by Kara Dalkey
His thoughts were broken by a discreet cough to his right. Kneeling by the shōji was old Kaneyasu, Kiyomori’s general and advisor. “Kaneyasu! Come out and speak with me. You know I never turn away your company or counsel.”
The old warrior walked out, bowed, and knelt beside Kiyomori. “My lord. It is good to see you in pleasant humor.”
“Who would not be in my place? I trust young Retired Emperor Takakura is comfortable in his guest quarters, after his long journey from Itsukushima?”
“He is, my lord, though I suspect he fears his rooms may at any time become a prison.”
Kiyomori waved a hand dismissively. “There should be no need for that. You should have heard him, Kaneyasu, when I gave him audience to do me homage. How prettily he begged that I spare the life of his father. How he offered to shower promotions on my family! I tell you, it is good we removed Takakura from the throne. The young man has no spine.”
Kaneyasu cleared his throat and pinched his nose. “Er, my lord, there is a matter I wished to bring up with you.”
“Speak freely, old friend. I am in expansive mood today. I tell you, this surety of power is more intoxicating than plum wine or the perfume of a young woman’s hair.”
“Er, yes. Surely. But, my lord, while at Itsukushima, a curious thing happened. I was standing guard for Takakura as he went to do solitary prayers by the water. I saw him take a knife from his sleeve, and, fearing he might do himself harm, I went toward him. I heard him begging of Benzaiten and the Dragon King to protect his father, and he shed blood from his hand into the sea. By the time I reached him, however, his hand was healed, and he told me that his prayers had been answered. He seemed content, after that. I thought I should tell you.”
Kiyomori scowled and felt his stomach grow cold. “Tricked,” he growled. “All this time I thought the boy harmless, and he has gone behind my back to make alliance with my enemy!”
“My lord, perhaps this is not a time for overreaction—”
“Silence.” Kiyomori thought a moment, staring out at the sea, its surface now glittering like a thousand knife blades poised to stab at him. “I cannot do away with Go-Shirakawa. By holding him hostage, I hold his followers in check. Too many would rise up at his death to avenge him. But for Takakura … let it not be now, let it not be soon—”
“My lord,” Kaneyasu exclaimed in horror, “Think on what you are saying! Narichika was one thing, but a member of the Imperial family? Do not ask this of me!”
“I am not asking, Kaneyasu. I am ordering it.”
The old warrior hung his head and stared at the floorboards. “As I am your sworn retainer, naturally I must obey. Perhaps the gods will forgive my soul for this. But they will never forgive you for making such an order. You doom yourself, my lord.”
“I am already doomed, Kaneyasu. Nearly every night the ghosts of the Minomoto whisper vengeance in my dreams. I already know my soul will find the Hell of Eternal Smoke and Fire upon my death. What better purpose, then, can there be for the last days of my life but to commit those sins that will permit the Taira to stay in power forever? Is that not the task of a warrior, to do those horrible things that allow his lord and family to prosper? What does it matter that I become a demon, if my evil is put to the service of the Taira? Let all blame fall upon me, for I am already damned. Let all glory fall upon the Taira who live after me and who will sing my praises in time to come.”
Kaneyasu sighed. “I can see there is no dissuading you. I shall do as you command.”
“Good. Nothing obvious like cliffs and stakes this time, however. More subtlety is called for. Poison, I think. I will return to Heian Kyō with Takakura, to let him believe he has my confidence and goodwill. I’ll show him I can be as good a liar as he is. And show his father there is a price for challenging Taira power, eh, Kaneyasu?”
“All shall be as you command, my lord,” Kaneyasu said softly. He bowed low, got up, and departed.
“Indeed,” Kiyomori agreed, glaring out at the sea. “All will be as I command.”
The Accession Audience
Kenreimon’in took one measured step after another down the center of the great chamber of the Shishinden. She was grateful the many layers of stiff red-and-gold brocade kimonos hid her trembling. It was all she could do to control little Antoku, who staggered ahead of her in baby steps. His attention was so distracted by the many Taira nobles and ladies who sat to each side of the chamber that she had to hold his wide sleeves to keep him from running over to look at them.
Kenreimon’in could see her mother and father sitting near the Imperial dais at the far end of the hall. Kiyomori’s old face was wreathed in smiles, and he seemed to glow. She had not seen him so happy since the birth of Antoku. But she could not share his joy. You are doubtless annoyed, Father, that this ceremony must take place in this austere building that looks like a simple Shinto shrine, rather than in the Great Hall of State. Alas that, between all the calamities and uncertainties of these times, the Great Hall of State has still not been repaired from the fire over two years before. The fire whose spread was my fault. Perhaps the gods intended it this way to remind me of that sin.
Her mother, Nii no Ama, was also smiling, but her smile was bathed in sadness. Sometimes I wish I knew what future you have foreseen for us, Kenreimon’in thought, but more often I am glad I do not.
Kenreimon’in managed to guide Antoku to the Imperial dais, where he became fascinated with the bronze guardian lions that stood at each corner. Kenreimon’in had to pick him up by the waist and set him upon the Imperial Chair.
Antoku wailed and flailed with his little arms and legs, but his voluminous vermilion robes prevented him from doing harm. The Minister of the Right, imperious in his black robes, placed the tall, black-silk cap on the toddler’s head. By waggling the ebony baton of state in front of the boy’s eyes, the minister managed to get Antoku to grasp the baton in his own tiny hands. Cheers erupted from the assembled nobles. Speeches were made, sutras were chanted, but Kenreimon’in stood in a daze, not listening to any of it.
She had gotten a letter from her husband, New Retired Emperor Takakura, when he was staying at Fukuhara. It had read:
I suppose now that I can no longer come to the palace when I choose, that we will see little of each other in days to come. It must seem strange to you that I spend so much care on my father and so little on you and Antoku. But I know Kiyomori will look after you and our son.
Nonetheless, I want you to know that my journey was successful, and I believe I have secured protection for my father. As for me, I care little as to what happens. I feel as if my life is already over. And from the whisperings I am hearing here at Fukuhara … Think no more upon me. Consider yourself a widow. Raise Antoku to be a fine Emperor. May Fortune treat you well. But, then, you are a Taira. I am sure it will.
Kenreimon’in stared at the painted panels behind the Imperial Chair. They depicted meritorious Chinese sages from times past. Please inspire my son with wisdom, she begged them silently. He will be so in need of it. Please inspire my father with sense, so that he will do no worse than he has already done.
An Imperial Edict
Four months after Monkagu’s previous visit, Yoritomo was surprised to have the monk escorted into his presence in the garden at his father-in-law’s home. It was a fine, late-spring day, and the flanks of Mount Fuji glimmered blue-green in the distance. Birds sang in the cherry trees, and the fragrant plumes of white wisteria blossoms swayed gently in the breeze.
Yoritomo welcomed Mongaku warmly, but noticed that the wizened little monk seemed anxious. “Please sit down, Mongaku. You must have had a trying journey here. Have you had more troubling news from the capital?”
“Yes and no, my lord,” said Mongaku seating himself upon a cushioned bench. “I come bearing an urgent message for you. May we speak freely here?”
Yoritomo paused. “The only person of note who may hear us is my father-in-law, who is in that room beside the garden. Whatever may
be said to me may be said to him as well, for we are of one mind about most matters.”
“As you say, then. I have spoken with a monk named Yukiie who has spoken with the Dharma Seal Jōken, who serves the Retired Emperor Go-Shirakawa. He has passed along to me this message to deliver to you.” Mongaku reached into his voluminous sleeve and pulled out a folded piece of paper. On the top fold of the paper was an insignia bearing the image of the Kikumon, the chrysanthemum sigil of the Imperial family.
Yoritomo felt the blood leave his face. “Ah, good Mongaku. I fear I know what this message contains.”
“It is an edict,” said Mongaku, “drafted by the former Governor of Izu, Minomoto Nakatsuna, and ratified by His Retired Majesty Go-Shirakawa on behalf of his second son, Prince Mochihito.”
Yoritomo took it in a shaking hand. “They are calling upon the Minomoto to rise and overthrow the Taira.”
“That is the sum of the edict, my lord, but you will want to read it for yourself. Yukiie has already moved on to deliver the same edict to other relatives of yours throughout the Kantō. You were first to receive it, however, because you are the Ason of the Minomoto; therefore, it is expected … well, it is hoped that you will be the leader of this uprising.”
Yoritomo stared at the edict, still not opening it. “Can this be true?”
Mongaku said, “My lord, I am certain it is. This is the sign you have been awaiting, neh? Here, I have brought something else for you, for luck.” He tugged at a string around his neck and pulled a bag out of his robe. Mongaku fished in the bag with his fingers and pulled out a piece of human jawbone. This he placed reverently in front of Yoritomo.
“I have been in the capital, in secret, hoping for news, my lord. While there, I spent some time idling around the palace prisons, as many beggars do. While seated on the ground, I found this in the dirt beneath the Tree of Severed Heads. That is where your father’s head had been displayed and where they had buried it. The other beggars told me that trophy seekers had gone and dug up your father’s skull, and they showed me the place where the dirt was disturbed. I ran my fingers through the dust and I found this. Since then, I have carried it with me and prayed over it at every temple and shrine I have stopped at. Now it is only fitting you should have it.”
Yoritomo picked up the bone fragment and felt a tear well up in his eye. “Ah. Poor Yoshitomo. I can still remember him, Mongaku. A man of great strength and wisdom. A general without equal. A warrior of incomparable virtue. How poorly Fate treated him, when the world should have been grateful for his efforts against the Taira. If this is truly a relic of my father, then you have brought me a gift beyond price.”
Mongaku bowed. “I am pleased to have done so. Now you must excuse me as well, my noble lord, for I should follow after Yukiie and make sure he doesn’t get into trouble. May all the gods and Buddhas give you courage and ensure your success.” Mongaku also swiftly departed.
Carefully, Yoritomo picked up the bone fragment and the edict and hurried to the shōji. When he slid it open, he discovered his father-in-law sitting just beyond it, wide-eyed. “You have heard?” Yoritomo asked.
“I heard everything, my son. What an extraordinary day this is!”
“I … I cannot read it myself. I feel unworthy. Here. Hold this for me a moment.” Yoritomo handed the edict to Tokimasa and went to perform a ritual cleansing of the hands and mouth. He put on the white robe and black cap of a pilgrim and, returning to his father-in-law, bowed three times in obeisance to the Imperial edict. “There. Now I am ready. If you please, Tokimasa, do me the honor of reading the edict to me.”
With great formality, Tokimasa unfolded the paper and began to read in a sonorous voice: “It is ordered that the Minomoto and their troops … proceed immediately against the Chancellor-Novice Taira no Kiyomori and all those who support him.”
Yoritomo let the words wash over him as he rocked back and forth, murmuring the Lotus Sutra.
“They have incited rebellion … caused the people to suffer … confined the ex-sovereign … seized lands, usurped offices … therefore I, Prince Mochihito, second son of Go-Shirakawa-In … proclaim war …”
When Tokimasa finished reading, he folded up the edict again and was silent some moments.
Yoritomo finished his prayer and looked up. “There can be no doubt, then. It is time. But surely this is the very day you have dreaded since I came into your care so long ago. Your people have long served the Taira, and it was by Taira order that you became my warden. What will you do, Tokimasa?”
“It is true that the Hōjō were loyal vassals of the Taira at one time. But that is because we believed they served the best interests of the Emperor. Now it is clear the Taira no longer do so, for here the Imperial family demands the Taira be suppressed. Therefore, I gladly make my forces yours, Yoritomo, and you are no longer a prisoner here, but free to go where you will.”
“You do not know how much this pleases me, Tokimasa. I had dreaded the possibility that I might become your enemy.”
“I feel surprisingly pleased as well, Yoritomo, as if a weight has been taken from my shoulders. I will go spread word among the men in my service that they should prepare to fight on your behalf and at your orders. How extraordinary. Surely we must have known one another in a previous life to have so important a connection in this one.” Shaking his head, Tokimasa stood and went out.
Yoritomo went to his writing room and, opening a chest of small drawers, found a brocade silk bag. Into this he put the bone fragment and the edict, and then he hung the bag from his neck, vowing to himself to wear it always. Also in the drawer was a long wooden box that Yoritomo had not looked at in several years, though he had often thought about it.
The box contained sticks of incense that had been given him by a spirit. A spirit who had claimed to be a former Emperor. A spirit who claimed to be doing the will of Hachiman, and who had prophesied that this day would come to pass. I have spent my life in religious studies and quiet contemplation, Yoritomo thought. I have not dealt with matters of war since I was a boy. Surely there is no harm in asking the messenger of Hachiman for guidance.
He pulled out two sticks of the incense and, lighting a small bronze brazier, set the incense upon it.
As soon as heavily scented smoke began to curl upward from the brazier, a ghostly face appeared in the vapors—the face of the Shin-In. The spirit smiled, and said, “Ah, so, it is time.”
A Serious Matter
Munemori was also savoring the breezes of spring, early in the Fifth Month. The iris and azaleas were in bright blue and purple bloom in his garden, and the yellow globe flowers drooped over the ornamental stream.
His mood was almost optimistic. Things had been calm in the capital, since Takakura had gone on his pilgrimage. Kiyomori was happy now that his grandson was on the throne. Not much was being expected of Munemori, and he found he liked it that way. The trouble with having become an important person is that people expect you to make important decisions, and then blame you terribly if things go wrong, he thought. I wish I had known when I was younger how much better my life was when I was taken for a fool.
Munemori paused to admire one particularly lovely iris when the gate burst open and Koremori, Shigemori’s eldest son, now all of seventeen, rushed in. “Have you heard the news, Uncle?”
“News?” Munemori said, his heart sinking.
“Somehow the Retired Emperor Go-Shirakawa has sent out an edict, demanding the Minomoto rise up against the Taira. It is circulating throughout the Eight Eastern Provinces, and there are rumors that already armies are amassing to march against us.”
Munemori let the iris fall from his hand. “This … this cannot be true. He would not dare.”
“I have word from too many sources that it is true. Apparently Go-Shirakawa has decided to take the chance. You are Chief of the Taira. Give me my orders, and I will take all the warriors we have and ride east.”
“Um … er, you know, I cannot truly do anything without Kiyom
ori’s approval. It would be wrong of me to act on my own without his advice. Someone must go to Fukuhara and inform him. That is the task I give you. Ride to Kiyomori and tell him the situation.” That way I do not have to face my father’s wrath, thought Munemori.
“But Uncle,” Koremori protested, “the longer we delay, the more time we give the enemy to organize against us!”
“Have you forgotten? The Minomoto are scattered like grains of rice upon a beach. It will take them months to have any sort of army ready, and when they do it will still be no match for the Taira. Now get along with you and inform Kiyomori of the situation. Speak with me again when you know his mind on the matter.”
Koremori scowled, but he bowed obediently and departed.
Munemori sighed and headed for the darkest, smallest room of his mansion. Though he had not used it in a while, it still stank of ashes and incense. Closing all the blinds and shōji, Munemori lit the incense and waited. And waited.
“Where are you?” he growled into the empty air.
The incense blazed into flame and vanished. The ghostly, hollow-cheeked face of the Shin-In appeared in the air. “Do not summon me as though I were a child!”
“S-sorry,” said Munemori, “but matters are urgent.”
“I do not care!” shouted the spirit. “I am done with you, you weak, miserable excuse for a man. I have found a better servant to work my will. You are on your own, great Chief of the Taira. Do all you can against the forces I shall bring to bear against the Taira, I dare you!” Laughing, the face of the Shin-In faded, leaving Munemori to sit, stunned, in the darkness.