The Heike Story (24 page)

"And what is the trouble now, good man?" Kiyomori laughed, as he asked for an explanation of the visit.

"In a fit of temper I threw a caldron of glue at you, sir, and called you names, but I overheard one of your retainers telling about your unsuccessful hunting trip that day and I was overcome with shame when I heard what you did out of compassion for mere animals. As a master armor-maker, I beg you to let me make you a new suit of armor. Not only must a warrior be strong with his bow, but he must have a heart full of pity like yours for all living creatures. One who makes armor for such a warrior cannot but put his heart and soul into his task.—To tell you the truth, sir, I have brought the armor you ordered with me today. Will you not look at it and allow me to present it to you?"

There was no trace of condescension in Oshimaro's manner now; no words in praise of his own handiwork. The look of delight in Kiyomori's face seemed to be sufficient reward for him and he soon hobbled off.

Kiyomori basked in his regained freedom. One evening upon his return home, he stepped into his wife's room, and there found a lute he had never seen before. Tokiko explained that the lute was a gift from Lady Kii, who had sent it by a priest that same afternoon. She went on to relate that the priest had stayed for a while to talk and congratulated her repeatedly on having such a fine husband. Tokiko had protested, she said, with smiles, but curious as to the reasons for such praise of Lord Aki, she had pressed Lady Kii's messenger to talk further and discovered that Oshimaro, the armor-maker, had gone about telling people of Kiyomori and the foxes. The story had finally reached Shinzei; moved by this account of Kiyomori's compassion, Shinzei had brought out a treasured lute that had been his mother's, and had asked his friend the priest to take it to Kiyomori as a token of his regard. The priest then told Tokiko that the foxes were messengers of the Goddess of Mercy and Love, and that by sparing the foxes Kiyomori had gained merit. Shinzei, the priest added, had also expressed his belief in the goodness of Lord Aki. After his rambling talk the priest had left with a blessing on the lady of the house and her husband.

Kiyomori took up the lute, turned it over several times on his lap to examine it.

"A very fine lute," he finally remarked.

Tokiko replied: "There must be a signature on it somewhere."

"Here—"

"It says 'Wind in the Fields.' "

The lute was embellished with a design of wild flowers in gold lacquer, and a poem by Shinzei to his dead mother was inscribed in the intricate pattern.

"Tokiko, can you play this?"

"Tokitada is an even more accomplished musician than I, I'm sure."

"Eh, I didn't know that Tokitada had such talent. Well then, let me play you something. For all my unpolished ways you may not believe it, but when I was only eight, I took part in the singing and dancing of the sacred dramas at Gion, My mother, the Lady of Gion, loved such showy affairs."

As he spoke, Kiyomori felt a twinge at the heart. Where was she now—his mother, that fox-woman, she who could not even compare with that noble vixen? Would that she were alive, and unhurt. Surely she could no longer be beautiful—she must now be in her forties. Where was she now? Had some man wounded and abandoned her in a corner of the world? … Kiyomori was at a loss to explain the emotions that welled up from unknown depths and seemed to flood over him. His heart ached. As though to still the pain, he pressed the lute to him and hummed softly, running a finger down the four strings in a tinkling cascade of sound.

"Now what is that tune?" Tokiko laughed.

"Oh, you may not recognize it. It is—it is the 'Song of a Mortal' from the Manyoshu," he joked solemnly, though his lashes glistened moistly as he spoke.

THE DEAD SPEAK

Fujiwara Tsunemunй, a courtier of the Third Rank, was a young man of considerable accomplishments. Though a nobleman, he was not altogether effete, for the society of which he was a member was not only the hub of politics, but the center of the intellectual life of his day, and of the younger courtiers he seemed to concentrate in himself all the outward excellences of a triumphant aristocracy. Fastidious and elegant in appearance, as he was in manner and address, Tsunemunй had the tastes of a scholar and a wide reading of the classics; an accomplished writer of verse, a skilled player of the aristocratic game of football, and a talented musician, he possessed above all an awareness of the fluctuating currents in court life.

On a day that Tsunemunй had accepted a court chamberlain's invitation to attend a game of football, the Regent Tadamichi's secretary appeared in one of the imperial pavilions and quietly informed Tsunemunй that the Regent wished to speak to him. Tsunemunй accompanied the secretary to an arbor-house set apart on an islet surrounded by waterlilies.

It was early summer—June of the year 1149. The child-Emperor Konoyй was to celebrate his eleventh birthday soon, and his advisers were preparing for his enthronement. The question of selecting a consort for him had become urgent, for it was only fitting that the young ruler should attend the Great Thanksgiving Service at his crowning with the future empress. The Cloistered Emperor Toba had for some time given the matter careful thought; rumors had already spread as to where the choice might fall, and every acceptable branch of the Fujiwara with marriageable daughters was filled with the hope that this supreme honor might come its way. The choice was to be made in utmost secrecy and with every consideration of how it might affect the delicate balance of politics. History had shown that an ill-advised choice could embroil the Court in plots and even plunge the country into war.

At no time did the duties of his office weigh more heavily on the Regent than now. For many months he had given the problem painstaking thought and he had finally arrived at a decision. Considered in every possible light, his selection of Tadako, the daughter of the Minister of the Left, seemed unassailable; though only eleven—scarcely more than a child—her natural gifts and already exquisite beauty destined her, he believed, for that high role which he had in mind for her. One obstacle, however, stood in the way of making the choice known. Tadako was his brother Yorinaga's foster-daughter. No love was lost between brothers so dissimilar in character, and Tadamichi, unwilling to swallow his pride, hesitated to acquaint Yorinaga with a choice to which the Cloistered Emperor had already given his consent. It disquieted him to think of the truculence with which Yorinaga was certain to receive this highly welcome announcement, and in his perplexity it occurred to him to send Tsunemunй as his deputy, this courtier whose tact and patience could be trusted to smooth down any awkwardness that might arise. The football game, therefore, presented Tadamichi with a chance to call Tsunemunй to him and divulge his plan.

Tsunemunй listened to the Regent with elation. The task pleased him by its importance. It also opened up to him the possibilities of furthering his position at Court. And after setting a day on which he would return with Yorinaga's answer, Tsunemunй departed.

Tsunemunй's meeting with Yorinaga began unpropitiously. The Minister ventured no comment beyond a guarded "So Tadako is asked to become the empress?" This was followed by a wry smile. After some desultory talk Tsunemunй's oblique attempts to elicit a reply were rewarded.

At length Yorinaga asked: "Is this urgent? Does this call for an immediate answer?"

Assured that this was the Cloistered Emperor's desire, Yorinaga pressed Tsunemunй for the reasons that prevented the Regent from coming in person. Explanations that state affairs kept Tadamichi at Court did not satisfy him, but Yorinaga finally said: "I have no objections to Tadako's being made the empress, but I exact a promise that she will be proclaimed the consort at the Emperor's crowning;. I will not have her installed at Court as a mere concubine. I must otherwise refuse. There must be absolute assurances that she will be made the empress."

Yorinaga's answer was laid before the Cloistered Emperor and the Regent and accepted. Tadako shortly after was admitted to the Court. Before many months had elapsed, however, the Regent was dismayed when the Cloistered Emperor commanded him to replace Tadako by another, the nineteen-year-old Shimeko, a favorite of Lady Bifukumon, who had for a. number of years seen to the training and upbringing of this maid-in-waiting, planning that the young girl, whom she had come to love as her own daughter, should become her son Konoyй’s consort. On learning that Tadako had been chosen without consulting her wishes, Lady Bifukumon bitterly chided her husband, the Cloistered Emperor, and prevailed on him to yield to her demands.

Yorinaga's rage and mortification when he heard this were extreme. He saw his chances for power and honor slipping away. Determined that his will should prevail over even that of the Cloistered Emperor, he turned to his father for support.

Fujiwara Tadazanй, Yorinaga's father, was seventy-two years of age and for some years had lived in retirement at his villa in Byodo-in at Uji. As the oldest of the Fujiwara courtiers, he still wielded an influence that was not inconsiderable, for not only was he related to the imperial house on his mother's side, but one of his daughters had been the Cloistered Emperor's first consort. His career had been an enviable one. He had served two successive rulers with honor, and had occupied some of the highest posts in the government. Even in retirement he enjoyed the pomp and ceremony befitting one of great eminence, and notables from the capital continued to visit him at his villa. Tadazanй, despite all the qualities that made him a successful courtier, possessed a weakness which seemed to negate all that he stood for; he loved his youngest son, Yorinaga, to a fault, and by some curious discordance of temperaments was bitterly hostile to his eldest, Tadamichi, the Regent.

Yorinaga's sudden arrival at the villa in Uji caused Tadazanй's thin eyelids to twitch under the white brows. He listened to his son in silence. But the sight of his son's misery and dejection finally made him draw up his thin frame, as though he were summoning up his last reserves of strength, and he said at last: "Come, you must not let this disturb you too much. I am not too far gone in years that I cannot intercede with his majesty for you. I will go myself and see that matters are set right. Today I shall make an exception and ride alongside you to the capital."

Matters were not so easy as Tadazanй had expected. On one pretext or another he was refused an audience with the Cloistered Emperor; his letters were returned unanswered; a fortnight went by and he found he had made no headway. At last, at the courtier Tsunemunй's urgings, Tadazanй agreed to a meeting with the Regent, from whom Tsunemunй obtained the promise of an audience. Still another month went by with no sign of the promised meeting; until, utterly worn and heartsick, Tadazanй returned to Uji.

Winter came. December and the year were drawing to a close. Only a few days remained before the entire Court suspended its customary occupations for the elaborate ceremonials ushering in the New Year, when Yorinaga once more appeared at Uji, distraught. Shimeko had been formally admitted to the Court, and the last opportunity for pressing Tadako's claim, he said, was slipping away.

Tadazanй roused his housemen and servants at dawn. The oxen's breath hung like white wreaths in the morning air as Tadazanй's carriage rumbled over the frozen road to Kyoto. It was not until nightfall that he reached the Palace courtyard, where only the Guards' watch-fires shed any light. Pelting hail sprayed upward from the cavernous eaves; shutters were rolled back and doors thrown open to admit Tadazanй. He was conducted to an anteroom, and there he waited, utter despair in every line of his face. He had come prepared to wait until death itself intervened. The icy hours dragged by in a bitter contest of wills: pride, love, vainglory, infatuation. The monarch at last relented and appeared. Besieged by the tears and entreaties of aging Tadazanй, he was forced to give in.

On New Year's Day, Tadako was proclaimed the Empress-elect, and in March she stood crowned beside the child-Emperor.

The Regent, who found the torrid heat in July intolerable, retired to his villa outside Kyoto and was rarely seen at Court. Yorinaga, however, was indefatigable, concentrating his tireless energies on the numerous minutiae of his office. His brisk appearances in the various departments of the government struck terror into the hearts of the minor officials and left the courtiers exhausted and more languid than ever. As a close relative of the young Empress, Yorinaga was aware of the exalted position he now occupied, and he applied himself diligently to the affairs of government, fully confident of the fruits he would gather from his labors. As the adviser to the boy-Emperor he now displaced in fact, if not in name, the Regent, his own brother, and a faction was now developing in his train. The preference he gave the Genji over the Heike at Court also was evident. He had recently dispatched Tameyoshi of the Genji instead of Kiyomori to negotiate with the fighting monks of Nara when they threatened to march on the capital with their armed thousands.

Tadazanй, long past the age for active duty, once more appeared at Court, where he now served as an honorary minister; all his efforts were now spent in support of Yorinaga; secretly determined that nothing should be left undone, Tadazanй intimated to the Cloistered Emperor that Tadamichi's health and abilities made him unsuitable for carrying out the duties of a regent. But when he heard that Tadamichi refused to resign out of fear that Yorinaga would cause strife and bloodshed, Tadazanй in rage went to the archives of the Imperial Academy, where the family records and the great seal of the Fujiwara were kept. These he removed and placed in Yorinaga's keeping to signify that he disowned his eldest son, Tadamichi, and he appointed Yorinaga as his heir and successor.