The Heike Story (81 page)

"A horse? A horse would no doubt be convenient for sending messages."

"By all means a horse! Not only would it come in handy— but to be riding one again!"

"Grown flabby, have you, from hiding so long?"

"That's it. Fretting with idleness."

"But we'll need money for that."

"Nothing to worry about there. You'll find bays, chestnuts, and grays in the best stables down in the capital."

"No, not that."

Smoke escaped through a small window in one of the rough, plastered walls. Asatori raised himself on his toes and peered through the vent; seven or eight hunters, charcoal-burners, and woodcutters were gathered round the blazing hearth, drinking. He was struck by their appearance and drew back. These were not ordinary mountain-folk!

"What's wrong with that?" said one of the men thickly, grasping a flask by its neck and pouring some wine for a companion to whom he addressed the question.

"I hardly need explain. If it's a horse, it has to be a pack-horse."

"A pack-horse wouldn't be of any use."

"Yes, but a thoroughbred is bound to attract attention and make people suspect us."

"True—quite true. We've talked enough. There's no point in discussing the impossible."

"Why not some songs that we sing on horseback?"

"Just the thing! When you're sick for the east, sing!"

The two who had been arguing heatedly joined the rest, who were already clapping time to a tune. It was a wild song whose words made little sense to Asatori. The men sang it over and over again, and the musician in Asatori recognized the sturdy rhythms as springing from the soil, chanting of wide moors, the morning winds, and the stars at night. There was no resemblance between it and the music heard at the Court, and Asatori listened rapt.

A cloud of smoke suddenly belched through the window at which Asatori watched; he choked, coughed several times in spite of himself, and then ducked.

"What's that?"

There was silence. Asatori, doubled over, ran off swiftly into the dark. At the sound of his steps, turmoil broke out in the hut. A piercing shout rang out. There were more shouts and cries as footsteps thudded after him. Arrows began to whistle about him and whiz past his ears. Asatori felt his legs begin to give way as he stumbled forward blindly.

Two days later Asatori sat on a rock ledge, munching his first meal—a paste of fermented beans and some dried vegetables. A handful of cooked, dried rice soaked in a near-by mountain stream. The clouds were beautiful in the setting sun, and fish flashed to the surface of the stream. Wondering where he was, Asatori clambered to a ridge and gazed down over the surrounding country. Only mountaintops met his eyes.

He had slept soundly all that afternoon in the woods and wakened refreshed, though still unable to guess where he was. All the previous day he had climbed through hilly country where he sometimes came upon woodcutters' and charcoal-burners' huts. Unseen himself, he had watched men, strangely resembling those he had seen the other night, hard at work, and had been startled by the sight of bows and spears hanging on the rude plaster walls of their huts.

Asatori gazed about him. All the landscape seemed to swim in a deep liquid blue. Stars soon swarmed into the sky, and across the valley on a peak opposite him shone forth three lights. It suddenly came to him then that he was not very far from Kurama Mountain, and the lights were from one of the monasteries. At once he decided to reach Kurama Mountain before dawn and hide there until he could see Ushiwaka alone.

The trail dwindled and disappeared for stretches at a time, but the stars were unusually brilliant for May. The moon rose later as Asatori made his way through valleys and over ridges. He came finally to a decayed log slung across a stream and crossed it, groping about in the undergrowth for a trail, when the sound of deep, muffled voices startled him. He turned to look back and saw several figures crossing the stream. They were in dark, close-fitting suits and wore long swords. Their faces were masked. They slipped past close to where he stood and vanished noiselessly like swirls of night mist.

THE DEMONS OF KURAMA .MOUNTAIN

A dozen or more small inns and public-houses straggled along the road leading up to Kurama Mountain and its eighteen monasteries. A traveler dismounted in front of a public-house and began tethering his horse to a hitching post as he gazed up at the eaves of the house.

"These wistaria are magnificent!" he cried over his shoulder. "The landlord in good health? I'm back again this year, as you see!" There were a few benches and tables at one side of the house where several monks were talking loudly among themselves and laughing. An old man, the landlord, separated himself from the group and came running.

"Good day, sir! From the northeast again, sir? You seem in the best of health, I'm sure!" The landlord greeted the newcomer effusively and then called for some hot water and a cushion for his guest.

"No, my good man, you haven't changed in the least. I don't often make pilgrimages like this. When was I here last?"

"Last year—toward midsummer I recall, and quite a thunderstorm there was at the time."

"Sure enough! The lightning split a great cedar tree apart and nearly killed me. I remember now. I shall never forget how frightened I was as I burst into your house here."

"And how's that young fellow, Kowaka, that you brought with you then? Not traveling alone this year, are you?"

"No, Kowaka should be arriving with my baggage soon. He seems to be taking his time, but he'll be here shortly, no doubt."

The monks left off drinking, threw a few stealthy glances in the direction of the traveler, and whispered among themselves. Then one of their number got up and approached him:

"You will pardon me, I hope, for asking, sir, but are you not Master Kichiji from the northeast?"

"Yes, I'm Kichiji."

"Then I was right after all. My companions thought they recognized you. Greetings, sir!"

"And you?"

"I am a seminarian from Abbot Toko's monastery."

"Oh?—To tell you the truth, I always stay at the neighboring monastery whenever I come here and haven't ever missed the seven-day retreat for years, so I know your Abbot slightly. He's well, I hope?"

"I regret to say that he died a few months ago. Are you here for the retreat?"

"Yes, I find that these retreats are good for business. I seem to prosper. In fact, I'm sure I owe my good fortune to the gods here."

A tinkling of bells at the bottom of the hill announced the arrival of the pack-horse. A young man, his sleeves pulled back out of the way, his face red and drenched with sweat, approached with the groom, panting.

"Well, Kowaka, you were slow in coming. I've waited so long that I'm ready to yawn."

Kowaka, a short, muscular fellow, cast an inquiring look round at the faces near him, then burst into a loud laugh.

"You must be joking, master! It's easy for you, coming as you did on horseback. It's almost three leagues from the capital, and with a heavy load like this—see, even the horse is lathering."

The monks and a crowd of men and women had collected in front of the public-house; they paid no attention to Kowaka, but examined the great load of votive offerings curiously. Rolls of silk were piled high on the pack-horse; large drum-shaped containers, finely lacquered, hung at either side of the saddle, and a cask of placer gold, carefully wrapped in layers of paper and straw, was lashed on top.

Kichiji and his assistant, who had changed from his dusty suit into a fresh one, had their noon meal as they rested outside. Presently they rose and took leave of the landlord with promises to see him on their return.

The most arduous part of the climb lay ahead of them, and the road soon grew too steep for the horse, which was quickly relieved of its burden by a number of carriers on their way back to the summit. Even the monks assisted in carrying part of the load, and the antlike procession crawled slowly up the tortuous path. As they came in sight of the monastery where Kichiji was to stay, the Abbot and his monks trooped out to welcome him.

On the following day Kichiji entered the temple for the seven days' retreat. Kowaka, meanwhile, was lodged in one of the hostels set aside for the servants who accompanied pilgrims, and there occupied himself as best he could until Kichiji appeared.

Kowaka quietly stole from his lodgings toward midnight and made his way to a shrine north of the monastery gate. A path on the farther side of the shrine led down to another monastery. He squatted in the shadows and waited, seeing no one and hearing only the soughing of the pines overhead. Suddenly a door in the monastery below slid open, and a small figure appeared on the long, open gallery, poised itself for an instant on the balustrade, then swooped to the ground noiselessly and glided off with the swiftness of a swallow.

"Is it you, my young master, Ushiwaka?"

"Konno-maru!"

The two shadows merged into one and then hurried off into the darkness of the valley below.

"There's no need to hurry now, sir. No one can find us."

"But the others must be waiting."

"Yes, but by the moon I can tell that we're earlier than we were last night."

"You meet the others from time to time, but I only see them once a year."

"It's lonely for you, I know, and after tonight we shall have to scatter and go into hiding."

Ushiwaka slowed his steps and looked down, biting his nail. He was barefooted and wore a novice's short, close-fitting tunic. Kowaka dropped to his knees anxiously, thinking that Ushiwaka had cut his foot on the sharp-edged scrub bamboo.

"What is it, my young master?"

Ushiwaka merely shook his head. "Nothing—nothing at all," he replied after a pause, and moved forward again.

To Konno-maru the small figure walking ahead appeared more thoughtful than he had seen it these past several nights. He was sure that he alone knew Ushiwaka well—his strong points and weaknesses, his wildness and his moods. It was not for nothing that Konno-maru had contrived to spend ten years and more as the servant, Kowaka, in Toji's establishment at Horikawa. Not only did he find a safe hiding-place in the gay quarters, but the fact that it was frequented by those closely connected with the Court and those in high places in the government gave him opportunities to observe the fluctuations in politics, and in particular the movements of the Heike. And often, on the pretext of visiting his mother in Tamba, Konno-maru made his way to Kurama Mountain to see Ushiwaka in secret, or met

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[ The Demons of Kurama Mountain ]

with other Genji in the hills thereabouts to confer with them, or even traveled to eastern Japan, bringing back messages to Tokiwa.

And it was during his employment by Toji that Konno-maru came to know Kichiji, who on his protracted visits to the capital stayed invariably at Toji's. It was not long before they saw through each other and concluded a pact benefiting them mutually, for Kichiji, the merchant, was ambitious. He dreamed of wielding as much influence with his overlord, Chieftain Hidehira, who ruled the northeast, as Bamboku did with Kiyomori of the Heike. From Kichiji himself it was impossible to guess whether Hidehira approved his plan to kidnap Ushiwaka, but with characteristic tenacity and patience Kichiji from year to year made pilgrimages to Kurama Mountain, taking Konno-maru with him each time.

People said that a race of winged demons—the Tengu— lived in a certain valley of Kurama Mountain, and on nights when lightning flashes played through the clouds over this valley, they warned one another that the Tengu were holding their revels. And no man dared venture into that valley to spy on them, for the beak-nosed Tengu would scent out the stranger and set him swinging from the tallest treetop or else tear him to pieces. In all the villages around Kurama Mountain, where people had heard stories of the Tengu for generations, no one doubted that the demons still lived in the valley, for the Tengu still performed the most incredible feats: they hurled boulders down mountainsides, unleashed torrents which washed away rice-paddies, and rained down stones on near-by hamlets. Lately, however, more tales of their mischief had created a state of terror among the simple villagers.

For the seventh night in succession a strange meeting took place in a valley of Kurama Mountain. Tengu they might well have been.