Genpei

by Kara Dalkey

  The little monk smiled and bowed. “Most valuable, Majesty. I will see if such a list may be found.”“What temple are you from?”

  “Enryakuji, Majesty.”

  “Ah, yes. Of course. You traditionally serve my family.”

  “We are blessed with that honor, Majesty.”

  “These … stories, that monks can, through prayer and ritual and … curses, change events. Are they true?”

  “I am bound by vow to reveal no secrets, Majesty, not even to you. But let us say that we have been known to cause forces beyond the mortal realm to … listen.”

  “Ah. I am so poorly skilled at intrigue. I will need greater strength and knowledge to succeed in this endeavor.”

  “All my talents, Majesty,” said the little monk, “are at your command.”

  A Turning Hand

  It was intolerable that time should pass with the succession undecided, and therefore Retired Cloistered Emperor Toba-In was forced to quickly compromise with the Senior Council of Nobles. He also had to placate his first and principal wife, Taikenmon’in, who was still upset over his preference for his concubine Bifikumon’in. Therefore, Taikenmon’in’s second son, twenty-eight-year-old Go-Shirakawa, was placed upon the Imperial Throne. Go-Shirakawa, like his brother the Shin-In, was not particularly accomplished or favored in comportment or intelligence, but he was the most acceptable choice to all.

  In the winter of that year, at the age of fifty-three, Toba-In went on a pilgrimage to the shrines at Kumano to pray for the successful reign of his son Go-Shirakawa. As it was thought in those times that a journey of many hardships could cleanse a pilgrim of sins, Toba-In walked the long, difficult path called Nakahechi. The steep mountain path, which took fifteen hours to complete, wound through stands of cedar and camphor trees. It passed all three shrines: Nachi, with its great waterfall sacred to Izanami; Shingu; and the main shrine, Hongu.

  Toba-In arrived at Hongu at dawn, walking up the one hundred stone steps just as sunlight was touching the banner in the courtyard. The banner depicted a three-legged crow, Yata-no-karasu, who was said to have guided the first Emperor, Jimmu Tenno, on his conquests of the eastern provinces. Toba-In bowed to the banner, honoring it, hoping for guidance himself.

  Toba-In went before the primary building of the shrine, and made offerings and prayers to the Eldest Kami—Amataseru, Susano-wo, Izanami, and Izanagi, as well as to the Shōjō-Daibosatsu. It was then, to his amazement, that he saw a child’s hand and arm emerge from the wall, palm up, and then the hand turned over. And then it turned over again. And then again. For some minutes this continued until the hand and arm vanished.

  Toba-In was quite amazed, and he immediately called upon the monk who had accompanied him on his pilgrimage. “I have had a wondrous portent, Holy One, and I would know its meaning. Is there a medium nearby who could petition the kami of the shrine to advise me?”

  The best medium of the Kumano shrines, a young maiden seven years of age, remarkable for her elegant and quiet demeanor, was brought before him. Toba-In commanded her to divine for him the meaning of his vision. She agreed and chanted many prayers and breathed incense in order to summon the kami, but even though hours passed, noontime came and went, the kami did not appear.

  Then eighty wise old yamabushi, ascetics of the mountains, were brought to Toba-In, and together they chanted the Wondrous Hannya Sutra. The medium joined them in prayer, throwing herself upon the ground and begging the kami to possess her. At last, after many more hours, the medium sat up, a change having come over her features. Her face had the aspect of one who had lived centuries, not merely seven years. She turned toward Toba-In and held out her hand, holding it first palm up, then turning it palm down. “Is this what you are asking about?” she said in a voice not her own.

  “It is!” said Toba-In. He slid forward onto his knees, his hands clasped. “Please tell me what it may mean.”

  “It means, o unfortunate one, that as the leaves fall from the trees in the autumn of next year, so must you fall. This year will be your last in this world. And with your departure, Nihon will lose its peace and harmony, turning over again and again like the turning of this hand.”

  Toba-In felt the blood run from his face. Tears began to form in his eyes. “My last year? I am … to die?”

  The medium nodded solemnly. “Prepare.”

  “But … but surely there is something I can do, some offering I can make that will change things, that may prolong my life, neh?”

  “Your fate is written in the Book of Heaven. The ink cannot be washed away. It is beyond anyone’s power to change.” Then the face of the medium once again became the face of a little girl, the presence of the god seemed to vanish, and she slumped onto the ground, exhausted. As she was carried from the Retired Emperor’s presence, the other monks and all of Toba-In’s attendants bowed to him, pressing their foreheads to the ground, to express their sorrow.

  Toba-In continued his worship, making the offerings of gohei, knowing they would be his last. He prayed to the kami and the Buddha that he might be reborn in Paradise. He prayed that Go-Shirakawa might become a magnificent and worthy Emperor. When he had done all the prayers and rituals he could, Toba-In returned home to the capital.

  And, indeed, it came to pass that late in the spring of the following year, the first year of the era Hōgen, Toba-In fell ill. Some in Heian Kyō said his illness was surely due to grief at the death of his son, Konoe. Some said it was divine retribution for the foolish actions of his wife. But those who had been with him at Kumano knew it was simply his fate, as written by the gods.

  By summer, Toba-In’s condition had worsened so much that his wife Taikenmon’in cut her hair and became a Buddhist nun in order to pray for him. But, of course, it was hopeless. At the beginning of autumn, as the medium had prophesied, Toba-In died, and the people of the capital said it was as though the sky had darkened, the sun and moon dimmed, and they wept as though a father or mother had perished.

  Changing Palaces

  Only days after Toba-In’s death, General Minomoto Yoshitomo received a message he had been dreading. He was summoned to report to the Imperial Court. Given the recent events in Heian Kyo, it could mean only one thing. The rumored insurrection was imminent. There would be war.

  Yoshitomo was now thirty-two years of age, and it had been six years since the omen of the doves appeared for him and his little son at the shrine of Hachimangu. Yoshitomo wondered if this would be the time when the truth of the omen would manifest itself, if now would be when he would achieve “success, but at great cost.”

  He dressed in his best robe of red-silk brocade, over which he put on a padded waidate that one would wear under armor. On his head, Yoshitomo placed the eboshi liner cap one would wear under a helmet. He hoped that this would show he was prepared for battle, though not yet armored for one. To wear armor or weapons into the Imperial presence was a crime so severe it brought a punishment of immediate execution.

  Yoshitomo called for his horse, a fine black Eastern steed, and, accompanied by the messenger who had brought the summons, rode out of the gate of his modest mansion. The sky was gray, and a chill wind threatened snow to come. Yoshitomo turned his horse to ride down the broad, willow-lined Suzaku Avenue, which led to the Imperial Compound. But the messenger leaned over and grasped the bridle of Yoshitomo’s horse.

  “No, my lord. Not that way.”

  “Eh?”

  Looking around him to see who might overhear, the messenger said softly, “The Jeweled Throne is seated elsewhere today.”

  “Is it? I had heard that the Shin-In had been changing palaces, but not His Majesty Go-Shirakawa.”

  “It is so, my lord.”

  “May I assume it is no ordinary directional taboo or astrological omen that has brought about this shift in residence?”

  The messenger, watching the streets warily, tugged again on the bridle and led Yoshitomo eastward across the avenue. Yoshitomo noticed with some dismay that the merchant
s and tradesmen watched him warily from shuttered shops. He felt for them—if what he knew of troop movements in and near the city were true, it would go hard on the common folk once war began. There were many more armed men on horseback on the street, from many different warrior clans, and Yoshitomo tried to observe how many there were from each. Sadly, there were few Minomoto. He thought he saw one distant relative, who swiftly looked away when their gazes met.

  “As you may have heard, my lord, the Shin-In left the East Sanjo Palace for the mansion of the Kamo Shrine Virgin, then went to the North Palace. The last word has it he is now lodged at Shirakawa Palace.”

  In fact, Yoshitomo’s men had kept him informed of the strange movements of the former Emperor, but he did not necessarily wish a mere messenger to know this. “Indeed? The Shin-In would seem to have developed a restless nature.”

  “In my opinion, my lord, the Shin-In is trying to confound those who would spy on him. Or find the most defensible location.”

  “Very astute observation. You might make a general someday. But what of His Majesty? Why move out of the well-defended Imperial Compound?”

  The messenger sighed. “Of course I am not privy to the thoughts of His Most Sacred Majesty. But I have heard others say that there are too many people and too many gates in the Compound for everyone to be watched. And perhaps it is hoped that the Shin-In is still fond of his former residence, the East Sanjō Palace, and will not attack it, for that is where the Emperor is lodged now, and where we are headed.”

  “Ah. I see.”

  After identifying themselves to the guards at the gate of the East Sanjō Palace, the messenger escorted Yoshitomo into the mansion compound. Servants came to see to their horses, and Yoshitomo was led to a verandah beside a garden of bare gingko trees. There he knelt on a cushion beside an ornate bamboo blind that was bound with gold-silk cord, and waited.

  A servant arrived with warmed tea and some pickled vegetables for his refreshment. Knowing that much can be learned from observant servants, Yoshitomo asked him, “What do you make of all this?”

  The servant, a thin, nervous young man, looked around startled, and asked, “Of all what, my lord?”

  Yoshitomo idly waved his hand, “Of these changes. Do they worry you?”

  “Worry, my lord? Why should anyone worry when seven thousand kami protect our land day and night? I hear there are sixty gods alone dedicated to protecting the Jeweled Throne. And surely the Three Treasures of Prayer, Law, and Buddha himself will protect us from any disaster.”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” sighed Yoshitomo. “But surely a perceptive young man such as yourself might have heard or noticed some … things.”

  The servant looked around again and leaned as close as he dared. “Well, my lord, since you ask, and since I perceive you are a brave man not to be put off by fearsome tales, I will tell you this. Do you know the story of the Giant of Mount Higashi?”

  Yoshitomo frowned. “Do you mean the statue of a warrior buried there when Emperor Kammu founded Heian Kyō?”

  “The very same. You are a learned man, my lord. Well, I have heard it said that the mound where the statue is buried has begun to shake. It is said when that happens, danger is coming.”

  Yoshitomo could not keep from smiling. “The earth shakes rather often in this land, my good fellow.”

  “Oh, but, then, there was the comet in the east. And that always portends disaster.”

  “And strangely, there is always some misfortune that can be tied to a former omen. But, then, I am untutored in signs of the Heavens.”

  “Well, the bureaucrats of the Yin-Yang Office have been buzzing around the Emperor like bees of late, telling him of all sorts of these omens; that I know.”

  “I am sure that must be very reassuring to His Majesty.”

  “And,” the servant went on, dropping into a whisper, “I have heard that the Shin-In is conspiring with … dark forces.”

  “Dark forces?”

  “You know, demons, wizards, evil monks. They say that the Shin-In has conjured a fierce half-man, half-demon who has the strength of a giant. It is said he draws a bow as thick as a man’s forearm and can fire an arrow that will pierce seven suits of armor, one after the other. This giant’s name is … Tametomo.”

  Yoshitomo nearly spit out his tea. He coughed and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Indeed?”

  “Ah, I see you have heard of this demon, too, my lord.”

  “Yes. I have.” In fact, Tametomo was a much younger half brother to Yoshitomo. Yoshitomo had never met him—the boy Tametomo had been sent away from his mother’s house at a young age because he was too wild and unruly to be controlled. There were many tales of what had become of Tametomo after that. Yoshitomo was not surprised that Tametomo had now earned the description of demon. But it saddened him to hear Tametomo had also joined the Shin-In’s side. One sorrow on top of many others.

  Yoshitomo heard voices and footsteps entering the room on the other side of the blinds.

  The servant bowed, and said swiftly, “I must go now, my lord. I hope you have all that you require.”

  “As do I,” murmured Yoshitomo, as the servant departed. A shōji farther down the verandah slid open and a man with shaved head and wearing black robes steeped out. The man knelt at the threshold and bowed toward whoever was in the room, then approached Yoshitomo. The noble monk had a high-bridged nose and eyes that conveyed intelligence, or shrewdness. He gave Yoshitomo the slight bow expectable from a lord of Second Rank.

  “Ah, General Yoshitomo, I am glad you have arrived. His Majesty is most eager to hear your advice. I am Lesser Counselor Shinzei, and I will speak for you to His Majesty and convey his replies to you.”

  Yoshitomo bowed in return. “I thank you. I am honored to be of service to His Majesty.”

  “We are pleased to hear it, although there might be better circumstances, surely.”

  “You could say so, my lord.”

  “We understand that your father and your brothers have all joined with the Shin-In’s cause. You alone, of all the Minomoto, have chosen to answer our summons and come to the rightful Emperor’s aid.”

  Yoshitomo felt shame fill him, and he hung his head. “His Majesty is well informed.”

  “While pleased, we are also somewhat surprised. Perhaps you will forgive us if we ask … why?”

  Yoshitomo replied, “I have been taught since childhood that the Minomoto do not serve two masters. And I have always believed that our true duty was to serve the Jeweled Throne. I cannot speak for my father and brothers, or why they have chosen to side with rebels.”

  “Perhaps,” said Shinzei, “they felt that the Shin-In’s dethronement in favor of Konoe was unfair. Or that the Shin-In’s son, Shigehito, should have been chosen to succeed instead.”

  Yoshitomo wondered if he was being tested. “It is said that the gods do not permit anyone unworthy to sit upon the Jeweled Throne.”

  “A cautious answer. You understand, what we most require of you is your knowledge of Minomoto strategy. You will not see this as betrayal of your clan?”

  Yoshitomo felt his cheek twitch. He hoped that Shinzei had not noticed. “In my opinion, it is the rest of my family who are betraying the clan.”

  “Well, then, we must admire you for your courage to stand alone. What do you advise, given what you know, in order to head off this rebellion and end it quickly?”

  Yoshitomo worded his reply so as not to reveal any secrets of Minomoto strategy, for even in the face of betrayal a warrior does not tell his clan’s secrets to outsiders. “My lord Shinzei, please tell His Most Sovereign Majesty that I have heard that one thousand warrior-monks from the temples at Nara are on their way to Heian Kyō. They will be arriving at Uji sometime tonight and will no doubt be joining the Shin-In’s forces by tomorrow morning. This increase of forces will make matters difficult. Therefore, I advise an attack upon the Shirakawa Palace tonight, to surprise the Shin-In, before his reinforcements arrive.”


  “Yes, we see the wisdom of this. But how many men would you need in this attack? The Shirakawa Palace may be well defended.”

  With some pride, Yoshitomo replied, “I assure you I and my Seiwa Minomoto will be sufficient to finish this matter swiftly.”

  “Yes, yes, your valor and skill are not in question, good general. But we have received word that the Lord of Aki, Taira no Kiyomori, has arrived from Rokuhara with a force of his Ise Taira, wishing to participate in support of the Emperor. It is our thought that, with the Taira to reinforce you, a successful conclusion to the matter will be more certain, neh?”

  Yoshitomo paused and rubbed his chin, feeling both reassured and dismayed. The addition of the Taira forces would be useful from a military standpoint, but to fight beside a rival clan would bring complications. Who would be superior in command? Would the presence of so many Minomoto on the rebel side cause the Taira to turn against all Minomoto? And if they fought with greater skill or luck, would their enhanced reputation make the Taira the preferred clan of the Imperial Court, with all the promotions and greater status that would lead to? “Well,” Yoshitomo said at last, “it is good to hear there will be more men in His Majesty’s forces. Perhaps it would be best to deploy the Taira to guard East Sanjō Palace and His Majesty’s person. In that way, I and my men may fight with all assurance of His Majesty’s safety.”

  The barest hint of a smile graced Shinzei’s face. “We will consider your advice, good general. A moment, if you please.” Shinzei inclined his head, then stood and walked back through the shōji, sliding it shut behind him.

  Yoshitomo waited, listening intently to the murmurings within the Imperial Presence though he could only make out a word or two now and then. He had to will himself to patience. He glanced at the bare gingko trees and noted how skeletal they looked against the gray winter sky. A very light snow was beginning to fall.