The days had turned short and cold. Tomoe hoped they would be back before it got even colder. Traveling up and down the mountains was difficult enough without snow.
Behind her, Yamabuki’s dark eyes shone like wet pearls. If Tomoe’s skin could be called pale, then Yamabuki’s was white, luminescent as sea life in the deepest waters. Yamabuki’s hair was black, too, but shot through with silver and white strands.
Her belly was full once more with child, her third. Yamabuki wasn’t due until December, but she looked like she carried three inside her. Her mother said no, the baby was simply low, Yamabuki’s ligaments stretched out from the previous births. Yamabuki walked slowly, painfully. Tomoe did not want to think of how the latter part of her pregnancy would be.
Yamabuki worked through Tomoe’s thick, long hair with a tortoiseshell comb and fragrant camellia oil, her small hands undoing the knots. “There. You are ready, my captain. Your hair is so well oiled, a typhoon cannot disturb it.”
Tomoe’s throat went dry. Yamabuki had begun as her rival, but now she needed Yamabuki as much as Yamabuki needed her. Tomoe the warrior, Yamabuki the poet. The strong and the gentle. Two sides of one coin. Now she could no more imagine her world without Yamabuki than she could imagine cutting off her own arm.
Yamabuki blinked rapidly and Tomoe grasped the woman’s hand. “And you? Are you prepared?”
“As ready as I need to be. What can I do? Offer the enemy some tea? Play him some music?” Yamabuki stood and retrieved Tomoe’s short sword from the corner. The tiny woman staggered under its weight. Tomoe watched her, knowing Yamabuki would refuse any offers of help. “I do not understand how you can carry this, much less fight with it.”
Tomoe took the sword. Their fingers touched. Tomoe’s insides seized, and she took a deep breath to steady herself. “I should stay here and protect you.”
“No.” Yamabuki retrieved the quiver of arrows and bow next. “You must go.” For a moment, she looked again like the girl she had been on her arrival. A wobbly newborn chick finding its way among piebald eagles. “I will be all right.”
There was a saying for a dear female friend you held as close as a relative. Sister of heart.
Unlike Yamabuki, Tomoe had never been good at putting what she felt into words. Instead, she retrieved her naginata from its place in the corner of the room. With a bow, she presented it to Yamabuki. The woman didn’t move. “Take it.” How Tomoe wished Yamabuki would heft up the naginata and arc it through the air with a shout. Stab at something. But the woman could barely wrap her tiny fingers around the pole.
“Arigato.” Yamabuki inclined her head toward Tomoe and laid the naginata carefully on the floor. “And I have something for you.” Yamabuki reached into her pocket and withdrew a piece of braided red cord, hung on bright blue fabric. A good-luck talisman. “An omamori. To protect you.”
Outside, the army chanted for her: “Tomoe, Tomoe!” The drums and horns sounded and the men stomped their feet on the ground, banging swords against metal. Tomoe felt the vibrations in her eardrums, in her heart.
Yamabuki took a step back and bowed deeply. Tomoe bowed in return. Both filled with unspoken words that would always remain so.
—
Yoshinaka slid the door open, letting the roar of the army in like an ocean wave. “Now is the time for our revenge!” Yoshinaka slammed his fist into his open palm. The sleeping Aoi awoke and began to whimper.
Tomoe picked up the child. “You don’t need to yell.”
Yoshinaka came over and cooed at Aoi. “I wasn’t yelling. I was talking loudly.” He brushed the thick, blue-black hair out of Aoi’s eyes and blew through his lips, making her giggle. He turned to Chizuru, who sat mending a kimono. “If anything happens to me and Tomoe, Chizuru, take the children to Yoritomo’s family. They live in the Kantō.”
“But . . .” Chizuru sputtered, putting down the brown cloth. “You need a boat to get there. We have no boat.” Kantō was located across the bay. They would be safe. Kantō had always been sympathetic to their cause; this was where Yoritomo had established his base.
Where little Yoshitaka had been sent to live.
“There are boats for hire.” Yoshinaka took a drink of sake out of an earthenware mug. He stifled a belch. “Just don’t tell them you’re so closely related to me.”
Yamabuki propped herself up on an elbow. “Kantō? I’ve heard it’s nice.” She couldn’t contain her enthusiasm. Reunited with little Yoshitaka, she was thinking. Tomoe knew it, because she was thinking it, too.
Yoshinaka laughed. “Don’t get rid of me so easily, woman. I’m not dead yet.”
Every able-bodied man was to join them; only a few elderly ones would remain behind. Yoshinaka and Tomoe bid Yamabuki good-bye outside the house, a crowd of the female townspeople watching. Chizuru held Aoi, who squirmed and squawked as though she knew something was amiss.
“I need you with me, Tomoe,” Yoshinaka said, as if reading her thoughts. He sheathed his sword. “Besides, the Taira will be engaged with me, not attacking us.” He glanced at his lawful wife. “Yamabuki, if you are attacked, take the women and children down to the river. It is better to die an honest death than be captured. Let the river turn crimson with your blood and spoil its water for the enemy.” His eyes gleamed as they did when he was delivering a rousing speech to his troops.
But Yamabuki, unlike his troops, did not clap and cheer. She merely cast a long, slow look at her daughter, then bowed.
Yoshinaka touched her briefly on her head, his great hand covering the black-and-white hair like a cap. “Sayonara.” He turned away.
Tomoe leaned down and pressed her forehead against Yamabuki’s. “Take care of Chizuru and Aoi.” She straightened and took a step back. A retainer sounded a horn. They were leaving. “Sayonara.”
“Dewa mata atode.” Yamabuki picked up Aoi.
Dewa mata atode. See you later. What a bit of optimism for Yamabuki to show. Tomoe didn’t correct her.
—
A week later, they arrived near the mountain range. The Kurikara Pass was steep, going up through a craggy hill. They made camp on an adjacent hill, overlooking the Kurikara Valley to the east and what had once been lush, fertile farmland.
Now there were only a few farmers working over the hard clay soil, a few dozen oxen grazing listlessly. The farmers had waved at them as they passed and let out a weak cheer, and Tomoe waved back, though Yoshinaka told her to not draw attention to herself.
“Everyone knows you have a female captain,” Tomoe pointed out, drawing Cherry Blossom up next to Demon. The two horses snorted at each other. “I’m hardly a secret.”
Kanehira clucked at this. He was always clucking at her. “Better to have left her behind to guard your wife.” He cast an imperious look toward his sister.
“Don’t second-guess me, Kanehira, or I’ll promote your sister above you.” Yoshinaka slapped Kanehira on the shoulder. They both laughed, Kanehira’s forced.
Tomoe suppressed an inward sigh. She would never have a good relationship with her brother. At heart, he was jealous of her relationship with Yoshinaka. She had a lot of Yoshinaka, both at home and in war. Kanehira did not like to share. Never had. He was a man, he wasn’t supposed to.
Suddenly, their scout raced back on a panting black mare. “General, the Taira are going up the other side of the pass. They outnumber us five to one.”
Kanehira frowned.
Tomoe looked at Yoshinaka. Yoshinaka grunted. “How many white banners do we have?” Yoshinaka said at last.
“Plenty. Hundreds,” Tomoe said. Yamabuki had sent them with more than they could possibly use, in case some became damaged or dirty. All the women of the compound had worked on them. It was all they had to do, to occupy their hands and minds.
“Good.” Yoshinaka turned Demon around to face his men. “I have a plan.”
—
Yoshinaka ordered them to set up all the banners on top of the hill.
“All the banners?” Kanehira exchanged a look with Tomoe. It was a look they had known since childhood. The look that asked, Is Yoshinaka serious?
“Every last one. I don’t care if you have to use your own swords as poles. Put all of them in. Make them look dispersed about, as if people are holding them.” They did as he asked. It was late afternoon; they were losing the light. Tomoe stuck a banner on top of a branch, shoving it down into the parched hard earth. Yoshinaka strode around the hilltop. “Good, good.”
Tomoe looked out over the valley. The Kurikara Pass cut through two peaks. In the middle of the pass waved flags, the red Taira crest of a butterfly in profile. Tomoe’s mouth went dry. They were outnumbered.
“Hurry,” Kanehira said, shoving more white banners into her hands. When they were done, there were five hundred banners dotting the hilltop. Tomoe realized the other force, at this distance, would see only material flapping in the wind, not people. Usually each unit of a hundred or so men carried one banner. “They’re going to think we have three times the men we do!” she said in wonder.
Yoshinaka granted her a broad smile.
Kanehira frowned at his sister. “You are a master tactician, Yoshinaka,” he said with a bow. “Unparalleled among men.”
“No one would expect less.” Yoshinaka sat down on a rock and pulled out the Go pieces he liked to play with.
“Now what? Shall we send a messenger challenging them?” Kanehira was too eager.
“No.” Yoshinaka waved him off. “We wait.”
“Wait?” Tomoe was confused, too.
Yoshinaka patted the rock beside him. Tomoe sat. His body was fiery hot, protecting her from the breeze. “Wait.”
They sat quietly, listening to the men around them getting ready for night. Yoshinaka tore into his fish jerky, offering some to Tomoe. She bit into the salty meat, glad to have something to do. Her stomach flipped. Yes, the Taira thought that Yoshinaka had far more men, but would that matter during the actual battle? She swallowed.
Yoshinaka chuckled to himself.
“What is it?” She nudged him. Sometimes Yoshinaka would laugh out of nowhere, remembering a joke from years earlier or some prank he’d pulled as a boy. Little Yoshitaka would do that, too. She pushed that thought away.
“Remember the battle of Fujigawa?” He snorted.
She grinned. The Taira had run away in the middle of the night because they mistook the sound of a flock of ducks taking off for the enemy. “If only all victories could be so easy.” She stretched. Tomoe was sore and tired, but she did not complain. Perhaps this was why she was barren. She rode horses too much. It couldn’t be good for her nether regions.
As if reading her mind, Yoshinaka finished his food and reached for her, winding his arm around her waist and pulling her into his lap. “Tomoe Gozen. While other women turn into crones, you get better looking every year. Like a man.”
She bristled a little, knowing he was talking about Yamabuki as a crone. Yet she would not refuse him. “I suppose because I am more like a man than most women.” Tomoe rested her arms on his shoulders. Yoshinaka had a full beard now, his eyebrows stuck out like bristly boar hair, and he smelled strongly of fish and male odor. Something Yamabuki complained about, his odor. Tomoe didn’t mind. He smelled wrong if he was too clean. “Perhaps being a warrior is good for the complexion.”
He laughed, showing straight white teeth with unusually pronounced canines. He reminded her of the gray wolves; she wouldn’t be surprised if he howled at the moon occasionally. He wound his fingers in her hair and pulled it free of its clasp. “This is how I like to see your hair. Free.”
“If I wore it like this, no work would ever be done,” Tomoe retorted. “It blocks my eyes.” But she fluffed it around her face anyway, and looked up at him coquettishly. “I am Tomoe Gozen, all things to all men. Beauty, warrior, lady, lover.”
She kissed him gently, then stood. “I am quite tired. I think I will retire.” She retreated into his tent, knowing he would follow soon.
—
In the morning, before dawn, Yoshinaka had another surprise. He sent several squads, each with seven soldiers, to stay behind. He sent ten more squads to make a wide swath to the west. The rest of the squads proceeded forward, toward the pass and the Taira.
“What now?” Tomoe said.
“Now we ride into the pass,” Yoshinaka answered with a glint in his eye. “It’s often been said that samurai are full of foolish pride. We are about to put that to the test.”
The other samurai are full of pride? Tomoe laughed aloud. No one laughed with her.
The sky was cloudy. Yoshinaka looked up. “It smells like rain to me,” he said.
“I think you’re right, Yoshinaka,” Kanehira said, holding his palm to the sky. “Things are in our favor.”
It did not smell like rain to Tomoe, but she said nothing. All she could smell were the burned-out campfires, the loamy smell of the horses, the musky scent of the troops. Her own particular sweet and sharp scent. She thought about Yamabuki, hoped her family was doing well. She touched the good-luck amulet near her heart. She should have given one to Yamabuki, she realized with a pang. Any little bit to help her.
They began ascending the pass, the Taira waiting for them. Tomoe wondered if the Taira general would look at Yoshinaka’s troops and guess the truth of the numbers. But Yoshinaka had left the white flags up to continue the illusion. Tomoe tightened her grip on Cherry Blossom’s reins, her mouth going dry, waiting to see what would happen. Yoshinaka cantered along on Demon, seemingly calm. She concluded that he did not want to battle. Not yet.
“Whatever happens,” Yoshinaka told everyone, “be prepared for battle when I give the signal. Understood?”
Tomoe did not answer as the men all shouted, “Hai!” Why would he not tell her his plan? She supposed she was a figurehead captain, not a real one who would make plans with him. With the realization, she let Cherry Blossom move to the side, allowing a few dozen men between her and Yoshinaka. He did not notice.
Kanehira was the one who rode ahead of the rest, declaring, “Taira warriors! I am Kanehira Imai, the best archer Yoshinaka’s army has! Who there will challenge me? Who can bear the shame of losing to a Minamoto?”
Tomoe relaxed. An archery battle? Of course. This would take hours. The samurai really were foolishly proud. They loved to see who had the best swordsman, the best archer. The winner was a source of great pride to the rest of the army. The loser would be humiliated, taunted forevermore by the rest. When the men were old with missing teeth, they would take pleasure in telling a new generation which of them had lost a competition. Nobody wanted to lose.
“Who?” Kanehira demanded again. Tomoe frowned. Kanehira was not really the best archer, but he was certainly better than most Taira.
The best archer was she.
The Taira broke into an excited murmur. They probably forgot to notice how few men Yoshinaka had, or perhaps they imagined Yoshinaka had sent only his archers forward.
Tomoe recognized the Taira general, Koremori, sitting atop his brown stallion. He was a stout man. Too stout for a famine, Tomoe thought. Too stout for a soldier. He had the stoutness of nobility. Despite this, he appeared none the worse for wear, his red kimono still immaculate, his hands clean.
One Taira volunteered, riding forward on a black mare. “I accept your challenge, Kanehira!” he shouted. The men were to shoot at each other from the horses as they raced by each other. Tomoe tensed. This would be one way to cut down the other side’s numbers, should they win decisively.
The two horses got in their starting positions, the Taira farther up the pass, the Minamoto farther down. Tomoe watched in trepidation. At its widest, the pass was only about as big as a dozen horses end to end. At one point, the pass had no walls of mou
ntain but narrowed into a sort of bridge over a steep, very tall ravine. One misstep would send a rider to his death.
“Be careful, Kanehira,” she whispered. Nobody heard her.
She went off to the side as much as she could, going up a grassy embankment of brown grass, standing out of the way. She held Cherry Blossom firmly, her hands shaking.
Kanehira won his first easily, his arrow bouncing off the chest of the opposing samurai, who was knocked nearly off his horse by the force. More battles were drawn up. Tomoe sat down on the embankment and ate her ration of rice cake as Cherry Blossom plucked the sole remaining green leaves from a nearby bush. Would this never end?
Below her, the men had no such reservations or boredom. They cheered enthusiastically at each new match. Tomoe dozed. Perhaps she would have been better off staying home, playing with Aoi, helping Yamabuki and her mother. She was too old for this.
The process continued until the sun was directly overhead, the shadows dim due to the gray sky. The Minamoto were ahead. No one had fallen into the ravine yet. Two men from the Taira had been killed, and one Minamoto. Their bodies were placed off to the side, the Minamoto directly below Tomoe, who averted her gaze from the arrow protruding from the chest. One of the farmer-soldiers came over and pulled the arrow free.
It was all entirely pointless.
Tomoe stood and stretched her limbs. She checked her armor to make sure it was ready. She gave up listening for Yoshinaka’s battle charge. Obviously it was going to happen sometime later. These men. Why wouldn’t they just fight the war and quit all these stupid games?
She blew into her stiff hands to warm them. She briefly considered mounting Cherry Blossom, riding into the distance, never to be seen again. Going across the sea to find little Yoshitaka, sending for Yamabuki and Chizuru and Aoi. Yoshinaka wouldn’t notice during these games. But she thought of the farmers who had joined their army, of helping the Minamoto overthrow the Taira rule. The Taira putting the child puppet-emperor into place, controlling the people in the worst way.
Tale of the Warrior Geisha Page 17
