Yoritomo left them, strangely sad at heart. For the first time in his life he had had to share food with such poor folk and they had been kind to him. On the road a pilgrim nun, touched by his extreme youth, gently warned him: "My child, there are Heike soldiers at a garrison post on this road. Now, don't lose your way," she said at parting.
Day after day he trudged on, sleeping at night in small huts and deserted shrines. There was less and less snow as he went on. He was certain that the New Year had come and gone, and took courage by telling himself that his father and brothers were waiting for him in Mino. Yoritomo had heard that he had a half-sister living there. It was not clear to him just what her relationship was to Ohi, the local chieftain, who was in some way blood kinsman to the Genji, and a man he could trust.
When Yoritomo arrived one day at a river, a fisherman who was washing his boat hailed him. "Are you not one of the Genji —Yoshitomo's son?"
Yoritomo did not attempt to conceal his identity. "Yes, I am Yoshitomo's third son. Yoritomo is my name."
The fisherman seemed pleased and proceeded to relate that his brothers had been servants in Yoshitomo's household. Warning Yoritomo of the dangers of traveling alone, he invited Yoritomo to stop with him.
Yoritomo stayed in the fisherman's hut for several days and then started out once more, accompanied this time by the fisherman's son, who left him only when they reached the chieftain Ohi's house.
The mansion seemed to be deserted, but a servant finally appeared and conducted Yoritomo to a room where the air was heavy with incense.
"And is this Yoritomo?" said a weeping woman. She was Ohi's daughter, Enju, the mother of Yoritomo's half-sister. Enju continued to weep, and her tears puzzled Yoritomo, who concluded that the defeat of the Genji was the cause of her grief. At last she dried her tears and said: "Yoritomo, your father is no longer here. He stayed with us one night and, thinking it safer to go on, went farther east to Owari, to seek out one Tadamune, the headman there. On the third day of the New Year he was most foully murdered by Tadamune."
"Eh, my father?"
"Tadamune sent your father's head back at once to the capital, and it was exposed in a tree near the gates of the East Jail."
"But—can this be true?"
"And that is not all. Your brother Tomonaga died of his wounds. Yoshihira escaped and we have not heard of him since."
"Then my father and brother are dead? I shall never see them again in this world?"
"My poor, poor child. ... It isn't safe for even you to stay here much longer. The Heike are hunting for you."
"Father! My father!"
Yoritomo, trembling, turned his face to the ceiling; tears flooded his young cheeks, and he wept aloud, wildly and uncontrollably, as though his heart would break.
Not until Enju's aged father appeared and tried to console Yoritomo did he finally manage to say: "I will not cry any more. ... I do not want to cry," and, turning to the old chieftain, Yoritomo finally asked: "Where, then, am I to go?"
To this the old warrior replied: "To eastern Japan," naming chieftain after chieftain who would surely befriend Yoritomo. He continued: "I hear there is a lady Tokiwa still in the capital and that she has three sons who are your half-brothers, but they are still mere children. In the east you will undoubtedly find Genji clansmen who will rally to you."
Yoritomo sat quietly thinking.
With every day that he traveled southward, the broad fields on either side of the highway grew greener with the springing barley. Larks sang above him, and Yoritomo walked on, light of heart. Enju had sent him on his way with all the loving care of a mother—in a new suit of clothes, with hunting cloak, sandals, a flint-case, and a sword.
It was nearly February and a new moon floated in the deep blue sky at midday.
"That boy we passed on the road just now—an unusually fine-looking lad. Unusual in these parts," remarked Munekiyo as he turned in his saddle to look back at Yoritomo.
Another warrior too stared after the trudging figure. "An air, too, that would make you think he must be the son of some chieftain in this part of the country."
"Very likely, but rather harsh training for a youngster like that, letting him travel without attendants in these dangerous times."
Without more ado, Munekiyo continued forward, when a sixth sense warned him; he brought his horse to a sudden stop and looked back once more at the vanishing figure.
Munekiyo, retainer to Kiyomori's half-brother, Yorimori, had been dispatched as Yorimori's deputy to confirm the news of Yoshitomo's death, and having completed sundry business connected with commending Tadamune, was on his way back to the capital. Turning quickly to the soldiers near him, Munekiyo ordered:
"Bring back that boy we just passed on the road. If he tries to escape, I have no doubt who he is. You're to capture him at all costs."
Munekiyo turned and followed after his soldiers at a leisurely pace.
Yoritomo had apparently tried to escape and resisted his captors. He lay on his back now on the bank of the willow-fringed river, staring up at the perspiring soldiers who surrounded him. The soldiers were breathing heavily; large veins stood out like cords on their red faces and necks.
"Come now, get up!"
"Get up, there!"
Yoritomo did not move, but lay quietly blinking up at the sun.
Munekiyo leaned over and peered at him. "What's the matter there? What are you doing?"
"He's little enough, but don't let that deceive you," one of the soldiers said indignantly. "A little fighter he is, too. . . . Look at him there, and ordering us to put him on his feet as though we were his servants!"
A faint smile appeared on Munekiyo's face. "Put him on his feet," he ordered.
Two soldiers stepped forward, grasped Yoritomo's arms, and hauled him to his feet. Yoritomo stood erect, facing Munekiyo. His face was covered with dust. A bruise lay red along a flushed cheek over which a strand of hair straggled.
"Did they hurt you, boy?"
“…”
"Where are you going? East?"
“…”
"Your father? Who is your father, boy?"
“…”
Yoritomo refused to reply, but the last question brought a large tear rolling down his cheek, though he still uttered no word.
"Answer me. If you still refuse, then we'll see if pain will do it," Munekiyo threatened.
Yoritomo straightened his shoulders and with a look of contempt said: "And who are you? Get down from your horse if you must speak to me. I am not one to have mere Heike soldiers address me from on horseback."
Munekiyo fell silent with astonishment and scrutinized Yoritomo from head to foot. Then, dismounting quickly, he approached Yoritomo and explained that he was a retainer of Yorimori of the Heike.
Munekiyo had already guessed who Yoritomo was, but he still gently urged: "Who are you? Tell me whose son you are."
CHAPTER XXVI
MERCY
More than a month had gone by since Kiyomori's stepmother, Ariko, had come to Rokuhara for safety, and she had stayed on until the New Year was past, sharing the life of the household and enjoying the fond attentions of her grandchildren. Ariko was little over forty, barely older than Kiyomori himself, too young in appearance yet to be called a grandmother. Kiyomori often felt stabs of jealousy when he saw Ariko and Tokiko together, for he could not help noticing how much comelier his father's widow was than his own wife; there were times when he even pitied himself for his own marriage.
His secret resentment notwithstanding, Kiyomori never was at ease with Ariko. There was something about her that compelled him even against his strongest inclinations to defer to her. He sometimes wondered what it was that made him feel as he did toward her.
One morning as Kiyomori was about to leave for the Court, Ariko's maid appeared with a message that her mistress wished to speak with him. It was his stepmother's habit to spend part of the morning reciting sutras in the oratory attached to her room, and Kiyomori p
articularly disliked entering this part of the house; not only was his father's name-tablet there, but there was something somber and forbidding about the apartment.
When Kiyomori appeared, Tokiko was already there, sitting quietly near Ariko.
"I wanted to thank you," Ariko began, "and I hope you will pardon me for asking you to come."
Kiyomori sniffed the incense that still rose in slender spirals behind Ariko. He heard a warbler fluting outside the open window through which the sun streamed into the room. The light illumined the white folds of Ariko's nun's robes in a way that gave her profile the lines of a delicate carving. The somber richness of the oratory, its brocade hangings, the deep-coffered ceiling and suspended lamps, all conspired to emphasize the white-garmented figure. And it suddenly occurred to Kiyomori as he paused for an instant at the threshold that Ariko's life, her long widowhood consecrated to prayer and communing with the dead, had in some manner made her part of that spirit world—and there were ways to deal with spirits.
"But why the thanks—and so suddenly? What can I do for you?"
Ariko smiled. "I did not realize how the days have passed. I have been here more than a month, and Yorimori has been sending messages begging me to return, so I have decided to leave today. You have all taken such good care of me since the disturbances started—"
"Leaving today? I'm afraid I have been so preoccupied with my affairs that I neglected you sadly. Let me tell you, though, that I have been considering a site here in Rokuhara on which to build you a new house."
"It would make me very happy indeed to live here near you."
"Since Shigemori's house in the valley has just been finished, we can start almost immediately on one for you and Yorimori."
"How fortunate I am—in fact, all of us! You must never for a moment forget, Kiyomori, that you are the chief of the Heike. Continue in the ways of virtue; be firm with yourself; persevere in your duties, for it will not do to take things as lightly as you have until now.—And, Tokiko, never forget your husband's position. Strive to become an even better wife to him, and an even more devoted mother. As the mistress of this household, give him every possible support."
Kiyomori and Tokiko listened to Ariko deferentially, since she was entitled to speak to them as she did.
"And now I leave everything to you two," she ended. Without more ado she turned to the oratory to meditate a few moments in front of Tadamori's name-tablet before departing.
To Kiyomori it sounded as though his stepmother had charged him with the responsibility of all matters pertaining to the family; he was vaguely troubled by a certain inconsistency in Ariko, but saw no reason for resenting it. He realized that he had not by any means been an exemplary son to Tadamori and had sincerely tried to make amends by deferring to his father's widow, Ariko. And it was only fitting that he, the head of the clan, should set an example of filial obedience.
Several days after Ariko had returned to her home in the northern section of the capital, her son Yorimori appeared at her house. She greeted him eagerly.
"Ah, Yorimori, is it you?"
"At your devotions, Mother?"
"It does not matter. Your new manor at Owari must keep you busy these days."
"Just that. I sent Munekiyo there on some business, and he came back two nights ago, bringing with him a lad that he captured on the road. I was busy all yesterday with that."
"Oh? And who is this lad that Munekiyo brought with him?"
"Yoshitomo's son, Yoritomo, who has just turned fourteen."
"Yoshitomo's son? That is news indeed! Fourteen, you say? Why, a mere child! What could they be thinking of—letting a boy go out to fight! He's too young to understand what it's all about. Poor child! Where is he now?"
"We are waiting for orders from Rokuhara, and in the meantime Munekiyo has charge of him."
"What does Kiyomori propose to do with the child?"
"We should hear about that today."
Nothing more was said of the matter, and Yorimori soon turned to go, when Ariko stopped him. "Stay a little longer," she coaxed, "I'll have your favorite dish cooked. I see so little of you these days; stay and dine with me."
Just as Ariko sent her maid with some instructions to the kitchen, Munekiyo was announced. He had come to speak with his master, the servant said. Ariko took it upon herself to reply that Munekiyo was to wait.
Mother and son enjoyed a quiet meal together, and when they had finished, Yorimori summoned his retainer.
"Munekiyo, was it from Rokuhara?"
"Yes, a messenger."
"What was the message—about Yoritomo?"
"He is to be executed on the 13th of February."
". . . Hmm."
Yorimori's face fell. His gorge rose as the thought of another execution made him recoil inwardly. He had seen too many beheadings after the fighting had ended, and heard enough of the sorrowing crowds that gathered daily to watch boatloads of exiles leave. While the smoke of battle still hung over the capital, he had been less revolted by all these events, but now that peace was restored and the plum trees were in bloom in the garden, everything in him cried out against the savagery of lifting his hand against a mere boy.
Ariko's face, too, clouded; a devout follower of Buddha, mercy was to her the first duty and supreme virtue of the believer.
The effect that his words had on the two seemed to give Munekiyo courage to disclose what lay close to his thoughts, and he turned to Yorimori:
"He is barely fourteen—just the age, if I remember rightly, that your brother would be if he were alive."
"Yes, if only he were—"
"And he looks so much like him. I could almost believe the two were brothers."
"Munekiyo," Ariko interrupted eagerly, "tell me more about this boy."
Munekiyo began to tell her all he knew.
Ariko, profoundly moved by this resemblance to her dead son, was strengthened in her resolve that Yoritomo should be saved. As she fell asleep that night, Munekiyo's account so haunted her that the likeness of her dead son seemed imprinted on her eyelids, and she was overcome by a longing to see him once more.
A few days later Ariko, bearing a spray of rosy plum blossoms, proceeded across the courtyard of her son's house to Munekiyo's modest dwelling on the other side. She had a servant call Munekiyo, and when he appeared, she held out the blossoms:
"Put this in a vase and let the poor child look at it."
The soldier received the spray with a deep bow, and his eyes softened. "A little gift for him?"
"And, Munekiyo—"
Ariko's voice dropped to a whisper. Munekiyo nodded his agreement to whatever it was that she said, and then led the way toward his house. A high bamboo fence surrounded one side. The door was locked and the shutters were closed, except for a small window through which a guard could observe the prisoner.
Munekiyo let himself into the room in which Yoritomo was confined, leaving Ariko to wait outside beside the peephole.
Yoritomo was seated as usual, motionless as a statue of sandalwood, at a small writing-desk; when he turned to look round, his eyes widened with surprise at the sight of the plum blossoms. Although Munekiyo visited him every morning and evening, Yoritomo had not realized that the plums were already in bloom.
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