Genpei

by Kara Dalkey

  “Where can we be?” moaned one of the ladies. “This is not our home. What has happened?”

  Nii no Ama gently closed both curtains and turned the ladies faces back to within the carriage. “It is but a temporary dream,” she said. “Heian Kyō has clearly been sorely neglected with the Taira gone. But now we are back, and all will be well again. We will feel at home once we reach the Imperial Compound. It was guarded in our absence, and the gods will have preserved it for us.”

  The ladies returned to the game of what they most looked forward to seeing at the palace, and it seemed to raise their spirits a little. Still, the ride up Suzaku Avenue seemed longer than it should.

  At last, the carriage stopped.

  “Ah, we are there,” said Nii no Ama, putting on a smile.

  Shouting was heard outside the carriage. “They must not go in! You must take them elsewhere! Take them to Kuramadera.”

  “What!” cried all the ladies at once. “What do they mean we cannot go in? What is happening?” The ladies jumped up and flung aside the window curtains, pounding on the walls of the carriage with their fists. “Tell us what is happening! Why can’t we go in? Please let us into the palace!”

  After some minutes of shouting, at last the back door of the carriage was flung open. Munemori stood there, his face drawn and haggard. “Ladies, Majesty, please calm yourselves. I am afraid you cannot enter the Compound now.”

  “Why?” both Nii no Ama and Kenreimon’in demanded.

  He swallowed hard. Softly, he said, “It is my fault. I was so concerned with the defense of Rokuhara that I paid little attention to the Imperial Compound. I did not know the guards had deserted it. I did not know brigands and common folk had broken down the gates and moved in. Everything in the palace is ruined. Most of the furnishings stolen or broken. All the gardens are trampled. It will take days for our men to drive all the interlopers out. It will take years to purify and rebuild. You must go on to Kuramadera, where at least you will be comfortable and safe. Forgive me. I have much to do.” Munemori slammed the carriage door shut.

  The ladies all sat down again in silence, mouths open. The carriage jolted forward, turning toward the north. Kenreimon’in began to chant the Lotus Sutra. The other ladies tried to join in but could not, as weeping overtook them. Nii no Ama put her arms around them and tried to console them, but soon her tears flowed down with theirs as well.

  Kiyomori’s Head

  They call it what?” growled Kiyomori.

  “It is just a wooden ball,” explained the pilgrim who had returned from Nara. “The monks of Kokufuji use it for sport and recreation. I am sure they mean nothing by it. A joke, really.”

  “The Taira do not tolerate such … jokes,” said Kiyomori. He was beginning to have had enough of monks. Kuramadera had been surprised with so many important winter visitors arriving and the monks had been slow in providing sufficient rooms and food for the Imperial family and the Taira. Kiyomori had a grudge, as well, against the abbot for allowing a certain exile to escape. Kiyomori had been glad to learn that the Taira stronghold of Rokuhara had been sufficiently well guarded that it was undamaged from neglect and he would be moving back there soon.

  “I would be patient, Father,” said Munemori, who looked haggard from having to travel between the ruined palace and Kuramadera each day. “Kōfukuji is the most venerable temple in Nara, and the family temple of the Fujiwara. You would lose all the goodwill you have gained if you overreact.”

  “These are the same monks who harbored Prince Mochihito.”

  “You have already punished them for that.”

  “Hah. Very well, send an unarmed expeditionary force to look into matters. I will wait on any further decisions until they return.”

  “Yes, Father. Very wise, Father.”

  As Munemori dismissed the pilgrim from Nara and sent an aide to gather the men to go to Nara, Kiyomori stood and stretched and walked out onto the verandah. A light snow was falling on the pines and a chill, dry wind blew down from the mountains. He missed Fukuhara and the smell of the sea.

  “It is done,” said Munemori, coming up behind him.

  “Hm. Already I am regretting my decision to return the capital to Heian Kyō.”

  “You mustn’t think so, Father. It was a very sensible decision under the circumstances.”

  “That is what you said about Koremori fleeing the ducks.”

  “Well, so it was, at the time.”

  “City of Peace,” Kiyomori grumbled. “Heian Kyō to me has always been the City of Battles, in politics as well as war. I have never felt I belonged here. Fukuhara was home. We never should have left.”

  “You have told me that the Dragon King is now the enemy of the Taira. How long do you think he would have let us keep our capital at the edge of his domain?”

  “All the better, that it annoyed Ryujin-sama. All the better to stick like a burr in his nose. Think what Fukuhara would have become in the years ahead. What a grand harbor! Trading ships bringing goods and scholars from Chang’an. Warrior ships leaving to subdue barbarians in the southern islands. It would have been glorious! I think leaving Fukuhara will be the greatest regret of my life.”

  “But the Dragon King—”

  “Yes, that and marrying the Dragon King’s daughter. What a mistake that was.”

  “But, Father—”

  “I would never have made that foolish bargain about Kusanagi. I would never have had a son like Shigemori to betray all I believe in. So many regrets. I wonder if I have enough life left to number them all.”

  “But, Father,” Munemori said with an embarrassed laugh, “if you had not married my mother, you would not have had a son like me, neh?”

  Kiyomori did not reply.

  A Winged Prince

  Ten nights later, Nii no Ama rushed toward the sound of the women screaming. She nearly tripped several times over the monks sleeping in the hallways of Kuramadera before reaching the room in which her daughter the Empress and her ladies were lodged.

  Nii no Ama flung the shōji open and rushed to her distraught daughter, embracing her. “What is the matter? What has happened?”

  “Don’t you hear them?” Kenreimon’in wailed. “The tengu! They have followed us here!”

  Nii no Ama shushed her and the ladies-in-waiting and listened. She could hear distant, cawing laughter and voices chattering. She could not quite discern what they were saying.

  “They are laughing at us,” said Kenreimon’in. “They say Takakura is going to die. They say Kiyomori is going to die. They say my son is going to die. They say we all are going to die, horribly.”

  Nii no Ama hugged Kenreimon’in close. “Do not fear. Be calm. This is holy ground, and the tengu cannot enter here. It would burn their feet. That is why they shout at us from a distance. And they did not follow us. The monks say these are tengu native to these mountains.”

  “It is Father’s fault,” whispered Kenreimon’in.

  “It is more complicated than that,” said Nii no Ama.

  The unarmed expeditionary force that Munemori sent to Nara did not return. The monks of Kōfukuji, fearing it was a Taira attack, attacked first and decapitated all of the expedition, sending their severed topknots back to Heian Kyō as an act of defiance. This enraged Kiyomori, who then sent a retaliatory force of several thousand Taira warriors to Nara. They burned down the venerable temple of Kōfukuji, and all the ancient images and scrolls within it, and slaughtered every monk who served the temple. The heads of the monks had been brought back to the capital, but rather than shamefully hang the heads from the Traitor’s Tree, the Imperial jailers threw the monk’s heads into the gutters of the city streets, to be buried under cold, wet snow. As Munemori had predicted, the destruction of K***fukuji only earned the Taira more enmity. Even among the tengu.

  “How can we make them go away?” asked Kenreimon’in. “Our guards and bowmen are down in Heian Kyō.”

  Nii no Ama narrowed her eyes and said, “I will deal with
it. I will speak to the tengu myself.”

  The ladies all gasped. “No, Mother,” said Kenreimon’in. “You mustn’t. Think what they would do to you?”

  “What will they do to me? I am an old woman, and a Buddhist nun, and a daughter of the Dragon King, who is now their ally. I can chant a sutra fast enough to keep them at bay. I do not fear tengu. Rest now. I will return when I have finished.”

  Nii no Ama stood and left her daughter’s lodgings. Draping a gray scarf over her close-cropped head, she strode out of the Kuramadera monastery compound. The monks and acolytes did not try to stop her. After the burning of Kōfukuji, they did not care what the Taira did, and had been hinting they hoped their Taira guests would leave as soon as possible.

  Nii no Ama took a torch from its iron holder by the monastery gate and walked out into the forest. There was a sharp smell of pine where she walked on the needle-carpeted path. She followed the sound of the chattering tengu until suddenly there was silence. Nii no Ama stopped and waited.

  Suddenly there was a crashing in the pine boughs around her, and a great flock of black birds, wearing colorful hats, flapped and clattered down, encircling her on the ground. Nii no Ama gasped and staggered a little, but did not drop the torch.

  Another winged creature, the size of a man, dropped down from the trees and landed right in front of her. He wore the wings and beak of a raven, but the body of a human being, as well as a bright red silk jacket. “Greetings, Tokiko,” he said. “Well met, daughter of Ryujin. My, how you have changed since you and your sister Benzaiten would play the biwa and sing on your little boats.”

  “I have lived the life of a mortal,” said Nii no Ama, “and the years change mortal women in ways both cruel and kind. Who, may I ask, are you?”

  The tengu bowed. “I am Sōjō-bō, prince of the tengu of these mountains.”

  “Then it is you I wish to speak to. I demand that you and your Leaflet Tengu stop harassing the Imperial family. Have you no respect for the blood of Amaterasu?”

  Cawing laughter erupted around her.

  “You do not know tengu well, do you?” asked Sōjō-bō. “We do not respect anyone. And I regret to tell you we respect the Taira least of all.”

  “If you have matters to settle with Kiyomori-sama then deal with him, not with his innocent family.”

  The Leaflet Tengu laughed again.

  “We tengu have a saying,” said Sōjō-bō, “There is no such thing as an innocent mortal. Particularly not a Taira. Your daughter is not wholly blameless, you know. As for Kiyomori, it is out of our hands now. Kiyomori has sinned so outrageously that the Kasuga kami will be taking matters into its own hands. Kiyomori does not have much time left in this world. Do you think he will repent and spare his miserable soul? I doubt it. A pity … I had set up a glorious death for him. A special assassin whom I trained myself. A son of Minomoto Yoshitomo, no less. How poetic it would have been!” Sōjō-bō sighed.

  “Mortals have a saying,” countered Nii no Ama, “that there is no such thing as a truthful tengu. Particularly not to a monk or nun. I have no idea whether what you tell me will occur.”

  Sōjō-bō shrugged. “It does not matter. You will see for yourself.”

  “And what do you mean, my daughter is not wholly blameless?”

  “Do we not earn our future lives? Is it not karma that she was born a Taira? And there is something else she did that she should not have. Ask her, and she might tell you. But, now, go back to what little is left of your sordid mortal life. If I were you, I’d return to Ryujin’s kingdom as soon as possible. You really don’t want to see what’s going to happen.”

  “It is the mappo, then?” asked Nii no Ama.

  “Well, such things are relative, neh? One clan’s mappo is another clan’s rebirth. Let us say it is the Taira mappo.”

  “You delight in being cruel.”

  “I am a tengu, neh? But we will give up our nightly singing at Kuramadera. The good monks there deserve some sleep after all that you Taira have put them through.”

  “It must be the mappo, when a tengu has pity for monks,” said Nii no Ama.

  “Go, Tokiko-san,” said Sōjō-bō. “Take heed of my advice and leave this world while you can.” Sōjō-bō lifted his great black wings and jumped into the air. The Leaflet Tengu took flight as well, rising like a black cloud around Nii no Ama until they vanished amid the pine boughs. Her torch was nearly blown out by the wind from their wings, but a small, flickering flame managed to remain alight.

  Nii no Ama turned and headed back down the forest path toward the monastery. She considered whether to take Sōjō-bō’s advice. How can I? she asked herself sadly, My daughter needs me. And my grandson, who happens to be the Emperor. And perhaps I may yet speak some sense to Munemori. No, I cannot go now, no matter what I might see.

  A ship tied to shore

  With thick ropes no sword can cut

  I await what comes

  A Cold New Year

  In recognition of the destruction of Kofukuji, there were no New Year’s celebrations at the Imperial palace to mark the turning of the year, the fifth year of the era of Jishō. The Imperial family moved back into those quarters of the Imperial Compound that could be made suitable and avoided those buildings that remained burned out, decrepit, or defiled. Perhaps it was sorrow at seeing the once-magnificent Imperial palace reduced to a fraction of its former glory, or perhaps it was the upset of so many moves after so long an illness, or perhaps because he was a guest at the Taira Rokuhara stronghold; but on the Fourteenth Day of the First Month, New Retired Emperor Takakura breathed his last.

  Priestly Retired Emperor Go-Shirakawa, standing on the verandah, once more confined at the Toba mansion, imagined that he could see the smoke from the pyre at Seiganji across the valley drifting up to join the overhanging clouds. Naturally, he had not been permitted to attend his son’s funeral. “How have I lived so long,” he whispered to the evening air, “to see so many die?” Favored wives and concubines, two sons, Nijō and Takakura, who had been Emperor, one grandson, Rokujō, who had been Emperor, and one son, Prince Mochihito, who should have been Emperor. “What sins did I commit in a former life,” Go-Shirakawa wondered, “that I should suffer so in this one?”

  He had become almost content in the Prison Palace at Fukuhara, as the little tengu brought him news of the new Minomoto uprising in the east, as well as their demonic pranks at the new palace. Go-Shirakawa had rejoiced when the announcement was made to return to Heian Kyō, and he regarded the Toba mansion as near Paradise after the close, dreary confinement at Fukuhara. But the gods, it seemed, would never allow him to be happy for long. There was always some new sorrow awaiting him.

  “You are the fortunate one, my son,” he said to the smoke in the distance. “Your life has been faultless, you observed the Ten Laws, and acted with the Five Constant Virtues. You will find a place in the Pure Land, surely. Pity, instead, those of us who must remain here, in this declining world. I owe you my life, yet now I wish you had not begged the Dragon King to protect me. Instead, I wish you had saved yourself.”

  Along with the announcement of Takakura’s death, Kiyomori had sent a peculiar message. It had read:

  I regret that such great sorrows should beset men of our advancing age. I have a daughter, just eighteen, whom I wish to offer to you as consort, to console you in your mourning. She is the child of an Itsukushima Shrine attendant, so surely the sea kami will look upon such a union with favor. If you will accept her, I will deliver her to you, with proper attendants and furnishings, in fourteen days.

  A gift or an admission of guilt? Go-Shirakawa had wondered. He still marveled at the heartless audacity of the man. Go-Shirakawa knew he would have to accept the girl. He did not yet dare openly offend Kiyomori. But he doubted he would be able to offer the poor creature much companionship. Hers would be another life made miserable by Kiyomori.

  Go-Shirakawa tilted his face up toward the Heavens, where heavy clouds gathered in the evenin
g sky. “Great Kami, if you favor me,” he intoned, “give me justice in this life. Give me vengeance. Let me see the Taira fallen and the world restored. If you have spared me for any reason, let it be for this.”

  Go-Shirakawa felt wetness on his cheek, but did not know if it was a tear or cold winter rain.

  Boiling Water

  That year, the fifth year of the era of Jishō, was unusual in that it had an intercalary month, a second Second Month, in order to reset the calendar of man in accord with the seasons. Perhaps because it was a month of setting-things-right, the event so many had longed and prayed for at last occurred.

  On the second day of that second Second Month, Munemori was visiting Rokuhara, recounting to his father Kiyomori a list of the many uprisings in the Kantō and Eastern Provinces over the last twenty-eight days.

  “Barbarians in all the Four Earthly Directions have taken advantage of the situation,” Munemori said. “It is all our allies can do to keep them at bay while holding off the Minomoto as well. And Minomoto Yoritomo gathers more men by the hundreds daily.”

  “Huh,” grunted Kiyomori, staring at the floor. He had not been well the past few days, Munemori had learned, not eating much. Munemori wondered if he had his father’s full attention.

  “The Council of Senior Nobles has asked me to take the post of Commander in Chief,” Munemori went on, “and to lead new forces eastward. I have accepted, thinking it would be best. Our men are wary of following Koremori after, well, after previous events. Naturally, I would not do so without your approval and support.”

  Kiyomori raised his shaved head and stared at the far wall. “Go away.”

  “What?”

  Kiyomori staggered to his feet. “Go away, I tell you!”

  “Father, who are you speaking to?”

  “It is not time! I will not go!”

  “Father!”

  “Do you not see them, Munemori?” Kiyomori grasped his shoulder. His hand felt as hot as melted wax through Munemori’s robe.