by Kara Dalkey
Old Stories
Nii no Ama did not let the rumors of rebellion distract her. She spent the days of late spring on a much more important mission: being the doting grandmother of little Emperor Antoku. She taught him to say Obaa-san and gladly welcomed his smiles and chubby-armed hugs.
Now, with the Freedoms of Three Empresses, Nii no Ama could go where she pleased in the Imperial Compound. And she pleased, whenever possible, to be with the little Emperor. Whenever she could, she would lead Antoku to the shrine in the center of the Daidari and say, “There is where the Mirror of Amaterasu is kept. Amaterasu is your great-grandmother many times over. That mirror is what beckoned her out of her cave when she hid from the world.”
Then Nii no Ama would take Antoku to wherever the other regalia were being kept, for often they were moved around the palace in these late days. The Imperial Compound was no longer so safe a place as it once had been.
Nii no Ama would point at the curved jade jewel, and say, “That is the Sacred Jewel. It is said that it commands all the fishes and the creatures of the sea. Long ago, a wise Emperor used its power to feed his hungry people.”
Lastly, she would point at the Sacred Sword. “That is Kusanagi, the Grass-Cutter. I have a long story to tell you about that one, and it is an important story, so listen well.” Nii no Ama would look around to see that no ladies-in-waiting were too close by. Then she went on, “Kusanagi was made by my father, your great-grandfather, the Dragon King Ryujin. It is said that someday, in order to save the world, someone of the Imperial family must return the sword to the sea….”
Antoku would listen, eyes very wide, bobbing his head as if he understood perfectly.
Prince Mochihito’s Head
Kiyomori sat sweating from the summer heat in the stifling, covered ox-carriage. The sun was setting, but it was the sort of summer evening when the air would not cool for some time. Kiyomori did not care, the heat warmed his old bones, and he reminded himself that given where his soul was bound, he had best become used to it. He proudly listened to the excitement of the crowds surrounding the carriage and lining Suzaku Avenue, awaiting the victory parade.
Kiyomori had reason to be proud. As soon as he had received word of the rebellion, Kiyomori had returned to Heian Kyō and sent forces after the traitorous prince. Kiyomori bribed the monks who were rebuilding Enryakuji so that they did not join the rebellion. Mochihito’s seven-year-old son was captured, and Mochihito’s mansion razed to the ground. The prince had fled to the temples at Nara and taken refuge there. But Taira forces had followed, fought the prince’s forces at Uji Bridge, and killed Mochihito, all in less than a month. Another great success and proof, to Kiyomori, that the Taira fortunes had not fallen.
“Do you think it will nod,” asked Munemori, the only other occupant of the carriage with him, “as Shinzei’s head is said to have done?”
“You are in morose humor today,” said Kiyomori. “Are you not proud that we have yet again prevailed against rebellion? Besides, Shinzei was a good man who was wronged. Mochihito was a rebel and a traitor.”
“He was a prince, a member of the Imperial family,” said Munemori. “Is it not … unseemly to display his head on a pike this way?”
Kiyomori turned and looked at Munemori. How pale and drawn Munemori had become over the years, Kiyomori noticed. His cheeks more hollow and his eyes more sunken as if life had been drained from him. “What is the matter with you?” Kiyomori asked. “You are not going to begin chiding me like your brother Shigemori did, are you?”
“No, Father,” Munemori replied. “I could never be like Shigemori.”
“Good,” Kiyomori grunted. “Shigemori was a fine gentleman, but he was born in the wrong age, to the wrong family. He would have made a fine Fujiwara, but he was no Taira.”
Munemori was silent a moment. Then he said, “I have heard that the Retired Emperor Takakura has taken ill.”
“Has he?” asked Kiyomori, unable to suppress a slight smile.
“They say he is unable to keep down his food.”
“Well, in these latter days, what can one expect? You see how weak the Imperial line has become? Take a young Emperor from his throne, and he wilts like a chrysanthemum that is removed from sunlight.”
“Then we must see that Antoku remains upon the Jeweled Throne into old age,” said Munemori.
“Indeed, we must,” agreed Kiyomori. “You must make that your foremost concern, Munemori. The day will soon come when I am no longer in this world to guide you.”
Munemori was again silent.
Cheers erupted from the crowd around the carriage and Kiyomori pushed aside the curtains bearing the butterfly crest that covered the rectangular window. Suzaku Avenue was now filled, gutter to gutter, with mounted Taira warriors, their armor shining, their banners fluttering, their horses stepping proudly. At the front rode Koremori, bearing the pike on which rode Mochihito’s head. Kiyomori watched the procession go by, daring Mochihito to nod at him, but the head did not.
“Hah!” cried Kiyomori, “I will see you in one of the One Hundred Hells, Mochihito!”
“Father,” Munemori said, reaching for Kiyomori’s sleeve.
“What?”
“N-never mind.”
“You were going to say that I am behaving in an unseemly manner.”
“No, nothing of the kind.”
“Something is the matter with you. You have not been this weak-willed in years. Are you ill?”
“No, Father. It is merely … I had received some … disappointing news some time back. I have not yet quite recovered. A personal matter. Nothing to concern yourself with.”
“Ah. A woman, then.”
“No. A … spiritual matter.”
“Ah. Speaking of spiritual matters, I want you to order Taira troops to ride down to Miidera Temple at Nara. The monks there are clearly traitors as well, for they harbored the rebel prince. Raze the temple and then burn it. Let Miidera be an example that treason will not be tolerated, even among the holy.”
Munemori was silent.
“Well?” Kiyomori roared.
“It shall be as you say, Father.”
A City Floats Downriver
What, today?” cried Kenreimon’in, as the servants rushed about, packing up her things. It was early morning, and she had hardly finished dressing. Her long black hair was still unkempt from sleeping and not yet fastened with pins and combs.
“It is so, Majesty,” said Munemori apologetically. “Father has given the order to speed up the transfer of the capital. I think he wants to keep everyone on edge, to forestall objections, by doing the unexpected.”
“Or Shigemori had been right.”
“You had best not say such things, sister. I cannot vouch for Father’s mood anymore. There is no saying whom he will strike down, whom he will think to be a threat.”
That made Kenreimon’in pause. Kiyomori had ignored her in her childhood, played the proud father when she married a prince, and doted upon her after she became pregnant with the future Taira Emperor. But she had heard many stories of how Kiyomori threw away people who were no longer of use to him. Many a dancing girl had had her life ruined and been forced to become a nun when Kiyomori lost interest. She had heard the dark rumors that Kiyomori had had Shigemori cursed to die, though Kenreimon’in chose not to believe them. And there was Takakura’s mysterious illness. Indeed, what might Kiyomori do to a daughter who is no longer dutiful?
She allowed the servants to sweep her along through the palace corridors, out to where a carriage awaited by the gate.
“Wait, where is Antoku?”
“The Imperial Palanquin has been brought for him,” said Munemori, who had followed along behind her. “You are to ride in separate conveyances.”
“But why?”
“I do not know. I no longer question Father’s orders.”
“Antoku should not travel alone!”
“The wife of the Taira Major Counselor will be with him.”
“I do not understand!”
“I am afraid it is not Father’s way to explain things.”
“What of my husband? I have heard he is too ill to travel.”
“Nonetheless, Takakura will be going in your procession as well as his father, Retired Emperor Go-Shirakawa. Now please get in the carriage.”
Kenreimon’in did so, followed by several of her ladies. Kenreimon’in leaned out the carriage window. “Munemori, this Fukuhara … what is it like?”
“It is … by the sea, Majesty. By the sea.” Munemori bowed and hurried off to perform some other duty.
The carriage lurched forward, and Kenreimon’in fell against one of her ladies-in-waiting. Normally this would bring laughter, but this morning everyone merely thought it bad fortune.
“I have heard of this Fukuhara, Majesty,” said one of the ladies. “A gentleman who visited me often told me of it. A dreary place, he said, where the wind never ceases and the ocean waves roar in your dreams. The cries of the seabirds are like tormented souls, and there are few flowers and no pleasant streams. It is only hills and sea, that is all.”
“Why?” whispered Kenreimon’in. “Why would my father wish us to move to such a place? Why do we have to abandon Heian Kyō to make Fukuhara the capital?”
The ladies did not answer, only staring down at their laps in uncomfortable silence.
As soon as the carriage rolled out of the Imperial Compound gate of Suzakumon, the carriage was surrounded by Taira warriors on horseback. Kenreimon’in glanced out, but saw no friendly, familiar faces this time. Hemmed in by horseflesh, she felt as though her carriage had become a rolling prison cell.
Sometime later, the carriage slowed as the road went uphill. Kenreimon’in peered out through the bamboo blind that covered the window. She could see down a slope to the Kamo River in the valley below, and the morning sun illuminated an astonishing sight. Many of the great mansions of Heian Kyō had been made into gigantic rafts and were floating down the Kamo River. From the road, Kenreimon’in could hear the bellowing of oxen as they strained to haul wheeled pallets on which lay roof beams and carved pillars and shōji and even garden gates down to the water’s edge. The streets of Heian Kyō were torn up from their transport.
“What is this?” Kenreimon’in exclaimed softly. “Why are they tearing down the whole city?”
“I have heard, Majesty,” said the lady-in-waiting who knew about Fukuhara, “that there are no building materials to speak of in the new capital. I have heard that noblemen have had to take over the homes of peasants in order to find places to live. Therefore, those who can are bringing their houses with them.”
“They drift down the river like leaves borne on the winds of fate.” Kenreimon’in sighed. She let the blind fall shut again. She leaned against the wall of the wobbling carriage and closed her eyes. “This is a dream. This is all some terrible dream.”
“It is karma,” muttered one of the other ladies. “I have an uncle who was a monk at Miidera. He barely escaped with his life when your father ordered the temples burned. All those ancient images and books lost. No wonder the gods permit this to happen.”
All the women in the carriage stared at the complainer in shock. Her eyes suddenly widened and she held her sleeves up to cover her face. “Your pardon, Majesty. I meant no disrespect. Please forgive me.” The women now turned their heads to stare expectantly at the Empress.
Kenreimon’in knew she had the right to have the woman dismissed from palace service, or worse, for speaking so against a member of the Imperial family. Kiyomori would have insisted on a harsh punishment for speaking against the Taira. But I am not my father, and in these dark times there is a place for mercy. “We are all very tired,” suggested Kenreimon’in, “for being rushed so suddenly, so early, into this journey. It is surely understandable that careless things may be said. And forgiven.”
The air was filled with many sighs of relief as the ox-carriage rolled on to Fukuhara.
The Prison Palace
Retired Emperor Go-Shirakawa had not had a pleasant journey to Fukuhara. His ox-carriage had been poorly furnished with cushions, and his old joints complained with every jolt of the road. His only company were an elderly nun and the Dharma Seal Jōken. Go-Shirakawa had also seen the tearing-down of mansions out of his carriage window, and the great rafts floating down the Rivers Kamo and Yodo. He, too, knew that the once-great capital of Heian Kyō was undergoing irreparable ruin.
It all seemed of a piece to Go-Shirakawa. His son Mochihito had been executed. His son Takakura was dying. This in addition to the many other sons, daughters, wives, and concubines he had lost through his long life. All my efforts against the Taira have been in vain, he thought, as his carriage bumped toward the new capital. Surely the gods mean to destroy the world. My sins in a former life must have been many and terrible that I am forced to remain alive to witness the end of things.
It took two days to travel the forty li to Fukuhara. When the Imperial procession stopped for the evening, at a post station at Daimotsu, Go-Shirakawa was kept separate from the others. He only got a glimpse of the pallet on which his ailing son Takakura had been carried, as he was escorted into the inn. But Go-Shirakawa was hustled into a dark, heavily guarded room, not allowed to speak with anyone. He spent the night listening to voices, those of his son, his grandson the Emperor, Kenreimon’in, and others he remembered from the palace, as they were lodged in rooms nearby. He could hear them speaking of him and inquiring how he was. It is as though I am already dead, he thought, and haunting the lives of others.
The next day, he arrived in Fukuhara at sundown, although the overcast from the sea obscured the sunset. As soon as Go-Shirakawa stepped from the carriage, his face was swept by the cold wind from the ocean. He could hear the distant roar of the surf, behind the confused babbling of transplanted nobility.
“This way, Majesty,” said the fully armored Taira warrior standing before him. Go-Shirakawa turned to follow his gesture and found himself standing before a rough wooden gate that clearly led to a small house of poor quality.
“Welcome to your new home, Majesty,” said the Taira with a cruel smile. “It has been prepared for your arrival. We call it the Prison Palace.”
Go-Shirakawa sighed and allowed himself to be escorted through the weedy garden into the rough-hewn, rustic house. He noted the one gate was the only entrance. The nun and Dharma Seal Jōken were charged with bringing in what few belongings Go-Shirakawa had been permitted to take with him. The house had only three small wings, and Go-Shirakawa was taken to the one farthest from the gate and shut in.
Go-Shirakawa sat on the floor in the middle of the darkening room, listening to the sea wind rattle the shōji and roof tiles. He wondered if there was any object in the room with which he could kill himself. Why does Kiyomori keep me alive? Would it shame him if I took my own life? Probably not. The man has no shame, no honor. There are those who would rise in indignation at my death to fight the Taira. But what if they fared no better than Mochihito? Would my soul rest knowing I had asked so many to ride to their doom?
He heard a fluttering among the roof beams and he looked up. In the dim light, he saw a dark pair of wings. Ah, a bird or a bat. Trapped here as I am.
The creature flew down to alight on the floor in front of him. It was a black bird, slightly larger than a crow. Curiously, it had a little boxlike hat strapped to its head. Curiouser still, it bowed low to Go-Shirakawa, and said, “Greetings, Majesty. Be of good cheer, for I have been sent to bring you good news.”
“A tengu!” Go-Shirakawa said, and to his own surprise he smiled. “I have heard of such creatures but never seen one.”
The bird tilted its head. “Oh, you have probably seen more of us than you know, Majesty. I am a Leaflet Tengu. I have the honor to have been sent by our prince, Sōjō-bō, as his messenger.”
“But you spoke of good news. I thought such a thing was no longer possible in these dark days.”
“It is rare, t
o be sure, Majesty. But my news is this. Your son was successful in speaking with the Dragon King of the Sea, Ryujin. Therefore, Ryujin has extended his protection over you, and here, so close to his domain, no harm will come to you.”
Go-Shirakawa raised his eyebrows. “To have the protection of one of the Great Kami is no small thing.”
“Indeed,” agreed the tengu, “for, you know, it was Ryujin who was responsible for the success of the Taira, which he sorely regrets, I can tell you.”
“Yes, I see. But why have you come to tell me this, little tengu, rather than a serpent in a pond or a dragon out of the sky?”
“Because now the interests of the tengu and those of Ryujin are joined. We tengu have long been suspicious of the Taira and their tyrannical ways. So we have made alliance with the dragons of the sea and air.”
Go-Shirakawa sighed. “You offer me much hope, little tengu. Yet I do not know if I dare grasp that hope after so much disappointment.”
“Then hear this. The rebellion you incited is not extinguished. Though it cost you one son, there are still many sparks from that fire that the Taira did not put out. The Minomoto are rising to answer your edict. One of them, in fact, has been trained from childhood by our prince and is now a swordsman without compare. The other, the Minomoto Ason, has the protection and guidance of Hachiman … as well as one other great spirit whom we hope will not cause too much trouble.”
“With so much power arrayed against the Taira,” Go-Shirakawa breathed, “is it possible they will be defeated at last?”
“Let us say the chances are better than they have been in a long while. Therefore, do not despair, Majesty. Stay hopeful. Stay alert. Stay alive. Let what forces we can amass fight for you. There are better days to come.” The little tengu bowed again and flew up into the rafters and out through a hole in the roof.
“Good-bye,” whispered Go-Shirakawa. Feeling weary, he curled up on the floor, tucking one arm under his head. Now the wind and the distant booming of the sea were no longer disturbing to his spirits. Now they lulled him, like a nursemaid’s song, to sleep.