Genpei

by Kara Dalkey

  The servant in front dropped his poles and held up his arms. “This is the In, the Retired Cloistered Emperor himself! Do not fire. Do not be rebels! Surely your souls will never find the Pure Land if you spill Imperial blood.”

  Go-Shirakawa opened the wicker door of the palanquin and looked out at the warriors.

  The horsemen stared at him a moment, then slowly lowered their bows. They glanced at one another uncertainly.

  “What is your name?” Go-Shirakawa asked one of them, who appeared to be the leader.

  “Shiro Yukitsuna, of Shinano Province,” he replied.

  “Well, then, Shiro Yukitsuna, know that all true Minomoto serve the Imperial will, under the ultimate command of your shōgun, Yoritomo. Yoshinaka has turned rebel and given you false commands, choosing to disobey his Imperial edict. Do not stain your good names by obeying him in this sinful act.”

  The horsemen again looked at one another. “It is true,” said Yukitsuna. “I heard myself Yoshinaka bragging that he might set himself up as Emperor.”

  “He has gone mad,” agreed another warrior. “He has lost all sense of honor and propriety.”

  As one, the horsemen dismounted and bowed down on one knee before the Imperial palanquin. “Minomoto have always served the Imperial will, Majesty. Let us be your escort to safety.”

  Go-Shirakawa was thereby escorted to Gojō mansion, where Shiro Yukitsuna and his men formed a guard around the former Emperor. But it was no guarantee of safety. By late afternoon, messengers arrived from Yoshinaka:

  Your Hōjūji mansion is no more. I have taken over five hundred heads of the warriors and noblemen we have captured, including Archbishop Meiun. These will be displayed on the Traitor’s Tree tomorrow, to show our displeasure with your rule. Do not trouble me further or we will come and burn down Gojō as well. I have seized the records for nextyear’s promotions and destroyed it. I will choose who will have which post from now on. I choose Director of the Imperial Stables and governorship of Tamba Province for myself. You must declare me Seii Tai-Shōgun, and elevate me to Fourth Rank, so that I may outrank my traitorous cousin Minomoto no Yoritomo. I demand that you now write for me anedict declaring Minomoto no Yoritomo a rebel so that I may honorably send my forces against him….

  There were more demands, and Go-Shirakawa sighed with a heavy heart. “How the gods do make us mock ourselves. This morning I was filled with pride at my power. And now I have had yet another mansion burned out from under me, more of my supporters slaughtered, and I am again confined in one place.”

  Many faces in the stark hall of Gojō mansion wore tears as Go-Shirakawa wrote out the edict against Yoritomo. He wished he could send another messenger in secret to the Kamakura shōgun, to assure him that this edict was written only under duress. But anyone leaving Gojō would be searched by Yoshinaka’s men, and there were no secret passages in Gojō.

  The messenger departed with the new edict, and Go-Shirakawa secluded himself to await what fate would bring him.

  A New Year at Yashima

  Another month passed and another year arrived, the third year of the era of Juei. The Taira, encamped on Yashima, could not celebrate in any of the accustomed, appropriate ways for an Imperial Court. There could be no banquets, no Obeisances to the Four Directions. Musicians from the nearby villages did not come to entertain the Taira camp, for it was whispered the Taira were bad luck.

  So it was a lonely celebration indeed in the Imperial residence—a rude fisherman’s hut that had been expanded with tents and hastily built additional rooms.

  Nii no Ama pulled her gray robe tighter around her as chill breezes from the sea blew in under the blinds. The sighing of the surf and the rattling of the reeds seemed to speak to her, “Come back, Tokiko, come back.”

  Loud laughter from across the room disrupted her thoughts. Munemori, who had had quite a bit of celebratory sake, was regaling all who would listen with the few happy bits of news from the capital he had.

  “… so the Retired Emperor is cloistered yet again! So much for his scheming. And Yoshinaka, that barbarian Yoshinaka, had the nerve to write to me and say ‘Let us join forces against Yoritomo.’ As if we Taira would have anything to do with such a dishonorable turncoat!”

  You almost took him up on the offer, thought Nii no Ama, with an ironic smile. It was your generals who insisted that Yoshinaka must come to us and swear fealty to Antoku. Which, of course, Yoshinaka would not do.

  “And those battles at Muroyama and Mizushima! How we drove the Minomoto back to Heian Kyō. We killed hundreds of their warriors, did we not?”

  And lost several of our own, thought Nii no Ama, which we can less afford to lose than they can. And neither you nor Koremori would lead the battles, which has caused tongues to wag again about your lagging courage.

  “Our forts at Ichinotani and Ikuta no mori are nearly completed. Soon we will sail for Fukuhara once more and be within striking distance of the capital. And the Minomoto continue to fight among themselves. All is hopeful for the Taira in this New Year.”

  Our world is split into three, mused Nii no Ama. We may have the West, but Yoshinaka has the capital, and Yoritomo has the East. She knew, from her long years in the mortal realm, that too much pride and confidence could bring disaster. And in these Latter Days of the Law, when their luck had clearly run out, it was unseemly of the Taira, she thought, to cling to dreams of glory. But Munemori would not even speak with her any longer. She did not wish to waste her breath.

  She gazed at Kenreimon’in, who had grown thinner and older with the sorrows of travel. The Empress sat in a corner with His Exiled Majesty, trying to teach Antoku how to pluck the koto. She was putting his fingers on the strings and showing him each note. As Kenreimon’in tried to sing along, a saibara about the beauty of Heian Kyō, she dissolved into weeping and could not continue.

  Antoku put his arms around his mother’s neck. “Everything will be all right, Mama-chan. Uncle Munemori says so.”

  Nii no Ama leaned against the flimsy bamboo screen that held the wintry ocean wind at bay. “Come back, Tokiko,” whispered the reeds. “Come back to the sea.”

  “Not yet,” she whispered in return. “Not yet.”

  White Banners

  Retired Emperor Go-Shirakawa had had a dismal New Year as well. The little Emperor Go-Toba was safe, he had learned, but held as captive somewhere across the city. Go-Shirakawa had been moved again, to the Rokujō Mansion, where Yoshinaka’s men could keep a better eye on him. There were no Imperial New Year ceremonials, no Seven Herb gruel for health, no spiced wine prepared by the virgins of the Palace Medicinal Office, no parade of “blue” horses, no archery contests, no poetry dances, no celebration of the Feast Day of The Rat. So far as Go-Shirakawa could determine, the world had already come to an end. It was only a matter of time until the Shin-In and his host of demons would rise from the Thousand Nether-Hells to claim it.

  It was on the afternoon of the Twentieth Day of the First Month, when messengers hurried into Go-Shirakawa’s writing chamber, where he was copying the Lotus Sutra for the tenth time.

  “Majesty! Yoshinaka has arrived in the courtyard! He wishes to speak with you at once!”

  Go-Shirakawa’s brush hand began to shake. “What does he want now?”

  “I do not know, Majesty, but he is very distraught. I cannot tell if he is angry or frightened.”

  “Well. Seeing that I have little choice …” Go-Shirakawa put down his writing brush and went out to the main hall, indicating to servants that he would allow Yoshinaka to speak to him from the verandah. Although Yoshinaka had risen in rank, he had still not been granted the right of entering the Imperial Presence, and Go-Shirakawa secretly enjoyed making a point of that. Sitting behind a bamboo blind, Go-Shirakawa waited until he could smell iron, sweat, and horse and heard someone kneel heavily on the other side. “Yoshinaka-san. What brings you to our presence in such consternation?”

  “Majesty,” panted Yoshinaka gruffly, “I bring sad news.
Yoritomo has finally sent his troops. My own forces tried mightily to hold them at Uji Bridge and Seta Bridge, but they were driven back. I suppose I must flee to the mountains now. I expect this is the end for me. Probably the end for you, too, since you declared Yoritomo a rebel. What a sorry day this is.”

  Go-Shirakawa was very glad for the bamboo screen, so that Yoshinaka could not see the smile that was spreading across his face. “Indeed, this is a time of trial, the Latter Days of the Law,” Go-Shirakawa said, cautiously, for he could not be certain if Yoshinaka was telling the truth or merely testing him. “The capital will not feel the same without you, Yoshinaka-san. The absence of your … powerful presence will be noted for a long time to come, should the gods permit us long lives after this day. But it would seem this turn of events leaves all our lives uncertain.”

  “So it does,” said Yoshinaka, with what sounded like a sob in his voice. “I will leave you now, Majesty. Please accept my humble gratitude for all the kindnesses you have shown me. This lowly one never expected to rise so high in his lifetime. May the gods and the Buddha bless you. I must go. There is a lady I must visit before I die.”

  Go-Shirakawa heard the warrior rise and stomp away. What a bizarre man, he thought.

  The Minister of the Right, who was also being held in the Rokujō Mansion, walked over, bowed, and knelt. “Majesty, I could not help overhearing. Is this joyous news true? Is Heian Kyō at last free of that barbarian, Yoshinaka?”

  “Whether it is joyous, I cannot say. If it is true that Yoritomo’s forces have entered the city, then we are indeed rid of Yoshinaka. But Yoritomo may have no love of our government after my last edict. Or it might all be a ruse on Yoshinaka’s part to brand us all traitors. It is impossible to say. If you wish, now might be a good time to flee to one of the mountain temples.”

  “Should you not flee then, Majesty?”

  Go-Shirakawa sighed. “I have had enough of running, only to be confined again. It is winter and my bones do not take the chill as they once did. I do not know if I still have the protection of the Dragon King of the Sea. But I will stay, this time. If flames consume Rokujō, then they may take me as well. I have seen enough of these fallen days, and if matters are to worsen even further, I wish to see no more.”

  “Then I will stay with you, Majesty. There would be no greater honor for me than perishing by your side.”

  It was not long, only an hour, before again there came shouting from the main courtyard of Rokujō. “White banners!” the guard at the gate shouted. “Six riders with white banners are approaching, riding like the wind!”

  “What are your orders, Majesty?” asked a servant. “Shall our few troops fight to the end?”

  “No,” said Go-Shirakawa. “Let them not waste their lives. Open the gates and let the riders in. Let Fate take its course.”

  “As you wish, Majesty.”

  Go-Shirakawa moved to the blinds at the north side of the Reception Hall of Rokujō, from which he could observe the main courtyard. Peering out between the slats, he saw the gates open wide and the six riders come galloping in. Their sode hung tattered and askew from their arms, and their helmets sat far back on their heads. But he noticed that they were not wearing the pine-needle crest of Yoshinaka on their helmets. They wore the crest of Yoritomo.

  The six young men dismounted in good order and knelt in the courtyard. The one in front wore a hitatare of red brocade silk beneath his armor, which was laced with purple cords.

  “Who is their commander, there?” Go-Shirakawa asked. “What is his name?”

  “That is Yoshitsune, Majesty. Yoritomo’s own younger brother.”

  “Ah. Have him come to the verandah and speak to me.”

  The young warrior was escorted to a cushion on the verandah just on the other side of the blind from Go-Shirakawa. “Most Honored Majesty,” said the young man, dropping to one knee and bowing low, “I am glad to have found you well and safe.”

  “I am told you are Yoritomo’s brother,” Go-Shirakawa said.

  “I have that honor, Majesty.”

  “Tell me everything about the battle and what has occurred.”

  “Of course, Majesty. Yoritomo was greatly disturbed by Yoshinaka’s revolt. He sent me and our brother Noriyori with sixty thousand warriors to deal with Yoshinaka. Yoshinaka’s forces had pulled up the bridges at Seta and Uji, but our Eastern dragon horses are the finest in the land, and they easily swam the Kamo River. We charged across with little opposition and easily slaughtered the enemy.”

  “Excellent!” breathed Go-Shirakawa. “What excellent news! What of Yoshinaka himself?”

  “He fled north, along the riverbank. I have sent men after him, and I am sure they will shortly capture and kill him.”

  “Ah.” Go-Shirakawa sighed. “You do not know how much this news pleases me. But until all of his forces are accounted for, we may still be in danger. His men were such boors, the stragglers might return to burn down this mansion in spite. I would appreciate it if you could stay, if only through the evening and night, to help guard my gates.”

  “It would be my privilege to do so, Majesty.” Yoshitsune stood, bowed again, and immediately set off, shouting orders to his men.

  “What a splendid young man,” Go-Shirakawa said. “If all of Yoritomo’s forces are so well disciplined, I may rest easy.”

  Trusted Advice

  When Minomoto Yoritomo received word in Kamakura of Yoshitsune’s victory, and the death of Yoshinaka, he did not rest easy. “It is a curious thing,” he said to the Shin-In. “I should feel overjoyed, and I do, and yet …”

  “And yet you still have Yoshitsune to contend with.”

  “And he may be harder to deal with than Yoshinaka,” said Yoritomo. “The latest message from the Retired Emperor describes how impressed with Yoshitsune he is, how ably Yoshitsune has reorganized defense of the city, how decorous and obedient Yoshitsune is. Yoshinaka was such a boor, I had no fears that the Imperial Throne would come to love him. But the In has nothing but praise for my brother. What if Go-Shirakawa prefers Yoshitsune over me? Yoshitsune might be chosen as Great Commander and I might be left with governorship of Izu Province.”

  “A danger to be sure,” said the Shin-In. “But do not lose heart. You must insist that Yoshitsune move against the Taira at once. They have built nearly impregnable forts along the Western Sea Road. Yoshitsune is bound to fail heroically trying to take them. Your brother will die with honor, thereby adding glory to your clan’s reputation, and you will be rid of a nuisance.”

  Yoritomo smiled at the hollow-cheeked apparition. “Truly, I regret that I have ever mistrusted you. What would I do without your guidance?”

  The Shin-In smiled as well. “Truly, matters would be worse. I am glad to have been able to remain in this world, to give to Nihon the sort of blessings that were given to me in life. I hope to remain as your advisor, Yoritomo-san, for a very, very, long time.”

  I am sorry to see you go,” Go-Shirakawa said, through the bamboo blinds, to Yoshitsune. “These past few days, I have felt more secure and hopeful than I ever did when Yoshinaka was here.” It was the Twenty-eighth Day of the First Month, and swift messengers from Kamakura had brought Yoritomo’s orders to Heian Kyō.

  “My brother is quite correct, of course,” said Yoshitsune. “We must move against the Taira as soon as possible. He receives excellent intelligence from unbelievable sources, which is why we have been so successful in the Kantō. I even hear rumors that he speaks to the shade of your brother, the former Emperor, at night. Surely it is this supernatural influence that has allowed us to prevail.”

  Go-Shirakawa watched Yoshitsune depart the Rokujō Mansion. He was impressed that, unlike Yoshinaka, Yoshitsune was willing to set out against the Taira immediately. But Go-Shirakawa had his spies as well. And he had learned that Ichinotani was becoming more strongly fortified every day. All of the Taira had now moved from Yashima back to Fukuhara and the Western Sea Road.

  “Ah, my demonic bro
ther,” Go-Shirakawa lamented, “what are you up to now? Are you setting brother against brother so that even the Minomoto will destroy themselves, leading Nihon into anarchy and chaos? I remember your sinister influence long ago. I know how you whisper lies in men’s ears. I cannot let you do this. There must be some way. I stopped you from possessing my grandson. I cannot go chant at Kamakura every hour of every day. But there must be some way … some way you can be stopped.”

  Go-Shirakawa sequestered himself in his writing chamber and began to write letters to every temple, every shrine that remained in the hills above Heian Kyō. Asking them for advice.

  Ichinotani

  A light snow was beginning to fall as Taira Munemori walked along the earthworks at Ichinotani, satisfied with what he saw. To the south, the walls were within a few yards of the sea. Any enemy riders would have to pass along that narrow strand, easily within bowshot of the walls and archer’s towers. To the east, there was another force of Taira dug in at Ikuta, just beyond Fukuhara. Offshore, Munemori could see the glimmer of lanterns on the flotilla of boats where the Imperial family was staying. That way, should attack come, there was a route of escape for the nobility.

  To the north, behind the fort, rose an enormous, precipitous cliff, preventing any approach from that direction. And to the west, of course, was all land that the Taira controlled.

  He wrapped his hitatare more tightly around him. Munemori wore no armor here, certain that he had no need of any. The fort and his men were his armor, and he had never been comfortable wearing a heavy iron helmet or the woven iron sode over his arms. Munemori returned to the central wooden tower of the fortress, where reports had been arriving from outposts nearby on the movements of the Minomoto. Munemori wished to hear the latest.

  A samurai in sand-spattered leggings spread out a map on a low table in front of the commander in chief, Tadanori, Munemori’s uncle and Kiyomori’s youngest brother. Tadanori was wearing armor, with cording of black silk over a blue brocade hitatare. To Munemori’s eyes, he looked a fine warrior and Munemori was glad he had chosen Tadanori over Koremori, who was still suffering from loss of face from his defeat at Kurikara.