Thinking this, darkness fell absolute upon the once-sunny, once-green country. Amaterasu had finally set.
The samurai’s eyes tried to penetrate the starless night. First she saw the face of Toshima Shigeno, and then the darkness became a velvet room. Toshima smiled, and spoke sardonically, “You have decided to live, samurai?”
Tomoe struggled to sit up. The wound through her body ached, but had healed a good deal after nearly four days. She coughed, spat a little blood into a rag, and said hoarsely, “One dream is as good as another. I have sworn fealty to this one.”
Behind Toshima stood the jono priestess, gloomier than Tomoe had ever seen. This was the first time she had visited since helping to bring an unconscious Tomoe to the velvet room. It was as though the sorceress had waited for Tomoe’s choice between comatose dreams and reality; but she revealed no joy over Tomoe’s decision.
“A few days ago,” said Noyimo, “one of the onna-no-miko was taken by an assassin. By torture—we shall not discuss its nature—enemies learned that a Lady and her samurai had returned from exile. The Shogun would have urged the jono cult not to harbor criminals; therefore, I had one acceptable choice. An announcement was placed in the city square: Tomoe Gozen and Ugo Mohri will do battle at Heiji Castle. It will happen in two more days.”
Toshima gasped. “She is not yet strong!”
Tomoe had climbed onto her knees, taking deep breaths. She said, “Doubtless the choices were few, unless we move slower than the Shogun.” It was strange to speak words so close to treason! Indeed, the only escape from a treasonous act—and a hopeless one—was to fight the Shogun’s champion.
“Ugo Mohri desires the match,” Tomoe said with certainty. “And do I.”
“It is too soon!” said Toshima, clenching her hands together.
The samurai disagreed. She said, “I require food. I require my sword. I require two days to practice and regain my tone. Strength will not defeat Ugo Mohri. Speed and skill alone can test him.”
“I could aid you,” said the jono priestess, her bright face shadowed by evil thoughts.
Tomoe looked at her sharply, replied, “You could do so only against my wish. What honor would be left me if Ugo Mohri died by sorcerous aid? I will send him gifts of wild garlic to keep you away. Otherwise, if you interfered, I would be bound to slay you, or attempt it, even against my will, and then to kill myself, unless we died together.”
Lady Toshima stood. She stood beside Noyimo who hid all concern too well. The Lady touched the magician-ninja so that she would say no more, and cause no anger. What passed between these two surprised Tomoe, and she was not certain she lacked jealousy. For a short time, the eyes of sorceress and Lady held one another, and then Toshima said, “If you wish to help, acquire fine garments for Tomoe Gozen. She must not look tawdry against the beauty of Ugo Mohri.”
“Two days,” said Tomoe to herself, finding her unsteady legs. Blood rushed through her head. She nearly swooned. “Blindfold me,” she commanded, for only blindfolded could she leave this room. “Take me to the yards to play!”
“Willful samurai!” scolded Toshima, affecting the childlike voice Tomoe had not heard since a day long past, a day in a tea garden, when Toshima professed love as a prelude to many adventures for herself, and for Tomoe. She said, almost with humor,
“Anxiously, you play with death.”
“Anxiously,” agreed Tomoe.
The announcement posted in the city read, in vertical columns of brushed characters:
Ugo Mohri
the Shogun’s Champion
and Tomoe Gozen
the Mikado’s own Samurai
will meet in mortal combat
at Heiji Castle
noon
on Yellow Bamboo day
---
Heimin are invited.
The invitation to farmers was a longstanding tradition, yet many were surprised that tradition was not, in this case, circumvented. The placard, in fact, was not one which the Shogun would have commanded to the post. He would have preferred Tomoe Gozen mentioned in the same breath as treason, rather than in association with the Mikado. There were many who could not understand or appreciate the need to place the Mikado in exile; they would easily make of the coming duel an allegorical meeting of larger powers.
Spies instantly informed the Shogun of the sign. Samurai retainers—four of them in all, as though it was expected to be a difficult task—arrived quickly, with the intention of replacing the placard with one preferable. How they failed was a curious thing:
They pulled the wooden placard down, complaining and wondering about who could have erected it. Immediately after, the retainers were accidentally jostled by a troupe of exceptionally untalented jugglers. These street entertainers instantaneously effaced themselves in front of the four tough samurai, begging pardons. They were booted away. When this unmomentous confusion had passed, the retainers proceeded to destroy the one placard and put up the other, discovering too late that they had broken the Shogun’s message and reattached the original.
By then, the jugglers had scurried off; and in any event, it did not occur to the four retainers that the inept jugglers were the reason for the mistake. Rather, the retainers doubted they made a mistake at all; but, they suspected, the finely brushed characters of the Shogun’s official calligrapher had actually rearranged themselves, had moved like insects, had been made to recreate the original, unacceptable message by sorcerous means.
When they tried to take the wooden placard down once more, tiny white sparks of fire bit their fingers. Therefore, they left the placard after all, and if there were repercussions from an angry Shogun, no one ever heard about it. It was preordained (the Shogun was advised) that Ugo Mohri win all duels against disenfranchised samurai; what matter then (the Shogun may have decided) if heimin associated Tomoe Gozen with the Mikado in exile. Indeed, when Tomoe Gozen fell, it would indicate to superstitious farmers the august son of Amaterasu was rightly kept away.
The duel was arranged by a presumedly neutral Lord, whose castle was an impressive fortification, albeit less remarkable than the Shogun’s, as all castles (by decree) must be. On Yellow Bamboo day, Lord Hidemi Horota allowed farmers leeway through the gates of Heiji Castle. They were confined to the northern edge of a huge, enclosed yard devised specifically for exhibition. There, the heimin pressed against an imaginary (but respected) barrier, anxious and excited.
Lord Hidemi Horota sat among pomp and dignity and colorful raiment atop a raised platform to the east of the ground, before a large, squared gateway. On either side of him stood personal samurai, and one more sat upon the steps leading to the platform’s seat. In the event of treachery, this forward samurai would stand from the stair and take whatever arrow or blow was meant for his Lord.
Along the southern edge of the yard were many comfortable chairs, arranged in groups by class of the sitters, and behind them were the palanquins which had delivered the various nobles. The bakufu, or office of the military, was well represented. Although the Shogun did not personally appear (which would have lent too fearful an importance to the event), several of the highest aristocrats of Kamakura, indeed of Naipon, along with many of their honored guests and privileged servants, were in attendance.
On the remaining end of the field were the combatants. West was the direction associated with death. There, painted cloths had been erected to form a double-enclosure, separating the opponents. The cloth structure was open in front, partitioned in the middle. In one side of the open enclosure sat Tomoe Gozen on a backless seat, fists on her thighs, her small retinue lined up behind her. On the other side of the partition sat Ugo Mohri, with a considerably larger retinue. His arms were folded inside his colorfully embroidered kimono. His face portrayed easy tranquillity. He sat upon a little seat identical to the one that held Tomoe, and his knees were far apart.
They were visible to all, but could not see each other.
The sun was fierce and high, the sky sparsely clou
ded, the yard mossy green; and in the center was a huge two-sided drum mounted horizontally. There was a drummer to each side of this instrument, bearing sets of wooden mallets. They beat slow, rhythmic tattoos whose sound filled the area between the further walls of the yard. By stages, their beat became more complex, and more rapid. They had been doing this for a long while, during which time the variegated audience arrived and took their proper places. Several uncouth heimin removed wooden sandals and clapped them as cymbals, adding to the frantic din of introduction.
At length, the racket was caused to end, and the drum was carried away. The yard became as silent as it had been noisy.
Ugo Mohri stood from the seat and walked forward, without looking back, until he stood before the platform holding Lord Horota. Mohri bowed with grace, and though Horota did not personally acknowledge the Shogun’s champion, all the Lord’s retainers returned the bow with the utmost respect. When Mohri turned around, his eyes glistened to see Tomoe Gozen, who sat still in the cloth chamber, waiting for her turn. When their eyes met, they told each other nothing.
He could not escape admiring her appearance, less colorful than his own fancifully colored kimono, yet grand in simplicity. She wore a full-sleeved kosode blouse and hakama trousers, the kosode gleaming white silk, the hakama black cotton. Her scabbard was fastened loose from a blue and black obi, rather than through it as was more customary. She had tied a black scarf about her head, and knotted it around her hair, leaving the ponytail to hang far down her spine.
The scarf was symbolic as well as functional. It meant: I am ready to try.
Her face lacked the serenity for which Ugo Mohri was famous; but there was a calmness about her nonetheless: a silent, unboasting kind of calm which might have veiled secret compassion.
Ugo Mohri walked to the yard’s center, bowed to the other three sides of the field. It was expected that each opponent would first provide a brief display of skill. Thus, all eyes were upon Ugo Mohri, which pleased him.
From a compartment on the side of his sword’s sheath, Ugo withdrew a length of cord called sage-o. He threw an end over each shoulder, pulled the ends under his arms, and tied them in front. He pulled the sage-o in a certain manner so that the bow he had tied moved to the center of his back. This tie held the long sleeves of his kimono away from the forearms. This done, he sat upon his knees, in the classic pose of iaijutsu, the art of the rapid draw.
Four of his aides came from the cloth enclosure, each carrying a large piece of heavy paper, each paper a different color: red, blue, yellow, white. The four men surrounded Ugo Mohri, armed only with these papers.
Heimin to one side, aristocrats to the other, Tomoe at his back, and an important Lord before—Ugo Mohri’s pleasure was highly visible. Everyone watched him attentively, wondering what sort of display he had in mind to impress them. Thus far, they were more curious than impressed, for sword defeating paper would scarcely entail amazing feats.
The four men raised their respective colored papers. They tossed these sheets toward Ugo Mohri, then leapt backward.
The iai draw required total concentration and intense determination focused toward a particular action, performed with acute rapidity and exceeding accuracy. As the papers came toward him, Ugo raised one knee. His sword came from its sheath, slashed in four directions as he twirled halfway around. The sword re-entered its scabbard as he returned to both knees, now facing Tomoe rather than Lord Horota.
Eight pieces of paper, not four, fell to the ground.
The four men stepped forward and reclaimed the eight pieces of paper, and held these pieces in upraised hands. They threw them once more, and Ugo Mohri’s sword moved forth with even more blinding speed, singing through the air as he turned to face the castle’s Lord as before, and fell back into the sitting posture. Every piece of paper had been cut in half again, so that sixteen pieces fell to the ground. What few spectators had blinked their eyes saw nothing more than Ugo Mohri’s mystifying ability to face west then east without having apparently flinched a muscle or altered a pose.
The four aides hurried forward one last time, and gathered up the sixteen bits of paper. They came together in a group and began to fold the colored pieces into a whole. They made a patterned paper lantern and presented it to Lord Hidemi Horota’s forward samurai, who took it to the Lord himself.
Ugo Mohri had not merely cut the papers, but had cut them into specific shapes and sizes so that the lantern could be made. Heimin stood with mouths agape. Aristocratic warriors nodded to one another appreciatively. Ugo Mohri stood, bowed once more to the Lord of Heiji Castle, then returned to his seat in the partitioned enclosure, arms folded over his chest.
He had looked slightly disappointed that Tomoe Gozen’s expression never altered.
Tomoe stood. She walked toward the castle’s Lord, looking bow-legged and strong in her crisp hakama trousers. There was something terrible in her walk, and it was not like Ugo’s swagger; it was more offensive than conceited. It said: I will participate in your circus. But it is still a circus. She bowed curtly, and the samurai to either side of the Lord returned her bow uncomfortably. The one seated on the step raised himself up a little, as though he had seen something dangerous in her manner, as though he feared she might rush the platform and kill his master.
She turned. Already, a target had been wheeled to the center of the yard and propped up, facing her and Lord Horota. She bowed north, then south, lastly to Ugo Mohri. Their eyes met as before, without message. She drew her sword, confronting the target.
Again, the onlookers were puzzled. The target was for archery, but Tomoe Gozen bore a daito blade. It was more confusing than Ugo’s paper.
The young boy who had wheeled the target forward ducked behind it, rather than leaving the field. Tomoe glowered at the target somewhat inappropriately, as though it were a hated enemy several paces away from her. She held her sword outward to one side, and crossed one leg over the other to approach this presumed foe. She was not near enough to strike, and it seemed pointless to do so anyway. Her audience, however, was only the more attentive due to the apparent valuelessness of her maneuver.
Atop roofs, there appeared three cloaked figures: ninja! Lord Hidemi Horota’s samurai moved in front of him immediately, concerned that ninja should appear on the castle’s roofs. Half the audience looked to where the ninja stood, darkly clad, only their eyes visible. Those eyes glared into the yard at Tomoe Gozen.
Tomoe continued to focus on the target, oblivious to the ninja.
Ugo Mohri leaned forward from the three-sided tent, his expression tense and intense, trying to gain a view of the three ninja and Tomoe.
The ninja crouched, flung three overlarge shurikens at Tomoe Gozen, one after the other.
There were three melodic chimes: Brring. Chring. Clant, followed by three dull sounds: Tunt-tunt-tunt. The large shurikens were deflected by her sword, and into the target.
The ninja slunk away, vanished.
The boy hiding behind the target stood, and turned it to the four sides of the yard so all would see how the shurikens formed a careful triangle in the center of the target.
Upon Tomoe’s face, no hint of pride. She sheathed the sword of Okio. She faced the Lord once more, bowed, then returned to her section of the fabric enclosure.
Whispered commentary rose about the periphery of the yard, but quieted when the Lord of Heiji Castle stood. He scanned the crowd he hosted. A servant brought a scroll, and from it Lord Horota read a series of partially subjective and overly elaborated crimes accredited to Tomoe Gozen, none of them quite invented, but only one of them important by most measures: the death of eight thousand samurai, slaughtered by a ghoulish legion under Tomoe’s auspices, and she in the auspices of a foreign sorcerer. It was this collusion which caused her to become a disfavored hero in the first place, and the criminality of that association would be decided by the outcome of today’s confrontation.
Lord Horota ended the statements of accusation with a formalize
d phrase: “To these items, are any opposed?”
There followed a moment of silence, in which the charges, or even Tomoe’s right to “vindication by combat,” could be challenged.
In that moment, Lady Toshima stepped through the squared gateway behind the platform. Though once courtly in her appearance, she was presently without cosmetics, without costly garments. There had been much talk in Kamakura about the famous author, who was once a famous beauty as well, but made herself look so plain. If challenges to her beauty ever tempted her to return to her previous nature, she overcame the temptation. Doubtlessly, there were some who considered the notorious Lady more beautiful than before, but if the majority shared this opinion, they were reluctant to suggest it.
Toshima ascended to Lord Horota’s side from the rear. It was unprecedented. The Lord himself was clearly surprised. But his samurai made way for the woman who was kin to the Mikado, master of Tomoe Gozen and, a few maintained, heir to Shojiro Shigeno.
She carried a scroll similar to that read by Lord Horota, but sealed with the Mikado’s emblem: a chrysanthemum. She broke the seal, stretched out the scroll, and did not merely reply to the charges against Tomoe Gozen, but leveled charges of her own at Ugo Mohri.
“Once,” she began, “Ugo Mohri served the august son of Amaterasu. Today he serves the Shogun. Is it possible the Shogun’s champion was fonder of his glamorous wealth than of fealty to the Mikado? That is what is tested here today. But there is another matter, too. We are told by high officials that the Mikado is held from his beloved Naipon to his own benefit, and ours; and we may believe this is true, because the Shogun never lies, and serves the Mikado in all things.” She looked up from the scroll a moment, smiling feigned innocence, old innocence. She unrolled the scroll a little further, continued, “Yet it is also true that circumstances are ever changing, and that we have always known the Mortal Flesh of the Eternal Isles must one day return to us. Today we test not only the faith or treason of a disfavored hero against the fealty or criminality of a champion, but also the readiness of the Mikado’s return from exile.”
The Disfavored Hero Page 25
