Genpei

by Kara Dalkey

  “And help you shall have. These 350 are yours to command, and I will add more to their number. Thousands, if you wish it.”

  Yoshitsune bowed again. “You are more than generous, Hidehira-sama. I shall try to prove worthy of your gift.”

  “Speaking of gifts,” Hidehira said, “we must not overlook the good Kichiji, who has risked his fortune and his life to see you safely here.” He called to some servants who brought forth chest after chest of goods to set before the amazed gold merchant. “In these chests you will find a hundred tanned deerskin hides, a hundred eagle feathers, a hundred bolts of Oshu’s finest silk, a hundred pairs of bear-pelt boots, and a hundred bottles of plum wine. You will also be given three of our best horses and, as you are a gold merchant by trade, a box of pure gold dust. I hope you will consider these offerings sufficient recompense for your brave and noble efforts.”

  Kichiji stared at the chests, openmouthed. “This … this … is more than sufficient, Hidehira-sama.”

  Yoshitsune walked up to the gold merchant and grasped his arm. “It is no less than you deserve, good Kichiji-san. I would give you gifts myself, had I any to give. Wait, here, I have these swords which I have already borne in your name—”

  “No, no, good young lordling, keep those I beg you,” said Kichiji. “It was my honor to guide you here. As for your gift to me, well, remember this gold merchant kindly when you are lord of Heian Kyō in place of that tyrant Kiyomori. That will be a suitable time for gifts.”

  “Those sound like words of parting,” said Hidehira. “It is hardly time for that yet. Come in and be feasted. There will be time for parting later.”

  The Dharma Lamp

  Lord Kiyomori plucked a fallen red maple leaf from his charcoal gray sleeve. He paced the verandah of Nishihachijō in Heian Kyō, gazing to the north and east, awaiting news. Demons take Go-Shirakawa for his meddling, he thought.

  Kiyomori had returned to the capital in late summer only to learn that the Retired Emperor had been again offending temples. Kiyomori was unable to learn whether it was deliberate or inadvertent on the In’s part, but it hardly mattered. Ever since the funeral of Emperor Nijō, the Buddhist temples had been spoiling for a fight, and leapt on any pretext to take offense.

  This time it was the In’s consecration, as he went from novice to full monkhood. Go-Shirakawa had originally chosen the temple of Miidera for the Dharma-Transmitting Water ceremony, but this set off such political contention that the In was forced to change his plans. Instead he had gone to Tennoji, the oldest Buddhist temple in Nihon, to have the five flasks of wisdom-water drawn from the Kamei Well.

  But, as it turned out, this solved nothing. For the worker- and warrior-monks of Enryakuji had been considering revolt against the very scholar-monks they served. And because the warrior-monks were not equally invited and represented at the In’s consecration ceremony, the temple complex atop Mount Hiei erupted into war.

  Kiyomori was awaiting news of the battle, as several hundred Taira warriors had been sent to aid the scholar-monks. But from the verandah he could see smoke to the northeast blending in with the autumnal haze, and he feared things were not going well.

  A messenger arrived, but he had not come from Mount Hiei. He was one of Kiyomori’s city spies, delivering his seven-day report.

  “What is it?” Kiyomori demanded of him.

  “There is no further word of the Minomoto boy, Kiyomori-sama, not in Heian Kyō.”

  “Hmm. And elsewhere?”

  “Rumors come in from everywhere, my lord, but few are to be believed. Far to the north, they tell of a young warrior who has entered Fujiwara Hidehira’s service. But there is so much said of that one’s fighting prowess that he cannot be the same boy. No one raised in a monastery could be such a swordsman without your knowing of it.”

  “Ah. It has been over two months,” Kiyomori mused, “and there is no confirmed sighting of Ushiwaka. Perhaps we can put this matter to rest and have you put to better tasks.”

  “My lord, if I may be so bold, I have learned where the boy’s mother, Tokiwa, now resides. Your wife, the Nii no Ama, has a suggestion. Just as you had captured Tokiwa’s mother to ensure Tokiwa’s surrender, perhaps you should capture Tokiwa and threaten to torture her in order to ensure the son’s surrender.”

  Cold dragon bitch, thought Kiyomori. Does she seek a wife’s vengeance after so many years? Or does she just want to rub my face in the fact that she was right—the boy should have been killed long ago. “No!” Kiyomori shouted. Then he added, “As my son Shigemori so often reminds me, what I do affects the reputation of the Taira. Anything so brutal would be used as further proof that I am a tyrant. No, I will assume Ushiwaka has run into bad fortune and should no longer be considered a threat. Regarding my son, Shigemori …”

  “I am sorry, my lord. He still will accept no messages from you and will send no additional men for your effort on Mount Hiei.”

  “Hmm.” Shigemori had been aloof to Kiyomori ever since the news had arrived in Heian Kyō of the exiled Narachika’s death. It seemed the former middle counselor had somehow managed to fall off a high cliff onto a field of sharpened bamboo. Shigemori had seemed curiously unwilling to accept Kiyomori’s explanation that it must have been an accident. “Ah, well, if my son insists upon remaining estranged from me, then—”

  There came the clatter of hooves in the main courtyard. “The scouts from Mount Hiei have returned!” came a cry from the gate of Nishihachijō.

  “Go,” Kiyomori said to the spy, who bowed and left silently.

  Kiyomori went out to the courtyard, where two men in dirtied, bloodstained armor knelt at the bottom of the steps. He noted the despair in their faces. “Well?”

  “Kiyomori-sama, we were too late. Your men did all they could, but General Munemori seemed … unprepared for the opposition we faced.”

  “I should not have sent Munemori,” Kiyomori grumbled to himself. “He has no skill in warcraft, but I thought this would be a simple mission. And Munemori claimed he needed a victory to bring honor to his name.”

  “General Munemori should not be blamed, Kiyomori-sama,” said the other scout. “The warrior-monks had gathered every brigand, thief, criminal, and ruffian they could find to fight with them. The scholar-monks were overwhelmed before we even reached Enryakuji.”

  “He did have some difficulty deciding where to lead his forces,” the other scout conceded. “But once the sanctuaries were destroyed by fire, General Munemori fought most assiduously to drive the ruffians off the mountain.”

  After a moment, Kiyomori decided. “Bring me a horse. I will go see this and speak with Munemori myself.” Putting on only a cuirass and a helmet, Kiyomori gathered a hundred warriors of his household and rode out of the capital.

  It took the rest of the day to travel the road that wound up the flanks of Mount Hiei. The bodies of monks, scholars and warriors both, lined the sides of the road as a testament to the fierce battle that had been waged there. As the sun touched the top of the western hills, Kiyomori and his men reached the smoldering ruins of what once had been the greatest temple complex in the land.

  The gates of Enryakuji were battered and broken open. Perhaps more disturbing than the bodies were the shattered remnants of sacred statuary, bits of Buddhas, bosatsu, and guardian demons scattered heedlessly in the trampled ground. Sanctuaries that had housed the sacred writings of centuries were no more than piles of charred wood and ash. The treasure-houses had gaping holes in their roofs and walls.

  Kiyomori looked about at the destruction with dismay. Although he was not a strongly religious man, despite his studies and novice vows, there was something deeply disturbing about the loss of so ancient and grand an edifice. That the kami and bosatsu would allow such a thing to happen did not bode well.

  Three Taira horsemen in armor emerged from the ruins and came riding up to him. The middle one removed his helmet and mask. It was Munemori. “Father, you should not have come.”

  “I had t
o see this for myself. What are the current conditions?”

  “Muneshige and his men have driven the ruffians off the mountain and it is doubtful the worker-monks will return. Though the worker-monks were victorious in killing many of the scholar-monks, they will taste no fruit of that victory.”

  “What madness caused such a rebellion, Munemori?”

  Munemori shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. “Only the greed of men who had forgotten their place in the world, Father, and strove for greater rewards than they deserved.”

  Kiyomori narrowed his eyes at Munemori, for such words had at times been used against the Taira. “My observers tell me you hesitated before choosing to attack.”

  “Forgive me, Father, but they were not in the midst of things, and, therefore, they could not know the terrible confusion that reigned here. Some of the worker-monks fought on behalf of the scholars, and I dared not press an attack until I was certain who was the enemy.”

  Kiyomori nodded, but this was only confirmation to him that Munemori was still lacking in martial talent. I shall not give him such leadership again.

  A heartrending cry erupted from a nearby ruined building. “Ai! Ai! Oh, woe! Most grievous woe.”

  Kiyomori put his hand on his sword hilt as an ancient monk, clearly one of the scholars, hobbled out from between two broken pillars. Tears streamed down his seamed face, and his eyes rolled in grief and fear. Kiyomori rode up to him. “Peace, Holy One. I, Jokai, also known as Taira no Kiyomori, offer apologies that my men did not reach you in time to spare your temple buildings. But they can be rebuilt, and Enryakuji can be made great again. Lend your thoughts to hope, not despair.”

  But the old monk did not seem to hear him. “The lamp! The dharma lamp!”

  “What of it?”

  “It has blown out!”

  Kiyomori felt a chill in his soul, though he could not think why. “Then have it relit.”

  The old monk shook his head. “It was first lit three centuries ago by the founder of the temple. It cannot be relit until a man of equal holiness comes again, which I fear we will not see. It is surely a sign of the mappo, the End of the Law. There is nothing to be done.”

  Munemori rode up beside Kiyomori. “What is the old man raving about?”

  “Shhh.”

  “There will be no more protection from the demons,” wailed the old man. “Without Enryakuji in the northeast, there will be nothing to protect Heian Kyō from the evil winds.”

  “Peace, fellow,” Kiyomori repeated. “Enryakuji will be rebuilt.”

  “That will take a great deal of time, Father,” said Munemori. “The monks are scattered in the four directions, and His Majesty may be reluctant to spend so much at this time.”

  Kiyomori scowled at his son. Does Munemori want Enryakuji to stay in ruins? Or is he simply bad at diplomacy as well?

  Munemori seemed ill at ease beneath Kiyomori’s gaze. “I … I only meant that it is an unkindness to reassure this holy one with misleading blandishments. Mount Hiei will see difficult times ahead before things are better, that is all.”

  Kiyomori turned again to speak to the ancient monk, but the old man was lost in his sorrows, sitting on the broken temple steps, rocking back and forth.

  “There is nothing more for us to do here,” said Kiyomori to his men. “Let us return to Nishihachijō.” With a parting glare at Munemori, Kiyomori led his warriors out past the ruined lintels of the temple gate, feeling a cold wind at his back.

  The Comet

  You see, it has grown larger and brighter, Majesty.”

  “Yes. Quite discernibly.” Retired Emperor Go-Shirakawa stood on the verandah on the eastern wing of ToSanjō Palace, staring up at the comet in the winter sky. He pulled his gray brocade robes tighter around him to ward off the night chill.

  The New Year’s festivities marking the arrival of the second year of the era of Jishō had been less than pleasant—his guests had worn a veneer of civility over their tension and distrust. Particularly the Taira. How like Kiyomori and his kin to blame me for all that has gone wrong. Has Narichika not paid for the Shishinotani plot? As if I did not know that Kiyomori arranged his death. And now the Taira think I caused the destruction on Mount Hiei.

  In truth, Go-Shirakawa had done nothing to incite the monks to riot and destroy Enryakuji. But the Retired Emperor had had to admit to himself that he was not entirely displeased at the outcome. There would be no more armies of warrior-monks disrupting the city and harassing the Imperial palace. The ruins on Mount Hiei were a symbol of shame to the monks of other temples, too; therefore, they also had been quiescent the past several months. For this reason, Go-Shirakawa delayed giving any decision on Kiyomori’s petition to have Enryakuji rebuilt. Why disturb such peace, no matter what calamity had brought it?

  And so the Retired Emperor and Lord Kiyomori had sat declaring toasts to each other over cups of the New Year’s rice wine, with smiles like those upon painted masks.

  Until the old man from the Imperial Yin-Yang Office had arrived, requesting that Go-Shirakawa view the comet with him. The Retired Emperor had been pleased for the distraction and readily agreed.

  “The comet has revealed itself as the sort called Chi Yu’s Banner, or Red Spirit,” said the man beside Go-Shirakawa. He was an elderly member of the Northern branch of the Oe family, who held the post in charge of Celestial Portents in the Imperial Yin-Yang Office. “You will note, Majesty, that the tail has taken on a distinct reddish hue.”

  “Yes,” said Go-Shirakawa. “The Taira are boasting that this is yet another good omen for them, since red is the color of their banner. Lord Kiyomori claims this shows the Taira remain ascendant in the eyes of Heaven.”

  A hint of an embarrassed frown crossed the elderly Oe’s brow. “I regret to say Lord Kiyomori is in error, Majesty. A comet is always an inauspicious sign. That is why His Majesty, Emperor Takakura, requested that I come speak to you.”

  Go-Shirakawa closed his eyes. “My son is concerned for his wife, the Empress Kenreimon’in, and her illness. I understand that your office is performing rituals on her behalf?”

  “Everything we can, my lord. As is every temple surrounding the capital. The palace is overflowing with doctors.”

  Go-Shirakawa gripped the railing of the verandah. Surely the Amida would not be so unkind, he thought, to allow Kenreimon’in to pass from this world so soon. Though she was Kiyomori’s daughter, Go-Shirakawa felt no ill will toward her. Quite the contrary, for Kenreimon’in had spent some years in Go-Shirakawa’s household as a child, learning the ways of the Imperial Court. She was like a daughter to him.

  The elderly Oe’s gaze was averted, darting from one thing to another. Clearly there was something more he wished to say.

  “What is it?” asked Go-Shirakawa. “Feel free to speak your concern to me.”

  “I … I am not so worried for the Empress as some might be, Majesty, for illnesses come and go, and ladies are prone to many complaints of the body. The portent of the comet disturbs me not because it may bring misfortune, but because some will see the comet as a sign justifying the evil already present in their thoughts.”

  Go-Shirakawa narrowed his eyes. “I am not sure I am understanding you.”

  “Majesty, it is no secret that many wish the Taira ill will. Some of these may use this opportunity to bring a rebellion. Such an uprising might, unfortunately, be blamed upon yourself, Majesty. We at the palace feel it would be dreadful if such rumors were to spread, staining the reputation of the Imperial House. We all know how tirelessly you have worked for peace in Heian Kyō.”

  Is the old goat chiding me, warning me, or is he simply an imbecile? wondered Go-Shirakawa. “Yes, certainly, this is a matter for concern. I thank you for alerting me to this possibility.

  The man from the Yin-Yang Office bowed low. “Then I have done all I was sent to do. May you have an auspicious New Year, Majesty.”

  Minomoto Yoshitsune gazed out at the winter moon and the comet that hung beside i
t. He was still entwined in his lover’s arms, a lady-in-waiting of Fujiwara Hidehira’s household, with whom he had left the New Year festivities early.

  “What are you staring at?” whispered the girl. “I think I am becoming jealous that you would rather look at the moon than at me.”

  “Not at all,” said Yoshitsune. “I was comparing the moon’s face to yours and noting that her visage cannot possibly match your beauty. How pockmarked and gray the moon is, while your cheeks are smooth and white as pearls.”

  “Silly flatterer. Do you see the comet as well?”

  “Yes, of course, but I did not wish to bring up a bad omen at such a time as this. Clearly it indicates the coming downfall of the Taira.”

  “And you will be the one to bring that downfall,” said the girl, wriggling eagerly beneath him. “Everyone says so. Hidehira is amazed with how well you are training his men. We ladies constantly overhear him boasting about you. You are the greatest swordsman in the land, and you will be the greatest hero Nihon has ever seen.”

  Yoshitsune blushed, but he had to concede that, in his own opinion, Hidehira was probably right.

  Minomoto Yoritomo also observed the comet that night, from the verandah of his house in Izu, escaping for a moment the family New Year’s party. As the years had passed, the monks of the temple had come to trust and admire Yoritomo, and so they had allowed Yoritomo to move into his father-in-law’s house when he married, and no longer watched his every movement. Yoritomo was well aware he was still not a free man, but it hardly seemed to matter. He had lived a quiet life, a sober life, and he was in a way grateful to the Amida that he had been exiled here, away from the decadent influences of the capital.

  “Yori-chan,” said his wife chidingly as she appeared at the shōji doorway behind him, “aren’t you returning to the festivities? Father says he wishes to have a poetry contest.”