Shike, p.61
Shike, page 61
The Year of the Dragon was even worse. The droughts continued, and for the second year in a row there was starvation throughout the sixty-six provinces. The weakened populace succumbed to disease, and plague swept the Sacred Islands. Then there was a great earthquake at Heian Kyo. Many were crushed by falling buildings, while those who fled into open spaces were swallowed by huge cracks in the ground. Not a structure in the capital was left undamaged, and the aftershocks continued for three months. The Red Dragon and the White withdrew into permanent camps, waiting for the time when they could begin fighting again.
At last, in the first months of the Year of the Serpent, the forces of nature showed themselves more kindly disposed, thus allowing men to resume their enmity.
The nucleus of the Takashi forces, still led by Sogamori's eldest living son, Notaro, were encamped at a fortress called Ichinotani on the shore of the Inland Sea. The child-Emperor and his household, guarded by thousands of samurai, took shelter in a cluster of wooden buildings on the beach behind a huge log wall. Rising above the rear of the stockade were steep cliffs, a giant replica in stone of the manmade palisade. In front of the Takashi fortress was the sea, on which a fleet of three hundred Chinese-built junks and large war galleys rode at anchor out beyond the shallows and breakers, a rampart against attack from the water and a refuge in case of attack by land.
One evening in the Second Month of the Year of the Serpent, almost four years after their return to the Sunrise Land, Yukio and Jebu looked over a cliff edge, studying the defences of Ichinotani from above. Yukio had divided his force of eastern-province warriors, leaving seven thousand poised for a frontal assault along the beach from the east, while he led another three thousand along the cliffs, looking for a place to attack the Takashi from the rear. Jebu found a hunter who showed Yukio a narrow pass leading down to the beach. The path through this pass was steeper than the slope of a roof, more suitable for mountain deer than horses and men, but Yukio tested it by sending five riderless horses scrambling to the bottom. Only two of the horses fell and broke their legs in the descent. Yukio was pleased, saying that if they had had riders to guide them, the horses would have made it down unhurt. That night Yukio's three thousand camped on the cliff, the Takashi still unaware of their presence. Though it was early spring and the evening was cold, the Muratomo lit no campfires.
Word had come that day that an army of Mongols and samurai commanded by Hideyori had crushed the Takashi at Kojima, further to the west. "Now perhaps he won't be as envious of you," said Jebu as he walked with Yukio back from the edge of the cliff.
"If I win victories with these eastern warriors, he can always say it was because they were his men, whom he lent me," Yukio laughed.
As they seated themselves in the camp Yukio's eyes shone with delight. "I've had other news, Jebu-san. These infernal disasters the land has been suffering gave me time to visit Hiraizumi last year, and the visit has borne fruit. I've just had a message that my lovely Mirusu, who helped me learn the art of war, has given birth to our son. How I wish I could be there to see the new baby instead of on this cold clifftop. I wonder why Hideyori hasn't bothered to remarry and sire some children. The Muratomo could soon be as numerous as they were in my father's time."
Jebu was silent. A Zinja who had come down to join Yukio from the Pearl Temple near Mount Euji had told him that Lady Shima Taniko had moved from her family home into Hideyori's castle, where she acted as a kind of hostess for the widowed Muratomo chieftain. Everyone in Kamakura assumed that Taniko was Hideyori's mistress, even though she was the estranged wife of Hideyori's ally, Prince Horigawa. In spite of the gossip about her, Taniko was known as a woman of intelligence and character and respected by all the eastern samurai. Jebu did not believe she and Hideyori were lovers, but it made little difference to him. If he lost Taniko, it would not be to another man's body, but because of her hunger for the company of the powerful and her yearning to be at the centre of events. That and the ghost of Kiyosi.
Jebu's thoughts were dispelled by the music of a flute. Someone in the Takashi stronghold was playing, unaware that he was entertaining not only his own people but an enemy army poised over their heads like an executioner's sword. The flautist was playing an air called "Buddha Mind, Quiet as Still Water." The melody spread like balm over the cool evening air, easing the fears of men who knew that tomorrow they might be maimed or killed.
"He plays exceptionally well, whoever he is," said Yukio, touching his own flute, which hung in a case at his belt. "I'd like to be able to accompany him. What lovers of beauty those Takashi courtiers are. What a pity all this is." He lay down, pulling his cloak around him against the damp chill, and closed his eyes for sleep.
At the hour of the tiger, as the eastern sky paled and riders were able to see the ground at their horses' feet, the Muratomo quietly mounted. They formed their lines far back from the cliff so that the sounds of their preparation would not carry to the Takashi below. Yukio had divided them into hundred-man units, each with its White Dragon banner surmounted by a square pennant of a distinctive colour. Having commanded these countrified eastern samurai for over a year, Yukio had managed to teach them something of the mass cavalry tactics he had learned from the Mongols. Now, on a white horse, wearing his helmet surmounted by a silver dragon, Yukio trotted out in front of his formations.
"That's where we're going," he called, pointing with his sword at the head of the pass that led to the Takashi stronghold. "I'll show you the way." He turned and galloped his horse straight towards the cliff edge. They may once have been Hideyori's men, but Yukio has won their hearts, Jebu thought. Otherwise they'd never follow him over a cliff. With one wild wave of his sword, Yukio disappeared below the rocky cliff edge. Thirty of his closest companions, including Jebu, thundered after him.
Jebu, his headcloth streaming in the wind, made no attempt to control his horse, but sat leaning so far back in the saddle that his head nearly touched the animal's rump. He trusted in the Self, present in his horse as in all things, to get them down the cliff safely. The first part of the descent was over sand and pebbles, and Jebu and those around him slid until the slope levelled off for a short space. Below were great mossy boulders. It looked impossible, but Jebu saw Yukio's silver dragon down there and spurred his horse on. All around him hooves clattered on rocks and riders shouted "Ei! Ei!" to keep their courage up. Jebu saw that many of the men near him were riding with their eyes shut. So steep was the slope that the stirrup of a rider above and behind Jebu struck against his head. Then Jebu heard a shriek and a crash and jerked his horse aside just in time to avoid being struck by the tangled bodies of a samurai and his horse rolling over and over, legs flailing in the air. After the first anguished cry the rider was silent. The horse had crushed him. Ealling faster and faster he hit other mounted warriors ahead of Jebu, sending two more horses and samurai crashing to destruction in an avalanche of flesh and armour.
Looking straight down past his horse's head, Jebu could see into the Takashi camp as if he were a seagull flying over it. Within the stockade the Takashi warriors, tiny figures, rushed from building to building and out to the gates to the east, where they mounted their horses. Smoke rose beyond the eastern wall of the stockade. Yukio's other seven thousand warriors had begun their attack. A rock dislodged by someone above him struck Jebu's head, dizzying him, and he had to summon all his strength to keep his seat. But the jolting and bouncing finally ended, and the hooves under Jebu pattered on the sand. Now that it was over, Jebu was struck with a sudden awareness that the mad scramble had been a wild delight. He stroked his terrified horse's neck to soothe it.
The first two hundred Muratomo riders who had landed on the beach let out a roar that sounded more like that of two thousand men as it echoed against the cliffs. A lone Takashi archer appeared on the gallery behind the palisade, his voice and the shriek of his humming-bulb arrow sounding an alarm. A hundred answering arrows transfixed him, and he toppled out of sight. The wooden wall was low on this side and not protected by guard towers. The Takashi had thought the cliffs to be defence enough. Shouting his war cry, "Muratomo-o!" Yukio rode up to the wall, swinging a blazing torch over his head. He hurled it, and it landed on the thatched roof of a house just beyond the wooden wall. The Muratomo gave a cheer as thick black smoke and red pennants of flame fluttered upwards. Tendrils of fire reached out to caress the palisade itself. Soon a section of the barrier would be burnt away. Some Muratomo were not waiting. All along the wall men were scampering up on ropes. Someone had found a small gate further down the palisade, and now it was swinging outwards. A hundred horsemen raced for the opening, knocking one another aside in their haste to be among the first through. Drawing his sword, Jebu kicked his charger in the ribs and galloped after them.
The Takashi might have saved Ichinotani if they had rallied and put up a house-by-house resistance. They outnumbered the Muratomo three to one, but they lacked spirit and leaders. Many of the Takashi samurai were hired or impressed from Kyushu and Shikoku, with no enthusiasm for the cause they served. The nobles who might have led them in defence of the stronghold were at the eastern ramparts, fighting the other part of Yukio's army. With the Muratomo inside the walls and black smoke and flame spreading everywhere, the defenders threw open all the gates and rushed to the beach in panic, seeking refuge on the ships. Seeing the stockade overwhelmed, the Takashi fighting on the east side also fell back to the sea.
The water near the shore was filled with men wading, riding or swimming their horses to deeper water. Overloaded longboats wallowed in the waves. Jebu saw three great galleys, impossibly burdened with hundreds of armoured samurai, slowly tip to one side, then roll completely over, their keels in the air and their passengers drowning. He watched the high-ranking Takashi beat away the common soldiers trying to board the ships in the offing. They slashed with swords and naginatas at the men clinging to the rails, hacking off their arms and hands so that they fell back into the water and sank, their blood staining the sea.
The Takashi who were left behind on the beach fought with the fury of despair, their backs to the waves and their retreating comrades. Believing with Sun Tzu that to deprive an enemy of all hope is to strengthen him dangerously, Yukio had been preaching against the practice of slaughtering all captured enemies, but he had made no headway with his hardened eastern-province warriors. So these Takashi knew the Muratomo would take no prisoners.
Atsue, his dappled grey horse up to his knees in the water, saw the fall of his uncle Tadanori, younger brother of Kiyosi and Notaro. Tadanori was a fine artist and poet, and his death saddened Atsue. Atsue knew by reputation the one who had killed Tadanori. It was the legendary Shike Jebu, the giant, red-haired Zinja who had been Yukio's companion, so it was said, since he was a boy, the monk who had once collected a hundred swords just to show his contempt for the samurai. Atsue seethed. Again the Takashi were disgraced. The Emperor had been safely bundled aboard one of the ships, but this day was a worse defeat than Tonamiyama, worse even than the loss of the capital. Everywhere Atsue looked he saw shame. The citadel taken by surprise from the rear, the cowardice of the immediate flight, his noble relatives abandoning their own troops just as they had abandoned the dying Sogamori. I was about to flee, too, Atsue thought. Why? I've resolved to die rather than bear any more of my family's shame. Today is as good a day as any.
The Shike Jebu was staring across the water at Atsue. Their eyes met. Atsue spurred his charger and drew Kogarasu from the scabbard hanging at his belt. He did not bother to call out a challenge. Warrior monks were a rabble without heritage. The Zinja sword was barely a quarter of the length of Kogarasu. Atsue could easily get in a blow while staying clear of his opponent's range. The Zinja wore no helmet, only a headcloth, so Atsue slashed at his face. The shike flattened him self against the back of his horse, which danced in a tight circle, keeping its head towards Atsue as he rode past. Atsue pulled his horse up short and whirled, and they fenced on horseback, swords clanging together. Atsue knew that he was fighting better than he had ever fought in his life. It was as if his opponent, a consummate master of the sword, was pulling Atsue's skill up to his own level. Still, Atsue knew he was losing. Kogarasu seemed slow and unwieldy. In fighting at close quarters, Atsue was unable to swing the great sword fully. The short, two-edged Zinja blade darted in and out of Atsue's guard with ease, seeming to come at him from all directions. The enemy's face came closer and closer. The strange grey eyes were calm as incense smoke. Deep lines were etched in the sharp-boned, sun-browned face, but they were lines of experience, long journeys, hard work, not lines of rage. The dark red, drooping moustache seemed ferocious, but the thin-lipped mouth beneath it was merely concentrated, intent. It was the face of an engrossed craftsman, not a killer. What I wouldn't give to have whatever you have, Atsue thought. He cut with all his strength at the unprotected neck. Instead of parrying, the monk leaned back, caught Atsue's sword arm with his free hand, and twisted him out of the saddle. As Atsue crashed to the ground his helmet with its golden horns was knocked from his head. Instantly, the monk was crouched over him, the point of his sword at his throat. Atsue closed his eyes.
"Who are you?" came a harsh, hoarse voice from above him.
"Oh, you've done well for yourself," said Atsue. He opened his eyes. The Zinja was searching his face, frowning in puzzlement. "Show my head to any of your prisoners, and they'll tell you. If you let any of your prisoners live."
"Your face is familiar," said the shike. "I don't like to kill men as young as you. Please tell me your name."
I don't want to live, Atsue thought. On top of everything else, must I bear the shame of captivity? Torture and mutilation? No.
In a despairing voice he said, "I am Takashi no Atsue, son of Takashi no Kiyosi, grandson of Takashi no Sogamori."
The Zinja looked astonished. "Atsue, the son of Kiyosi? Is your mother Lady Shima Taniko?"
"Yes. If you wish to show me a final kindness, you might try to send her word of my death. I do not know where you can find her, though. You could also send my farewell to my wife, the Imperial Princess Kazuko. She stayed behind in the capital with our son when the Muratomo captured it." Now, he thought, Kazuko will have to find another father for Sametono.
Slowly the Zinja straighted up, the sword point pulling away from Atsue's throat. "Please give me your sword and stand up."
Atsue got shakily to his feet as the monk said, "A double edge, the sharp curve that starts at the hilt, the gold and silver mountings-this must be the famous Kogarasu. Long ago I wanted to capture this sword from your father."
"I wish you had tried," said Atsue. "He'd have killed you." "Perhaps," said the monk with a sad smile. "I never got very close to him."
Atsue noticed that there were arrow shafts protruding here and there from the monk's armour. He'd been hit, but the metal strips and lacings of his armour had caught the arrows and held them harmlessly. Just as with samurai armour, though, the monk's right side was vulnerable. The front, left and rear sides of the box-like yoroi armour were a unit, but the right side was laced on separately. Evidently the Zinja had decided not to kill him. He stood holding Kogarasu and staring out to sea. The thought crossed Atsue's mind, what glory the killer of the notorious Shike Jebu would win. Atsue had killed a few of the enemy in small battles that preceded the withdrawal of the Takashi to Ichinotani, but he had never defeated an opponent whose death brought much honour to his arms. The Demon Monk's profaning hands held Kogarasu, but he had neglected to take Atsue's kodachi, his short sword. The monk's guard was down. Would it be honourable to attack him when he wasn't expecting it? Of course. It was the responsibility of a warrior always to be ready to meet attack, and this was no ordinary warrior, but one who had vanquished thousands of samurai. Atsue slipped his kodachi out of its sheath and took a deep breath. With a shout he leaped on the Zinja. He drove the short sword with all his strength into the crevice in the monk's armoured right side, high on the ribs, striking for the heart. His mind soared aloft on golden wings of glory.
Atsue never saw the flashing arc of Yukio's sword that swept his head from his shoulders.
"No!" Jebu screamed.
Too late. The pale young head, severed, lay in the sand, the beautiful face, in which Jebu could now clearly see Taniko's features, serene in death. The rich blood, partly hers, was staining the yellow sand. Jebu felt a hideous pain in his side, where the boy's kodachi had gone in. It was nothing to the pain in his heart. I wish he had killed me, he thought. I want to die.
"Come," said Yukio gently."You're lucky I was close by and saw the Takashi spring at you." He put his arm around Jebu's waist. "Sit down slowly and carefully." When Jebu was sitting, Yukio cut through the lacing of his armour with his short sword and tore away the grey robe underneath it. "The wound is deep, I can't tell how deep. The blood is pouring out of you like a waterfall."
"I don't want to live, Yukio."
"Jebu. What is it?" Yukio stared into his face. Still sitting up, Jebu swayed, already dizzy from the loss of blood. His breath bubbled in his chest. It was agony to speak.
"Please excuse me-for telling you this, Yukio," he panted. "That boy. He was Takashi no Atsue. Taniko's son."
"Oh, no." Yukio's head and shoulders sagged as though he had taken an arrow in the chest. "Eorgive me, Jebu." He pressed his armoured sleeve to his tear-filled eyes. He knelt beside Jebu and began unlacing his armour. "You killed the father to save my life. Now I've killed the son to save your life. Our friendship has cost Lady Taniko dear."
