by Lian Hearn
She wanted to ask him more, about the exact contents of the letter but decided it was better that she did not know why Iida Sadamu was writing to Lord Noguchi or what he was offering him. She would obey her uncle and deliver the letter as instructed, but she could not help recalling the Otori brothers and their young companion, Mori Kiyoshige; she remembered the undisguised admiration in their glances and pitied them.
“Where will this battle take place?” she asked.
“Almost certainly on the plain of Yaegahara.”
29
Spring came late that year to the Three Countries, and when the thaw finally came, it brought widespread flooding, rivers breaking their banks and bridges being washed away, hampering the movement of armed forces and communication among allies.
The first news Shigeru had was when Irie Masahide returned at the end of the third month from the South. Irie brought Moe back from her parents’ house, where she had spent the winter. He was in an unusually optimistic frame of mind, having received firm assurances of support from Noguchi as well as from the Yanagi, Moe’s family. Thus the South and the West were secured.
As soon as the weather allowed, Shigeru renewed his efforts to remove his uncles from the castle, persuading his father to impose a kind of exile on them, sending them away to the country and ordering them to refrain from any public activity. To his surprise, Shoichi, Masahiro, and their families left without demur, in extravagant processions that had the townspeople gaping at the expense and cheering their departure all the more enthusiastically.
Masahiro sent one final letter to Akane, telling her he hoped she would not miss him too much, but not to concern herself; he would be back before very long. This letter she also burned, and she kept its message to herself.
Harada came from Chigawa with messages from Kiyoshige. As soon as the snow had melted, he said, Tohan troops had been gathering along the northeastern border, and seemed prepared to attack at any moment. Shigeru had two weeks at most to gather the Otori army.
Shigeru took this news to his father and called an urgent meeting with the elders and senior retainers, at which he announced his decision to move troops immediately along the coast road toward the border, to meet the Tohan on the plain of Yaegahara.
His uncles, of course, were not present, and though the option of trying to placate Iida by pulling back from Chigawa was put forward by Endo Chikara and others, Shigeru dismissed it at once, saying he would not yield a single acre of Otori land to the Tohan. He revealed now what he had kept secret all winter: the Western alliance, the securing of the South, and the readiness of the Otori forces. His opinion was that the Otori could defeat the Tohan now, on the battleground of their own choosing and on their own terms. If they were to appease the Tohan, they would lose both these advantages and would never recover them.
His father gave his full support both in the meeting and afterward.
“You should stay in Hagi,” Shigeru advised him, but the old man had made up his mind.
“We will fight side by side. We must let no one say afterward that the clan was divided or that you acted alone and without my consent.”
“Then surely my uncles should also join us,” Shigeru said.
His father agreed, and messengers were dispatched to their country retreats, but first Shoichi and then Masahiro sent regretful answers: Shoichi had sprained his shoulder falling from a horse, and Masahiro’s household was in the grip of some ominous illness, possibly measles or even smallpox. Spreading contagion could not be risked.
Lord Shigemori was enraged by these replies, but despite the insult, Shigeru was relieved. If his uncles were not in wholehearted support of this policy, it was better that they stay away. He would deal with them after the battle; in the meantime, he was free from the irritation of their presence and their influence over his father.
Yet he was uneasy about their true intentions, and it seemed his father shared his suspicions. For many nights before their departure they had discussed preparations of the army, strategy and tactics; often his mother was also present. One night Shigemori dismissed the servants, saying he wished to speak in private to his son. Lady Otori also rose to leave.
“You may stay,” he said. “There must be a witness to what I have to say.”
She sank to her knees and bowed to her husband before sitting erect again, silent and composed.
Lord Shigemori took his sword from the rack at the end of the room and placed it on the ground in front of Shigeru. It was the legendary snake sword, Jato, a long sword cast by one of the great swordsmiths in the capital, its scabbard and hilt decorated with bronze and mother-of-pearl settings. It had been given to the Otori hero Otori Takeyoshi, who had also been given one of the Emperor’s concubines in marriage at the same time.
“You know the reputation of this sword?”
“Yes, Father.”
“It is said to choose its master: maybe this is true; I have no way of knowing. It came to me directly when my father died—he did not have the good fortune to die in battle fighting his enemies, as I may have soon. He died of old age, surrounded by his sons; the sword passed to me as the eldest son.”
Lady Otori said, “Your stepmother desired otherwise.”
His father smiled bitterly. “Neither Shoichi nor Masahiro will ever hold Jato. They will never lead the Otori; they must not. Since your return from Terayama and your exploits on the eastern borders, I have become aware of their ambitions and their jealousy, their constant attempts to undermine you in my eyes, their intrigue and back-biting. If I fall in battle, Jato will make its way to you. You must take it and live. Whatever the outcome of the battle, you must not take your own life but must live and seek revenge. This is my command to you as your father.”
“And if the sword does not come to me?” Shigeru questioned.
“Then you may as well kill yourself, for if Jato is lost, our family is lost too; our line will be extinguished.”
“I understand,” Shigeru said. “I will obey your wishes in this as in everything.”
His father smiled again, this time with affection. “Your birth was long awaited, but I hold it the most fortunate event of my life. Despite all my own weaknesses and shortcomings, I have been truly blessed in my son.”
Shigeru was heartened by these words and by the unity of purpose shared with his parents. His father also seemed strengthened by their reconciliation, and though Lord Shigemori consulted his customary priests and shamans, he did not allow the day of departure to be unduly delayed. The first faintly auspicious day was decided on.
30
Early in the fifth month, Shigeru left the city of Hagi with close to five thousand men. His father came with him. Lord Shigemori had his armor prepared and his warhorse brought in from pasture. The decision seemed to strengthen him, and he rode erect in the saddle, Jato at his side.
Shigeru had gone to Akane the day before to say good-bye to her. She had been strongly moved, had clung to him and wept, her usual self-control abandoned. His leave-taking of his wife had been much colder. He felt Moe was glad to see him go and would be relieved if he did not return, though her father and brothers would be fighting alongside him, and if he fell, they probably would too. He wished he was leaving children behind but then recalled that if he was defeated, they also would die, and he was relieved that he was to be spared that sorrow. At least Takeshi was safe at Terayama.
He rode alongside his father across the stone bridge a little before midday. Akane stood by her father’s grave, among the townspeople who had gathered to bid the army farewell. Shigeru’s eyes met hers, and on the far bank he turned to look back at her, as he had once before.
He had received messages from Mori Kiyoshige at Chigawa, saying the Tohan were amassing just over the border, as he had expected. There was no element of surprise in the attack. Everyone knew the battle was inevitable. The villagers along the road from Hagi were digging earthworks and mounds to protect themselves. Along the way, the army was joined by mor
e retainers with their own armed forces. Others, such as Otori Eijiro, had traveled south of the ranges and through the pass known as White Pine Pass and they met up a week later on the western edge of the Yaegahara plain. A small range of hills extended into the plain, and on top of the most easterly one stood a wooden fort. The range curved around to the southwest road, and here Shigeru expected to find the Otori vassals from the South: the Yanagi and the Noguchi. He sent Irie with a troop of men to make contact with them and set up camp along the western bank of the small river that flowed north from the plain.
Messengers were also sent to Chigawa, where Kiyoshige was under instructions not to attempt to defend the town but to retreat to the plain, bringing the Tohan army into the encirclement of the Otori forces. The messengers returned with Harada, who informed Shigeru that all the indications were that the Tohan would advance as soon as dawn broke the following day. Their forces were estimated at around twelve thousand—outnumbering Shigeru and his vassals by three or four thousand. But the advantages of the terrain lay with the Otori: from midday on, the light would favor them, and they would be defending their own land against invaders.
The foot soldiers had all carried long wooden spikes with them, and these were now erected in lines of palisades to slow the attack and give cover to bowmen. As the sun set, the smoke from hundreds of small fires rose in the still air. The hum of the army, the noise of men and horses, drowned out the evening song of birds, but when night fell and the soldiers snatched a few hours of sleep, owls could be heard hooting from the mountain. The stars were brilliant, but there was no moon; toward dawn a mist rose from the river, and when day broke, the sky had become overcast.
Irie returned as Shigeru was eating, to tell him that Kitano had taken up position on the far east of the plain, concealing his men on the slopes of a wooded hill, and Noguchi was a little to the west of him, covering the road to the South. Yanagi and his sons were between Noguchi and Otori Eijiro, who was within sight of Shigeru’s main force. Shigeru remained in the center and sent his father with Irie to the eastern flank, beneath the protection of the wooden fort.
The men readied themselves: rows of bowmen and foot soldiers behind the palisades and along the banks of the river; horsemen with drawn swords, the horses restless and sweating in the still, warm morning; bannermen holding aloft the crested banners, the Otori heron seen everywhere, white against the deep blue background, together with the family crests of the vassals: the twin carp of the Noguchi, the chestnut leaf of Kitano, the galloping horse of the Mori, the willow leaves of the Yanagi, the peach blossom of the Miyoshi: here and there the scarlet and gold of decorated armor; helmets topped with ancient moons, stag antlers, or stars; and the flash of steel swords, knives, and lance tips. The grass was shooting new bright green, and flowers dotted it—white, pink, and pale blue.
Shigeru felt his heart swell with pride and confidence. He could not conceive that this magnificent army could be defeated. On the contrary, the day had come when the Otori would defeat the Tohan once and for all and drive them back beyond Inuyama.
In the distance, across the plain, a cloud of dust signaled horsemen approaching, and before long, Kiyoshige, Miyoshi Kahei, and most of their men rode up to the stockades. They had already had a taste of battle; the Tohan had taken Chigawa, and though Kiyoshige had retreated immediately as planned, the advance had been so swift and brutal they had had to fight their way through.
“The town is on fire,” Kiyoshige said. “Many of the townspeople were massacred. The Tohan are right behind us.”
His face was somber beneath the dust and blood. “We will win this battle,” he said to Shigeru, “but it will not be easy, or short.”
They clasped hands briefly, then turned their horses toward the East, as the conch shells sounded and the Tohan warriors came pouring across the dusty plain.
It was around the Hour of the Horse, and the sun had broken through the clouds and shone from the southeastern corner of the sky, making it difficult to see the Kitano and Noguchi forces clearly. Since the Tohan were passing in front of their position, Shigeru expected the attack of arrows from moment to moment. From the northwest he could see Irie’s men preparing to loose their arrows on the Tohan horsemen’s right flank.
“Why are they delaying?” he said to Kiyoshige. “They must move now. Ride to Noguchi and tell him to attack at once.”
Kiyoshige urged his gray black-maned horse, Kamome, into a gallop across the plain toward the South. The Tohan horsemen were still beyond bow’s range. The arrow that hit Kamome in the chest could not have come from one of them. It came instead from Noguchi’s archers and was followed by several more. The horse went down. Shigeru saw Kiyoshige leap from its back, landing on one knee and steadying himself before rising immediately, drawn sword in his hand. He did not have the chance to use it. A second burst of arrows came like a wave of the sea, dragging him under; as he struggled to get to his feet, one of Noguchi’s warriors ran forward, severed his head with a single stroke, lifted it up by its topknot and displayed it to the soldiers behind him. An ugly shout rose from their throats, and the Noguchi surged forward, trampling over the headless body and the dying horse, racing not down the slope in the direction of the advancing Tohan force but up the slope, along the side of the plain, outflanking Shigeru’s main force, pushing them up against the northern range, rendering the palisades useless.
Shigeru hardly had time to register anything—not the realization of betrayal, not grief at Kiyoshige’s death—before he found himself fighting for his life against his own clansmen, rendered desperate and vicious by their treachery. Afterward, scenes were engraved on his memory that would never be erased: Kiyoshige’s head separated from his body yet still in some way living, eyes wide in shock; the gut-aching moment when he had to believe his own eyes and realize he had been betrayed; the first man he killed in a pure reflex of self-defense; the Noguchi crest; then the replacement of his own shock by a fury unlike anything he had ever experienced, a blood-lusting rage in which all emotions left him, save the desire to kill the whole traitorous horde himself.
The foot soldiers were in disarray, mown down by the Tohan horsemen in front of them and the Noguchi bowmen to the side. Shigeru led his horsemen time and again against the Tohan, but as they were forced back toward the hills, each time there were fewer to follow him. He was aware of his father and Irie away to his left. The Kitano, whom he expected to reinforce him from the south, seemed to have vanished. Had they retreated already? Scanning the banners in vain for the chestnut leaf, he saw Irie lead an attack on the right flank of the Tohan; as he turned Karasu to urge him back into the fray, he spotted Eijiro with his oldest son, Danjo, alongside him. They rode forward together, cutting a swath into the foot soldiers, forcing them to retreat a little, but then Eijiro was struck from the side by a lance and went down. Danjo gave a howl of rage, killed the man who had killed his father; at almost the same moment a horseman rode at him and split his skull.
Shigeru fought on, possessed by the same blind fury. A fog seemed to have descended on the battlefield, dulling vision and hearing. He was vaguely aware of the screams of men and horses, the sigh and clack that preceded another deadly shower of arrows, the shouts and grunts that accompanied the heavy labor of slaughter, but he himself was dissociated from it, as though he saw himself in a dream. The fray was so intense it was almost impossible to distinguish his own men from the Tohan. Banners fell in the dust; crests on surcoats were obliterated by blood. Shigeru and a small handful of men were forced back up the course of a small stream. He saw his companions fall one by one around him, but each one had taken two Tohan warriors down with him. Shigeru was left facing two enemy soldiers, one on foot, one still mounted. All three of them were exhausted; he parried the hacking blows from the horseman, driving Karasu closer to the other steed and bringing his sword quickly back down as the horse stumbled. He saw his opponent’s blood spurt and knew he had disabled him at least for a moment or two; he turned to counte
r the foot soldier on his right, killing him just as the Tohan man thrust up into Karasu’s neck. The horse shuddered and plunged sideways, knocking the other horse in the shoulder. It fell, unseating its dying rider, and Karasu stumbled heavily, throwing Shigeru to the ground on top of his enemy and collapsing over him, pinning him down.
