The Heike Story (50 page)

The white road unwound before them in unending monotony, and each rider drowsed fitfully. The numbing cold and the stupor of utter fatigue lulled them deliciously like an opiate. Yoshitomo's shouts, however, roused them from time to time as he called to each member of his party; answering cries continued to assure him that no one was straggling too far behind.

"Don't lose sight of each other," Yoshitomo warned. "See that the snow doesn't freeze on your lashes. Keep calling to one another to stay awake!"

Late that night when they were safely past the sentinel posts along the highway and had crossed the Hino River, they found themselves hoarse and breathless from shouting against the wind and driving snow. It was getting more and more difficult not to lose sight of each other. Suddenly Yoshitomo and Yoshihira, who rode ahead, thought they heard shouts in the distance. They brought their horses to a stop and, blinking away the snow, listened intently.

"Yoritomo—Yoritomo-o! Ho-o!"

Another voice took up the cry: "Ho-o, Yoritomo!"

The sounds appeared to come from their rear.

"Are they calling Yoritomo?"

"He must be straggling far behind. Wait for me here, Father, while I go back."

"No, I'll go with you."

A retainer riding a few steps ahead of Yoshitomo wheeled in his tracks to ask: "Are we all going back?"

Yoshitomo began retracing his steps and counted off his party. They were all there except Yoritomo, his youngest son.

"Yoritomo missing?"

Some time must have elapsed since one of the group made the discovery, for though they hallooed and called in unison, there was no reply.

"You say he's not here," Yoshitomo asked anxiously, addressing no one in particular. "When did you notice this?"

"He was riding between us when we crossed the plain," two captains offered.

"At Hino River?"

"The storm was blowing its worst there and we scattered in order to cross. We might have become separated there. It was our fault. Let us two go back to look for him," the captains said, preparing to turn back.

Then Yoshitomo's voice, hollow with desolation, restrained them. "Wait, wait: That's not necessary. We can't turn back for each straggler.

The party were now huddled together against the storm, and Yoshitomo continued: "It will soon be daybreak and we must change our course to avoid meeting strangers on the road. Unless we take to the hills we are in danger of pursuit, and Yoritomo must be left to his fate if we are to escape. The future of all the Genji depends on our surviving. We can't risk our lives for him alone."

Then the two captains protested: "Sir, he is the youngest of your sons, and beloved of us; how can we abandon him to the storm? You will regret this to the day of your death. Let the future take care of itself. Let us go back now to find him!"

But Yoshitomo was not to be persuaded. "No, though your words move me deeply. You know well how dear my son is to me, his father, yet all the Genji look to me as their parent and I cannot forsake them for him alone. In defeat they are more than ever my children. . . ."

Yoshitomo's voice died into silence and he suddenly turned his face away and with uplifted hands prayed: "Ah, cruel night! Is this how heaven will try my child? Is it indeed his fate to die in this cold? Merciful heaven, if it is the will of the gods, spare him!"

Nerving himself to a decision from which he saw no escape, Yoshitomo turned once more to the waiting group. "We cannot go back. Hurry on we must, for it will soon be day," he said, and spurred his horse ahead.

Reluctantly the rest took up their positions behind Yoshitomo, all except the youngest captain, who, after exchanging a few meaningful glances with Yoshihira, turned his horse's head in a westerly direction.

White, white all around—an unending white road—around him the white night.

Yoritomo was painfully sleepy, and the even rocking of his horse was as soothing as the motions of a cradle. He could barely keep awake. Nodding . . . nodding, he finally succumbed. Sometimes the sound of someone calling him penetrated his consciousness, and Yoritomo replied, or thought he had. Then sleep engulfed him once more. He was barely fourteen and the rigors of the past few days had been too much for him. All the terrors were forgotten now in sleep. He had only to hold tight to the reins for his horse to move forward, on and on. He recalled passing through the village of Moriyama; then they had crossed a plain, but of the rest he knew nothing, saw nothing of four men following close behind.

A day before Yoshitomo came through Moriyama, a soldier had arrived there from Rokuhara and, summoning the headman and the farming folk, had ordered them to be on the lookout for Yoshitomo. Before the messenger departed, notices were posted in the village and its outskirts offering a reward for Yoshitomo's capture. Gen, a village ne'er-do-well, hearing of this, gathered together a few cronies by promises to share the reward, far more than they could expect for snaring even a dozen boar, he pointed out. Arming himself with a halberd and his companions with bamboo spears, Gen started out in pursuit of Yoshitomo and his small party.

"There he is—and alone too, Gen."

"So he is."

"That's odd."

"Why?"

"I thought I saw hoofprints in the snow near the bridge. Anyway, that's the only one I see. Lucky I fell asleep in the wineshop, or I should never have heard of this. Never can tell when your luck will turn!"

"Not bad this, with the end of the year so close. I never dreamed such luck would be coming my way this year."

"Hey there, get on with you!"

"There's no hurry. Remember, they're armed."

"After all, it's only a boy. It must be Yoshitomo's son."

"Look—look there!"

"He must be asleep. Look, he's nodding!"

"As easy as catching a bear cub. I'll twist his stirrup and throw him from his saddle and when he falls, catch him and pin him down. I'll rope him then."

Gen and his companions charged toward Yoritomo, who suddenly looked up at them.

Gen stopped in his tracks.

"Here, boy, where are you going?" he asked sharply.

Yoritomo did not reply. He suddenly perceived that his father and brothers were no longer with him and gazed about blankly at the falling snow. The pathos of the clear eyes turned on him from under the snow-laden visor, and the delicate lines of Yoritomo's child features gave Gen an uncomfortable feeling under his ribs.

"Get down, get down, there!" Gen shouted as he ran up to Yoritomo's horse and grasped the right stirrup.

Yoritomo twisted himself sideways in his saddle to keep from falling.

"Here, you, get down, I tell you!"

"You blackguard!" Yoritomo cried as he whipped out his sword and swung it with all his might at Gen's head. A curdling scream brought Yoritomo fully awake; a dark stain spread across the snow; bamboo spears grazed him, and he fought off someone who blocked his way with a spear. Something snarled at him and Yoritomo grew afraid, realizing that his father was no longer with him.

"Father! Father! Yoshihira! . . ."

Yoritomo's horse bolted past an assailant and tore forward; on and on he flew.

Yoritomo could not tell which way he was being carried, but he was certain it was not in the direction his father had gone, and when his exhausted horse finally refused to go farther, Yoritomo abandoned him, threw away his heavy helmet, and walked aimlessly over hills and through valleys.

Several days later he dragged himself to a lonely mountain village and threw himself down to sleep under the eaves of a farmer's woodshed. The farm-woman who went out to open a tub of pickles screamed at the sight of a half-frozen child asleep among the piles of firewood and bales of charcoal. She called her husband and together they carried him into their hut, warmed his limbs, and revived him with bowls of steaming potato gruel. And when he was ready to leave, they gave him careful directions for reaching Mino.

"Go round that mountain you see yonder," they said, "and you will find a pass to the south, which you must cross before you are there."

Yoritomo left them, strangely sad at heart. For the first time in his life he had had to share food with such poor folk and they had been kind to him. On the road a pilgrim nun, touched by his extreme youth, gently warned him: "My child, there are Heike soldiers at a garrison post on this road. Now, don't lose your way," she said at parting.

Day after day he trudged on, sleeping at night in small huts and deserted shrines. There was less and less snow as he went on. He was certain that the New Year had come and gone, and took courage by telling himself that his father and brothers were waiting for him in Mino. Yoritomo had heard that he had a half-sister living there. It was not clear to him just what her relationship was to Ohi, the local chieftain, who was in some way blood kinsman to the Genji, and a man he could trust.

When Yoritomo arrived one day at a river, a fisherman who was washing his boat hailed him. "Are you not one of the Genji —Yoshitomo's son?"

Yoritomo did not attempt to conceal his identity. "Yes, I am Yoshitomo's third son. Yoritomo is my name."

The fisherman seemed pleased and proceeded to relate that his brothers had been servants in Yoshitomo's household. Warning Yoritomo of the dangers of traveling alone, he invited Yoritomo to stop with him.

Yoritomo stayed in the fisherman's hut for several days and then started out once more, accompanied this time by the fisherman's son, who left him only when they reached the chieftain Ohi's house.

The mansion seemed to be deserted, but a servant finally appeared and conducted Yoritomo to a room where the air was heavy with incense.

"And is this Yoritomo?" said a weeping woman. She was Ohi's daughter, Enju, the mother of Yoritomo's half-sister. Enju continued to weep, and her tears puzzled Yoritomo, who concluded that the defeat of the Genji was the cause of her grief. At last she dried her tears and said: "Yoritomo, your father is no longer here. He stayed with us one night and, thinking it safer to go on, went farther east to Owari, to seek out one Tadamune, the headman there. On the third day of the New Year he was most foully murdered by Tadamune."

"Eh, my father?"

"Tadamune sent your father's head back at once to the capital, and it was exposed in a tree near the gates of the East Jail."

"But—can this be true?"

"And that is not all. Your brother Tomonaga died of his wounds. Yoshihira escaped and we have not heard of him since."

"Then my father and brother are dead? I shall never see them again in this world?"

"My poor, poor child. ... It isn't safe for even you to stay here much longer. The Heike are hunting for you."

"Father! My father!"

Yoritomo, trembling, turned his face to the ceiling; tears flooded his young cheeks, and he wept aloud, wildly and uncontrollably, as though his heart would break.

Not until Enju's aged father appeared and tried to console Yoritomo did he finally manage to say: "I will not cry any more. ... I do not want to cry," and, turning to the old chieftain, Yoritomo finally asked: "Where, then, am I to go?"

To this the old warrior replied: "To eastern Japan," naming chieftain after chieftain who would surely befriend Yoritomo. He continued: "I hear there is a lady Tokiwa still in the capital and that she has three sons who are your half-brothers, but they are still mere children. In the east you will undoubtedly find Genji clansmen who will rally to you."

Yoritomo sat quietly thinking.

With every day that he traveled southward, the broad fields on either side of the highway grew greener with the springing barley. Larks sang above him, and Yoritomo walked on, light of heart. Enju had sent him on his way with all the loving care of a mother—in a new suit of clothes, with hunting cloak, sandals, a flint-case, and a sword.

It was nearly February and a new moon floated in the deep blue sky at midday.

"That boy we passed on the road just now—an unusually fine-looking lad. Unusual in these parts," remarked Munekiyo as he turned in his saddle to look back at Yoritomo.

Another warrior too stared after the trudging figure. "An air, too, that would make you think he must be the son of some chieftain in this part of the country."

"Very likely, but rather harsh training for a youngster like that, letting him travel without attendants in these dangerous times."