by Kara Dalkey
“My lord, our last messenger reports that the Minomoto have divided their forces. One section of three thousand warriors remains here.” He pointed to a place on the map in the hills above Fukuhara. “The other three thousand have wandered this way, through the mountains. They have defeated a couple of our smaller outposts and set fires to some mountain villages, but that is all.”
Munemori smiled. “Good. Let them get lost in the mountains. There is no path from there to Ichinotani, and from the look of the clouds, the snow is worse at higher elevations.”
Munemori glanced at Tadanori a moment before asking the samurai, “Who leads them?”
“My lord, they say it is Yoshitsune who leads his army through the mountains. Although he is a fine swordsman, he is known to be an impetuous braggart. He only took back Heian Kyō because Yoshinaka’s men were such cowards.”
“Good,” said Munemori again. “Half of the Minomoto forces are led into canyons by a fool, and the other half sit idly above Fukuhara.”
“Yes,” agreed Tadanori, “it appears the Minomoto are being too optimistic. They would have needed all their forces to have any hope of breaking the defenses at Ikuta.”
“Then our fortunes have not entirely fallen,” said Munemori. “Once the Minomoto break against us and fall back, like waves against the rocky shore, then we may move on to Heian Kyō. We will then recapture the Retired Emperor, depose his illegitimately enthroned false Emperor, and return the Taira to their rightful place in power.”
Tadanori nodded once respectfully. “With the will of the gods, so it shall be.” A tired cheer rose up from the warriors standing around him.
Munemori left the fortress by the gate near the beach and was rowed back to the flotilla, secure in the knowledge that the Taira had gained the upper hand.
• • •
Tell me why we are doing this again, Benkei.”
“Attacking the Taira, Master?”
“No,” said Yoshitsune. “Why are we following the rump of that old roan?”
“Ah. As I have said, in folk wisdom one may find the best remedies. And it is said that, if one is lost in territory one does not know, take an old horse, throw its reins across its back, and follow it. The horse will surely lead you to a path.”
“Ah. Even in the mountains in a snowstorm?”
“Most especially then, master.”
Following Benkei’s advice, they had found the oldest horse among them, an eleven-year-old pack pony, and put it at the head of the line, riderless, with a young page walking behind it with a switch to keep the horse moving.
Yoshitsune looked back over his shoulder at the warriors following behind, barely able to see the closest ones through the driving, heavy, wet snow. Those he could see made gestures of encouragement at him. “At least my men remain in good spirits.”
“They think you know where you are going, master.”
“I do know where I’m going. I just don’t know how I’m getting there.”
“Perhaps we will find help up ahead, master.”
Barely visible through the pines and the snow was a small cluster of rude, thatched huts. “Ah. At least our horse-guide has led us somewhere. Go into that village, if it is large enough that I may call it that, and see if you can learn where we are.”
Benkei dismounted and wandered off among the huts. Soon, however, he returned with an old man and a boy. “I have found a hunter, master, who knows this region well.”
“Good. How near are we to Ichinotani?”
“Apparently quite close, master. The cliff may be found just over that rise.”
“Excellent.” Yoshitsune asked the old hunter, “Is there any path down the cliff to the fort below?”
The old man shook his head and waved his hands. “Oh, no, most noble and glorious lord, that is not possible. Too steep, too steep!”
“Nothing can negotiate it then, not even a rabbit?”
The old man began to shake his head again, but the boy beside him piped up, “Papa, we have seen deer go down that cliff.” To Yoshitsune, he added, “We hunt them down where the streams widen just before they reach the sea. For thirsty deer, the cliff is sometimes the fastest way.”
“Hah!” cried Yoshitsune. “If a deer can do it, a horse can do it. Clever lad, come join our force and be our guide. Lead us to the top of the cliff and let us have a look about.”
So the boy’s hair was done up in a warrior’s topknot and he was given a short sword.
A short time later, Yoshitsune, Benkei, and their boy guide lay on the snowy ground, peering over the edge of the cliff of Ichinotani. The snow had stopped falling, and so they could see clearly to the huge fortress below.
“Look at that!” Yoshitsune said in a loud whisper. “They have almost no sentries posted on this side of the fort.”
“Clearly, they believe they do not need them there,” rumbled Benkei.
“We will show them for the fools they are. Bring up the horse!”
From behind them, a warrior brought up the small brown horse they had selected to be the “deer.” They had cropped its mane and tail short so that any sentries below would not become suspicious. Though it seemed now that it had been an unnecessary precaution.
“Go on,” Yoshitsune ordered. “Drive him off.”
The warrior delivered a couple of hard switch blows to the horse’s backside and the beast bolted forward, over the edge of the cliff.
Yoshitsune and Benkei watched in fascination as the horse landed on the scree and slid, its hindquarters sinking nearly up to its tail in the loose dirt and rock. But the poor horse managed to keep its balance and find some footing on more solid rock farther down. From there, it picked its way carefully, clambering, sliding, clambering, sliding, until it made its way safely down to the fort. So steep was the cliff that the horse jumped onto the roof of one of the fort’s outbuildings and stood there, shivering in fear.
“Done!” said Yoshitsune. “Now we must wait until some of our forces pass Ikuta. While they attack from the front as a diversion, we will attack from behind. What a surprise we will bring to the Taira, neh?”
“Master, your eyes are nearly glowing.”
“And why should they not? This will be glorious!”
What’s that up there?” said one of the sentries on the north wall of Ichinotani.
“I can’t tell in the twilight,” said the other sentry. “Is it a horse or a deer?”
“What is a horse or a deer doing on the roof of Moritoshi’s quarters?”
“I don’t know. It seems to be just standing there.”
“I meant, how did it get there?”
“I have no idea. Perhaps it is a magical horse or deer. Perhaps it is an omen.”
“A good omen or bad omen?”
“I am not a Yin-Yang wizard. I do not know. Perhaps it is a kirin. They are said to be messengers from the gods.”
“Kirin have flames sprouting from their knees. I do not think it’s a kirin.”
“There, did you hear it? It just whinnied. It is a horse.”
“Oh, now that is simply unnatural. There should not be a horse on the roof. I will bring it down.” The sentry fired two arrows into the horse’s neck. It screamed and fell over, sliding down the roof beams to fall dead at the sentries’ feet.
“What have you done? You have killed our omen!”
“If it was a demon in disguise, I have done us a favor.”
“Look, it bleeds. It was an ordinary horse.”
“No ordinary horse appears standing on a roof!”
“You have wasted arrows, killing a harmless creature. This sin will bring us bad fortune for certain.”
“Shut up and help me throw the carcass over the wall before someone else discovers it.”
But as the rest of the Taira were watching elsewhere, or sleeping, or playing music on flutes, or playing at games of chance, no one noticed the dead horse plummeting onto the beach.
Munemori was shaken awake the next morning at da
wn by one of his retainers. “My lord, you should come see this. You might find it most amusing.”
Rubbing his eyes, Munemori rose from his pallet and stepped out of the tent that had been raised on the boat’s deck. He had become used to sleeping on the sea now, and the rocking of the water was as gentle of the rocking of a nursemaid to a child. It had meant sleeping fully clothed, and baths had been out of the question for a while, but it was no longer so uncomfortable as it had been at first. “What is it?”
“There, on the beach, near the shield wall. Do you see them?”
Squinting, Munemori could make out two riders bearing white banners, shouting and firing arrows at the shield wall near the gate of Ichinotani. “Hm. They must have slipped past Ikuta somehow. Why haven’t our warriors dealt with them?”
“I assume it is because they are unworthy opponents, my lord. And it would be foolish for archers to waste their arrows to bring down two men.”
“Hm.”
“Oh, look. Here come a few more.”
Six more riders with white banners rode up along the beach. Now Munemori could hear their shouts across the water, as they announced their names and residences, and called for worthy fighters to do one-on-one battles with them. “You are right. This could prove to be most amusing.”
Munemori sat on a barrel on the deck as he was brought a bowl of rice and some fish for his breakfast. He ate, watching the horsemen rush the shield wall and then retreat. Finally, a few Taira warriors came out of the fort and did halfhearted battle with the Minomoto stragglers, easily holding them off.
And then Munemori choked on his rice as, roaring down the beach from the east, came a thousand riders bearing the white banner. “What is this?”
“Ikuta must have fallen,” said the retainer, softly.
Munemori stood. “Well. That was our lesser position. Now we will see the worthiness of Ichinotani. The Minomoto will not get past us.”
Squalls of arrows flew from the walls and towers of Ichinotani, holding back the newly arrived Minomoto. Mounted warriors rode out of the main gate of the fort and positioned themselves behind the shield wall.
“My lord,” said the retainer. “Look. Up there.”
Munemori glanced up at the cliff behind the fort, and froze. “By the sacred … Amida … Buddha …” He dropped his rice bowl.
It is time!” shouted Yoshitsune, snapping his battle fan forward. “Let us fly as though we were hunting birds! Let us fall down upon the Taira like rain! Follow me!” With a mighty kick to his horse’s flanks, Yoshitsune rode off the edge of the cliff.
For a few moments he and his horse were airborne, hovering over the cliff, his sode flared out like a gull catching the breeze, the bracing sea wind cooling his face. He let out a yell of exuberance, joy, and sheer bloodlust. Then he and his horse landed and sank into the scree. The horse shrieked, but Yoshitsune pulled the reins tight to keep the horse’s head up and leaned back to keep the balance on its hind haunches. Other horses flew by, some fell hard upon rock, breaking their legs, some tumbled, riderless, down the cliff. But most stayed upright, as did their riders, and three thousand warriors made the rocks shake with their battle cries as they descended upon the fortress of Ichinotani.
This cannot be happening,” murmured Munemori. “It is not possible.” He watched as the cliff seemed to come alive with a great waterfall of men and horses, flowing inexorably toward the nearly defenseless rear wall of the fort. He wished he could call out to Commander Tadanori, to the other Taira warriors. At last, the Taira samurai on the beach noticed the commotion at the north end of the fort, but too late, too late. Already the Minomoto were pouring off the cliff onto the upper platforms and roofs of the rear of the fort, firing their arrows. The Taira forces were caught between two waves of Minomoto and could not defeat them both. As soon as the Taira on the walls were distracted by the warriors on the cliff, the Minomoto on the beach charged over the shield wall.
Munemori watched in paralyzed horror as the walls of the fort ran red with the blood of the slain. Archers fell from the towers, transfixed with arrows themselves. Headless bodies draped across the earthworks, their heads held up joyfully by the victors. The gates of the fort opened wide, and men poured out on foot, running for the boats.
The Minomoto archers on the beach began to fire flaming arrows at the flotilla.
“Pull away!” Munemori shouted, heedless of the men flinging themselves into the sea, swimming out desperately toward him. “Pull away swiftly!”
Some of the boats nearer the shore caught fire and quickly sank beneath the waves. The refugees continued to swim out to those boats that were left.
“There won’t be room for them all,” someone cried.
“Then only allow those of noble family aboard,” Munemori ordered. “No commoners!”
And so the warriors aboard the boats had the sad task of asking everyone who reached the side of the ship their name and noble rank. Only those of highborn family were pulled on deck, the rest forced to let go. Those who would not release their hold had their hands or arms chopped off. Thus the fleeing Taira ships left a trail of corpses in their bloodstained wake, stretching all the way back to the beach and the burning fort of Ichinotani.
A Shrine for the Shin–In
Retired Emperor Go-Shirakawa did not go to see the parade of Taira heads as it proceded down Suzaku Avenue. He had no wish to see the faces of noble Taira he once knew riding atop pikes and naginata. Instead, Go-Shirakawa sent a look-alike dressed in his finest monks’s robes to sit in a carriage and pretend to be him, while Go-Shirakawa went to another part of the city for a far more private and important ritual, the result of the advice he had asked for recently.
On a side street in a quiet quarter near the Imperial palace, Go-Shirakawa had ordered a band of carpenters to swiftly build a tiny Shintō shrine. Its roof was thatched with cypress bark and had swooping eaves and little gilt silk hangings from the corners. The shrine was no taller than a man, and had only one small chamber inside.
Go-Shirakawa, dressed in a commoner-monk robe of black cotton, was met at the shrine by one Shintō priest and one Buddhist monk, both of whom understood the seriousness of what they needed to do. But any passerby not watching the grisly parade some blocks away would merely think that the holy men were dedicating a neighborhood shrine in thanks for the victory at Ichinotani.
The Shintō priest slid aside the front wall panel. Inside the chamber, the carpenters had built a tiny dais, supported by four little porcelain Fu Lions, surrounded by a little vermilion gauze curtain. Go-Shirakawa took from his wide sleeve a small, narrow book between wooden covers.
It had been necessary to find a personal thing of the Shin-In, a difficult task after so many years. But an elderly low-ranked secretary at the Imperial palace happened to think of a book of not very good poetry written in the Shin-In’s own hand. The former Late Emperor had instructed him to place the book in safekeeping just before the Shin-In’s departure for exile. The book had sat, undisturbed, on a shelf of the Single-Copy Library, of all places, all these years. The ancient secretary had happily delivered the book to Go-Shirakawa.
The Retired Emperor parted the little curtain with one hand and placed the book of poems on the dais. Then he brought forth from his other sleeve a slender stick of incense that one of his spies had stolen from Kamakura at great risk. Go-Shirakawa handed this to the Shintō priest, who blessed it, then handed it to the Buddihist monk, who set it alight in a lantern filled with coals lit from the dharma lamp at Kuramadera. The lit incense stick was placed inside the shrine chamber atop the book.
As the smoke filled the inner chamber, a face appeared behind the vermilion curtain. A face with sunken cheeks and hollow eyes. “Who is it, who—”
The Buddhist monk slammed the front sliding panel shut and slapped a page of the Thousand-Armed Sutra across the opening, affixing it with glue applied with a thick horsehair brush. Go-Shirakawa chanted the words of the sutra as the Shintō priest waved a s
akaki branch over the shrine. The little shrine bucked and rocked back and forth as if a dog were trapped inside. The sliding panel rattled but did not open.
The Shintō priest wrapped a hemp rope around the shrine and tied it with a sacred knot. The shrine stopped rocking and went still.
When his chant was finished, Go-Shirakawa turned to the monk from Kuramadera. “You know what to do?”
The monk bowed low. “Most assuredly, Majesty. I will travel to Shikoku and find the grave of the Shin-In. There I will utter the prayers and perform the rituals that will release your brother’s soul from this world so that he will travel on to whatever fate he has earned.”
“Be careful. The remnant of the Taira are encamped in Sanuki Province. And I have heard that my brother’s grave was unmarked.”
“I trust that the Enlightened One will guide and protect me,” said the monk.
“I will chant prayers for your safe journey,” said Go-Shirakawa. He placed his hands on the roof of the shrine. “Well, brother, enjoy your new palace. I hope you like being confined in unfamiliar residences as much as I did. But be of good cheer. If the gods, the bosatsu, and Fortune are with us, you need not stay in this one long.”
A Summons Unanswered
Two days later, on the Fifteeth Day of the Second Month of the third year of the era of Juei, the news of the victory at Ichinotani reached Kamakura. Can any man be so of two minds, thought Minomoto Yoritomo as he listened to the messengers, as I am at this news?
The list of the Taira whose heads had been taken was stunning. At least nine of the major leaders: one son of Kiyomori, Kiyosada, five grandsons, and six nephews of the late Taira leader had been slain. Munemori, however, had escaped, along with the rebel-Emperor Antoku. Some two thousand supporters and allies of the Taira had also been killed. Munemori’s young brother Shigehira had been captured and would be brought to Kamakura for interrogation.