Michimori had recommended such strategies before, and his plans, when approved by the Council, had brought success.
A city, even a small one, could offer some respite and safety. Fukuhara provided comforts such as buildings, rather than tents, and streams of fresh water. Although a fortress and rather primitive, it proved more civilised than anywhere else along the five to ten chō of camps. Little was said of Rokuhara. Our lost home. I shared this poem:
Snow-crusted branches,
Like Harima rice, heaped silver
While Rokuhara’s fires
Burn slowly in our hearts’ eyes,
Sunset on that last day
I was not aware of how severe the situations were until we received an Imperial Envoy from Fox. I moved to the kichō for formal meetings and recognised the imperial colour and chrysanthemum.
My chest tightened, and I gasped when I saw him. The Envoy was covered with mud, panting, like his horse, and appeared exhausted. He advanced with a stride that suggested he was a separate species of soldier, of man. He presented the document and retired to await our response.
The emperor commanded the Taira Clan to ‘return the Emperor Antoku and the Sacred Treasures by the Seventh day of the Second Month’.
Faced with this demand, the commanders, except Michimori, were like cats running from dogs. They gestured, they postured, they talked, and then they paced back and forth.
Most commanders were afraid of Fox’s strength, which now had the backing of Mount Hiei’s sōhei as well as Tiger, Sheep and Horse. Their uncle, Boar, had joined them as well. They had united against Rat, and now against us.
The whole world was at war with the Taira Clan.
Last year Minamoto leaders had fought among themselves.
Now, together, we toiled to increase our numbers before marching. Misuki trekked frantically from one hill shrine to another, saying prayers and lighting candles and incense.
‘Do not light anything else or I will suffocate you!’ I said. She ceased.
At the next council meeting with the commanders, Michimori put forward his suggestions. Since Fox watched, most, but not all, of us would change our location. Further, we did not know where these Minamoto leaders were.
Purple Grass agreed with Michimori, knowing Oak did not trust his judgement but trusted Michimori’s. We set off again.
After a relatively short journey by sea from Yashima, we landed in Settsu Province, between Fukuhara and Ichinotani. Misuki vomited throughout the voyage, but I was not ill. I enjoyed the rolling vessel, and its rocking kept the baby still.
The Taira love the sea
Its songs murmur in our ears
The pulse of oceans
Its ever-sounding sutras
Like karma’s overwhelming rhythm
As Michimori had anticipated, this area provided scope for us to build our defences. The young emperor and his entourage were secured on a ship at a distance from the shore. Only the commanders and their personal samurai knew the exact ship and the spot at which it waited.
Tokikazu and Mokuhasa reported to Michimori beside the early-morning fire as he and I ate. They walked with a jaunty step. It was good to see Tokikazu again. He brought promising news. ‘There are fresh supporters,’ he reported, after the customary greetings.
Michimori acknowledged the good words. I kept my eyes away from Tokikazu’s.
They spoke of great defences, which we could hear being built not far away. They speculated that we might return to the capital.
Sun curling behind clouds,
Grinning, laughing at the ocean,
The roar of sea waves
Still dancing with the breakers
A hundred aeons from now.
As I rode with Misuki and Tokikazu, I saw that Michimori had been right. The Ichinotani Fort had thick earthen walls with an outer layer of stone. Guards stood watch on top of wooden structures, which reached below sea level. Misuki stopped her incessant singing of sutras when she saw the fortifications. Thank the Goddess of Mercy for some quiet!
Fukuhara, where the women and children were expected to stay, lay between Ichinotani and the Ikuta Woods. The mountains loomed to the north of us. Nothing but rabbits or monkeys could scramble up or descend. Our growing fortifications were to east and west, and the numerous ships held to the south, harboured off the narrow beach. Safe. For the moment.
People mended armour and naginata, and assembled arrows, while many slept from the fatigue of repeated marching. Spring hinted at its return. Large flocks of cawing black-headed gulls shed feathers to their summer plumage. On the beach wavy lines of siskins with their ‘djwin, djwin’ created a rhythm of laughter.
Misuki and I spoke of singing and dancing for the commanders. Atsumori, a young samurai, practised his flute. Although it was no longer my duty, I elected to accompany him on the biwa until well after dark. The flute and the string were magical against the murmuring of the Inland Sea.
II. Banished
I write after riding from Ichinotani to Fukuhara, and back again.
The next morning, we heard that a small group of our troops had been overthrown by Tiger. Afraid that morale might deteriorate, the commanders attempted to silence this news. Plans like fireflies dotted the air. Thoughts of marching and retaking the capital floated above each fire.
Some talked. The optimism among the common soldiers drooped like new barley shoots in early-summer heat. The commanders remained alert. Extra guards were posted, not only in the west at Ichinotani where we expected an attack but also in the east.
Michimori took charge at Ichinotani and doubled the watches on the ships. He anticipated an attack that night or the next day, so he arranged small groups of guards with alternating short watches. That way, they remained fresh.
‘I fear for the young emperor, the empress and their entourage. Men on ships and ashore are checking for any kind of attack, although we do not expect them by sea because of our naval power.’ Michimori enfolded me in his arms as he spoke, ‘They are cunning. They may catch us unawares. They have before. Several times.’
The flaming oxen on the mountain pass had surprised everyone, and thoughts of that night on the mountain brought unintentional shudders through me.
Most commanders were posturing and parading themselves again. They targeted Michimori. They mocked him in songs, singing that he and I never travelled anywhere but together. We had not slept apart for a long time, except when duties demanded or when he had doubted my honour.
‘It is said that Michimori holds a higher allegiance to you than he does to the clan,’ Misuki told me.
‘Let them laugh.’ Michimori grimaced in jest when I questioned him about the sarcastic songs. ‘You are my heart, and I need you.’ He wrapped me against his chest. ‘You are one of my great advisers. I do not wish to travel anywhere without such knowledge or attention.’
But the Council ordered that I be removed from Ichinotani and sent back to Fukuhara. We were to be separated immediately. It was too distracting for Michimori to have me with him.
Jealousy. None of them had a woman willing to go to battle and camp with the soldiers. Their wives lodged in neutral monasteries or the Fukuhara palaces, with servants and monks to attend them.
Michimori sent me this poem, marked with his tears:
The waves clutch the shore
Seeking a grounding refuge
Grey waters beneath clouds
One seagull floats restlessly
Flying alone with the grey—
III. Tokikazu’s Armour
Isolated but not alone, I record my friends’ assistance.
Although Akio took me north to Fukuhara, my staunch Misuki had to stay at Ichinotani, probably to isolate me. Tokikazu had travelled with me previously, but he was ordered away and was to return to Fukuhara later that evening. In Fukuhara, Tokikazu could not be found, and the commanding officer placed me in a house with other wives. I retreated to a corner near the shoji to the outside and slept to as
suage my frustration and misery.
There the Gods sent me one of my dreams, albeit brief, of two mated rabbits, one chasing the other. Before the second rabbit could catch the first, an eagle attacked, seizing the first. The second rabbit huddled alone, near a pond of shimmering brass. I awoke, wet and shuddering, in my under-robe, convinced I must bolt to Michimori or Tokikazu.
Guards had confiscated the beautiful armour Michimori had given me. I dressed as best as I could and withdrew from the building like a cat stalking a bird. I thought of Tokikazu as I sprinted towards the shore. Any movement in the direction of Ichinotani might alert the commanders’ spies. Yet the Goddess of Mercy was good, and I found Hoichi, Mokuhasa’s cousin, standing sentry on the shore, a favourable sign as obvious as when a fire starts at the first attempt in a fire-lighting ritual.
‘Look at that ship. Who is on it?’ I pointed first to this ship and next to that one, questioning loudly. Then, whispering, I asked, ‘Will you take a message to Tokikazu tonight?’
‘Yes. We know each other and are assigned to the same area.’ In cunning and strength, he rivalled Mokuhasa: Hoichi neither turned his head nor showed surprise.
‘Explain my situation and tell him I must meet him before dawn.’ I elected not to inform Hoichi that I was going to Ichinotani. The less anyone knew, the better. I did tell him where I slept.
‘My lady, it will be a great honour. My cousin embraces you in high esteem.’
‘Thank you, Hoichi. He is dear to me.’ I gave him a coin from my former life as a Woman-for-Play so that he would keep our conversation to himself. Even though he was Mokuhasa’s cousin, I decided to take no risks.
I returned to the tent. I needed to sleep before my next activities.
I was awoken, seemingly moments later, by a scratching sound. Scratching back, I played the quiet cat and brought out the pieces of my old pink smock, always with me. Tokikazu and I embraced. We crossed to where his samurai lingered and we could speak without much danger.
‘I received your message. What do you need? How can I help you?’ He blurted his questions in rapid succession, in the same way that he discharged arrows.
‘You must not have heard. They have banned me from Ichinotani and from Michimori. I am to stay here. They seized my armour.’
‘I heard.’
‘Can you . . .?’
He waved to his attendant. ‘Yes.’ He turned to his servant. ‘Go to my tent, assemble my practice armour and also find and bring the Lady’s weapons. Bring them here, with two – no, three fresh horses.’
‘Thank you. Tell me of Ichinotani and—’
‘Michimori is well. They are reinforcing the east and west borders and the fort. Michimori says there will be an attack, some kind of unanticipated manoeuvre. The other commanders do not believe him. They speak of marching back into Heian-kyō.’
‘The capital? So soon? What fool’s tale have they heard?’
‘I agree with Michimori. We are not ready. Tiger will make some manoeuvre. Who can forget what happened at Kamakura?’
I shivered to my bones at the memory of the oxen stampeding, the noise, the blood, the bodies and deaths. ‘Will you escort me to Michimori tonight?’
‘Yes.’ He folded and twisted a paper. ‘We will say I have a message . . . and a messenger.’ He held up the ‘note’, waved it across my face and smiled sadly.
I put my arms around him. My tears of relief dampened his breastplate. We held each other, listening to the owls in the mountain trees that blended with the waters’ resonances.
‘Listen, my treasured Tokikazu, we have no idea what awaits us.’ I laid my hand across my swollen midriff and looked into his eyes. ‘If it arises, please teach this child the gentleness and strength, the tenderness and courage, the arrow and sword of . . . Michimori.’
‘Kozaishō, you know I will. If there were an honourable path, I would have taken you from this war.’ He motioned to the fortress, the ships and in the direction of Heian-kyō.
Tokikazu’s attendant came back with horses and armour, and they helped me dress. The attendant had brought extra clothing for me to wear under the armour. That way it would not be dangerously loose.
With me as the ‘messenger’, we three returned to Ichinotani, where Tokikazu asked to see Michimori. As we neared his tent, the guards recognised me, probably by my height or my hair because the practice helmet and face guard covered most of my head and face, and Tokikazu’s armour hung past my knees. Michimori knew me. Not for a moment did I surprise him.
Michimori gave the sign for dispersal. We sat alone, gazing at each other. He recited:
‘The light is coming,
Summer sunshine is here now,
Dull dressed samurai,
She smiles with red saffron lips,
Making winter far away.’
‘You are my light as well.’ I smoothed my palm against his cheek, sunburned and golden. ‘You have been for a long time. Please allow me to fight beside you.’
He shook his head with an unmistakable firmness. His eyes were both hard and desolate. I did not argue – dared not. I simply held him again and placed my head against his chest, inhaling his sweat and sandalwood.
He made rounds that night and returned at regular intervals to observe me. I slept lightly. The wind was high, and I awoke each time he entered our tent. I offered him refreshment, which he took several times. Michimori was my heart. I could not be parted from him for even one night.
IV. Mountain Surprise
Misuki is beside me in a tent. I will write what has happened.
I awaken to the sounds of crackling and a smell noxious enough to make me wince. It was not even dawn, but Michimori was no longer beside me.
Outside my tent I heard noise – shuffling, grunting.
‘Minamoto on the beach!’
‘The enemy!’
‘To the ships!’
The sharp stench of bodies on fire.
I slip on the neck collar and helmet. A dagger down each leg guard. Where is Michimori? I finger the pink cloth inside the chest plate. Still there. I strap on my quiver, put my bow on my shoulder, grip my sword and charge outside.
All the Hells simultaneously. Men on horseback torch our tents and supplies. Fallen friends bleed. Groans. Missing limbs. Strange voices snap orders. Fumes – every breath is like sucking in hot coals. Birds shriek.
‘There is one!’ A voice to my left.
I slice across his stomach. He falls. A crimson puddle oozes under him. Enemies running in my direction, pointing at me.
‘Take her alive!’
The Minamoto, on horseback, down the mountains. They ride through our bulwarks. Torches, haze, fire, arrows – everywhere. A squabble of seagulls clouds the shore. The air scorches my eyes. Dying men call, wail, howl.
The blood rises through the sand into my spirit.
On my right, Akio. ‘They are taking wives of the ranked. From Fukuhara and monasteries.’
We mount the two saddled geldings on the ocean side of the tent. I will not be taken alive. They might kill my baby. Or, worse, take my baby – without me.
‘Michimori? Tokikazu?’ I scan the growing inferno. Our warriors sprint to the ships. Men on our ships urge them to escape. Michimori would not do that. Neither would I.
To the west, mounted samurai ignite our tents and fortifications, beheading foot soldiers as they run away. Barricades ablaze. I search for Michimori. A gust flashes hideous odours, searing my face. I force back bile.
Akio motions. We urge our mounts north and then west, to Michimori.
A brushfire eats our first barricade. My sword reflects the flames’ colours. Sweat dribbles down my back. Smoky clouds spew high. I guide my horse. More screams. I push faster. Their troops stream from the west, ants out of their mound.
A horseman swings, grazes my shoulder. I wrench my dagger and gouge across his face. Squealing, he plunges to the ground. My hand and arm sting. I move on.
More around us.
&nb
sp; Akio yells, ‘Side to side!’
We close together – head to tail. Swords set. Advancing to my husband. Most hesitate when they see me, long hair, large with child.
Akio takes a head. I sever a leg. Cut the horse under the next. Another head. More blood surges. Another cry. Akio and I carve a swathe. By my count together we stop ten or fifteen. Good numbers. I need luck.
Approach the barrier. Going to Michimori. My gelding shies. Blaze too high. Heat too much. Cannot pass.
Around to the next barrier. Another fiery wall – cackling as if laughing. Far beyond, Michimori fights two, three.
Only a moment.
They bolt our way. ‘Take that woman!’
‘The road along the beach!’ Akio gallops to the voice.
The beach: almost empty. A clear path to the west. Through the smoky haze, my husband and Tokikazu, beset.
To the west and up the mountain to Michimori. Akio joins me, and I race around piled bodies. Avoid knots of Minamoto.
I have to reach my husband. I will die with him rather than be taken prisoner.
Akio? One engages him. I race on.
Two sprint towards me. Swipe. A head. The other one, young, eyes wide, mouth open. A stroke. Surprised noise. Most think me an underling, not worth an arrow. Another. Behind me – beach, road east, west, mountains. No one. Except . . .
Where was Akio?
To my right. Fighting three. I shoot. Two. An arrow in an older face. One. An arm.
I hang my bow over my saddle. On the way to my beloved.
I ride above the mountain base and spot him. But Tokikazu is riding away on Thunderbolt! He is no coward! What is that?
My eyes follow Michimori. Bodies at Michimori’s feet. More readying for him.
From the east – an archer. One arrow hits his back beneath his left shoulder. It bounces off.
I let out my breath. He keeps fighting. Now three more tumble down the swale. Now two. I advance closer. His sword gyrates on a volcano of bodies spewing blood, limbs, heads.
More archers arrive. A monsoon of arrows soars. Most miss. Some hit their own. Some stick in my husband’s armour.
Too far away to shoot. I force my gelding, but he slips on the steep terrain and falters.
The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai Page 39