Genpei

by Kara Dalkey

“Hah!” said Kiyomori. “Come to torment me again, have you? It will do you no good. I am not afraid.”

  The pile of skulls grew and grew until it became an enormous skull-made-out-of-skulls, three times the height of a man. The holes that would be eye sockets in this giant skull glowed with a red light.

  “Very impressive,” growled Kiyomori. “Is that all you can do?”

  A ghostly face appeared over the giant skull—a face with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes.

  “Ah,” said Kiyomori. “The Shin-In. We meet at last.”

  “Beware, Kiyomori-san,” intoned the Shin-In, in a voice like wind from a cave. “These skulls are the power I bring to bear against you. They and their living descendants will see that the Taira are brought to ruin.”

  “You do not frighten me,” said Kiyomori. “Your own brother was able to sing you out of Rokuhara. All your threats and scheming have so far done nothing to diminish the Taira. You ghosts and demons can do nothing unless the will of man allows it to be so.”

  “Indeed,” agreed the Shin-In. “Unless the will of man allows it to be so. Which is why, with your daughter’s help, I burned the Imperial palace. Which is why, with Munemori’s help, I destroyed Enryakuji, and summoned the whirlwind. Which is why, with your help, I killed Shigemori and destroyed Heian Kyō.”

  “Lies,” hissed Kiyomori.

  “And which is why, with Yoritomo’s help, I will destroy the Taira.”

  “Never,” whispered Kiyomori. “Through my sins, I have become as great a demon as you. I have defied the Dragon King. I have broken my vows and defied the Amida Buddha. I have defied all the kami. It is no great matter for me to defy you.” He sat and glared at the giant skull long into the night, until the apparition vanished.

  A Messenger from the East

  Because the new capital had been moved, it was not only farther from trouble, but it was farther for news from the Eastern Provinces to travel. It was not until seven days later, on the First Day of the Ninth Month that word came to Fukuhara of Yoritomo’s rebellion.

  Munemori sighed with exasperation when a servant informed him that an urgent message awaited him in the courtyard. Munemori was at his father’s Fukuhara mansion, where Lord Kiyomori was hosting a celebration of the completion of the New Imperial Palace. It was the first pleasant event to have occurred in that desolate place, and Munemori was irritated to be drawn away from the gosechi dancers and koto musicians.

  “Could this message not be given to another?”

  “That would not be appropriate, Lord Munemori.”

  “Not even to my father?”

  The servant paled and shook his head. “You are Chief of the Taira, Munemori-sama. It is best you hear this first.”

  With great reluctance, Munemori stood and followed the servant out to the courtyard. A cold drizzle was falling on the huddled, miserable messenger and the dead horse he stood beside. “The horse was ridden to death, my lord,” the servant whispered in Munemori’s ear, “so desperate was the messenger to reach Fukuhara.”

  “Then I suppose I had better hear him,” muttered Munemori, wishing this were a burden someone could take from him. He invited the messenger onto the verandah, under the sheltering eaves, and said, “I am listening. What is your message?”

  The messenger bowed many times, perhaps more to warm himself than out of excess politeness. He reeked of sweat, his own and his horse’s, and his clothes and hair were askew from many hours of riding. He said through chattering teeth, “My lord, Minomoto Yoritomo has raised a force of warriors in the province of Izu. He has already defeated and beheaded Governor Kanetaka.”

  The rain seemed to fall a bit harder, and Munemori felt a distinct chill even through his heavy autumn silks. “Where were our partisans? Were there no retainers of the Taira to deal with this upstart?”

  “My lord, there were. The lords of Sagami gathered their men, numbering in the thousands, and met Yoritomo at Ishibashiyama. He only had a few hundred men, and the lords of Sagami destroyed most of Yoritomo’s force, causing him to flee for his life.”

  “Then what is the urgency of this message, man, if the matter is dealt with? Why do you bother us at all?”

  The messenger sighed and took a deep breath. “My lord, news of the battle has spread like a flood across the Kantō. Although Yoritomo lost, his men fought so valiantly for him that anyone of Minomoto blood, or whose family ever served that clan, are now clamoring to join with him. Horsemen from every province are arriving in Izu seeking to bring down the Taira and raise the Minomoto to their former glory.”

  Munemori’s stomach went cold. So. That is it. The Shin-In has joined with the Minomoto. “Give this messenger a warm meal, dry clothing, and a new horse,” he ordered the servant. Munemori returned to the festivities and wondered how best to get his father’s attention for a private conference.

  Kiyomori sat on a raised platform, tapping his thigh with his fan in time to the drums and flute. He smiled occasionally at one of the pretty dancers. Munemori thought he would not like to be the girl who was awarded such a smile. Then Kiyomori turned his head and caught sight of Munemori.

  “My son! What has taken you from our celebrations?” Kiyomori shouted over the music.

  “Father, there is news.”

  “News!” Kiyomori shouted so loud that the musicians tootled and twanged to a stop and the dancers ceased their arm-waving. Kiyomori’s watering eyes and uncertain balance betrayed how much sake he had been drinking. “Then tell us all this news, that we may share in what so interests the Chief of The Taira.”

  All the assembled nobles and ladies and dancers and musicians turned to stare at Munemori.

  Feeling trapped, Munemori paused before announcing, “There has been an uprising in the East.”

  Kiyomori stood. “An uprising? Led by whom?”

  “Minomoto no Yoritomo. Yoshitomo’s son. He raised a force and killed the Governor of Izu.”

  A shocked murmuring flowed among the nobles.

  “One of the sons I pardoned into exile, neh?” Kiyomori staggered off the dais into the center of the room. “So Tokiko was right. How it galls me to admit that. I should have killed them all. All the little boys.”

  Munemori went on, “Our retainers in Sagami, however, have also raised a force and defeated Yoritomo.”

  Kiyomori barked a laugh and stretched out his arms. “There, you see. The kami have not deserted the Taira. We defeated Narichika, we defeated Prince Mochihito, and now we have defeated Yoshitomo’s son.”

  These words were met with a cheer, especially from the young noblemen. “Lord Kiyomori!” cried Koremori among them, “let us send out a great army to smash the Minomoto, and show them what fools they are for even thinking of rising against us!” This brought forth another cheer.

  Of course, thought Munemori sourly, these young men are eager for any excuse to leave dreary Fukuhara. Even if it means getting themselves killed. All for glory and making a name for oneself. How glad I am that I was never such a young fool as that.

  “Excellent!” said Kiyomori. “I am glad to see not all Taira have lost their warrior spirit. So, Munemori”—Kiyomori wobbled over and clapped a hand on Munemori’s shoulder—“are you ready to put on armor again, my son, and lead the Taira into battle?”

  “Er.” Munemori paused, and said softly, “Father, I am not so young a man as I once was, and I have duties here in Fukuhara. Let one of the younger men have a chance at making a name for himself. Koremori seems eager. I respectfully suggest that you make him the general for this punitive expedition.”

  Kiyomori took a step back, his contempt unmistakable. “Yes, of course. I remember Enryakuji. Perhaps another would be better.” Kiyomori turned to address the young noblemen. “Koremori-san, we have decided it should be you to lead the Taira forces to the Kantō!”

  With great joy shining in his face, Koremori said, “Thank you, Grandfather! You honor me!” The other young men eagerly congratulated Koremori and begged to be allowed to
follow him to the eastern provinces.

  Munemori hurriedly left the room in shame.

  Hachiman’s Gift

  For days, Minomoto no Yoritomo had hidden in the Hakone Mountains after his defeat at Ishibashiyama. With only a few men to serve him, he had lodged in caves and crevasses, drinking from rocky streams and eating what game they could catch. He had prayed to Kwannon and Hachiman for guidance and aid. He dared not, however, summon the Shin-In for fear of what his men would think.

  At last a messenger found them with word that Yoritomo should return to his father-in-law’s house. He did not know if it was a trap or whether he might be ambushed and killed there, but Yoritomo could not face himself, hiding forever like a frightened rabbit.

  So on the Seventh Night of the Ninth Month, Yoritomo and his few trusted men rode out after dark and followed the Tōkkaidō back to Izu.

  When Yoritomo arrived in the middle of the night, the guards of Hōjō Tokimasa’s mansion eagerly opened the gate for him. Keeping his head low and his hand on his sword scabbard, Yoritomo rode in, expecting a blow or a piercing by arrows at any moment.

  Instead, the shōji of the house, glowing golden from the lamplight within, slid open with a loud clack, and Hōjō Tokimasa himself came out.

  “Welcome back! Welcome back, my son! We have long been awaiting your return.”

  Yoritomo wearily slid out of his saddle. “I regret I must return in shame. I fear I acquitted myself badly in battle. I was a fool not to have chosen a better general.”

  Yoritomo’s wife came out then and silently rushed up to him, pressing her face against his shoulder. Yoritomo held her for long moments. “I wish I had more to bring back for you than this sorry sight.”

  “Do not say such a thing,” whispered his wife as she caressed his face. “A miracle has happened. You must come see.”

  “A … miracle?”

  Hōjō Tokimasa smiled at him. “A wondrous thing, my son. It is how we knew you must return. Come with us.”

  Yoritomo allowed himself to be led through the west wing of the mansion out to the verandah that overlooked the central courtyard. It was filled with people, who all stood as Yoritomo emerged onto the verandah. As one, they all bowed to him.

  Yoritomo did not know what to say. He looked over the assembled crowd in astonished silence.

  Then, one by one, they approached the verandah. First came his aged former wet nurse, leading an adolescent boy by the hand.

  “This is my son, Kirenawa. It would honor us if you would let him serve with you.”

  Others came forward. “Here is my son. Take my son to serve you.”

  Generals in full armor came forward. “I have three hundred men.” “I have five hundred men.” “I have a thousand men. Let us serve you.”

  Tears of gratitude welled in Yoritomo’s eyes, and it was all he could do to keep them from rolling down his cheeks.

  Last came a powerfully built, gray-haired warrior. “I am Taira Hirotsune. I have twenty thousand men. Let us serve you.”

  “But … you are a Taira,” said Yoritomo in wonder.

  “I have no regard for Kiyomori, or his foolish son Munemori,” said Hirotsune. “Kiyomori has shamed our clan’s name with his excesses. I would gladly see his head on a pike.”

  Or see him defeated so that you may take his place, thought Yoritomo. Nonetheless, Yoritomo raised his arms, and said, “I thank you all, and I will welcome all who wish into my service. Hachiman has surely blessed me with a gift this day: the gift of hope. Together let us defeat the forces of the tyrant Kiyomori, and bring glory once again to the Minomoto.”

  The cheer that resounded in the courtyard warmed his heart.

  A Post Station Bell

  It was a glorious autumn day, with a stiff breeze blowing from the sea. Kiyomori stood at the top of the stairs leading into the New Imperial palace and gazed down over the main road that passed through Fukuhara. The road was filled with warrior horsemen, all bearing the red banner of the Taira.

  Kiyomori had taken sixteen days to gather the forces to send to the East. The Kantō was the birthplace of many a legendary warrior, and the skills of the Minomoto were not to be lightly regarded. Kiyomori wanted a force that could not only capture Yoritomo, but also be able to go on to punish any Kantō lords who chose to continue to fight for the Minomoto. He wanted the Minomoto themselves obliterated. Therefore, he had waited until the Eighteenth Day of the Ninth Month, by which time thirty thousand horsemen had been raised, to send the Taira punitive force eastward to the Kantō.

  Kiyomori’s mood lifted as he watched his grandson, Koremori, go riding by with the first contingent of warriors, over a thousand in the first vanguard alone, bound for the Kantō. Koremori, the Ason—heir of Shigemori and destined to be clan leader one day—was seventeen and already a handsome and accomplished young man. He was attired splendidly in a suit of green-laced armor over a red brocade hitatare. Koremori’s helmet, adorned with a bronze butterfly, glittered in the sunlight. The Taira heirloom sword Kogarasu, sparkled in its scabbard at his side. Koremori rode in a gold-edged saddle on a copper-colored horse dappled with white. Kiyomori saw much of what had been best of Shigemori in him.

  Stay a warrior, Koremori, Kiyomori thought as he watched the men ride past. Do not soften as your father did.

  Behind Koremori, a riderless horse bore a Chinese chest containing the heirloom suit of armor Chinese Leather. Kiyomori did not approve of armor being used as a talisman rather than being worn, but it was an honored tradition in some houses, so he could not chastise Koremori for it.

  Koremori had expressed some dissatisfaction, the night before, with his parting gift. It had been traditional for a commander in chief serving the Emperor to be presented with a special Sword of Commission, and to be feted with a great ceremony and an enormous banquet which all of the nobility would attend. But the new palace in Fukuhara was not large enough to accommodate such a gathering. And it did not have the same structures or design, so that the ministers in the Imperial Affairs Office would have had to create a new ceremony, the rituals of which they were unable to decide upon. Therefore, harking back to a two-centuries old precedent, the Ministers of State performed no ceremony, held no banquet, and merely presented Koremori with … a bell, the sort of bell used to requisition men and horses at post stations. Koremori had put it in a leather bag and given it to a servant to carry. “New traditions for a new era,” Kiyomori had told him, but Koremori had not been mollified.

  Behind the horse bearing the armor rode Munemori. Kiyomori narrowed his eyes, knowing he must swallow his disgust and disapproval. Munemori was only intending to go as far as Rokuhara in Heian Kyō and play commander from there. Such a thing went against every philosophy Kiyomori possessed, and yet it had been the best decision. After Enryakuji, Kiyomori knew truly it was the safest thing to keep Munemori as far away from any battle as possible.

  Kiyomori watched the magnificent column of mounted warriors ride away to the north and east, down the dusty main street of Fukuhara. Kiyomori recalled the day long ago when he watched Shigemori ride from Rokuhara to the palace at the head of such a force. What a glorious day that had been. This parade of Taira might was no less impressive, and Kiyomori had no doubts that they would return victorious, but the glory and spirit were gone. It was no longer a matter of proving Taira worth and achieving power, but of retaining it. Kiyomori often imagined himself now as a pillar to a great house, holding up an increasingly heavy roof. I cannot live forever. Surely my time to leave this world will be sooner, not later. But Munemori cannot lead and Koremori, though he is Ason, is still very young. If I break, will the house fall? When I die, what then?

  The Grand Procession

  To Koremori, the ride eastward was a gift from the gods. After they passed through the ruined glory that was once Heian Kyō, more and more warriors rode up to join the column of the Taira. By the thousands they came, swelling the ranks some said to seventy thousand, until even from the top of a high hill
Koremori could not see the rearmost riders of his army. With their fluttering banners and shining halberds and helmets, it was the grandest parade Koremori had ever seen. His heart swelled with pride and he wished his father, Shigemori, had lived to see this day. Koremori could well understand the feeling that had prompted a great-uncle once to say, “If one is not a Taira, one is not a human being.”

  Given the success of the Taira over recent rebellions, others felt safe joining their expedition. Courtesans and camp followers by the hundreds rode along in their merry carts, singing and flirting with the warriors. Traveling merchants, bringing fruit and rice cakes, found ready customers among the travelers. Ironmongers and tailors rode along to ensure every warrior was arrayed at his finest. And every warrior of any note had at least two servants to look after his horse and weapons. It was a grand procession, as if an entire city flowed down the Great Eastern Sea Road, as Heian Kyō had flowed down the Kamo River months before.

  At night, whether atop mountain passes or on wide grassy plains, the campfires of the army dotted the landscape as far as the eye could see. There was music and laughter everywhere as courtesans poured the plum wine and plucked upon the biwa. Poems were composed to the glory of the Taira, or to the future misfortune of the Minomoto. The autumn nights were clear and the stars seemed to shine on every Taira aspiration.

  But as the days passed and the warriors pressed eastward, the horses began to tire. The autumn wind blew more chill from the north, knifing through every slit in one’s armor. After passing the Kiyomi Barrier, Koremori found that information about the loyalty of the local landowners, or how many troops Yoritomo might have, became more unreliable. Some would say, “Yoritomo? Oh, you need not fear him, my lord. He has but a few hundred loyal followers, no more. Once he sees your mighty forces he will run like he did at Ishibashiyama.”

  Others, however, said, “You must take care, my lord. There are many who hate the Taira, and they are all joining up with Yoritomo. He has become very strong, and is able to intimidate even those who would oppose him into sending him men. They say he has nearly two hundred thousand under his command. Be wary, my lord.”