Genpei

by Kara Dalkey

  “Who, Father?”

  “There!” Kiyomori pointed at the far wall. “It is Akugenda Yoshihira! It is the Shin-In! It is my uncle and Yoshitomo’s father! They say they have come for me, that my luck has run out. But I will not go! Tell them, Munemori. I will not go!” Kiyomori shoved on Munemori’s shoulder, sending him sprawling on the floor. “I defy you!” Kiyomori screamed. “I defy all of you!”

  Munemori scrambled to his feet and took Kiyomori’s arm. To his shock, it was hot, so hot Munemori could barely hold it. “Father, you are burning up. It must be fever. That is what is causing you to see these things.”

  Servants appeared at the shōji, concerned at all the shouting. Munemori ordered them, “Fill a bath, quickly! Cold water. Lord Kiyomori has a fever and must be cooled down.”

  They hurried off to do his bidding, and Munemori led Kiyomori out to the corridor toward the courtyard of the baths.

  “Hot,” said Kiyomori. “Hot. Hot.”

  “Peace, Father. We will have you cooled down soon. Be strong, as you always have been.”

  Finally, they reached the courtyard and Munemori led Kiyomori to one of the large, square stone cisterns. Already servants were pouring buckets of water into it. Munemori and another servant took off Kiyomori’s robes and eased him into the chill water. Steam gushed into the air as Kiyomori’s hot skin touched the water’s surface. As he sank in deeper, the water began to boil.

  “This cannot be happening,” Munemori murmured.

  The servants around him began to whimper and moan to one another, “It is the end. Surely it is the end.”

  “You,” snapped Munemori at two of them, “stop whining and do something useful. This is clearly no ordinary ailment. Go to Mount Hiei at once and bring back water from the Thousand-Armed Well. That should drive away the demons that beset him.”

  The servants bowed and swiftly left, undoubtedly grateful to have a reason to go away.

  Munemori looked around and noticed that the eave from an adjoining building sloped close to the bath. “You,” he said to another two servants, “place a bamboo pipe there, along the eave, so it reaches over the bath. Place a barrel atop the roof, filled with cold water, and attach the pipe to it so that cold water may fall on him continually.”

  These servants also hurried off to comply.

  Munemori knelt by the stone bath. “Father, do not leave us. I am not yet ready to take full command of the Taira. I do not know what will happen if you go.”

  But Kiyomori seemed not to hear him. His face was stretched into a wide, snarling grimace. Now and then he would grunt the word, “Hot. Hot.”

  Munemori looked up and through the mist of the steam, he saw someone standing at the edge of the courtyard. “Mother.”

  “So. It is true,” Nii no Ama said, shock and resignation in her round, lined face.

  Munemori stood and went to her. “How did you hear so soon?”

  “Last night I had a dream. I dreamed I was here at Rokuhara, and an ox-carriage, surrounded by flame and drawn by oni demons, arrived at the gate. A voice called out for Kiyomori, saying Lord Emma-O, the Judge of the Dead, summons the Chancellor-Novice of the Taira to his tribunal. It said Kiyomori has been sentenced to the Hell of Torment Without End. I awoke from that dream and have not slept since.”

  “Mother, do not speak of such things. He might hear you.”

  “From the look of things, he hears nothing but the demons shouting in his ear.”

  Munemori glanced back over his shoulder. In the swirling steam rising off the bathwater he discerned a familiar face with sunken eyes and hollow cheeks. The Shin-In was smiling.

  Munemori was distracted by a clattering from the rooftop. Servants there were hurrying to attach a long length of hollowed bamboo to a barrel, with little concern for their own safety. The pipe was tied down to the roof tiles and cold water began to flow down over the bath. When Munemori looked back at the steam, the Shin-In was gone.

  But the piped water proved to be no solution. The water spattered in the air just above Kiyomori’s skin, as if Kiyomori’s chest were hot as iron in a forge.

  “He is fighting them,” Nii no Ama said. “He will not let the demons take him, and so his body burns as if it were already in the Nether Realm, though it remains in our world.”

  “What can we do?” whispered Munemori.

  “I am going to pray,” said Nii no Ama, “though it will do little good. You may do as you wish.” She began to murmur the Thousand-Armed Sutra, which had saved his sister two years before.

  Some time passed, and the servants returned from Mount Hiei. “It would have been impossible to bring barrels of water back quickly,” they said. “So we have brought boards soaked in the water of the holy well. The monks said he should lie upon these and that will ease his tormented spirit.”

  So the waterlogged boards were set down in Kiyomori’s sleeping chamber and the servants carried Kiyomori out of the bath. It was difficult to do because he was so hot—the servants had to wind cloth as padding around their hands and arms. Kiyomori was laid out upon the boards, and serving girls knelt nearby waving fans over him frantically, but it did not reduce his temperature. If anything, the warmth became worse, and soon the girls had to move away from him, nearly fainting from the heat.

  Munemori and Nii no Ama knelt as close to Kiyomori as they dared. “My husband, I feel the end is nigh,” said Nii no Ama, “and although we have not been close in recent years, still it is my duty as your wife to see that your last wishes are carried out. What sort of memorial or stupa would you wish? What donations shall we make to temples in your name? What posts do you want disposed on your children and relatives?”

  “Tell us, Father, if you can,” agreed Munemori.

  Kiyomori turned his face to them. “No … memorial,” he growled. “No … stupa. No … donations. No … posts.”

  “What, then?” asked Nii no Ama.

  “Want … Yoritomo’s … head!” said Kiyomori, his shoulders rising off the pallet. “Hang it … over my grave. That … is my last wish.”

  “Father,” said Munemori, “that is an unworthy last request. You should be thinking of the life to come—”

  “It is … a warrior’s … wish,” Kiyomori snarled. “I … choose to die … as a warrior.” He subsided back onto the soaked boards and closed his eyes.

  Kiyomori fought the demons for two days more. Then, on the Fourth Day of the second Second Month, in a spasm of convulsions, Kiyomori died. Heian Kyō was shocked into stunned silence as horsemen rode everywhere, spreading the news. Matters hung undecided, like a knife thrown into the air, spinning. The future seemed unknowable.

  Kiyomori’s body was cremated three days later. His bones and ashes were taken to Settsu Province, and buried on Kyonoshima, the island he had built off Fukuhara. Even in death, Kiyomori defied the Dragon King.

  A Great Disappointment

  No!” cried Minomoto Yoshitsune when the news of Kiyomori’s death reached Izu. “No!” He flung down the rack that held his armor and tore at his jacket sleeves. He threw himself to the floor and beat the mats with his fists.

  “Young master,” rumbled Benkei as he ran into the room, “what is the matter? Kiyomori was your bitterest enemy and here you weep for his death?”

  “I was supposed to kill him!” wailed Yoshitsune. “Sōjō-bō promised me! It is what I have trained my whole life for! And now the gods have taken my destiny from me. Why? Why? Why?”

  “Peace, young master,” said Benkei. “Surely this is what comes of believing the promises of tengu.”

  “What is there left for me?” asked Yoshitsune through his tears. “I feel again like a homeless child, adrift on a river with no rope to cling to. My destiny has been stolen from me, Benkei! What shall I do now?”

  “Is it not clear, young master? Your brother needs you. Although Kiyomori is gone, there are plenty of other Taira left to kill. Why, the Chancellor-Novice wasn’t even head of the clan anymore. Taira Munemori should b
e your quarry now.”

  “Taira Munemori,” sneered Yoshitsune, “is an unworthy rabbit of a man. Everyone says so. I would take no more honor in killing him than in slaying a rat that had crawled into my granary.”

  “But there are many beneath him who are not so unworthy, young master. What of Koremori, Shigemori’s son?”

  “He ran from ducks. Need I say more?”

  “But surely—”

  “No, Benkei. Were it not for my brother, I would see no need to continue my useless life. I suppose I must do what I can to maintain my honor. I will make up in quantity what I cannot have in quality. There are no Taira warriors to match me, and, therefore, I will simply have to kill as many of them as possible. I must make a vow such as you did, to kill a thousand warriors before my life ends.”

  “I gave up that vow, young master.”

  “I take it up, then. My sword will drink Taira blood until the Inland Sea flows red. Only that will appease my honor. Tell my brother I have made this vow.”

  “But young master—”

  “Tell him! So he will know with what fervor and strength I will serve him.”

  Reluctantly, Benkei bowed and replied, “Yes, young master. As you wish.”

  Yoritomo was bemused, at first, by his brother’s “vow” when he learned of it. And then he became concerned. Such a one, cut adrift from his perceived destiny, might do anything in battle. Foolish things. I cannot have a hothead leading forces against the Taira. I must be careful not to give him command of a large force. He will have to prove himself to me before I allow him that.

  Yoritomo scarcely thought upon Kiyomori’s death, other than it might be beneficial to the rebellion. He had his hands full with pacifying relatives in the widespread Minomoto clan: the Satake, the Shige, the Ashikaga. These families were all descended from prominent Minomoto ancestry and each had generals to rival Yoritomo. With the exception of his cousin Yoshinaka, Yoritomo had been able to negotiate with some satisfactorily. Some he had had to kill. With the advice of the Shin-In, Yoritomo grew ever closer to consolidating his power in the East.

  The Great Gift

  Retired Emperor Go-Shirakawa was astonished at the visitor who was guided into his private chambers. “Taira Munemori. This is an … unexpected honor.”

  The Chief of the Taira clan knelt before him and bowed low, pressing his forehead to the floor. Go-Shirakawa noted that Munemori had grown thin in recent years, and now looked older than his age of thirty-six. “Most great and noble former liege, I have come seeking guidance, and to right a great wrong.”

  “Seeking guidance … from me? Your prisoner?”

  “Prisoner no longer. Your confinement was an unfortunate notion of my father’s, and I had been unable to dissuade him. Now that he is gone, I see no reason to continue his folly. You are free to choose whatever residence you wish.”

  Go-Shirakawa blinked and let his mouth hang open in surprise. Is Munemori truly so foolish, as everyone says he is, or is this some new trick of the Taira? “Any residence?”

  “I understand,” Munemori went on, “that you were in the process of building a fine mansion at Hōjūji when … the unfortunate matters occurred. If you like, I will see that construction there is completed in preparation for you to move in.”

  Hōjūji! They will let me live in Hōjūji! He truly is that foolish! thought Go-Shirakawa. He was filled with almost as much surprise and joy as when he had received word of Kiyomori’s death. “Please do not go to such expense on my humble account. Allow me to move into Hōjūji as it is, and I will oversee the construction myself.” Particularly the secret meeting rooms, and passages so that visitors may come and go unseen.

  “If that is your preference,” said Munemori.

  “You understand,” said Go-Shirakawa, “that I have been confined with so little to do in such dreary places. Naturally I am eager to apply myself to creating a pleasant new residence as soon as possible.”

  “Of course, Majesty. Be assured that the Taira are now pleased to be at your service and seek comity with you in all things. In these troubled days, the land has become like a boat with no wind in its sails. The people need a wise leader such as you to look to, the way flowers seek the sun.”

  Ah. So that is it, thought Go-Shirakawa. You need the weight of legitimate authority behind you. Your own clan doubts you. You haven’t the dominating presence of your father, nor the moral authority of your late brother Shigemori. Your little nephew Emperor is still a child. The Regent has fled. You need me. You poor fool. I have committed intrigue for longer than you have lived. You are no match for me. “I am pleased to once again be of service to my people,” Go-Shirakawa said, mildly.

  “You understand,” said Munemori, “that we may require an edict from you, permitting us Imperial permission to crush the Minomoto insurrection.”

  Go-Shirakawa tried very hard not to smile. “I will be happy to do whatever is necessary to punish those who threaten the legitimate government.”

  Munemori sighed, and his shoulders eased as if a great weight had been taken from his shoulders. “I am most heartened to hear this, Majesty. I must confess, I have been terribly adrift since my father’s death. As you know, it was my brother who was supposed to lead the Taira in years to come. I was quite unprepared when the burden fell to me. And Kiyomori had been unwilling to let go the reins of power, so I had little chance to become the leader I must be. With your help and guidance, I am sure we can restore peace to this unhappy land.”

  Go-Shirakawa wondered if he were truly seeing a tear in the Taira’s eye. “Rest assured, Munemori-san, to use my powers to unite all the country in peace has been all I have ever wished for.”

  Munemori bowed again. “Truly, Majesty, you are worthy of the throne you once occupied. It is a travesty of fate that you are no longer there. Rest assured that from now on, I will seek your advice in all matters of importance. Now I will go and see that proper escort is arranged for you to go to Hōjūji.”

  Go-Shirakawa nodded to him. “I thank you, Munemori-san, and I am very glad to see you are of different heart than your father. I look forward to all our future encounters, and you will be the first invited to Hōjūji when it is finished, and I am ready for entertaining again.”

  As soon as Munemori departed, Go-Shirakawa leapt to his feet and did a little dance of joy, fluttering his gray sleeves, not minding the aches in his old bones. He ran out to the verandah, ignoring the chill of early spring, and bowed toward the south, toward the sea. “Thank you, o Great Kami. Thank you, Ryujin-sama! Sweet is the justice you have given me. You have allowed me one more great game in my last years. No greater gift could there be for a man such as me.”

  Second Thoughts

  Munemori pulled his black robes tightly around him as he entered his ox-carriage. He wiped the tears, which were not entirely false, from his eyes and sat on the carriage bench with a heavy sigh.

  “How did it go, Uncle?” asked young Koremori, sitting on the bench opposite him.

  “That old weasel,” grumbled Munemori. “I am sure he meant nothing he said.” The ox-carriage started moving with a jerk, and Munemori was jolted against the woven bamboo wall.

  “The kami chastise you, Uncle. You should not speak so about the Imperial family. My father often spoke of how they must be treated with the utmost respect at all times.”

  “Respect, certainly,” said Munemori, “but trust? Not one such as Go-Shirakawa. He has hungered to return to the throne ever since he left it. I hope he at least believed my suggestion that we Taira might see that he reigns again.”

  Koremori’s eyes went wide. “A Retired Emperor retaking the throne? There is no precedent for such a thing!”

  Munemori waggled his hand. “We have had many years now of unprecedented events.”

  “Are you actually going to arrange it?”

  “Allow a schemer like Go-Shirakawa back on the throne? Never. The Taira would be done for. I merely want him to believe we may, so that he will not t
hrow his support to the Minomoto. A would-be Emperor needs warriors, and the Taira are still the mightiest force in the land. I just hope he remembers that.”

  “Did he accept the offer to move back to Hōjūji?”

  “He did. And I hope it keeps him too busy to meddle in our affairs, but I fear that may be a false hope.”

  Koremori sighed and stared down at his hands. “All this nastiness and disrespect … it is most disillusioning. I fear you are becoming like Grandfather.”

  “If I am to lead the Taira,” said Munemori with genuine regret, “I fear I must.”

  The Wisteria Garden

  Kenreimon’in sat in the Imperial Gardens within the Dairi beside her mother Nii no Ama. Both wore dark gray kimonos of mourning. In this garden, if one sat just so, one would not see the burned shell of the Great Hall of State or the broken roof tiles of the Bureau of the Wardrobe. For a little while, one could sit here and see the Imperial palace as it had been, the glorious beauty of days gone by. For a little while, one could forget that, beyond the Valley of Crystal Streams, the world was falling into chaos.

  By some miracle, the wisteria trees in this garden had survived during the Imperial absence and had put forth plumes of white and purple blossoms which had lasted now into late spring.

  “I had to show you these,” said Nii no Ama. “A small sign of hope in such a sad year.”

  Kenreimon’in was not encouraged. “They are lovely, Mother. But the wisteria is a flower of transitoriness. I would feel more hopeful had you found a stand of yuzuri-ha, the flower of continuity.”

  “Alas, I have found none of those,” said Nii no Ama.

  “Here we are, two old widows.” Kenreimon’in sighed. “Why should we find any constancy in life?”

  “Old?” asked Nii no Ama, raising one eyebrow. “I am old. But you?”

  “Mother, I am nearly thirty!”

  Nii no Ama chuckled. “I scarcely remember being thirty.”