The Heike Story (22 page)

Kiyomori stood on a slope of the Eastern Hills and gazed down into the distance, laughing aloud. "There they all go! Astounding!" His black armor lay on the ground where he had thrown it and he stood stripped to the waist, mopping the sweat from his body. Ridiculous! And he burst once more into laughter. Not he, but the two thousand had retreated! He had planned to escape when the arrow pierced the Shrine, and given Tokitada and Heiroku strict orders to do the same, thirsty as they were for a fight to the death. ("No dog's death for either of you. Don't mind appearances, just get away.") They had agreed to meet each other on the hill behind Kiyomizu Temple.

Kiyomori was puzzled by the monks' retreat. That rain of stones had no doubt taken them by surprise, but it must have been the sight of the smoke that had sent them into a rout. He stared at the smoke which turned the sun a blood-red, and was musing over the cause of the fires, when he saw Tokitada making his way up the hill alone.

"Ah, you're safe!"

"Well, here you are, Tokitada, but where's Heiroku?"

"Heiroku got away from that bloodthirsty crowd, too."

"Will he join us here later?"

"I met him at Todoroki Bridge, watching the smoke and saying that he was sure his father had something to do with it. He then went off at a run toward Gion. He'll surely come later."

"So, that's it. Mokunosukй's not one to be sitting idle at Rokuhara. That Old One has been up to something—setting fire to the seats of their trousers!"

He was right in his guess. Mokunosukй, as the senior retainer left in charge of the house at Rokuhara with twenty younger retainers, was unable to endure the thought that Kiyomori was perhaps risking his life for Heiroku, and early that day, after seeing his mistress and her household go into hiding, had quietly laid plans of his own and sent off the remaining retainers to the foot of the Eastern Hills to conceal themselves. Little did he guess that Kiyomori would make the daring gesture that he did. Mokunosukй had schemed to set fire to the temples and shrines of Gion if the monks marched on the Palace or carne to attack Rokuhara. A fortunate combination of events, however, had been even more effective.

Mokunosukй and Heiroku finally ascended the hill in search of Kiyomori; face to face with each other once more and safe, their hearts overflowed with gratitude. They lifted their hands in prayer to the crimson sun, as the tears coursed down Kiyomori's cheeks. To himself, Kiyomori whispered: "Truly, the heavens and the earth were with me, and the protecting spirits of my forefathers took pity on this weakling and shielded him."

Still half-clothed, Kiyomori seated himself on a rock ledge and cheerfully resumed: "Now, all of you, our troubles for the day are over; after this comes tomorrow, the day after, and the days that follow after—then retribution."

"That will surely come," Mokunosukй replied, frowning, "and it will be no laughing matter then."

"Ho, let a hundred such come, and I shall be victorious, for I have two allies."

"What do you mean by that?" Mokunosukй ventured.

"One is my father at Imadegawa, the other the miracle from heaven—the rain of stones. Surely, Old One, you saw them— those men who sprang up from nowhere and rained down stones on those monks?"

The voices of approaching men interrupted Kiyomori. Tokitada quickly peered round the corner of a rock into the defile below. The others reached for their armor and weapons. Motioning for silence, Mokunosukй quickly assured Kiyomori that the men were in all likelihood the other retainers coming to meet him. Kiyomori's housemen soon appeared, and from them he obtained an account of how they had stolen into Gion and surprised the enemy by setting fire to the huts and small outbuildings there. Relieved to hear that they had spared the temples and shrines, Kiyomori commended Mokunosukй for his shrewd maneuver.

"Old One, you are as wise as you are old. Had it been I, I would have razed all the temples and shrines at Gion." At this the old retainer shook his head deprecatingly.

"No, no. This I learned from my lord, Tadamori, who on that night of the banquet when the court nobles lay in wait to murder him, carried a bamboo sword simulating a blade of great renown, and foiled his enemies. Today's feint was no more than a poor attempt to imitate your father."

The old man's modest words swiftly brought the Squint-Eyed One to Kiyomori's mind. For a moment he sat silent with lowered gaze as though something had crossed his mind; then looking up, Kiyomori said: "Old One, let us now go down to Rokuhara and there await orders from the Palace. I have accomplished what I set out to do. I feel light of heart now and have no regrets. I shall in all humbleness await judgment. What do you say, Tokitada?"

Springing to his feet, Kiyomori drew on his leather corselet, and with his retainers followed the course of the stream flowing down to Rokuhara.

"So the son of the Squint-Eyed One, Kiyomori, did it, did he? What a thing to do!"

Kiyomori's defiance of Mount Hiei convulsed the entire capital, but an ill-concealed satisfaction underlay popular astonishment. Even the courtiers had nothing ill to say of Kiyomori, while the rival monasteries of related sects held up Mount Hiei for ridicule. As the shock of surprise subsided and fears of retaliation from the monks died away, people began to speculate on how the authorities would deal with Kiyomori.

The Cloistered Emperor, Toba, received repeated threats from Mount Hiei, and the Regent and state ministers met daily to consider the forceful demands of the priesthood. Toba, who held the real reins of power, attended the state conferences, giving no sign that he commended or censured Kiyomori's act, and listened closely to all that was said. Throughout the discussions, the Minister of the Left, Yorinaga, insisted that Kiyomori should receive the death penalty, arguing that this alone would instill the fear of the gods in the people and appease the authorities on Mount Hiei.

Dignified of bearing and graced with many of the attributes of a courtier, Yorinaga was not only a scholar well versed in the Chinese classics and Buddhist literature, but a compelling speaker, whose arguments were hard to refute. When crossed, however, his violent temper and arrogance made him a man to be feared by even his peers, for he respected neither person nor rank if he were thwarted.

"It is true," Yorinaga said, "that this is not the first time Mount Hiei has come with its armed petitions, but Lord Aki's act cannot be regarded as a just reprisal. What he has done is nothing less than sacrilege. He has flouted the gods and sinned against Buddha, and to overlook his deed is to acquit a criminal and pave the way to insurrection. I doubt that the priesthood will view this affair lightly. No one welcomes the thought of insubordination, which will lead to civil unrest, and for the public good I refuse to listen to any pleas to spare Kiyomori."

There was a murmur of dissent among some of the ministers, but Yorinaga quickly cowed them into silence. "Do I hear some unreasonable expressions to the contrary? Let me hear these opinions. Let us discuss them here."

Only by the expression of his eyes, closely searching the faces of each of his courtiers, did the Cloistered Emperor betray his anxiety. Not even he dared contradict Yorinaga. There was one, none the less, who objected: Shinzei, a high-ranking courtier, claiming descent from an influential Fujiwara minister, and a member of the southern branch of that clan. Though a Fujiwara, Shinzei had never been popular among his powerful relatives at Court and for many years had been relegated to positions of obscurity. Not until he was in his sixties did he succeed in obtaining a post of any significance at the Cloister Palace, and this, court gossips related, was due to his wife, Lady Kii, a lady-in-waiting to Lady Bifukumon. As a state councilor, Shinzei's duties entailed the drafting and proclaiming of imperial decrees. His abilities were of no mean order, for he had early established a reputation as a scholar, the equal of any at Court, and Yorinaga himself had been one of his disciples.

At the last of the imperial conferences it was Shinzei who said to Yorinaga: "How very convincing your arguments sound! Doesn't it seem to you, sir, that you argue the case for Mount Hiei? Three rulers — Shirakawa, Horikawa, and Toba — recognized the necessity for putting a check on the clergy of Mount Hiei, yet none succeeded. We cannot say that Kiyomori has. He nevertheless has opened the way toward bringing them to their senses. Has he not shown the priesthood that the Court is not to be intimidated by their arrogance and their show of force?"

Shinzei spoke with the assurance of one who knew the Cloistered Emperor's mind; he was also aware that both the ruling class and the common people had no sympathy for the monks and upheld Kiyomori. He then pleaded: "What he did appears unpardonable, yet we must remember that his majesty and the courtiers gave Kiyomori complete freedom to deal with the monks as lie saw fit. If Kiyomori overstepped the bounds of the authority given him and deserves punishment, then let those who approved his request likewise share his guilt. It is true that he desecrated the Sacred Shrine, yet were it a true emblem of the gods and of Buddha, would it have been so vulnerable? Rather can it be said that Kiyomori's deed swept away the clouds of deception and helped men renew their belief in heavenly beings. Has that assault upon the sacred emblem brought the gods and Buddha falling to earth, or called down darkness on the world?"

Discreet laughter greeted Shinzei's words. Yorinaga smiled wryly and pursed his wide mouth as his eyes came to rest on the Cloistered Emperor's look of agreement. This concluded the last of the imperial conclaves. A proclamation was made, ordering Kiyomori to pay a fine in copper, and news of Kiyomori's light penalty spread rapidly throughout the capital. The common people and mercenaries rejoiced with the Heike clansmen. Genji warriors heard the report sullenly. Indignation and grudging admiration moved the leaders on Mount Hiei to admit among themselves that they had met an adversary to be reckoned with later on. Torn by internal dissensions and threatened from without by attacks from the monasteries of other sects, the monks of Mount Hiei after a few veiled threats on the civil authorities were mollified when the rulers ceded to them the Kagashirayama estates.

Tameyoshi of the Genji was a favorite of the Minister of the Left, Yorinaga, whose father before him had always been partial to the Genji, and Yorinaga had invited Tameyoshi to his residence one evening for a talk.

"Tameyoshi, you have not yet had enough to drink," Yorinaga said. "We have to admit that State Councilor Shinzei has the upper hand this time. Time will bring more favorable winds our way. This has been an unavoidable setback for you. It also appears that his majesty all along has supported Kiyomori."

Yorinaga had drunk heavily and a mood of despondence had come over him. "His majesty, the Cloistered Emperor, is too partial to Tadamori and Kiyomori of the Heike. Compared with them you have not been very successful, but wait, one of these days I shall see that the Genji come into their own."

This promise was one Yorinaga had made Tameyoshi for several years, and in pressing for Kiyomori's indictment he had hoped to put a check on the Heike for good.

"Sir," Tameyoshi said, "let us forget all this. I shall gratefully accept duty in some distant province immediately, for I have no further ambitions."

This was not the first time that Tameyoshi had declined Yorinaga's offers of support, for there were certain disadvantages in taking the Minister's proffered help. Tameyoshi, on the other hand, had hoped to be sent to northern Japan, where many Genji clansmen had settled in his grandfather's time, but his requests had been turned down each time by the Fujiwara courtiers, who feared to send him any distance from the capital, and induced Tameyoshi to stay in Kyoto, where they could keep him under their eye.

FOXES AND A LUTE

Time hung heavily on Kiyomori's hands. After paying an indemnity in copper, he was ordered suspended from his official duties for a year. During that time of retirement the sensation he had created died down. His offense, nevertheless, also affected his near kin: Kiyomori's father was suspended from his office for one hundred days; as a member of the Fujiwara family, Tokinobu, Kiyomori's father-in-law, forfeited indefinitely the right to the name and protection of the Fujiwara.

Kiyomori repeatedly exploded in wrath to his brother-in-law Tokitada: "It's just as well. You and your good father may as well call yourselves Heike. The Fujiwara are not the only family in existence."

Had his sentence been more severe, Kiyomori would still have had little reason to complain, but the precautions taken by the Fujiwara aristocrats seemed to have touched a sore spot. "They've shown what cowards they are in attempting to protect themselves. They're wary; they're afraid that anyone bearing the Fujiwara name and related to one as crude as I might bring misfortune upon them. Yet they were secretly pleased by what I did. This is an insult more painful to endure than the sentence they've given me. Tokitada, don't ever forget this."