Authors: Eiji Yoshikawa
One Guard remarked: "It may be just gossip, but Wataru of the Genji didn't come for the dedication."
"Wataru? Oh, you mean Kesa-Gozen's husband. What's become of him?"
"Hmm . . . just before we started, he quite suddenly went to take leave of the Minister of the Left, who, it appears, urged him to reconsider his decision, but Wataru handed in his resignation to the Palace aide and hasn't been seen since in the capital."
"Oh, what did he mean by that?"
"Doubtless, consumed by hate for Morito, who murdered his wife, he's gone off to find him and take his revenge. He has been saying that he no longer can endure being pointed out as the husband of the murdered woman."
"There's no telling when Morito will be found. Wataru can hardly be blamed for feeling as he does. Seems to me, though, that Morito is fated to sin and to live out his span tortured with remorse."
"People have been saying that they've seen him in the hills of Takao or around Kumano. In fact, there have been any number of such stories, so he must be alive."
While the Guards talked among themselves, the gleam of lights between the trees at the farther end of the Palace showed that the ex-Emperor's entourage—the courtiers, priests, and ladies-in-waiting—were probably whiling away the hours with a poetry contest; from the sovereign's apartments, however, came no strains of music; darkness lay around it, and only the rain showed white.
"Is Yoshikiyo here? Has anyone seen Sato Yoshikiyo?" Kiyomori's face suddenly appeared out of the night, round-eyed and anxious. Several Guards called to him, urging him to stop and share their wine, but Kiyomori shook his head and continued anxiously: "No time for that now. I'm not quite certain of this, but I heard that one of Yoshikiyo's housemen was taken into custody by the Police Commissioner's men at noon. Some brawl at the Rashomon Gate. I just got word and I'm afraid Yoshikiyo hasn't heard of this. I can't find him, but if any of you know where he is, tell him."
Though his easygoing ways were frowned on by everyone at the Palace, Kiyomori's wholehearted concern for his comrades-in-arms made him popular among the Guards, and at times like this they were more than eager to assist him.
"What! At the Rashomon Gate? He's in for trouble now. The sooner we let him know, the better."
Kiyomori's anxiety was contagious and the Guards sprang to their feet. Four or five men hurried off in different directions through the rain.
A WARRIOR TAKES HIS FAREWELL
Yoshikiyo could not be found. He was not in the Guard quarters. Someone suggested that he might be with Lord Tokudaiji's retinue, delayed by some unexpected duties, and that he might already have received the bad news about his retainer. One of the Guards asked: "Hasn't he turned up yet? I wonder what's keeping him."
"Are you sure that Yoshikiyo has heard of this? Surely, he's not such a coward that he's going to leave his retainer in the lurch?"
"We'd better try to send him word of this."
The Guards stood about, anxious and perplexed, hardly tasting their wine, and annoyed at Yoshikiyo's failure to appear. They were impatient for good reason.
"Whatever's happened, it won't be easy to get Tameyoshi's men to release him. . . . What can Yoshikiyo be doing?"
The men were tired and despite their anxiety some were already asleep; others dozed, and the rest were already befuddled by the wine.
Yoshikiyo finally appeared outside one of the huts. "Greetings, all of you! I've put you to a great deal of trouble, but I shall be off now. I should be back by dawn, at the latest—in time to join you on the return journey. Don't be too anxious on my account." Yoshikiyo wore his riding cloak and was leading his horse. His only companion was a lad, bearing a lighted torch.
The Guards stared at Yoshikiyo's composure in astonishment. A warrior—with a talent for writing verse—behaving like this in a crisis, their looks of contempt implied.
"Eh, so you expect to bring your retainer back by morning, Yoshikiyo? Do you realize whom you'll be dealing with?"
Kiyomori alone remonstrated with Yoshikiyo for his fool-hardiness. Didn't he realize, he asked, that Tameyoshi, former chief of the Genji Guards, had nothing good to say of the warriors who had replaced his own men at the Palace? He was if anything their worst enemy, always on the lookout to find fault with the Heike Guards. Yoshikiyo had better think things over. Tameyoshi's ill will was notorious and there was no predicting what pitfalls were in store for Yoshikiyo. It was dangerous to go alone and attempt to negotiate with Tameyoshi. If he was going alone, they would all go with him in the name of the Guards and be ready to meet force with force.
"Come, all of you," cried Kiyomori, "we'll go with Yoshikiyo and rescue his man!"
A few shouted: "Here's fun!" and crowded outside noisily, relishing the thought of a skirmish and eager for blood. Some twenty soldiers now surrounded Yoshikiyo with cries of "Off we go, now! Off we go!"
Yoshikiyo did not move, but threw out his arms to restrain them.
"Wait, you're acting like children over a matter of no importance. Remember, you each have your duties here and we want no disturbances during this pilgrimage. Since my messenger caused all this trouble, I'm the one to go and negotiate for him. Just make it appear as though nothing has happened."
Calming the Guards, Yoshikiyo turned away from Kiyomori abruptly as though irked by the fuss; and ordering his young groom to hold his torch high, spurred his horse into the darkness and rain.
Earlier that day, Yoshikiyo had sent his trusted retainer Gengo with some poems addressed to some ladies who served Lady Taikenmon, the Emperor's mother and ex-consort of the abdicated Emperor Toba. Lady Bifukumon, for whom Toba had put away Lady Taikenmon, accompanied Toba on the pilgrimage, and Yoshikiyo, a member of the imperial suite, could not help being reminded that Lady Taikenmon now lived in lonely retirement with few friends to visit her. He had therefore gathered some poems he had written during the lavish two-day tour, addressed them to several poetess friends in Lady Taikenmon's household, and sent them by Gengo to the capital. It was immaterial to Yoshikiyo whether Gengo had got into trouble on his way to or from the capital, for his thoughts sped like arrows to Tameyoshi's mansion. Although he seemed untroubled to Kiyomori and the other Guards, Yoshikiyo knew too well the reputation of the man he was about to meet. Gengo, his beloved retainer, was in danger, and if there was need for it he was ready to give his own life for him. He urged on his horse, praying that no harm would come to Gengo before he reached him.
It was almost midnight and the rain had cleared. The moon glowed fitfully through a veil of clouds and shone eerily on the roof of the mansion and the ghostly gateway. Tameyoshi, about to retire for the night, heard loud knocks at the gate, and the night watchman remonstrating angrily. Tameyoshi went himself to see what was amiss, found Yoshikiyo, led him to a room facing an inner court, and there by the dim light of a lamp listened to his story.
Yoshikiyo found Tameyoshi not at all the dreaded person that rumors made him out to be. Circumstances were against him, and Tameyoshi, the grandson of a famous chieftain, was no more than the head of a warrior household. Still in his early forties, Tameyoshi of the Genji was pleasing of manner and amenable to reason.
"Certainly, I quite understand. I shall look into this matter immediately. There is too much talk nowadays of skirmishes between my men and the Guards, if your messenger is being held without cause, there shall be no delay in releasing him. Ho, there, Yoshitomo!" Tameyoshi called across the court to a room on the other side. Yoshitomo, his eldest son, soon appeared and knelt on the veranda at a respectful distance, courteously inquiring what was wanted. Yoshikiyo looked at the youth approvingly—a good son.
After a few words with his father, Yoshitomo departed to summon the housemen and servants and to question them; in a short time he reappeared and knelt outside in the garden.
"I have brought the honorable Yoshikiyo's messenger and one of our soldiers, who challenged him."
Gengo's face was swollen as though he had been badly beaten. He burst into tears at the unexpected sight of his master.
"Whose prisoner are you?" Tameyoshi demanded.
"Your son's, the honorable Yoshikata's."
"The reason for your arrest?"
Yoshitomo answered for the prisoner, explaining what had happened toward noon that day. Gengo, he said, was stopped at the Rashomon Gate and questioned by Yoshikata's soldiers for carrying what appeared to be an official document. Gengo had refused to hand over the scroll, insisting that it was sent by certain ladies to his master, and had added that the soldiers could not in any case read them.
"And then?"
Yoshitomo resumed: "I was told that Yuigoro snatched the scroll from Gengo and trampled on it, and Gengo then attacked him in a rage, crying that his master had been insulted. The other soldiers at the Rashomon Gate then rushed at Gengo, thrashed him soundly, and threw him into jail."
"So. Call Yoshikata," Tameyoshi ordered.
A youth, barely twenty, soon appeared. Tameyoshi rebuked him for the misconduct of the soldiers in his charge and, as he finished speaking, suddenly rose and kicked his son, who toppled from the veranda to the garden. Turning to Yoshikiyo, Tameyoshi then said: "I now leave you to deal as you will with this soldier and my son. I blame myself for what has happened and will go myself to Lady Taikenmon's palace to offer apologies. I deeply regret what has happened to your retainer. It was most unfortunate, and I beg you not to hold this against me, but will try to forget this matter."
Surprised and relieved by this unforeseen settlement of the affair, Yoshikiyo begged Tameyoshi to be lenient with Yoshikata and his soldier and then departed with Gengo from the mansion where he had expected to meet with the worst.
There was no denying that Tameyoshi came of distinguished forebears, Yoshikiyo reflected admiringly, for breeding like his was not to be found among common warriors. He was dogged, however, by foreboding. Tameyoshi was biding his time; it was apparent that the man had not forgotten how his grandfather had endured a lifetime of humiliation at the hands of the aristocrats, and that Tameyoshi waited grimly for some chance to take his revenge.
Around him the capital lay muffled in sleep. The moon drifted serenely through a curtain of clouds. And though no dirges came to his ears, Yoshikiyo was certain that such tranquillity would not be for long.
Kiyomori and Tokiko were married in December of that year. "Well, will you marry her?" Tadamori had asked Kiyomori, who flushed deeply at this query and merely replied: "Oh—"
There was no need for further words between these two who understood each other so well.
For three nights in succession, as was the custom, Kiyomori made his way in secret to the mansion near the shrine to the Medicine God to woo his future wife. Through the cold that nipped at his ears and over the sodden roads he went full of joy. The mansion was darkened in sleep, save for one small light streaming out into the night from under the lifted shutter of Tokiko's room. It was the symbol of love beckoning to him from the far end of the universe, filling Kiyomori with visions more stirring than his most impassioned dreams. And to those two, parting at dawn, something more profound than passion seemed to transform the crowing of cocks and the frosted boughs and dissolve the world in poetry.
In the ordinary course, Tokiko would have come to the house at Imadegawa as Kiyomori's bride, but Tokinobu's more spacious mansion became the young couple's home. Friends of both families agreed that the alliance between a penurious warrior's house and an impoverished nobleman's was eminently fitting.
As his share for the wedding feast Tokitada killed and dressed his prize gamecock, the one he had long concealed from his father, and offered it to Kiyomori.
"What! You killed your treasured gamecock for tonight?"
Tokitada merely grinned.
Kiyomori was speechless with amazement. He feared only his father, but the spirited temper of this mere boy chilled him. What unplumbed depths was he yet to discover in the lad's sister, his newly won wife?
In the following spring, 1138, Tokiko knew she was with child and told her husband. Kiyomori heard her in silence, flushed with dismay. Compunctions at the memory of the one night spent in the arms of a woman on Sixth Avenue assailed him and mingled with the realization that at twenty-one he had become a father.
". . . Are you not glad?" Tokiko hesitated
Fearing he had hurt her, Kiyomori quickly replied: "Happy —yes, but we're warriors, and it must be a son." Had he been a nobleman, he might have prayed that the child would be a girl who would grow in matchless beauty to win favor as an imperial concubine, but such thoughts did not occur to him. Not even the vague stirrings of parental love moved him.