by Kara Dalkey
A bright golden light flashed before her eyes, and then a sudden vision: she saw boats amassing on a shore, servants loading them with arms and provisions. The Minomoto are sailing tonight, she realized. And we are unprepared to stop them.
She sat back, and the sword came off the rack and fell into her lap. I have sworn never to hold Kusanagi again. And yet, what does my life matter, what does my soul matter, if I must watch my son die? She gripped the scabbard tightly, the sharkskin rough against the flesh of her palms. I was wrong to think my son should save us through using the sword. His soul should remain untouched by sin. But I have already committed this sin, I am already doomed. Did my father not say that he would willingly commit more sins for the sake of his clan? How can I be such a coward to do no less?
As quietly as possible, Kenreimon’in stood. She slipped Kusanagi within her kimonos and walked out of the central chamber, out through the eaves chamber, and outside.
The samurai guards were startled when she emerged into the cold, still night. “Please pardon me,” she said demurely, covering her lower face with part of her sleeve, “but I must do a necessary thing.”
Torn between embarrassment and duty, one of the guards offered to escort her to the latrines. There she raised her kimonos and pretended to squat. But when he had turned his back so that she might have privacy, Kenreimon’in took off running toward the beach. At the water’s edge, she drew the scabbard from her kimonos and drew the sword from the scabbard, raising it straight up toward the starry sky. “Kusanagi, by my Imperial lineage, I command you! Bring us wind! Save us! Destroy the Minomoto boats across the water! Save us!” She felt a jolt through her entire body and a flash like lightning traveled from her hands into the sword blade and from there into the heavens.
A low moan echoed across the sky, and the stars vanished as black clouds rolled over them. Thunder rumbled in the distance and the sea swells began to rise into great, white-flecked crests. Cold, wet wind smote Kenreimon’in in the face, and she dropped the point of the sword into the sand.
Voices and the sound of running feet came toward her. “Majesty! Kenreimon’in! What have you done?”
The sand at her feet swirled around her, stinging the skin of her arms and face, whipping the hems and sleeves of her kimonos. Thunder rumbled louder overhead and wind roared in her ears.
“Daughter, what have you done?” It was Nii no Ama, grasping her arms, touching her face.
“I have saved us,” Kenreimon’in whispered, before fainting into her mother’s arms.
Watanabe
It is a great storm wind, my lord!” cried one of the Minomoto samurai on the beach at Watanabe. “A kamikaze! We cannot set sail!”
The north wind howled down the steep slopes of the nearby hills, whipping up sand to obscure all vision. One by one, the pole torches were blown out and blown down, bringing darkness to the beach. The wind roared through the masts of the assembled ships, and its fury whipped up the waves beneath them. Horses on the ships screamed as they lost their footing. Boats were flung onto the shore, crashing onto the rocks, their hulls shattered and broken.
“We must set sail!” shouted Yoshitsune. “I swore to His Majesty, the In, that I would fulfill his mandate. We must set sail tonight!”
“This is madness!” cried one of his generals over the roar of the wind. “We are losing our boats! If we sail now, we will all be killed!”
“The wind is in our favor!” said Yoshitsune. “Let us run before the gale and take advantage of it. The Taira will gain advantage if we wait until fair weather. The boats will be safer if we take them out to sea. Benkei! Draw your bow and shoot anyone who disobeys me!”
The giant drew his enormous bow, and many servants and sailors ran to the boats to make them ready. Others simply ran to the hills. Yoshitsune swam out to a boat and cut its anchor rope with his sword. “Raise the sail!” he cried. His was the first boat to leap forward on the wind, and other warriors dared not seem less courageous than their commander in chief.
At last, five boats set sail from Watanabe, carrying eighty warriors in all. They sped before the wind across the roaring sea, leaving in the middle of the night and arriving in Awa Province on Shikoku by dawn. A journey that would normally take three days was accomplished in mere hours, because of the power of the unnatural wind, and the boldness of General Yoshitsune.
Severed Heads
Two days later, in early morning, Taira Munemori was inspecting 156 severed heads laid out in rows on the floor of his residence. His generals had brought the heads from a recent excursion to punish a traitorous landowner in Iyo Province.
“This is excellent work,” Munemori told his general Noriyoshi. “This will serve as an example to those who choose to support rebels instead of the legitimate rulers of the land.”
Shouting came from the front of the residence. “Fire! There is fire in the village of Takamatsu!”
Munemori, followed by all the other warriors and noblemen present, hurried out to the front gate of the residence. A mist was rising out of the narrow lagoon that separated Yashima from the main island of Shikoku. It was difficult to discern what was happening through the fog, but smoke was smeared across the southern horizon, indicating a great conflagration. Here and there, one could see a tall white banner fluttering behind a rider.
“We are being attacked!” said Munemori.
“It must be an enormous force of Minomoto!” cried Noriyoshi. “That is the only reason they would dare attack us in broad daylight, and announce their attack by setting the village on fire.”
“To the boats!” shouted Munemori. “Save the Emperor!”
The rude log structure that was the Yashima Imperial Palace was only a few yards from Munemori’s residence, so it was no difficulty to run to it and alert the Imperial family.
“What is happening?” asked Kenreimon’in, as Munemori ran into her quarters. Servants were rushing about in a panic, grabbing the Imperial Regalia and whatever clothing and valuables they could salvage.
“The Minomoto are attacking,” Munemori said. “Who knows where they have come from, but we must leave at once.”
“But … but … this was what I was trying to prevent!” cried Kenreimon’in. She rushed out to the verandah, and Munemori followed her. “Majesty! Sister! You must hurry to the boats.”
From the verandah one could see out to the narrow strip of sea that lay between Yashima and Sanuki. Mounted warriors splashed through the mist across the shallow water, for the tide was at its lowest ebb and the water was no deeper than their horses’ bellies. Tall white banners fluttered behind them. “My dream,” gasped Kenreimon’in. “This is what I saw in my dream!”
Munemori tugged on his sister’s sleeve. “Come away! You must go to the boats, at once!” He managed to pull her into the running throng down the long wooden corridor, out the north gate, and onto the beach. Nii no Ama, carrying the young Emperor, met them there. Warriors carried the noble ladies out over the water and placed them on the boats, as the anchors were hauled onto the decks. Oarsmen pulled on the oars with all their strength, and the boats leapt northward into the strait.
Munemori boarded a different ship from the Imperial ladies. He watched as most of the Taira warriors led their horses up ramps onto the remaining boats, and these, too, weighed anchor and put to sea. Only a small remnant of the Taira forces remained on Yashima to give token resistance to the Minomoto.
As Munemori’s boat bobbed gently on the waves, he watched the Yashima Imperial Palace go up in flames. The Taira samurai left behind fought valiantly, but one by one they fell to arrows or sword blows. There would soon be more heads to join the 156 arrayed in his residence, but the new ones would be Taira.
“Where shall we go, Lord Munemori?” asked the steersman.
For a moment, Munemori could not answer him, could think of no place that would be safe. “Head for Kyūshū. There are still some Taira loyalists there, and Minomoto troops have so far not landed on its shores. If they
will not welcome us, perhaps we’ll sail to Korea or Chang’an. But Kyūshū, for now.” If nothing else, Munemori thought, it will give me time to consider if there is anywhere else worth going to.
And thus it happened that the remnant of the once-mighty Taira were driven from their last refuge by a force of merely eighty Minomoto, under the command of Minomoto Yoshitsune.
Dan–No–Ura
A month passed, and the Taira sailed a hundred li west, gathering what few supporters they could for a last stand upon the sea. The Minomoto were still poor sailors and still poorly provisioned. If there was any chance of a major victory, it would have to be on the water, in the Straits of Shimonoseki, in the province of the Dragon King, who no longer supported them.
“It is a matter of the tides,” said Tomomori, Kiyomori’s fourth son, and chosen commander in chief for the coming battle. Despite the fresh spring breeze blowing from the mountains of Shimonoseki, and the rolling of the boat beneath them, the sailors managed to keep the map on the table unrolled for the general’s perusal. “Here at Dan-no-ura, the water travels swiftly eastward in the morning. The tide would carry us faster than any men could row into the ranks of the Minomoto. If they are not prepared for this, they would be overwhelmed by our forces. It will give us a great advantage.”
“Begging your pardon, my lords,” said one of the steersmen, “but the riptides are treacherous in this part of the strait. The current might just as easily pull us onto the rocks of Kyūshū or Nagato. Timing would have to be precise. If we stay in the straits too long, the tide will turn against us.”
“We must match boldness with boldness,” said Tomomori. “And they will be sending their most audacious commander against us. There should be no need to stay in the straits long, in any case. The Minomoto have fewer boats, and we will be able to overwhelm them swiftly.”
“But what of the Minomoto land forces in Suo, on the Western Sea Road?” ask Munemori.
“When they see their fellows routed on the sea,” said Tomomori, “they will not wish to interefere, given how their men and horses have been starving for months.”
“But they might still prevent our escape should we need to seek land.”
Tomomori scowled darkly at Munemori. “Should we need to flee and seek land, it will not matter if there are forces there to meet us. It will be our end.”
In the month after driving the Taira off Yashima, Yoshitsune had not been idle. He sent messenger after messenger back to Kamakura, describing his victories and asking for reinforcement and supplies to finish off the Taira. But he received surprisingly little support and encouragement from Yoritomo.
“I do not understand it,” said Yoshitsune to Benkei, as they stood on the beach at Suo. “I have done all I can to contact all those who support the Minomoto in this region, yet we are still short of boats. Yet my brother gives me no assistance, except to say ‘be patient.’”
“You should forgive him, Master,” rumbled Benkei, leaning on his great ax. “I am sure Yoritomo-sama has much to think about there in the East. We are not the only arrows in his quiver.”
“That is true,” said Yoshitsune. “But I am his best arrow. Every warrior knows that when the time comes to loose one’s best arrow, one should not save it on one’s back out of caution.”
“A good point, master.”
“It is those cocommanders of mine. Kagetoki and his sons. They complained because they wanted to be the ones giving orders. Haven’t they seen how successful I’ve been? But I suppose my brother has listened to their complaints and now is suspicious of me.”
“That is possible, master. Ah, here comes the man who I said wished to speak with you.”
A stout, bearded fellow wearing a patched hitatare with mismatched leggings came striding up the beach, accompanied by two of Yoshitsune’s samurai. He stopped a short distance away and gave Yoshitsune a measuring glance before bowing. “Do I have the honor of addressing the Minomoto commander?”
“You do. I am none other than Minomoto Yoshitsune.”
“Ah. The bold one. I have heard of you. I am sent from Shiro Michinobu, of Iyo. We have no love of the Taira. They have harassed our seagoing folk for generations. Last month, they attacked some of our men who were defending our land and they took over a 150 heads.”
“Yes, we saw them,” said Yoshitsune, “at Yashima. We buried them with honors.”
“That was gracious of you. But now we wish to offer you our assistance. I am pleased to say I know of over four hundred ships and boats I can offer to Your Lordship. They are of differing quality and size, but every vessel can help, neh? I will also provide the men to steer them, as I know you Easterners are strangers to the sea.”
Yoshitsune felt his heart swell up with joy. “This is wonderful news! A great offering Michinobu gives us.”
“Master,” Benkei said in his ear, “I’ll wager this man is a pirate, and so are the men who will sail the boats for us.”
“What does it matter?” said Yoshitsune. “So long as they now serve the right side?”
“The other night,” the pirate went on, “my people held a cockfight. Six white birds against six red. Three times they fought, and you know what? The white birds aways won. The red birds ran away.”
“Undoubtedly, this is a sign,” said Yoshitsune.
“Or someone has fed his white cocks better,” mumbled Benkei.
“Hush.”
“Not only that,” the pirate went on, “our priests at the Iyo Shrine have had a vision from the Dragon King. According to the vision, the Taira have misused the Sacred Sword, and therefore he will give his blessing to the Minomoto. Where have the Taira said they will fight you?”
“Their heralds say they will meet us in the Straits of Shimonoseki, at Dan-no-ura,” replied Benkei.
“Mmmm, Dan-no-ura. Tricky. It is fortunate for you, Yoshitsune-sama, that my men will serve you, for they know those straits well. Without us, you might have had great difficulty.”
“Then I am all the more gratified,” said Yoshitsune, “that you have joined us. May our banners fly together to great victory.”
It was morning, the Hour of the Hare, on the Twenty-fifth Day of the Third Month, as the Taira ships sailed out into Straits of Shimonoseki. The war drums boomed as the oarsmen pulled the hundreds of boats through the water. There were more boats than needed to carry those Taira warriors who were left, but by artfully draping bits of armor, shields, weaponry around the unoccupied ships, they hoped to fool the Minomoto into believing their force was far greater. The sea was calm, and the Taira warriors were in good spirit. Commander in Chief Tomomori spoke to those in the largest ship at the forefront of the armada, shouting loud enough to be heard on the nearby boats as well.
“This day’s battle is very likely the last one for the Taira. Think no thoughts of retreat or escape, for if a man’s luck runs out, it does not matter where he goes. Even the greatest warrior is helpless against Fate. Honor is all that matters. Show no weakness before the men of the Kantō. Fight well, and your name will resound throughout history. Die well, and show the Minomoto that they have done battle with the finest warriors who ever lived!”
A cheer resounded from every boat within earshot, resounding up to the skies, and surely resounding in the deep below, in the halls of the Dragon King.
Nii no Ama sat huddled in the Imperial boat, at the rear of the armada, along with Kenreimon’in and the little Emperor Antoku. Kenreimon’in had barely eaten since the flight from Yashima, and she had become a wraith of herself. Antoku sat playing with little wooden toy boats, making a sea of his voluminous olive-gray robes. His actions seemed carefree, but Nii no Ama noted a solemnity to his features. She had told him the stories again last night, in preparation for what might come.
They heard the roar of the cheering warriors up ahead.
“What is it?” cried Kenreimon’in, startled.
“It is only the samurai saluting their commander, Majesty,” said an oarsman at the side of the bo
at.
Kenreimon’in subsided, burying her face in her sleeves. “This is my fault,” she moaned softly. “It is my fault this is happening.”
Nii no Ama reached out and grasped her daughter’s arm. “You were only trying to help. You could not have known. Truly the kami must have been with the bold commander of the Minomoto, that he could take advantage of the wind. It only shows that when one’s luck has run out even magic cannot help you.”
Then Antoku piped up. “The guards say … that to fight well even when luck runs out … the kami like that. It brings more honor. And then your next life is better.”
“There, you see?” said Nii no Ama to Kenreimon’in. “An Emperor speaks heavenly wisdom to console you. Surely he can be saying no less than the truth.”
Kenreimon’in did not answer.
Nii no Ama squeezed her hand and held it as their ship sailed into the rising sun.
Yoshitsune stood at the prow of the foremost ship of the ragtag but large Minomoto fleet, peering toward the west. He was wearing a gray-yellow hitatare and armor laced with red silk cords, having changed out of his red hitatare and armor with white cords. This in case spies should have reported his appearance to the Taira.
The Taira ships were visible now, perhaps two li away, bearing down on them swiftly. The Taira had the incoming tide to their advantage, but they were facing east—their archers would be staring into the sun. Advantage to the Minomoto. Long, thin white clouds hung high in the sky, like white banners.
“Steady,” he called back to the men at the steering oars. “Angle to the south, so that the Taira will be forced northward. It is better if we can beach them where my brother’s forces can make quick work of them.” Yoshitsune had noted that Kagetoki and his sons had taken a few boats along the coast, hoping to catch any unfortunate Taira ship sent spinning toward the land by eddying currents.
As the Taira neared, his oarsman called out, “The tide is upon us! We will have difficulty making headway.”