Shike, Robert J. Shea [ebook reader that looks like a book TXT] 📗

most spectacular victory in the history of the Sunrise Land?”

It was not the Mongols that Hideyori feared, Taniko thought, but his brother. “He does need you,” she said firmly. “He needs you, because any legitimacy he has comes from you. He is not the son of Domei’s primary wife. He is not the chieftain of the Muratomo clan. The majority of his troops are foreign. Without a mandate from you he would be nothing more than a criminal.”

Ryuichi said, “See how much our little Taniko has learned about the way of statesmanship at the courts of China and Mongolia.”

“She has always pressed her opinions upon anyone who would listen,” Bokuden said sourly. “Even on those who do not care to listen.”

“The words of this woman are worth the views of the entire Great Council of State,” said Hideyori flatly, not even bothering to look at Bokuden. Ryuichi stared at Hideyori with surprised approval. Bokuden quickly changed his contemptuous expression to an obsequious smile, as if Hideyori’s words had enabled him to discover new virtues in his daughter.

Taniko could not help but be warmed and flattered. Hideyori was ambitious, distrustful and merciless, not at all like Jebu or Kiyosi, she reminded herself. Yet deep within him there was a vision she admired and a passion that stirred her. He needed someone to advise him. He sought such a person, without knowing it. No man could think entirely by himself. Hideyori was unable to trust any man, but he was willing to listen to her, a woman. Even though she came from Yukio he trusted her.

With Yukio’s forces at his disposal, Hideyori was on the verge of being the most powerful man in the land.

A chill of excitement rippled through her. Be careful, she warned herself. Now that you feel so close to what you’ve always wanted, don’t let yourself be swept away. She kept her eyes modestly lowered.

“These Mongols who follow Yukio,” Hideyori said, “Why do they fight for him?”

Taniko shrugged. “For the same reason Mongols always fight. Eor loot, for land, for power. Their leader, Arghun Baghadur, and his men are out of favour in their homeland and wish to fight for another master.”

Hideyori shook his head. “Erom what you have told me, the Mon gols are a very practical people. I suspect they are here for a more serious purpose than adventure and plunder. They are the advance guard of an invasion.”

As much as she wanted to reassure Hideyori, Taniko knew she could only earn his confidence with the truth as she saw it. “That is possible, my lord. The Mongols do have an exaggerated notion of the wealth of our islands. The few times I talked with their Great Khan, I tried to convince him that China and the other nations west and south of it are far richer than we are. Naturally, he thought I was trying to mislead him to protect my people. Even so, I think that when his men report back to him that I told the truth, he may decide an invasion is more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Is the Sunrise Land really so poor compared to China?” Bokuden asked, his eyes wide.

“Yes, Father. You were born in the wrong country.”

“If Yukio knows that the Mongols have come here to pave the way for an invasion, he is a traitor,” said Hideyori. “If he does not realize their purpose, he is a fool. A very dangerous fool.”

“He is neither, my lord,” said Taniko. “He does not conspire with the Mongols, and he is fully aware of the risk in bringing them to our shores. He did it because this was the only way he could have any hope of defeating the Takashi. Believe me, my lord, he fights, not for himself, but for you.”

Hideyori smiled faintly. “I believe that you speak honestly. When I meet Yukio he will have a chance to prove his loyalty. If he agrees without objection to what I intend to order, he will pass at least one test.”

Bokuden frowned. “What will you tell him to do, my lord?” “I will command him to turn over the Mongol troops to me.”

Eour lanterns burned around the rectangular stone tank in a shadowy room on the ground floor of one of the Rokuhara towers. In one corner two priests sat reading aloud from a huge book of the Buddhist sutras, each monk chanting a verse in turn. A pair of acolytes held the book up for them. A priest-physician beckoned Atsue forward. Atsue approached the tank and peered down into it. A stout figure wrapped in white cloths lay in the tank, panting like a beached whale. Water covered the body almost completely, except for the shining, shaven head, which was propped up on a large wooden pillow. The eyes were open, staring upwards, and Atsue automatically followed them to see the lantern light reflected from the rippling water in the tank to the ceiling.

“Hot. Hot,” Sogamori whispered hoarsely. “Everything is going up in flames.”

Grieving and frightened, Atsue looked down at his grandfather.

Since the loss of his father and his mother, Atsue had relied on Sogamori as the one indestructible person in his life. He was like that great tortoise on whose back the whole world rested. It was unbelievable that any disease could strike the old man down. Some said Sogamori’s illness had been brought on by the Tonamiyama disaster. Others maintained that he was cursed because he had ordered the destruction of the Buddhist and Zinja temples at Nara and the massacre of their inhabitants.

Atsue wanted to reach into the tank and shake Sogamori, demand that he come out of there and shoulder his burdens. Our army is destroyed, Grandfather, he said only to himself. The enemy is a day’s ride from the capital. You can’t leave us now. You must tell us what to do. He laid his hand gently on Sogamori’s forehead. Instantly, he pulled it back, as if his palm had touched a hot brazier. Now he understood why Sogamori spoke of flames, why he was kept in a stone tank which was drained every hour and refilled with fresh, cold water from the well of Senshuin on Mount Hiei. The old man was consumed by fever.

At the touch of Atsue’s hand, Sogamori rolled yellow-stained eyes towards him. “I’m dying, Kiyosi-chan.”

Kiyosi. He thinks I’m my father, Atsue thought. Should I tell him who I am? “No, Grandfather. You’ll get better.”

Sogamori raised himself in the tank and put his hand on Atsue’s wrist. Atsue, had to break free. The heat from Sogamori’s hand was unbearable.

“When I am dead, Kiyosi, do not chant sutras in my memory. Do not build temples or pagodas for the repose of my soul.” Sogamori bared his teeth, still strong and white. He had never dyed his teeth, as so many of the younger Takashi had. “Only kill Muratomo no Yukio as quickly as you can, and lay his head before my tomb. That will be the best offering you can make for me in this world or in the next.” His eyes went out of focus and he fell back, gasping.

Atsue remained kneeling by the tank for another hour, but Sogamori did not speak again. Erom outside the room Atsue heard frantic cries, the thumping of boxes, the lowing of oxen and the clatter of horses’ hooves. At last, giving up hope of really speaking with his grandfather, he stood up and left him.

A short time later, dressed in full armour and mounted on the dappled grey horse that the veteran samurai, Hino Juro, had found for him after Tonamiyama, Atsue was riding up Redbird Avenue, forcing his way against the crowds fleeing the capital. People kept looking to the north of the city, as if they expected to see the hills swarming with the dreaded Mongols. Once or twice Atsue was tempted to draw his sword to threaten the people blocking his way, but such a use would be beneath Kogarasu’s dignity. At last he came to the main gateway of the Imperial Palace.

He ached to visit Princess Kazuko and the baby just once more, but he could not. He had spent all the time he could spare with his grandfather, and he had to join his assigned unit at the palace at once. Princess Kazuko had borne Atsue a son, Sametono, two months earlier, while the battle was raging at Tonamiyama. Eollowing custom, the princess and the baby stayed at her parents’ home, the Imperial Palace, where Atsue visited her whenever he could. His wife and child were somewhere in that complex now. They were not taking part in this mass flight. Neither was ready to travel. They would be safe enough here. Crude as the Muratomo might be, they would hardly harm an Imperial Princess and her baby. It broke Atsue’s heart to leave without seeing his little family, but filial piety had demanded that he put his dying grandfather first.

He rode across the palace grounds through crowds of samurai and civilian officials as confused and frightened as the crowds in the streets. Arriving at the Pure and Eresh Hall, he joined the band of young men from the best families who had the proud task of escorting the Emperor out of Heian Kyo.

One of the young men had heard bad news. The Retired Emperor GoShirakawa and the Minister of the Left, Prince Sasaki no Horigawa, had both fled to Yukio the previous night.

“We’re still the government, and they’re still the outlaws,” said Atsue. “We have the Emperor.”

As ox-drawn carriage rolled past, preceded and followed by Shinto priests mounted on white horses and surrounded by hundreds of Buddhist warrior monks on horseback and armed with naginatas. Lucky for the Takashi that the temples around the capital had remained loyal, thought Atsue, or we might have had to fight our way out. The carriage contained the Imperial regalia-the sacred mirror, the sword and the necklace. The Three Treasures had been given to the first Emperor by the sun goddess, and they had been the sacred symbols of Imperial authority ever since. This was the first time the Imperial regalia had left the palace in the five hundred years since the founding of Heian Kyo. Atsue and the other samurai climbed down from their horses and prostrated themselves as the cart passed.

Then the little Emperor, carried in a gilded chair, appeared on the wooden steps of the Pure and Eresh Hall. He wore the formal Imperial robes in apricot. His black cap of office was decorated with pearls, but under it he still had the shoulder-length hair of a child. Emperor Antoku, grandson of GoShirakawa and of Sogamori, the proudest jewel of the Takashi family, was six years old. His samurai guards all pressed their faces into the white gravel at the sight of him. When Atsue looked up again the Emperor had disappeared into the giant, gold-roofed Imperial palanquin. Atsue watched his aunt, the Imperial mother Kenreimon, a moon-faced lady in her thirties, enter the palanquin behind Antoku. The carriers raised the huge structure smoothly, and Atsue’s heart lifted with pride and pleasure as he saw the golden phoenix on its roof gleaming against the blue sky. We have the Emperor, he repeated to himself. He and the other noble samurai mounted and surrounded the palanquin, and all moved off together.

After their procession left the Imperial Palace grounds, Atsue stood up on his stirrups to see down Redbird Avenue. The vast thoroughfare was an endless jumble of mounted samurai and carriages of the Takashi nobility. Dozens of Red Dragon banners fluttered as proudly as if they were going into battle instead of fleeing from it. The common people had been pushed into the side streets.

Although he could not see that far, Atsue guessed that the