Genpei

by Kara Dalkey

  “But Yoritomo has never met you.”

  “He may have seen me once.”

  “When you were a baby.”

  “Hmm.” Yoshitsune brushed some dust off the sleeve of his red brocade hitatare. His armor, tied with lilac-colored cords, a gift from his former host Fujiwara Hidehira.

  Word had finally arrived in the far north of Yoritomo’s rebellion a month after it had begun, but Yoshitsune had departed almost as soon as the messenger had finished speaking. Hidehira had only been able to send three hundred men with Yoshitsune, so precipitous was Yoshitsune’s departure. Yoshitsune rode hard the many miles from Hiraizumi to Suruga, stopping only to ask where his brother Yoritomo might be found. Compared to this, waiting on the flagstones was nothing.

  Finally, a frowning aide-de-camp appeared on the verandah of the residence. “My lord says he will have audience with you.”

  “Aha! You see?” Yoshitsune said to Benkei. “I was right.”

  “You win the wager, young master,” said Benkei. “And I am glad of it. My feet were getting sore.”

  They followed the aide into the cool interior of the house and then out to a broad courtyard. The last leaves on the gingko trees were drifting down, shimmering like gold coins. Several men in partial armor sat on padded straw mats in the courtyard. One of them stood as Yoshitsune and Benkei walked up. “You are the one who says he is my brother?”

  He was a tall, broad man, Yoshitsune noticed, and past thirty years old. His face had been reddened by recent sun, but he was not weathered and brown as was the nature of a Kantō warrior. Yoritomo had more the face of a scholar. Only the fact that his teeth were unstained and he wore no white face powder showed that he was not a courtier. Yoritomo’s expression was welcoming, but his eyes remained wary, the eyes of a man who never revealed himself fully to anyone.

  Yoshitsune removed his helmet and bowed. “Yoritomo-sama, I am, indeed, that one whom you may have known as Ushiwaka. My mother was Tokiwa, a favored concubine of our father, General Yoshitomo. I was exiled to Kuramadera as a child, but three years ago I escaped and fled to Hiraizumi. The lord there, Fujiwara Hidehira, treated me well and taught me the skills of horsemanship and the bow. No less a personage than a prince of the tengu taught me the ways of the sword.”

  “A tengu?” asked Yoritomo, blinking in surprise.

  “The very same, brother. Sōjō-bō by name. Before I was fifteen I had mastered tengu-do, and I must say I have only improved in skill since then. I single-handedly defeated an attack of bandits at a post station, and have won numerous duels with other warriors.”

  The amused murmuring of the other warriors in the courtyard alerted Yoshitomo that he might be perceived as boasting too much, so he changed the subject. “Now I bring three hundred men under my command to serve you, if you are willing to have them. Here is my heirloom sword, which should prove that I am a Minomoto. Now what do you say? Shall we catch butterflies together, as happy brothers do?”

  The other gentlemen in the courtyard laughed, and Yoritomo smiled. “Indeed, you must be the one who wrote me this poem.” He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Yoshitsune recognized it as the note he had sent Yoritomo as he was passing though Izu years before. “I have carried it with me ever since I received it,” said Yoshitomo. “Come, sit with me and let us talk about days gone by.”

  Yoshitsune accepted the seat of honor to Yoritomo’s left, and Benkei knelt behind Yoshitsune. Yoshitsune listened with rapt attention as Yoritomo told him tales of their father’s courage in the Hōgen and Heiji and how their father had been cruelly ambushed by traitors. Yoritomo told him of his other brothers, Tokiwa’s other sons, now named Noriyori and Gien, who had also spent their childhood in exile. These brothers also had offered their services to the Minomoto cause. Yoritomo said he intended to build a great monument to Yoshitomo someday. Both brothers talked sadly of their days in exile, and of those who had treated them with kindness.

  Yoshitsune also was able to tell Yoritomo what he knew of the loyalty of the lords of the far provinces of Ohū and Dewa, and whether they might be sending more men to assist them in the rebellion.

  Afternoon passed into evening into night with the brothers deep in conversation. Food and drink were brought to them and neither noticed when the chill of the late-autumn night settled around them. At last, when the watchman cried the Hour of the Rat, Yoshitsune stood to take his leave.

  Yoritomo grasped his arm. “Brother, I cannot tell you how pleased I am to have you and your men join our forces. Surely it is a good omen, as it was for our esteemed ancestor Yoshiie when his brother joined him at the Battle of Kuriya River. There are so few of my allies I can completely trust. It will be good having you with me.”

  “I am honored to have the chance to serve you at last,” said Yoshitsune, feeling a tear escape from one eye. “Together, I am certain we will vanquish our foe.”

  “As am I.”

  Yoshitsune and Benkei bowed and were escorted out of the residence. Both were feeling the effects of the plum wine and sake. “There, you see?” said Yoshitsune. “My brother knew me. All is well.”

  “So it would seem. But he looked a bit startled when you told him about the tengu, master. It is not wise to imply you are a better fighter than the commander in chief.”

  “Well, perhaps that was an indiscretion. But he’s my brother! And I’m going to fight for him. He ought to know what my skills are.”

  “Yes, but are you sure you should have boasted about your defeating those bandits at the post station?”

  “How is my brother going to trust me as a warrior if I don’t tell him of my victories? You worry like a nobleman, Benkei.”

  “Sorry, young master. It is my duty to look out for you. Here is the street. Look out for that pothole, master.”

  “Whoops! Ah. Thank you for catching me, good Benkei. It would be shameful to come all this way and be felled by a broken ankle.”

  “Indeed it would, young master. Your horse is over here.”

  “No, he is over here.”

  “No, master, this way.”

  “No, I am certain it is this way … If he’s over there why can’t I see him?”

  “Because he is a black horse, master. There, did you hear him snort just now?”

  “Oh, very well.” Yoshitsune allowed Benkei to guide him to their horses, happy in the thought that now all was very well indeed.

  Advice in the Dead of Night

  As Yoritomo watched his brother leave, his smile faded from his face. How young he is, Yoritomo thought. He looks scarcely out of childhood to me. And what vigor he has! He had ridden for days, and yet seemed as energetic as a puppy. Yoritomo could not help feeling a pang of envy. Ah, to be young in these times. How easily a young man can ignore the certainty of death and fling his heart into war. Here I am, an aging man, and yet called upon to do battle. I have little time left to establish a reputation as a warrior general, and yet I must to gain the respect of my clan. All those years wasted in Izu. During my exile I studied to be a scholar, while my brother secretly studied the arts of war. How much more prescient he was than I. It will be the young men, such as Yoshitsune, who will gain the glory from this rebellion.

  “Are you well, my lord?” asked one of the other Minomoto warriors present. “You have been silent for a time, and you seem to be frowning at some faraway vision.”

  “I am well,” replied Yoritomo immediately. Now was not a time to show any sign of weakness. There were many Minomoto who would cheerfully usurp his place as Ason. “Merely in need of a night’s sleep. There will be much to do in the morning.”

  “Of course, my lord,” said the warrior, bowing. “We will leave you to your rest.”

  Yoritomo’s guests all stood and bowed and politely departed, though he could feel their last gaze on him as they left, watching him, judging him. Yoritomo decided there was one last task he ought to do before going to sleep.

  He found a room that was separate fr
om the other wings of the mansion, and there lit a stick of incense and placed it on a brazier. And waited.

  Soon, Yoritomo felt a chill deeper than the autumn night. Avoice at his ear said, “At last you call upon me. I have been waiting.”

  “I regret that I could not before now,” said Yoritomo. “I must apologize. All has proceded as you said it would.”

  “Did I not long ago tell you that you were the chosen of Hachiman?” said the Shin-In. “That he, and I, would not let you fail?”

  “So you did, and I should have believed you.”

  “You have passed the tests set for you admirably, and now you see that you will be rewarded.”

  “Yes. And now one of my long-lost brothers has joined my forces as well. I should be filled with joy at his arrival, and yet I am not. I do not understand this.”

  “Ah. That one. That is the one I warned you to beware of long ago.”

  Yoritomo glanced over his shoulder at the glimmering, sunken-eyed shade of the Shin-In. “Ah, it was he? Well, Yoshitsune does seem to think much of himself. He said he has been trained by tengu.”

  The Shin-In nodded gravely. “Beware of one who has received the teaching of tengu. Such men become as untrustworthy as their teachers. He will serve you well, but he may be a threat to you when all is done. Never let him think he is your better. Never let him forget that you are the chosen of Hachiman, not him. Do not let him gain too much fame or reward, or you will have cause to regret it.”

  “I will remember,” said Yoritomo.

  A Trod–Upon Sword

  Munemori cringed inside as he watched Kiyomori pace slowly back and forth. Young Koremori knelt in the middle of the room, his forehead pressed to the cold floorboards. Koremori’s advisor, Tadakiyo sat beside Munemori, trembling and pale.

  “You ran,” Kiyomori said softly.

  “My lord—” Koremori began.

  “You ran from a flock of waterbirds,” Kiyomori continued.

  “My lord,” interjected Tadakiyo, “if it had been the Minomoto attacking—”

  “You ran without engaging the Minomoto even once!”

  “My lord,” said Munemori, “they had heard that the Minomoto outnumbered them more than two to one. It was a sensible retreat.”

  Kiyomori swiveled his bald head and glared at Munemori. “Do you know what is being said about the Taira in every post station between here and the East? That our warriors fled naked on unsaddled horses, leaving all of their armor and weapons behind. That our warriors are so terrified of battle they will use any excuse to flee. That all the Minomoto have to do is come into the capital bearing ducks and frogs, and the Taira will leap into the trees in panic.” Kiyomori returned his cold gaze to Koremori. “You have made of our house a laughingstock.”

  Shaking, Koremori took his short sword from his sheath and placed it lengthwise on the floor before him. He said, “My lord, if I may have your permission, I will go into the courtyard and take my own life, for the shame I have brought upon the Taira.”

  Kiyomori stomped his high-sandaled foot upon the sword. “That is a warrior’s honor, Koremori. You have proved that you are no warrior, not worthy of seppuku. No, I have decided you will be exiled to Kikaigashima, where you may spend a long life contemplating what your father in the Pure Land must think of you and your cowardice.”

  Koremori burst into tears. “Forgive me, Grandfather.”

  But Kiyomori had already turned away to Tadakiyo. “You, however, I will take pleasure in executing myself. I trusted you to advise my grandson. Now I must think of some suitably shameful place to hang your severed head.”

  “Forgive me, my lord!” cried Tadakiyo, flinging himself forward to lie prostrate on the floor.

  Then Kiyomori turned to Munemori. “To you,” Kiyomori said, in a tone coldest of all, “I have nothing to say.”

  Munemori summoned what pride and courage he could. What would the Shin-In advise me to do? he wondered. When he dared to speak again, Munemori said, “I beg you to reconsider, Father. If you enact these punishments, the people will know we are ashamed, and the slanders will continue. But if you reward Koremori and Tadakiyo, and let it be thought that they accomplished their mission—to learn the strength of the Minomoto forces, and to show the Minomoto the size of force that the Taira can gather—then it will be harder for anyone to speak against us. It is easier to strike a whimpering beggar than a proud nobleman. Let the people hear that the Taira are still confident, and then those who speak slander will be the ones who look foolish.”

  Kiyomori blinked in astonished silence for a moment. Then strange laughter burbled from his lips. “You … you would have us invent triumph out of this shame? You would have us make rice cakes out of mud?”

  “I can see no other way, Father. Reinforcing the tarnish on the Taira would only give the Minomoto another unearned victory. Claiming that it is we, in fact, who have won, will give them pause. And, look, we yet have our seventy thousand men, whereas if there had been a battle at Fuji River, many might have been lost and the capital left undefended.”

  “Munemori-sama is right,” said Tadakiyo, who was gazing upon Munemori with incredulous awe. “We still have all our men while the Minomoto have the ducks of Fuji River.”

  Heartened, Munemori went on, “Be merciful and sensible, Father. Tadakiyo has a reputation for courage, having defeated bandits single-handedly in his past. One could not possibly think his advice was from cowardice. Perhaps the flight of waterfowl was a warning from the gods, trying to protect the Taira from a terrible mistake. As for Koremori, he is young, and this was his first command. Surely he has learned from this. Keep him with you, and he may yet earn you victories in years to come. I beg you think on my suggestion and let us put this trifling event, which has truly cost us nothing, behind us.”

  Kiyomori paused, chin in hand, staring at Munemori. “A warning from the gods,” he said at last.

  “How could it be otherwise?” said Munemori. “Are the Taira not favored by fortune above all other clans?”

  With a heavy sigh, Kiyomori said, “I am glad to see my son’s wits have returned from wherever they had been sleeping. If only they had been present sooner. Let it be so, then. Since we did not outface the Minomoto with deeds at Fuji River, we will outface them with words here in Fukuhara. Koremori, mad as it may seem, I am going to promote you. You will henceforth be Middle Captain in the Bodyguards of the Right. As for you,” Kiyomori said to Tadakiyo, “you will get to keep your life.”

  “Thank you, Kiyomori-sama!” said both Koremori and Tadakiyo, pressing themselves as flat to the floor as they could.

  Munemori coughed gently, and said, “One more thing, Father.”

  “You dare to try my patience further?”

  “I merely wish to offer a suggestion. There is something you can do that will greatly enhance the morale of the Taira, as well as all of the nobles of government, as well as distract them from the foolishness of Fuji River.”

  “And what is this miracle I may perform?”

  Munemori explained.

  The Return

  Nii no Ama did not know what had changed her husband’s mind and caused him to declare that the capital would return to Heian Kyō, but she thought it was the most sensible thing he had ever done. Riding back in the oxcart, on the Second Day of the Twelfth Month with her daughter and several serving ladies was a joyous occasion. Despite the cold winter outside, everyone sang and laughed and talked about what they would like best about returning to the Imperial Compound.

  “I will sleep in a room with no drafts!” said one girl.

  “I will never have to hear a seagull cry again!” said another.

  “I will not have visions of men with black wings and long beaks,” said Kenreimon’in.

  Nii no Ama reached over and squeezed her daughter’s arm reassuringly. It had been a difficult time at the New Imperial Palace at Fukuhara. When the Taira warriors had left to ride to Fuji River, Fukuhara had been left undefended. The tengu t
hen had returned to bedevil what few palace guards remained, tearing down roof tiles, chattering and snickering and occasionally peering in to startle the residents. The ladies of the palace had gotten little sleep.

  “What will you like best, Mother?” asked Kenreimon’in.

  “The gardens, I think,” said Nii no Ama. “Proper gardens would have been impossible in Fukuhara, on those dreadful sloping hillsides. I am glad to return to a place where there can be flowers and winding streams.”

  “It still seems a shame,” said one of the ladies, “that all those houses we finally built must be left behind.”

  “Houses cannot float upriver,” said Nii no Ama. “They cannot return the way they left. Perhaps it is only fair. The people who first lived in Fukuhara were driven away so that we might have their houses. Now they may have ours.”

  “You mean filthy fisherman will be living in the New Imperial Palace?”

  “If the tengu do not tear it down first,” said Kenreimon’in.

  It was on the second day of travel, late in the afternoon, when the Imperial ox-carriage finally came to the Rashō Mon. The ladies were pressed by the two windows in the carriage, holding open the curtain despite all modesty and winter winds, trying to catch a first glimpse of the beloved capital once more. Even Nii no Ama was caught up in the excitement, peeking out of the open carriage window, much to the amusement of the armed men who rode as escort beside them.

  The hollow rumble of the carriage wheels beneath the great southern gateway subsided, and the ladies squealed to each other, “Oh, here we are! Here is Suzaku Avenue! Oh, here…. oh …” They lapsed into shocked silence.

  The great willow trees that had lined the main avenue of the city had all been chopped down, presumably for firewood. The paving stones of the avenue had been torn out and stolen, presumably for the new, high walls that surrounded those houses that remained. The street was littered with filth and discarded things. Starving beggars, their ribs showing, wandered the street and had the audacity to approach the Imperial procession until the escort drove them off.