors will obey his call, and swiftly. If I choose to try to take Go-Shirakawa, I might find myself with no warrior at my side, and all the Taira allied with the Retired Emperor against me.
Kiyomori put aside any more thought of imprisoning Go-Shirakawa and went to bed feeling very old and alone. It would seem, he thought, my son has learned how to move go stones very well.
Gojō Bridge
Ushiwaka walked through the burned and ruined streets of Heian Kyō, idly playing a flute. He wore a woman’s cloak draped over his head, in the manner of the chujo boys who served at the temple of Kiyomizudera. He draped it lower, however, to hide more of his face. The only thing that might distinguish Ushiwaka from the temple boys was the long sword in a gold-trimmed scabbard he wore at his side. Given the thievery and thuggery that nowadays plagued the capital, Ushiwaka had a ready answer if anyone asked about the sword.
But he almost did not need his disguise, this time, for most of the people were busy repairing or rebuilding their houses. Those who had completely lost homes wandered the streets so devastated that they took little notice of him. Now and then, someone might shout, “Hey, boy! Do you know any carpentry? Know how to thatch a roof? We will pay you well.” Ushiwaka would play his flute louder and pretend he did not hear.
As always, his route took him past the Taira mansion of Rokuhara. Above the walls, he could see workmen sweeping the ashes off of the roof tiles. Guards were stationed at the gates, so Ushiwaka did not stare long. He had heard that even though Rokuhara was spared by the fire, Lord Kiyomori had moved elsewhere and might even build a new clan headquarters far outside the capital. Ushiwaka cursed his luck, fearing that all his reconnaissance of Rokuhara over the past weeks had been for nothing.
It was a warm summer evening, and to Ushiwaka’s dismay, Gojō Bridge was crowded with people. Apparently many had come seeking the cooler air above the Kamo River in which to gather and gossip with their neighbors. He would have to pass close to some of them and who knew if any of them had been to Kuramadera and might recognize him? Ushiwaka ducked his head lower, but it did not help. As he approached the bridge, the comments began.
“Who is this boy?”
“Why won’t he show his face?”
“Perhaps he is very ugly.”
“No, the monks only choose pretty ones to serve them.”
“Perhaps he was burned by the fire.
“Perhaps he is diseased.”
“Then we should avoid him.”
“Perhaps he is scarred from fighting.”
“No, a warrior would be proud to show his scar
s.”
“Perhaps he is visiting a girl he shouldn’t be seeing and doesn’t want word to get back to his family.”
“Or he is going to gamble and drink or some other disreputable pastime.”
So the whispers went. Ushiwaka kept his eyes straight forward, his gaze on the planks of the bridge, and did not acknowledge them.
Suddenly someone stepped away from the crowd at the bridge rail and stood right in front of him, blocking his way. Ushiwaka glanced up, and up, and up at a very tall, rough-looking man. He wore black armor over the black robes of a monk, but he was unshaved and the long hair on his head flowed freely. He wore on his back both a tsurugi sword and a naginata pike, and at his side hung a wakizashi short sword.
“You should watch where you are going, boy,” rumbled the man-mountain. “You might step into something unpleasant. In fact, you just have.”
Ushiwaka heard the others on the bridge start to sidle away.
“There is going to be trouble,” they whispered.
“Perhaps we should stay and watch.”
“Perhaps we should flee. I have heard of this character, the big man. He is a bad one. Let’s go.”
Ushiwaka sighed. He did not wish a confrontation, not now. He began to play his flute again and tried simply to walk around the man.
But the unkempt ruffian stepped in his way again. “You are a rude fellow! Do you think yourself above all others? You are certainly not above me. No one is. Ha-ha, ha-ha!”
Ushiwaka steamed inside, but still he said nothing.
“Have I frightened you into silence, boy? Understandable. Let me begin the conversation then. I am Saitō Musashibō Benkei, and I am the toughest, strongest, cruelest bandit in all Japan. I have made an oath to all the bosatsu of Heaven and all the demons of Hell that before my death I will steal a thousand swords. I have already taken ninety-nine, and as I notice that you wear a lovely katana at your side, I have decided yours will be the lucky number one hundred. Hand it over to me, and you may go on to your prayers in peace.”
Ushiwaka put his hand on his scabbard and stepped back.
“Oh, ho,” said Benkei. “Reluctant to part with it, are you? I understand. It looks very valuable. Perhaps it is an heirloom, yes? Perhaps your elders will be furious if you lose it. But allow me to point out to you that I am very big, while you are very small. And thin. And young. And I will be furious with you if you do not hand it over. Think about this a moment as you decide.”
Ushiwaka took another step back and tucked his flute into the belt of his robe. He grasped the hilt of the sword and withdrew it just a little from the scabbard.
“Oh, no, no,” said Benkei, “You do not need to show me, I am sure it has a good blade. Now please to hand it over before someone gets hurt.”
Ushiwaka sighed again, decided there was nothing for it, and drew the sword out all the way and held it before him. He heard the running footsteps of the last stragglers on the bridge fleeing behind him.
“Perhaps it is the dimming of the daylight that has dimmed your wits, boy,” growled Benkei as he drew the huge tsurugi blade from off his back. “I was a monk at Enryakuji on Mount Hiei, and I have been trained by some of the best warrior-monks who live. Though I once took vows to kill no living thing, those vows were broken long ago. Therefore, it is with regret that I tell you to prepare for death. It is good that you were on your way to prayer, for I am sure that will bring you better karma in your next existence.” Benkei brought the sword down in a mighty swing, but Ushiwaka had already stepped well out of the way.
“You are quick,” said Benkei. “Let us see if you can do that again.” He swung the sword once, twice, at the level of Ushiwaka’s neck.
But Ushiwaka ducked easily both times. On Benkei’s third swing, Ushiwaka beat at Benkei’s blade with his sword. He knocked the tsurugi out of the giant’s hands and sent it spinning, to fall with a splash into the Kamo River.
“Oh ho,” said Benkei, some surprise in his voice, “so you have some fire in you after all. Well, let us see what you can do with this!” He pulled the naginata off his back and thrust with it at Ushiwaka’s chest.
Ushiwaka deftly stepped aside and with one swing of his sword cut the haft of the naginata in two.
Benkei stared down at the much shorter length of wood in his hands. “So. You are clever as well. And your sword is sharp. But I doubt it is sharp enough for this.” He dropped the wood and pulled from within his robe an iron rod, which he swung at Ushiwaka.
Ushiwaka jumped high into the air, tucking his legs up underneath him as the rod passed harmlessly below him. He laughed softly at the perplexed astonishment on Benkei’s face.
“So! You laugh at me. I will teach you no one mocks Benkei!” The big man swung again and again with the iron rod.
Ushiwaka began to enjoy himself, for this was very much like the training the Leaflet Tengu had given him. He jumped onto the railing of the bridge to avoid one blow, over Benkei’s head to evade the next. He slid between Benkei’s legs for another, and finally twisted Benkei around so that Ushiwaka was able to pin Benkei’s arm behind him and pluck the iron rod from his hand. The iron rod quickly joined the tsurugi at the bottom of the Kamo River.
For good measure, Ushiwaka struck Benkei on the temple with the hilt of his sword, and Benkei fell to his knees on the planks of Gojō Bridge.
Red in the face and gasping for breath, Benkei said, “What are you? No one before has bested Benkei. It is as though you know my every trick. I will tell you a secret. My father was a tengu, and I have had some training in the fighting skills of the demons. Yet you, a stripling of a lad, have overcome me. How can this be?”
Ushiwaka smiled and finally spoke. “You need feel no shame, Benkei-san. You fought very well. I, too, have been trained by tengu these past seven years. Sōjō-bō, prince of the Mount Kurama tengu, taught me himself and has given me his scroll of knowledge. So I did know all your tricks. I’m just younger and faster, that’s all.”
“Ah.” Benkei sighed with awe as he looked up at Ushiwaka. “Sōjō-bō himself taught you? Even among the tengu he is known as the best fighter. It is no wonder, then, that you have defeated me. You must have been a great personage in a former life to have come to his attention so young in this one.”
“As to that, I cannot say,” said Ushiwaka. Softly he added, “But I told him I wish to defeat the oppressive Taira and kill Lord Kiyomori, and Sōjō-bō was kind enough to teach me all he knew so that I might accomplish this.”
Benkei pressed his forehead to the boards of the Gojō Bridge. “Then your destiny must be mighty indeed. Please, young master, accept the service of this unworthy one. I came to Heian Kyō seeking my destiny, but now my oath to steal a thousand swords sounds petty compared to your lofty goals. Take me as your retainer, I beg you. I swear to serve you faithfully until death, young master, if you will have me.”
Ushiwaka felt a surge of joy. All his boyhood he had been alone, without friends or companions he could trust. He had often longed for someone with whom to share the heavy burden of his fate. Benkei had been trained by tengu as Ushiwaka had been. Benkei would understand him and had the strength and courage to walk with him on his difficult path. “Please rise, good Benkei-san. I can think of no better companion I could have at my side. I gladly accept your service. Come, let us meet our destiny together.”
Gray Robes
Tokiko paused, her writing brush held in midair as she became aware that someone was staring in through the shōji at her. A drop of black ink fell upon her gray-silk kimono. She turned her head and saw it was Kiyomori, kneeling on the verandah just outside. He held a fan in his right hand, but though there was perspiration on his face, he did not use it. He looked sad and old, and she could not help but pity him.
“Well, it would seem my astrologers are right again,” said Tokiko. “This is a time of communication with those from my past.” She put the brush down and blotted at her sleeve.
Kiyomori stared down at his han
ds. “I… regret that I have not spoken with you in so long, wife.”
Tokiko frowned. He is so humbled. This is not like him. “Are you going to come in, or are you going to wait until the moon rises so you may admire it?”
Kiyomori sighed and entered, but no farther than just within the threshold. He clearly did not want to be there at all.
“What is the matter? What brings you to your son’s house in such a melancholy state?”
Kiyomori waved his fan in a vague gesture that told her nothing.
“Have the blossom fairies stolen your voice?”
Kiyomori began to say something, then stopped. In that moment, Tokiko saw he was suppressing great anger. At last, he stated, “Today I banished Narichika to the province of Bizen.”
“Well,” said Tokiko, “that was merciful of you. Shigemori will be reassured, though I cannot say he will be pleased.”
“Hm. So. How are you, Tokiko, old dragon?”
“Me?” She paused in surprise. “I am Nii no Ama, now, you must remember. Nun of Second Rank. And I am finding the process of growing old to be … interesting.”
“Interesting, is it, o Nun of Second Rank? I must say, I find your appearance improved now that you do not wear white face paint or stain your teeth. You look healthier. Like someone’s grandmother.”
“Like an Emperor’s grandmother, perhaps?”
“Perhaps.” The ghost of a familiar twinkle appeared in his eyes, and Tokiko felt relief that his charming old self had not entirely faded.
“Who knows?” asked Tokiko playfully. “When I have returned to my father’s kingdom and become young again, perhaps I will miss these aches in my joints.”
The anger returned to his face, like a cloud crossing the sun. “Return? You are not planning to desert us soon, are you?”
“Soon? By the Amida, no! It will be many years, I am sure. Why? You cannot possibly be implying that you will miss me.”
Kiyomori looked away, gazing past the shōji. When he spoke again, it was to murmur, “You are copying sutras.”