AmeCon 2006 Writing Contest - 2nd Place - Take Two!
Heh heh, Frenchie writes at great length ^_^;;
CHAPTER FIVE:
HEARTBREAK ON THE PROMENADE
Mamoru’s presentation to His Majesty had been uninspiring and yet sufficient in fact to cause the Imperial Regent, Tadahira some concern. As a boy, Taira no Masakado had been in his service and although the period was of little relevance to Tadahira at the time, now it took on a whole new aspect. This young boy had become a fearsome warrior and a trusted leader in Hitachi. It also appeared ambition burned as deeply within him as Tadahira had seen in his own son, before the marriage to Haruka. His Majesty had, unfortunately, shown little concern for the event and saw it as little more than a squabble between the Minamoto and Taira, who were both descended from the Imperial line. Tadahira, however, knew the importance of these two families and the influence they waved in the provinces far from the Imperial city. Masakado had been summoned to the city to answer the claims Mamoru had laid before the court and to explain his actions. The aging Regent was worried at the reception the warlord might receive.
It was getting dark on this day and now was a brief break in the summoned court. Tadahira slumped forward against one of the many wooden supports in the amber tinged halls of the Imperial palace. Frivolity was rife this day for it was the coming of age of the Emperor Suzaku and the final day of the Regent’s stewardship had now closed. Everything had to go through His Majesty now and Tadahira worried that the young Emperor was too gallant for his lofty position. The criminals presented to Suzaku today had all, to the very last man, been pardoned, regardless of their crimes, as a gift from the Emperor on his joyous day.
Tadahira took a moment to look upon the large, golden statue of Buddha to the right of the courthouse and silently request some divine guidance in the following proceedings. The golden glow that illuminated the Regent’s face as he edged ever closer to the monument gave him an ethereal appearance and a strength one would rarely see of the man in sun-light. Such things were misguiding aesthetic as Tadahira had never felt so powerless. He could not argue with the Emperor on his coming of age for the offence would be so great that Suzaku may exile him.
The thick, brown, oak doors to the court room were thrust aside by guards and stood with his back to the blue tinged darkness inside was Takumi, now regaled in his finest cloth, a beautiful and unmistakable red beacon in his kimono. Catching his father unaware, Takumi found the weak look on his father’s unsure face disappointing and embarrassing, but he too had demons racing through his conscious thought and today, he felt no need to chastise his father’s indecisiveness. “We must assemble now, Regent. Taira no Masakado awaits the judgement of our Sovereign.”
Masakado was a formidable looking man. His angled features gave his face a sharpness that would be intimidating without the man’s reputation. He was taller than Hiroshi and was, perhaps the first man of six feet Takumi had ever laid his eyes upon. He wore ceremonial armour, designed with a Chinese influence in the image of a dragon; it was thick and of a material Takumi was not familiar with. All he knew was that it was far from the bamboo vest worn by his Minamoto friend and clearly stronger, with no weak points in the joins across the body, only at the moving joints in the shoulders, elbows, neck and knees. The armour looked scarlet in the low, blue evening light, but Takumi surmised that it would be a rich clay colour in the day. His whole appearance was one of power, even the long strides of his walk to the inquisition stand landed with an impact not too dissimilar from a tiny earthquake. What marked the man as different from those around him most of all was his deep tan. It had long been the fashion in the capital to whiten one’s complexion. Masakado snubbed such indulgences and proudly bore the effects of his toil in the sun.
Masakado came to a stop in front of the veil that sheltered the Emperor from prying eyes and Tadahira scuffled forwards on the stage before him. “Taira no Masakado, you have been summoned to the Imperial court to answer claims from Minamoto no Mamoru that you forcibly ejected him from his premises in Hitachi and sought to murder him before he reached the city. How do you respond to this claim?” Tadahira explained diligently.
The Hitachi warlord mused for a moment but to Takumi’s eyes it was not hesitation, but strategic ordering of thoughts. When Masakado spoke, his booming voice was unlike the one spoken when Takumi had last seen him, when both men had been boys on Tadahira’s estate. “It’s true that I threw that pathetic Minamoto from his home. His greed had caused a great number of citizens’ harm.” The Taira General replied. Takumi looked over at where Mamoru sat, observing proceedings, sweating profusely, afraid and looking more than a little guilty at this claim. He continued looking where the Minamoto’s sat and was disappointed to find that Hiroshi was not among them. After all, it had been his friend who had levelled the assassins sent by Masakado to intercept Mamoru.
There was a whisper from behind the curtain and Takumi watched his father lean towards it, sullenly accepting the command issued to him. Tadahira stood before Masakado again and asked; “And what of the marauders sent to murder Minamoto no Mamoru on his journey to the capital? Did you have a hand in that?”
“I did not command any of my men to attack the Minamoto coach, Your Majesty.” Masakado spoke with excessive pride as he knew he was being addressed by the Monarch directly, this was not from Tadahira. The Regent felt exposed and Takumi could see his father’s expression change from impassive to hurt. This was further stretched by another whispered command from the Emperor. When Tadahira walked forward again, the small amount of strength he still held in court had vanished and for the first time, Takumi felt sorrow for his father’s predicament. He was being made a fool of and now the inevitable was about to occur after scant seconds of inquiry.
Tadahira announced; “The court has found no evidence, besides the circumstantial involvement of your forces in removing the accuser from his home, of any serious wrong doing. You are charged with unlicensed engagement in your province but at the Emperor’s dispensation, you are pardoned, as a gift from His Majesty to celebrate his coming of age. The Emperor hopes you remain in the capital to indulge in the festivities before returning to Hitachi.” Takumi couldn’t be certain but for a moment he was sure the angry, focused expression on Masakado’s face gave way to a smirk.
Music softened the air around the corridors of the Imperial Palace to the point where it felt as though Takumi’s cheeks were being warmed by the air alone. The humming in his head it provided was a welcome one and almost eradicated the painful nervousness that had encapsulated him once he had left the courtroom. This evening, after his heroic actions of the past week, was the night he would finally win Haruka over. He now felt as though he had become the man she had always wanted, strong, confident and adventurous. He had never felt so good about the situation and had sent an Uta poem to her in the afternoon, requesting she meet him upon this open air promenade at the palace. He had lovingly composed the piece and it was by far his most accomplished work. He read it back to himself from memory in his own head.
I was but a bore
Nothing but a grazing cow
Shielded from your love
Now I am Strength, Passion, Hope
Awaiting to bathe in light
He was caught daydreaming, running over a multitude of scenarios in his head that all saw his union with Haruka on this night in a number of exceedingly romantic and beautiful ways, when his father approached from behind, clasping his shoulder. It awoke Takumi form his daze and yet he felt nothing but anger for the interruption. He turned to face his father, who looked gaunt and wretched, as if there were no fight left in him. “Takumi,” The older man said, “We must talk. There are issues at stake with this Masakado incident. We are so detached from the rest of the country...” Tadahira was cut off by the rude raising of hand by Takumi, who held his palm in front of his father.
“I do not wish to speak of this right now, father. Tomorrow I will come and see you and we can talk about these things. I have more pressing matters to attend to this evening. Please leave, I await my wife.” Takumi’s words inflamed the defeated face of his father, who took a final, hated glance at his son, enraged by the dismissal, the unfathomable obsession over Haruka and lack of care for so important a subject as the security of the nation. Tadahira stomped off, leaving Takumi behind to watch as his wife, dressed in brilliant white garnished with lilac edges and stitching, appeared from the warm darkness like an angel appearing in the underworld. She gracefully slid towards him and came to a halt one metre away, bowing curtly but with a passive expression on her face. “It was a beautiful Uta, Takumi. I did not think you capable.” She said; her words tinged with venom to suppress any false hope in her husband. He seemed oblivious to her comment and moved in closer, taking her soft, white hands and placing them on his chest, softly massaging them into his body and down his arms.
“Do you feel it, Haruka?” He asked her, only to be met with a confused expression. He had not imagined she would fail comment on the change in his physique and was thrown off track for several moments. After an awkward pause, he spoke again. “I am changing. No longer will your touch sink into my belly like a blind deer in quick sand. I am stronger now than when we met, I can protect you and Hitomi. I can protect you from anything.” His reiteration was an attempt to emphasise his power but it was lost for she had never seen him in this light. He thought to explain to her the attack on the carriage and how he and Hiroshi had rescued Mamoru. His own contribution, although great, was exaggerated for her benefit and yet he saw no reaction to his deeds but only the mention of his friend’s name. Each time he spoke it, her eyes watered and a great sadness consumed her. This seemed the only thing that elicited a reaction from her. Takumi was now beginning to succumb to frustration, his daydreams had skewed his vision for this meeting and he had prepared himself to bathe in her attention and adoration. “Is this not what you wanted?” He yelled, “A heroic, strong husband of adventure and determination? What do I have to do, Haruka? What do I have to do to make you love me? Everything I see you hoping for, I attain and yet still you do not look at me as a wife should!” He was losing his calm very quickly and disintegrating into an emotional wreck. She for her part was very upset, she wanted to love him, she had no doubt and yet all his attempts were so contrived, and they were not natural. She pulled hard to relieve herself of his grip. Tears streamed down her face, she felt awful at what she was doing to this man, she didn’t know how long she could continue living while bringing misery to her family. She averted her gaze from his teary, bloodshot stare and pulled a piece of paper from her kimono, forcefully pushing it into Takumi’s palm, before fleeing in tears. He looked in her direction, but did not watch her leave, he was stupefied by what had just happened and stared ahead for what felt like an eternity before opening his right hand and removing the piece of paper. It was Haruka’s reply to his Uta.
The bee is nature
He nestles within the rose
Phoenix is power
Rebirthing at his own whim
His existence is lonely
Takumi’s heart broke, for it was apparent to him that she did not see his actions as genuine. He was not effortless in his profession as Hiroshi was. She saw him as a pale imitation of the man she loved, or at least that is how Takumi saw things. He took a deep breath, dried his eyes and looked around to see if anyone had seen the awful exchange that had just occurred. There were people in the distance but all paid no attention to the open air promenade and the lonely figure stood upon it. Takumi’s final thought, stood here in his misery was that it may take war for him to prove his worth. He would defend the Heian way of life as best he could, on the battlefield
CHAPTER 6:
MASAKADO’S LETTER
Three years had passed since The Emperor’s coming of age festivities and Masakado’s pardon. In that time the Taira warlord had raised an army and conquered Shimosa and the neighbouring province of Shimotsuke. Some nobles worried about the unfolding events, others were so detached from anything beyond the walls of the capital they saw no reason to care. Tadahira was not one of them. Today, the aging Fujiwara Regent sat, dishevelled and weak at his desk, pondering over a roll of parchment addressed to him in a personal manner. Over the years, the Regent’s office had accrued large quantities of clutter, old, ornate lamps filled up one corner of the room, whereas finely written policies on papyrus and even woodblock stood, human high, in the other. Books adorned the walls in a variety of different covers, many of which were leather bound and in cases of the finest wood carving. However, much had gathered dust and there were spider’s webs across the ceiling and in some of the darkest corners of the room, betraying years of neglect.
A member of the household staff entered the room and stood before Tadahira. “Sessho, Lord Takumi has arrived at your request.” He spoke nervously. The tension of his master’s mood and fear had obviously filtered through to him.
“Send him in.” Tadahira said simply.
Takumi strode into the room in an ornate and patterned red kimono, finished with a golden pattern on the bottom left hand side portraying Buddha. He looked almost regal, but a thinness and gaunt appearance in the face betrayed the unhappiness of these intervening years for him. His body was sculpted and muscular and Tadahira could make out the powerful shoulders hidden beneath the spacious kimono. He could not hide his distaste so he looked back to the letter, rather than make eye contact with his son. “What do you wish to discuss, father?” Takumi asked impatiently.
“I am sorry to hear of your father-in-law’s death. I understand you and your wife took care of him in his final weeks. It is an act of compassion not unseen by the court.” Tadahira sighed as though preparing for the real issue of this conversation to be told. “However, although the post of Minister of the Left will remain vacant for a respectful time I intend to name your brother, Saneyori as the benefactor of your father-in-law’s demise.”
Takumi felt a wave of emotion flow over him, everything from anger to fear was experienced by him in a single moment and he fought powerfully to keep his appearance of serenity. This was it for him, with his other elder brother, Morosuke currently the Minister of the Right only the death of one of them could allow him to realise his dreams of holding one of the highest offices in the land. He felt resigned to it because he full well knew that his attention had not been where it was needed but on the wife at home and the blades he hid in his bedroom. This thought infuriated him further as he felt powerless. He thought he could do it all at the same time. Now he knew he was wrong. “This is not the only bad news I hold for you, my son.” Tadahira, seeing Takumi’s distress, wished to hurry through the rest of the information as quickly as possible. He pushed the roll of parchment across the table and gestured for Takumi to take a seat.
The young minister accepted and knelt before the traditional, low table. He picked up the letter and scanned through it. “Masakado!” He huskily exclaimed.
“Seen as no one else thought much of the situation when he was last in the city, I began corresponding with him as a concerned benefactor. His service in this house allowed me such a courtesy and I have learned a great many things. This letter however, is the most disturbing. It details Masakado’s true desire, for in it, he declares himself the “true” Emperor. He has amassed an army, murdered his own kin for advancement and he seeks to now overthrow the “out-of-touch” Government and install himself as divine sovereign.”
“Then you will send forces to crush him?” Takumi spoke in a condescending tone. He knew such a thing was impossible. The capital’s warriors were, for the most part, untrained and merely high born pretenders requiring rank. To Takumi’s knowledge, only Hiroshi could be considered a true warrior amongst the Emperor’s vast retinue. For his part, Tadahira dismissed his son’s impertinence with no care; he was too old for their squabbles now.
“We will send incentive to those surrounding the problem areas and that will, with luck, see them rise against Masakado and defeat him. The problem lies in Masakado’s two supporters. If you read further into the parchment you will read of Prince Okiyo’s encouragement, a troublesome development, you would agree? The former Emperor’s son seeking to overthrow the current one? It is a scandal. However, for us there is another problem. My cousin, Haruaki had pilfered from his province and fled as nothing but a petty criminal. It seems he is under Masakado’s protection. Although I could not possibly say why Masakado would lower himself as such, it could be a disastrous embarrassment for the Fujiwara clan.” As Tadahira took breath, Takumi could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. This was it! He could finally go into battle and ply his new skills, becoming, in the process, a natural warrior as opposed to a skilled hobbyist. He would get everything back on track, his father had not long to live, he could still make Minister of the Left when Saneyori was promoted the Chancellor or above. All he had to do was bring the traitor, Haruaki to justice and quell the rebellion to the East. His façade dropped for a moment and he could not help but beam. Seeing this, Tadahira’s tone darkened.”I called you here to tell you, in no uncertain terms, you are forbidden from travelling to Shimotsuke.”
Takumi was taken aback, so much so that he rose immediately from his kneeling position and backed hastily towards the door. “You mock me father! Surely you see this is the only way for me to get my life back on track!”
Tadahira was in no mood for this whining. “I mock you? Takumi it is you who mock yourself! For ten years you have failed to advance in court and for most of those you have been training with a Minamoto in the art of violence! You think me too stupid to realise what is happening with my own son?” Tadahira’s elevated tone was so enraged; the Regent often lost his breath between his punctuated remarks. “You somehow think that ending Masakado’s life with your own hand and bringing your cousin to justice will enhance your claim to any future position? You are the son of the Regent! You would have been seen as a fouler man than even Masakado were I not to have kept this under wraps! Violence is not tolerated in the Imperial city and banishment could be the only answer to your covert training. I can imagine that succubus of a wife has a hand in this!”
Takumi flew into a rage himself at the mention of Haruka and strode up to his father, staring down at the hunched old man with menace. “Haruka does not make my decisions!”
“No, but you make them under her spell. I don’t believe anything you have done in the past decade has not been filtered through some attempt to win her over from the cold.”
Takumi had now had enough of this slanging match; he was stung by the truth in his father’s observations and haunted by the false impression of the Regent he had held for so long. It was now clear to him that there was no longer indecisiveness in the old man. “I am going father. I will return a hero, violence or not and you cannot do anything to stop me.”
Tadahira looked up at his son as Takumi walked into the doorway. His eyes strained under the weight of emotion he felt watching this young man, whose promise had been unfathomable, throw away everything to attain an ideal that would not make a difference to his domestic life. You cannot change a woman’s heart once it has decided upon you. “If you go to Shimotsuke, you will return as nothing more than a masterless warrior. You will no longer be called Minister and will no longer be my son.”
The Minister that-was had made his decision. The risk of Shimotsuke was the only way of getting what he wanted. Love from Haruka and a new life, for it was now apparent the old one was in ruins. He nodded to his father, sternly looking upon him as the facilitator of the desperate choice he had just made, and hovered out of the door like a ghost across a promenade.
Mist had descended upon the stables outside of the Imperial palace and visibility was extremely difficult. Hiroshi stood before his brown horse, squinting into the grey, looking for any sign of the man who had sent word for him to ready a mare and supplies for a journey east.
Takumi burst from the mist like a bullet on the back of a black, silver mane stallion, pulling up to the inch of where Hiroshi stood holding the reins of his animal. Hiroshi took one look at the seriousness on his friend’s face and leapt onto the back of his steed, thrusting his arm in self appreciation of his movement. “So, my overly dramatic, melancholy munchkin... Where to?” Hiroshi spoke with a lack of confidence, hoping his attempt at light humour did not offend.
The ex-communicated Fujiwara Lord stared dead ahead at the thick, dangerous mist before speaking in a dull, monotone but authoritative voice. “East... To Shimotsuke.”
CHAPTER SEVEN:
THE BATTLE OF SHIMOTSUKE
It had been a long and difficult trek for the two friends; they had navigated a variety of terrain and rested their mounts on many occasions. Arguments had ensued before being rectified over warm rice wine in a variety of different taverns and the two had shared many a joke. Now, however, they stood before a province in fear. Masakado’s legion camped along the perimeter of his base and everyone else at their mercy.
Takumi had listened to his kinsman, Fujiwara no Hidesato, speak of the cruelty felt under this regime. Hidesato was constable of Shimotsuke and was deeply ashamed of his defeat; the resigned nature of his posture, hunched and loose was a clear indicator of this crippling emotion. The former minister listened intently to Hidesato’s descriptions of the thieving and rape that were tearing his province apart. Behind Hidesato stood further prominent figures in this provincial uprising, Taira no Sadamori, Masakado’s cousin and governor of Hitachi and Minamoto no Tsunemoto, the vice-governor of Musashi. Both men, while respected nobles, were granted leave as the ancestry demanded to become great military leaders in their own right. In fact, the defence of the country did not begin in the capital, so removed from nationwide events as the nobles were, it began out here in the rice fields and farmlands of the peasants that most nobles looked down their noses at.
“We cannot allow this to go further.” Takumi spoke with authority despite no longer having a station in the heirachy. “We here today represent the three greatest families in the Imperial realm and all of us, bar the two Minamoto have a very real threat to our honour in the shape of kinsmen who have been at the centre of this rebellion.” Takumi took a drink of water before continuing and absent mindedly brushed his plain, battle robes clear of imaginary crumbs. “Hidesato put forth an excellent strategy, tonight; a small squad will be picked to quietly infiltrate Masakado’s camp. The aim will be to kill one or more of the ringleaders, preferably Masakado himself. When we are discovered and the alert is raised, Sadamori and Tsunemoto, it is your men who will stampede the camp on horseback, hopefully catching them in disarray from our covert operation. If Masakado is dead, you should roll them over with little trouble. If he is not, the survivors of our infiltrators should be able to strike from within.”
“There are reinforcements due from Masakado’s allies tomorrow. We have been told the army will be five to one in their favour with twenty-five thousand troops against our five thousand. Those are odds we cannot hope to overcome.” Hidesato said, trying to scupper his own plan.
Hiroshi now took a step forward, entering the conversation with a cheery smile. “My Lord, then it is obvious that we must take on the ten thousand strong forces down there now before the new arrivals waltz on up the road from Musashi.” Hidesato nodded in reverence to the lower ranked Minamoto and Hiroshi took another step back to let the more fluent talker, Takumi, continue his briefing.
“Hidesato, I want you to choose five of your very best men, but none must be famous faces here. We will kill enough guards to steal their colours and masquerade as revolutionaries until we can gain access to the leaders. This party shall be fronted by you, kinsman, Hiroshi and myself.”
Sadamori piped up, his squeaky but horse voice hurting the ears of the listeners. He was incensed by the risk being taken. “Only eight! What folly! How can you possibly hope to slay Masakado with so small a force? I wouldn’t mind betting that even with sleep dust still nestling in the corner of his eye, my cousin could destroy all eight in a heartbeat.”
Takumi stood up besides Hiroshi and gestured for Hidesato to join them. “Your concern is noted, My Lord.” Takumi stuttered as he spoke the honorific, it was difficult for him to take the sub servant speech of a peasant given until a week or so before, he had been above this Governor of Hitachi in the Imperial rankings. “And I would be foolish to think your estimation of your cousin’s skills was tinged by family pride for I too have heard of Masakado’s supernatural ability on the battlefield. However, it is a risk we must take and I am as confident in the abilities of my Minamoto companion as you are of our adversary.” Hiroshi, deciding it would be funny, pulled the goofiest expression on his face he could possibly think of. The smile that emanated from his face had a deranged look, but in the manner of a very simple country bumpkin.
Once Takumi had said his goodbyes and urged the Sadamori and Tsunemoto to ready their garrisons for by daybreak, he, Hiroshi and Hidesato left the compound and Hidesato bounced off to find his five “faceless” warriors leaving Takumi and Hiroshi alone. “Was it really necessary to put further doubt in Sadamori’s mind with that ridiculous smirk?” Takumi chastised his friend. Hiroshi could not find words for reply and he crumpled up, clutching his midriff and laughing so riotously he may have awoken every single man in the encampment this night.
It was three a.m and the night was at its blackest. Clouds had formed, reducing all light from the moon and stars and allowing the eight, black garbed men fast passage between their encampment and the enemy’s. Hiroshi, as the most experienced, took the lead, all but his eyes obscured by black linen but beneath the cloth his laughter lines were replaced with frown lines, his mind fully focused on the task at hand as opposed to the frivolity of earlier. Takumi and Hidesato moved swiftly behind the Minamoto making up a small lead triangle and the faceless members of the constable’s security force made up a large triangle behind them.
They approached the guard post on the Western side, manned by six men. Takumi caressed the Wakizashi he had concealed within his tight garments and felt ill at ease with the decision to carry only small blades. The plan was for one hit kills as a sword battle would arouse suspicion but the former minister felt painfully exposed wielding the weapon he had the least confidence in.
Hiroshi stopped dead a few yards from where the night watch sat and talked while watching along their line of sight for any enemy movement. He signalled to the others that he would be going on his own to scout and went on his way. They waited for some twenty minutes before he returned. Takumi had begun to worry and the sight of the black figure running across an open stretch of grassland brought some relief, but not for very long. “This is the lowest populated guard post. I was hoping for only two or three. We have to penetrate here.” Hiroshi whispered with a grimace. Takumi’s reaction was to rub his forehead, trying to massage away the tightness in the muscle. He knew now that they would only have two men available to move through the camp. Hidesato and his men would have to wait behind and pretend to be the guards until the next change of watch. “How long till the change of guard?” Hiroshi whispered.
“I can’t make out the time with the moon and stars behind the clouds. We will have to wait, we need as much time as possible and the next change should see it through till dawn.” Takumi spoke in hushed tones. So they waited and continued to wait for far longer than Takumi had anticipated. Now he was beginning to worry that the reinforcements would arrive before Sadamori and Tsunemoto mounted their charge. Just as he was about to change plans, six new guards came and changed around. Once the tired set of guards had walked far enough away, Hiroshi began to co-ordinate the attack.
The logistics of entering were simple. The fort in which Masakado was holding out had openings at the North, South, East and West sides. Otherwise, impossible to scale, twenty foot stone walls prevented any large scale attack and bottle necked the charge of opposing forces, making them easy to dispatch. The fort was low and characterized mostly by the walls. There were small flat buildings within those stone perimeters but it was mostly flattened land populated by tents holding the soldiers charged with its defence. Such a system meant that in killing one set of guards without being seen and replacing them would allow entry for a few soldiers, but any large number would easily be discovered.
The attack itself was over with before it began. Sneaking along the walls designed to protect, the interlopers were able to get close enough to the guards to mount a quick attack and were also able to peer into the compound and ascertain who was watching. There were very few patrols that Takumi could see as he peered around the wall and the sheer number of tents carpeted across the soil meant that viewing between the four posts was obscured. They would still have to do it all in a single moment, just in case some insomniac decided to take a walk here at the east guard post. Takumi needn’t have worried as the eight men snuck silently behind the guards, edging ever closer until, in unison, they dashed the final pace and planted a blade into the skull of a guard. Then, quickly, they dragged the dead bodies around to the sides of the wall, stripped them and changed into the removed clothing.
Hidesato and his men took their positions at the guard post; backs to the main hub of sleeping soldiers so as not to tempt fate that some knew exactly who was on this watch. Being the two men not assuming the identity of guards, Hiroshi and Takumi had to find their own change of clothes and did so in a tent close by, killing three soldiers and taking two sets of clothing from the corpses. Now they were ready and they moved freely about the camp, although making sure they looked at no man in the eye.
Speaking to Tsunemoto earlier, Takumi had garnered that Masakado had taken the central building in the fort as his own but discerning where the central building was would be difficult. There were four evenly spaced, grey stoned buildings all within what one could call the centre of the compound. The two of them decided to separate and enter two buildings each simultaneously to lessen the chance of being discovered before they had completed their task. The first building Takumi entered was empty other than a multitude of swords. Satisfying his curiosity, he went into the second building. Again, there was nothing, but closer inspection revealed that it was indeed quarters that had been lived in. He began to panic a little for they had no idea where to look were Masakado to be elsewhere and it would become almost impossible to avoid detection if they started looking in every building and tent among the hundreds within the fort. It was then that he noticed the gorgeous golden and purple linen across the mat on the floor. It was crumpled and had been thrust aside with quick abandon. Takumi inched closer to it and touched beneath, it was still warm. In fact, Takumi would have said that the sheets were hot. He frantically looked around the room, trying to find some indication of where the inhabitant could have fled but there was nothing. Recognizing there was little to be gained from a closer search inside; after all, it was not a mouse he was looking for, Takumi ran back through the doorway.
This, he realised was a terrible, terrible error. The buildings were very short; probably no more than six feet in total height and the stone had a quality to it that made it useful as a tool for sharpening swords. That familiar sound, the scraping of metal across flint, awoke a sense in Takumi he felt all too often. The former minister was secreting a cold sweat for he was feeling deep and intangible fear. Turning around, Takumi could see, stood on the edge of the building’s ceiling, a figure he best remembered inside a clay coloured battle suit, stood before his father in the Imperial Court but one he also recollected wearing plain white linens and bringing beverages to him as he studied when both had been boys. Masakado stood, his tanned, angled face, looking down at Takumi with pity and the hunger of a predator. The Taira warlord was dressed only in hakama, his naked torso as strong as Takumi’s own but there was passion in Masakado’s stance where Takumi felt only duty. He wondered to himself, fatefully if such a figure would have appealed to his wife and saw, for the first time, the folly of his obsession.
The two did not speak, but only looked at one another; eyes locked communicating everything that needed to be said. They were adversaries and one of them was not going to make it out of this situation alive. Masakado jumped, descending upon Takumi from the high ground with unnatural speed and power. The situation reminded Takumi of the time in the grove, before they rescued Mamoru from his pursuers, when Hiroshi had bested him from a similar position. There was the distinct hint of a similar technique as Takumi felt a gust of wind as his opponent shifted in mid air but completely out of sight in a haze of rapidity.
Masakado’s blade flew through the air, but Takumi, seeking to throw himself wholly into repelling the attack, had learned his lesson in the grove well and took his wakizashi in hand, blocking, but not parrying his more skilled opponent’s slash. He was feeling good about himself, because he felt that he could do this; he just had to hold off the madman before Hiroshi heard the ruckus and arrived. Then he felt nothing but agony. Masakado had removed his wakizashi from its resting place around his hip, snugly fit in the waist of his hakama and as soon as his katana slash was blocked, brought the wakizashi across the back of Takumi’s neck, severing the Fujiwara’s spine.
Takumi dropped to the floor, completely paralysed from the neck down and unable to move. To make matters worse, Masakado had held the stroke firm as he turned into Takumi and had succeeded in severing an artery and that now pulsated blood from it in a thick red jet. And here is where Masakado made his own fateful error, for he stood above his conquered opponent to get a look at the dying man but now with his back to the arriving danger.
Hiroshi moved too quickly and with no sound, Masakado had no human sense of his new adversary’s arrival and so it was that he died suddenly, with no idea of who had orchestrated his demise. Hiroshi had jumped onto the roof having heard the sound of a sword scrapping across flint as Masakado had prepared his attack on Takumi. He then ran across but was not fast enough to save his friend. He saw Takumi fall, but stayed his emotion for a final split second as he leapt from the spot Masakado had and plunged his knife-like wakizashi into the warlord’s heart.
Hiroshi, now a wave of sorrow, held his dying friend’s head in his arms, allowing the blood to saturate his stolen clothes. The battle horns of the Taira and Minamoto sounded loud and clear as he did so, as if in monument to his friend, but actually in necessity as the dawn was breaking and Sadamori and Tsunemoto had seen the coming reinforcements over the hills in the distance. Suddenly the peaceful encampment was a flurry of activity as men scuttled to their feet, arming themselves and preparing to go to war. They ran around Hiroshi and Takumi paying them no heed as they lie and sit on the floor at the feet of the lifeless Masakado.
This all seemed to be in slow motion for Takumi, he watched, with no energy as men took forever in running around him and yet he felt fast leaving the mortal coil and in complete shock at his sudden paralysis. He now saw what his father had feared. He had never really been a warrior; it had been like a hobby, an engagement of no serious tone. He had become a soldier like a child takes up martial arts. One day it may save him from a bind, but it was nothing more than recreation, even when he saw it as otherwise. This had been his second real battle and now he looked at Hiroshi, he realised why his friend was better suited. He had experience and had lived this way all his life. There in lies the passion Takumi saw in Masakado. It was all Hiroshi had ever done, had ever been good at.
You cannot fabricate such a thing, Takumi thought. Just as you can’t make a woman love you if she has chosen not to. And finally, he understood. “Hiroshi.” He spoke weakly and gurgled as the bloodflow went down his throat. “Please, take care of my family.” Then, Fujiwara no Takumi, thinking only of his catalogue of mistakes and bullish pride, gave way to silent death amongst the noise of battle.
Even when Masakado’s head was displayed in the capital, Hiroshi could not bring himself to feel as though victory in Shimotsuke was worth the life sacrificed for it. His feeling of pointlessness would have been further compounded, had he lived, when less than two centuries later Hitomi’s great-great-great grandson, and the last blood-memory of her father, was killed defending the capital as Taira no Kiyamori succeeded where Masakado had failed and Japan entered a millennium of isolation and martial law.
Thanks for reading,
- Jay.
CHAPTER FIVE:
HEARTBREAK ON THE PROMENADE
Mamoru’s presentation to His Majesty had been uninspiring and yet sufficient in fact to cause the Imperial Regent, Tadahira some concern. As a boy, Taira no Masakado had been in his service and although the period was of little relevance to Tadahira at the time, now it took on a whole new aspect. This young boy had become a fearsome warrior and a trusted leader in Hitachi. It also appeared ambition burned as deeply within him as Tadahira had seen in his own son, before the marriage to Haruka. His Majesty had, unfortunately, shown little concern for the event and saw it as little more than a squabble between the Minamoto and Taira, who were both descended from the Imperial line. Tadahira, however, knew the importance of these two families and the influence they waved in the provinces far from the Imperial city. Masakado had been summoned to the city to answer the claims Mamoru had laid before the court and to explain his actions. The aging Regent was worried at the reception the warlord might receive.
It was getting dark on this day and now was a brief break in the summoned court. Tadahira slumped forward against one of the many wooden supports in the amber tinged halls of the Imperial palace. Frivolity was rife this day for it was the coming of age of the Emperor Suzaku and the final day of the Regent’s stewardship had now closed. Everything had to go through His Majesty now and Tadahira worried that the young Emperor was too gallant for his lofty position. The criminals presented to Suzaku today had all, to the very last man, been pardoned, regardless of their crimes, as a gift from the Emperor on his joyous day.
Tadahira took a moment to look upon the large, golden statue of Buddha to the right of the courthouse and silently request some divine guidance in the following proceedings. The golden glow that illuminated the Regent’s face as he edged ever closer to the monument gave him an ethereal appearance and a strength one would rarely see of the man in sun-light. Such things were misguiding aesthetic as Tadahira had never felt so powerless. He could not argue with the Emperor on his coming of age for the offence would be so great that Suzaku may exile him.
The thick, brown, oak doors to the court room were thrust aside by guards and stood with his back to the blue tinged darkness inside was Takumi, now regaled in his finest cloth, a beautiful and unmistakable red beacon in his kimono. Catching his father unaware, Takumi found the weak look on his father’s unsure face disappointing and embarrassing, but he too had demons racing through his conscious thought and today, he felt no need to chastise his father’s indecisiveness. “We must assemble now, Regent. Taira no Masakado awaits the judgement of our Sovereign.”
Masakado was a formidable looking man. His angled features gave his face a sharpness that would be intimidating without the man’s reputation. He was taller than Hiroshi and was, perhaps the first man of six feet Takumi had ever laid his eyes upon. He wore ceremonial armour, designed with a Chinese influence in the image of a dragon; it was thick and of a material Takumi was not familiar with. All he knew was that it was far from the bamboo vest worn by his Minamoto friend and clearly stronger, with no weak points in the joins across the body, only at the moving joints in the shoulders, elbows, neck and knees. The armour looked scarlet in the low, blue evening light, but Takumi surmised that it would be a rich clay colour in the day. His whole appearance was one of power, even the long strides of his walk to the inquisition stand landed with an impact not too dissimilar from a tiny earthquake. What marked the man as different from those around him most of all was his deep tan. It had long been the fashion in the capital to whiten one’s complexion. Masakado snubbed such indulgences and proudly bore the effects of his toil in the sun.
Masakado came to a stop in front of the veil that sheltered the Emperor from prying eyes and Tadahira scuffled forwards on the stage before him. “Taira no Masakado, you have been summoned to the Imperial court to answer claims from Minamoto no Mamoru that you forcibly ejected him from his premises in Hitachi and sought to murder him before he reached the city. How do you respond to this claim?” Tadahira explained diligently.
The Hitachi warlord mused for a moment but to Takumi’s eyes it was not hesitation, but strategic ordering of thoughts. When Masakado spoke, his booming voice was unlike the one spoken when Takumi had last seen him, when both men had been boys on Tadahira’s estate. “It’s true that I threw that pathetic Minamoto from his home. His greed had caused a great number of citizens’ harm.” The Taira General replied. Takumi looked over at where Mamoru sat, observing proceedings, sweating profusely, afraid and looking more than a little guilty at this claim. He continued looking where the Minamoto’s sat and was disappointed to find that Hiroshi was not among them. After all, it had been his friend who had levelled the assassins sent by Masakado to intercept Mamoru.
There was a whisper from behind the curtain and Takumi watched his father lean towards it, sullenly accepting the command issued to him. Tadahira stood before Masakado again and asked; “And what of the marauders sent to murder Minamoto no Mamoru on his journey to the capital? Did you have a hand in that?”
“I did not command any of my men to attack the Minamoto coach, Your Majesty.” Masakado spoke with excessive pride as he knew he was being addressed by the Monarch directly, this was not from Tadahira. The Regent felt exposed and Takumi could see his father’s expression change from impassive to hurt. This was further stretched by another whispered command from the Emperor. When Tadahira walked forward again, the small amount of strength he still held in court had vanished and for the first time, Takumi felt sorrow for his father’s predicament. He was being made a fool of and now the inevitable was about to occur after scant seconds of inquiry.
Tadahira announced; “The court has found no evidence, besides the circumstantial involvement of your forces in removing the accuser from his home, of any serious wrong doing. You are charged with unlicensed engagement in your province but at the Emperor’s dispensation, you are pardoned, as a gift from His Majesty to celebrate his coming of age. The Emperor hopes you remain in the capital to indulge in the festivities before returning to Hitachi.” Takumi couldn’t be certain but for a moment he was sure the angry, focused expression on Masakado’s face gave way to a smirk.
Music softened the air around the corridors of the Imperial Palace to the point where it felt as though Takumi’s cheeks were being warmed by the air alone. The humming in his head it provided was a welcome one and almost eradicated the painful nervousness that had encapsulated him once he had left the courtroom. This evening, after his heroic actions of the past week, was the night he would finally win Haruka over. He now felt as though he had become the man she had always wanted, strong, confident and adventurous. He had never felt so good about the situation and had sent an Uta poem to her in the afternoon, requesting she meet him upon this open air promenade at the palace. He had lovingly composed the piece and it was by far his most accomplished work. He read it back to himself from memory in his own head.
I was but a bore
Nothing but a grazing cow
Shielded from your love
Now I am Strength, Passion, Hope
Awaiting to bathe in light
He was caught daydreaming, running over a multitude of scenarios in his head that all saw his union with Haruka on this night in a number of exceedingly romantic and beautiful ways, when his father approached from behind, clasping his shoulder. It awoke Takumi form his daze and yet he felt nothing but anger for the interruption. He turned to face his father, who looked gaunt and wretched, as if there were no fight left in him. “Takumi,” The older man said, “We must talk. There are issues at stake with this Masakado incident. We are so detached from the rest of the country...” Tadahira was cut off by the rude raising of hand by Takumi, who held his palm in front of his father.
“I do not wish to speak of this right now, father. Tomorrow I will come and see you and we can talk about these things. I have more pressing matters to attend to this evening. Please leave, I await my wife.” Takumi’s words inflamed the defeated face of his father, who took a final, hated glance at his son, enraged by the dismissal, the unfathomable obsession over Haruka and lack of care for so important a subject as the security of the nation. Tadahira stomped off, leaving Takumi behind to watch as his wife, dressed in brilliant white garnished with lilac edges and stitching, appeared from the warm darkness like an angel appearing in the underworld. She gracefully slid towards him and came to a halt one metre away, bowing curtly but with a passive expression on her face. “It was a beautiful Uta, Takumi. I did not think you capable.” She said; her words tinged with venom to suppress any false hope in her husband. He seemed oblivious to her comment and moved in closer, taking her soft, white hands and placing them on his chest, softly massaging them into his body and down his arms.
“Do you feel it, Haruka?” He asked her, only to be met with a confused expression. He had not imagined she would fail comment on the change in his physique and was thrown off track for several moments. After an awkward pause, he spoke again. “I am changing. No longer will your touch sink into my belly like a blind deer in quick sand. I am stronger now than when we met, I can protect you and Hitomi. I can protect you from anything.” His reiteration was an attempt to emphasise his power but it was lost for she had never seen him in this light. He thought to explain to her the attack on the carriage and how he and Hiroshi had rescued Mamoru. His own contribution, although great, was exaggerated for her benefit and yet he saw no reaction to his deeds but only the mention of his friend’s name. Each time he spoke it, her eyes watered and a great sadness consumed her. This seemed the only thing that elicited a reaction from her. Takumi was now beginning to succumb to frustration, his daydreams had skewed his vision for this meeting and he had prepared himself to bathe in her attention and adoration. “Is this not what you wanted?” He yelled, “A heroic, strong husband of adventure and determination? What do I have to do, Haruka? What do I have to do to make you love me? Everything I see you hoping for, I attain and yet still you do not look at me as a wife should!” He was losing his calm very quickly and disintegrating into an emotional wreck. She for her part was very upset, she wanted to love him, she had no doubt and yet all his attempts were so contrived, and they were not natural. She pulled hard to relieve herself of his grip. Tears streamed down her face, she felt awful at what she was doing to this man, she didn’t know how long she could continue living while bringing misery to her family. She averted her gaze from his teary, bloodshot stare and pulled a piece of paper from her kimono, forcefully pushing it into Takumi’s palm, before fleeing in tears. He looked in her direction, but did not watch her leave, he was stupefied by what had just happened and stared ahead for what felt like an eternity before opening his right hand and removing the piece of paper. It was Haruka’s reply to his Uta.
The bee is nature
He nestles within the rose
Phoenix is power
Rebirthing at his own whim
His existence is lonely
Takumi’s heart broke, for it was apparent to him that she did not see his actions as genuine. He was not effortless in his profession as Hiroshi was. She saw him as a pale imitation of the man she loved, or at least that is how Takumi saw things. He took a deep breath, dried his eyes and looked around to see if anyone had seen the awful exchange that had just occurred. There were people in the distance but all paid no attention to the open air promenade and the lonely figure stood upon it. Takumi’s final thought, stood here in his misery was that it may take war for him to prove his worth. He would defend the Heian way of life as best he could, on the battlefield
CHAPTER 6:
MASAKADO’S LETTER
Three years had passed since The Emperor’s coming of age festivities and Masakado’s pardon. In that time the Taira warlord had raised an army and conquered Shimosa and the neighbouring province of Shimotsuke. Some nobles worried about the unfolding events, others were so detached from anything beyond the walls of the capital they saw no reason to care. Tadahira was not one of them. Today, the aging Fujiwara Regent sat, dishevelled and weak at his desk, pondering over a roll of parchment addressed to him in a personal manner. Over the years, the Regent’s office had accrued large quantities of clutter, old, ornate lamps filled up one corner of the room, whereas finely written policies on papyrus and even woodblock stood, human high, in the other. Books adorned the walls in a variety of different covers, many of which were leather bound and in cases of the finest wood carving. However, much had gathered dust and there were spider’s webs across the ceiling and in some of the darkest corners of the room, betraying years of neglect.
A member of the household staff entered the room and stood before Tadahira. “Sessho, Lord Takumi has arrived at your request.” He spoke nervously. The tension of his master’s mood and fear had obviously filtered through to him.
“Send him in.” Tadahira said simply.
Takumi strode into the room in an ornate and patterned red kimono, finished with a golden pattern on the bottom left hand side portraying Buddha. He looked almost regal, but a thinness and gaunt appearance in the face betrayed the unhappiness of these intervening years for him. His body was sculpted and muscular and Tadahira could make out the powerful shoulders hidden beneath the spacious kimono. He could not hide his distaste so he looked back to the letter, rather than make eye contact with his son. “What do you wish to discuss, father?” Takumi asked impatiently.
“I am sorry to hear of your father-in-law’s death. I understand you and your wife took care of him in his final weeks. It is an act of compassion not unseen by the court.” Tadahira sighed as though preparing for the real issue of this conversation to be told. “However, although the post of Minister of the Left will remain vacant for a respectful time I intend to name your brother, Saneyori as the benefactor of your father-in-law’s demise.”
Takumi felt a wave of emotion flow over him, everything from anger to fear was experienced by him in a single moment and he fought powerfully to keep his appearance of serenity. This was it for him, with his other elder brother, Morosuke currently the Minister of the Right only the death of one of them could allow him to realise his dreams of holding one of the highest offices in the land. He felt resigned to it because he full well knew that his attention had not been where it was needed but on the wife at home and the blades he hid in his bedroom. This thought infuriated him further as he felt powerless. He thought he could do it all at the same time. Now he knew he was wrong. “This is not the only bad news I hold for you, my son.” Tadahira, seeing Takumi’s distress, wished to hurry through the rest of the information as quickly as possible. He pushed the roll of parchment across the table and gestured for Takumi to take a seat.
The young minister accepted and knelt before the traditional, low table. He picked up the letter and scanned through it. “Masakado!” He huskily exclaimed.
“Seen as no one else thought much of the situation when he was last in the city, I began corresponding with him as a concerned benefactor. His service in this house allowed me such a courtesy and I have learned a great many things. This letter however, is the most disturbing. It details Masakado’s true desire, for in it, he declares himself the “true” Emperor. He has amassed an army, murdered his own kin for advancement and he seeks to now overthrow the “out-of-touch” Government and install himself as divine sovereign.”
“Then you will send forces to crush him?” Takumi spoke in a condescending tone. He knew such a thing was impossible. The capital’s warriors were, for the most part, untrained and merely high born pretenders requiring rank. To Takumi’s knowledge, only Hiroshi could be considered a true warrior amongst the Emperor’s vast retinue. For his part, Tadahira dismissed his son’s impertinence with no care; he was too old for their squabbles now.
“We will send incentive to those surrounding the problem areas and that will, with luck, see them rise against Masakado and defeat him. The problem lies in Masakado’s two supporters. If you read further into the parchment you will read of Prince Okiyo’s encouragement, a troublesome development, you would agree? The former Emperor’s son seeking to overthrow the current one? It is a scandal. However, for us there is another problem. My cousin, Haruaki had pilfered from his province and fled as nothing but a petty criminal. It seems he is under Masakado’s protection. Although I could not possibly say why Masakado would lower himself as such, it could be a disastrous embarrassment for the Fujiwara clan.” As Tadahira took breath, Takumi could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. This was it! He could finally go into battle and ply his new skills, becoming, in the process, a natural warrior as opposed to a skilled hobbyist. He would get everything back on track, his father had not long to live, he could still make Minister of the Left when Saneyori was promoted the Chancellor or above. All he had to do was bring the traitor, Haruaki to justice and quell the rebellion to the East. His façade dropped for a moment and he could not help but beam. Seeing this, Tadahira’s tone darkened.”I called you here to tell you, in no uncertain terms, you are forbidden from travelling to Shimotsuke.”
Takumi was taken aback, so much so that he rose immediately from his kneeling position and backed hastily towards the door. “You mock me father! Surely you see this is the only way for me to get my life back on track!”
Tadahira was in no mood for this whining. “I mock you? Takumi it is you who mock yourself! For ten years you have failed to advance in court and for most of those you have been training with a Minamoto in the art of violence! You think me too stupid to realise what is happening with my own son?” Tadahira’s elevated tone was so enraged; the Regent often lost his breath between his punctuated remarks. “You somehow think that ending Masakado’s life with your own hand and bringing your cousin to justice will enhance your claim to any future position? You are the son of the Regent! You would have been seen as a fouler man than even Masakado were I not to have kept this under wraps! Violence is not tolerated in the Imperial city and banishment could be the only answer to your covert training. I can imagine that succubus of a wife has a hand in this!”
Takumi flew into a rage himself at the mention of Haruka and strode up to his father, staring down at the hunched old man with menace. “Haruka does not make my decisions!”
“No, but you make them under her spell. I don’t believe anything you have done in the past decade has not been filtered through some attempt to win her over from the cold.”
Takumi had now had enough of this slanging match; he was stung by the truth in his father’s observations and haunted by the false impression of the Regent he had held for so long. It was now clear to him that there was no longer indecisiveness in the old man. “I am going father. I will return a hero, violence or not and you cannot do anything to stop me.”
Tadahira looked up at his son as Takumi walked into the doorway. His eyes strained under the weight of emotion he felt watching this young man, whose promise had been unfathomable, throw away everything to attain an ideal that would not make a difference to his domestic life. You cannot change a woman’s heart once it has decided upon you. “If you go to Shimotsuke, you will return as nothing more than a masterless warrior. You will no longer be called Minister and will no longer be my son.”
The Minister that-was had made his decision. The risk of Shimotsuke was the only way of getting what he wanted. Love from Haruka and a new life, for it was now apparent the old one was in ruins. He nodded to his father, sternly looking upon him as the facilitator of the desperate choice he had just made, and hovered out of the door like a ghost across a promenade.
Mist had descended upon the stables outside of the Imperial palace and visibility was extremely difficult. Hiroshi stood before his brown horse, squinting into the grey, looking for any sign of the man who had sent word for him to ready a mare and supplies for a journey east.
Takumi burst from the mist like a bullet on the back of a black, silver mane stallion, pulling up to the inch of where Hiroshi stood holding the reins of his animal. Hiroshi took one look at the seriousness on his friend’s face and leapt onto the back of his steed, thrusting his arm in self appreciation of his movement. “So, my overly dramatic, melancholy munchkin... Where to?” Hiroshi spoke with a lack of confidence, hoping his attempt at light humour did not offend.
The ex-communicated Fujiwara Lord stared dead ahead at the thick, dangerous mist before speaking in a dull, monotone but authoritative voice. “East... To Shimotsuke.”
CHAPTER SEVEN:
THE BATTLE OF SHIMOTSUKE
It had been a long and difficult trek for the two friends; they had navigated a variety of terrain and rested their mounts on many occasions. Arguments had ensued before being rectified over warm rice wine in a variety of different taverns and the two had shared many a joke. Now, however, they stood before a province in fear. Masakado’s legion camped along the perimeter of his base and everyone else at their mercy.
Takumi had listened to his kinsman, Fujiwara no Hidesato, speak of the cruelty felt under this regime. Hidesato was constable of Shimotsuke and was deeply ashamed of his defeat; the resigned nature of his posture, hunched and loose was a clear indicator of this crippling emotion. The former minister listened intently to Hidesato’s descriptions of the thieving and rape that were tearing his province apart. Behind Hidesato stood further prominent figures in this provincial uprising, Taira no Sadamori, Masakado’s cousin and governor of Hitachi and Minamoto no Tsunemoto, the vice-governor of Musashi. Both men, while respected nobles, were granted leave as the ancestry demanded to become great military leaders in their own right. In fact, the defence of the country did not begin in the capital, so removed from nationwide events as the nobles were, it began out here in the rice fields and farmlands of the peasants that most nobles looked down their noses at.
“We cannot allow this to go further.” Takumi spoke with authority despite no longer having a station in the heirachy. “We here today represent the three greatest families in the Imperial realm and all of us, bar the two Minamoto have a very real threat to our honour in the shape of kinsmen who have been at the centre of this rebellion.” Takumi took a drink of water before continuing and absent mindedly brushed his plain, battle robes clear of imaginary crumbs. “Hidesato put forth an excellent strategy, tonight; a small squad will be picked to quietly infiltrate Masakado’s camp. The aim will be to kill one or more of the ringleaders, preferably Masakado himself. When we are discovered and the alert is raised, Sadamori and Tsunemoto, it is your men who will stampede the camp on horseback, hopefully catching them in disarray from our covert operation. If Masakado is dead, you should roll them over with little trouble. If he is not, the survivors of our infiltrators should be able to strike from within.”
“There are reinforcements due from Masakado’s allies tomorrow. We have been told the army will be five to one in their favour with twenty-five thousand troops against our five thousand. Those are odds we cannot hope to overcome.” Hidesato said, trying to scupper his own plan.
Hiroshi now took a step forward, entering the conversation with a cheery smile. “My Lord, then it is obvious that we must take on the ten thousand strong forces down there now before the new arrivals waltz on up the road from Musashi.” Hidesato nodded in reverence to the lower ranked Minamoto and Hiroshi took another step back to let the more fluent talker, Takumi, continue his briefing.
“Hidesato, I want you to choose five of your very best men, but none must be famous faces here. We will kill enough guards to steal their colours and masquerade as revolutionaries until we can gain access to the leaders. This party shall be fronted by you, kinsman, Hiroshi and myself.”
Sadamori piped up, his squeaky but horse voice hurting the ears of the listeners. He was incensed by the risk being taken. “Only eight! What folly! How can you possibly hope to slay Masakado with so small a force? I wouldn’t mind betting that even with sleep dust still nestling in the corner of his eye, my cousin could destroy all eight in a heartbeat.”
Takumi stood up besides Hiroshi and gestured for Hidesato to join them. “Your concern is noted, My Lord.” Takumi stuttered as he spoke the honorific, it was difficult for him to take the sub servant speech of a peasant given until a week or so before, he had been above this Governor of Hitachi in the Imperial rankings. “And I would be foolish to think your estimation of your cousin’s skills was tinged by family pride for I too have heard of Masakado’s supernatural ability on the battlefield. However, it is a risk we must take and I am as confident in the abilities of my Minamoto companion as you are of our adversary.” Hiroshi, deciding it would be funny, pulled the goofiest expression on his face he could possibly think of. The smile that emanated from his face had a deranged look, but in the manner of a very simple country bumpkin.
Once Takumi had said his goodbyes and urged the Sadamori and Tsunemoto to ready their garrisons for by daybreak, he, Hiroshi and Hidesato left the compound and Hidesato bounced off to find his five “faceless” warriors leaving Takumi and Hiroshi alone. “Was it really necessary to put further doubt in Sadamori’s mind with that ridiculous smirk?” Takumi chastised his friend. Hiroshi could not find words for reply and he crumpled up, clutching his midriff and laughing so riotously he may have awoken every single man in the encampment this night.
It was three a.m and the night was at its blackest. Clouds had formed, reducing all light from the moon and stars and allowing the eight, black garbed men fast passage between their encampment and the enemy’s. Hiroshi, as the most experienced, took the lead, all but his eyes obscured by black linen but beneath the cloth his laughter lines were replaced with frown lines, his mind fully focused on the task at hand as opposed to the frivolity of earlier. Takumi and Hidesato moved swiftly behind the Minamoto making up a small lead triangle and the faceless members of the constable’s security force made up a large triangle behind them.
They approached the guard post on the Western side, manned by six men. Takumi caressed the Wakizashi he had concealed within his tight garments and felt ill at ease with the decision to carry only small blades. The plan was for one hit kills as a sword battle would arouse suspicion but the former minister felt painfully exposed wielding the weapon he had the least confidence in.
Hiroshi stopped dead a few yards from where the night watch sat and talked while watching along their line of sight for any enemy movement. He signalled to the others that he would be going on his own to scout and went on his way. They waited for some twenty minutes before he returned. Takumi had begun to worry and the sight of the black figure running across an open stretch of grassland brought some relief, but not for very long. “This is the lowest populated guard post. I was hoping for only two or three. We have to penetrate here.” Hiroshi whispered with a grimace. Takumi’s reaction was to rub his forehead, trying to massage away the tightness in the muscle. He knew now that they would only have two men available to move through the camp. Hidesato and his men would have to wait behind and pretend to be the guards until the next change of watch. “How long till the change of guard?” Hiroshi whispered.
“I can’t make out the time with the moon and stars behind the clouds. We will have to wait, we need as much time as possible and the next change should see it through till dawn.” Takumi spoke in hushed tones. So they waited and continued to wait for far longer than Takumi had anticipated. Now he was beginning to worry that the reinforcements would arrive before Sadamori and Tsunemoto mounted their charge. Just as he was about to change plans, six new guards came and changed around. Once the tired set of guards had walked far enough away, Hiroshi began to co-ordinate the attack.
The logistics of entering were simple. The fort in which Masakado was holding out had openings at the North, South, East and West sides. Otherwise, impossible to scale, twenty foot stone walls prevented any large scale attack and bottle necked the charge of opposing forces, making them easy to dispatch. The fort was low and characterized mostly by the walls. There were small flat buildings within those stone perimeters but it was mostly flattened land populated by tents holding the soldiers charged with its defence. Such a system meant that in killing one set of guards without being seen and replacing them would allow entry for a few soldiers, but any large number would easily be discovered.
The attack itself was over with before it began. Sneaking along the walls designed to protect, the interlopers were able to get close enough to the guards to mount a quick attack and were also able to peer into the compound and ascertain who was watching. There were very few patrols that Takumi could see as he peered around the wall and the sheer number of tents carpeted across the soil meant that viewing between the four posts was obscured. They would still have to do it all in a single moment, just in case some insomniac decided to take a walk here at the east guard post. Takumi needn’t have worried as the eight men snuck silently behind the guards, edging ever closer until, in unison, they dashed the final pace and planted a blade into the skull of a guard. Then, quickly, they dragged the dead bodies around to the sides of the wall, stripped them and changed into the removed clothing.
Hidesato and his men took their positions at the guard post; backs to the main hub of sleeping soldiers so as not to tempt fate that some knew exactly who was on this watch. Being the two men not assuming the identity of guards, Hiroshi and Takumi had to find their own change of clothes and did so in a tent close by, killing three soldiers and taking two sets of clothing from the corpses. Now they were ready and they moved freely about the camp, although making sure they looked at no man in the eye.
Speaking to Tsunemoto earlier, Takumi had garnered that Masakado had taken the central building in the fort as his own but discerning where the central building was would be difficult. There were four evenly spaced, grey stoned buildings all within what one could call the centre of the compound. The two of them decided to separate and enter two buildings each simultaneously to lessen the chance of being discovered before they had completed their task. The first building Takumi entered was empty other than a multitude of swords. Satisfying his curiosity, he went into the second building. Again, there was nothing, but closer inspection revealed that it was indeed quarters that had been lived in. He began to panic a little for they had no idea where to look were Masakado to be elsewhere and it would become almost impossible to avoid detection if they started looking in every building and tent among the hundreds within the fort. It was then that he noticed the gorgeous golden and purple linen across the mat on the floor. It was crumpled and had been thrust aside with quick abandon. Takumi inched closer to it and touched beneath, it was still warm. In fact, Takumi would have said that the sheets were hot. He frantically looked around the room, trying to find some indication of where the inhabitant could have fled but there was nothing. Recognizing there was little to be gained from a closer search inside; after all, it was not a mouse he was looking for, Takumi ran back through the doorway.
This, he realised was a terrible, terrible error. The buildings were very short; probably no more than six feet in total height and the stone had a quality to it that made it useful as a tool for sharpening swords. That familiar sound, the scraping of metal across flint, awoke a sense in Takumi he felt all too often. The former minister was secreting a cold sweat for he was feeling deep and intangible fear. Turning around, Takumi could see, stood on the edge of the building’s ceiling, a figure he best remembered inside a clay coloured battle suit, stood before his father in the Imperial Court but one he also recollected wearing plain white linens and bringing beverages to him as he studied when both had been boys. Masakado stood, his tanned, angled face, looking down at Takumi with pity and the hunger of a predator. The Taira warlord was dressed only in hakama, his naked torso as strong as Takumi’s own but there was passion in Masakado’s stance where Takumi felt only duty. He wondered to himself, fatefully if such a figure would have appealed to his wife and saw, for the first time, the folly of his obsession.
The two did not speak, but only looked at one another; eyes locked communicating everything that needed to be said. They were adversaries and one of them was not going to make it out of this situation alive. Masakado jumped, descending upon Takumi from the high ground with unnatural speed and power. The situation reminded Takumi of the time in the grove, before they rescued Mamoru from his pursuers, when Hiroshi had bested him from a similar position. There was the distinct hint of a similar technique as Takumi felt a gust of wind as his opponent shifted in mid air but completely out of sight in a haze of rapidity.
Masakado’s blade flew through the air, but Takumi, seeking to throw himself wholly into repelling the attack, had learned his lesson in the grove well and took his wakizashi in hand, blocking, but not parrying his more skilled opponent’s slash. He was feeling good about himself, because he felt that he could do this; he just had to hold off the madman before Hiroshi heard the ruckus and arrived. Then he felt nothing but agony. Masakado had removed his wakizashi from its resting place around his hip, snugly fit in the waist of his hakama and as soon as his katana slash was blocked, brought the wakizashi across the back of Takumi’s neck, severing the Fujiwara’s spine.
Takumi dropped to the floor, completely paralysed from the neck down and unable to move. To make matters worse, Masakado had held the stroke firm as he turned into Takumi and had succeeded in severing an artery and that now pulsated blood from it in a thick red jet. And here is where Masakado made his own fateful error, for he stood above his conquered opponent to get a look at the dying man but now with his back to the arriving danger.
Hiroshi moved too quickly and with no sound, Masakado had no human sense of his new adversary’s arrival and so it was that he died suddenly, with no idea of who had orchestrated his demise. Hiroshi had jumped onto the roof having heard the sound of a sword scrapping across flint as Masakado had prepared his attack on Takumi. He then ran across but was not fast enough to save his friend. He saw Takumi fall, but stayed his emotion for a final split second as he leapt from the spot Masakado had and plunged his knife-like wakizashi into the warlord’s heart.
Hiroshi, now a wave of sorrow, held his dying friend’s head in his arms, allowing the blood to saturate his stolen clothes. The battle horns of the Taira and Minamoto sounded loud and clear as he did so, as if in monument to his friend, but actually in necessity as the dawn was breaking and Sadamori and Tsunemoto had seen the coming reinforcements over the hills in the distance. Suddenly the peaceful encampment was a flurry of activity as men scuttled to their feet, arming themselves and preparing to go to war. They ran around Hiroshi and Takumi paying them no heed as they lie and sit on the floor at the feet of the lifeless Masakado.
This all seemed to be in slow motion for Takumi, he watched, with no energy as men took forever in running around him and yet he felt fast leaving the mortal coil and in complete shock at his sudden paralysis. He now saw what his father had feared. He had never really been a warrior; it had been like a hobby, an engagement of no serious tone. He had become a soldier like a child takes up martial arts. One day it may save him from a bind, but it was nothing more than recreation, even when he saw it as otherwise. This had been his second real battle and now he looked at Hiroshi, he realised why his friend was better suited. He had experience and had lived this way all his life. There in lies the passion Takumi saw in Masakado. It was all Hiroshi had ever done, had ever been good at.
You cannot fabricate such a thing, Takumi thought. Just as you can’t make a woman love you if she has chosen not to. And finally, he understood. “Hiroshi.” He spoke weakly and gurgled as the bloodflow went down his throat. “Please, take care of my family.” Then, Fujiwara no Takumi, thinking only of his catalogue of mistakes and bullish pride, gave way to silent death amongst the noise of battle.
Even when Masakado’s head was displayed in the capital, Hiroshi could not bring himself to feel as though victory in Shimotsuke was worth the life sacrificed for it. His feeling of pointlessness would have been further compounded, had he lived, when less than two centuries later Hitomi’s great-great-great grandson, and the last blood-memory of her father, was killed defending the capital as Taira no Kiyamori succeeded where Masakado had failed and Japan entered a millennium of isolation and martial law.
Thanks for reading,
- Jay.