Authors: Eiji Yoshikawa
The courteous, ingratiating tones chilled Yoshitomo to the heart. He turned pale.
"Sir, a careful search is being made—no trace of him and his sons has yet been found."
"His majesty is kept informed of your diligence in rounding up the traitors, you understand."
"Everything is being done to further the search, and I am sure they will be captured, but—"
"But what?"
Yoshitomo's head drooped. Shinzei gave him a quizzical look from under his brows.
For three days and nights Tameyoshi, his sons, and their three retainers hid in a temple in the hills between Shirakawa and Lake Biwa. The caretaker there received them kindly, and they were able to get food and sleep and a chance to dress their wounds as they made plans to find a boat that would carry them across the lake in their flight eastward. But during that time, as ill chance would have it, an old ailment, rheumatism, crippled Tameyoshi and kept him in bed in a small room of the dilapidated temple. And as the defeated warrior lay there, there passed through his mind the long parade of his sixty years, tinged with regrets and loneliness, for he had had his full share of sorrows.
In the meantime, one of his sons and Magoroku, a retainer, went down to Otsu to see about hiring a boat, while Tametomo and the rest kept a sharp lookout for their pursuers.
The two, Yorikata and Magoroku, were soon back with the news that they had found a fisherman willing to ferry them by stealth across the lake. That night, the 17th of July, the fugitives cautiously made their way to the appointed spot, the giant pine tree at Karasaki. On arriving there they were dismayed to find no sign of the boat. As they peered through the dark, they suddenly saw a blaze of torches coming toward them with a clatter of hoofs and shouts.
"We are trapped!" Tametomo cried, and, quickly ordering Magoroku to escape with Tameyoshi to the hills, prepared the others to make a stand until the two had reached safety.
Half-carrying and dragging Tameyoshi, Magoroku at last reached a temple in the hills. There a priest to whom Magoroku told his desperate tale gave them shelter. But at daybreak Magoroku, still fearing pursuit, bore Tameyoshi on his back and made his way through a valley of Mount Hiei, until they came to a temple in Kurodani.
Broken in body and spirit, Tameyoshi confessed to Magoroku that he held out no hope of rallying an army even though he succeeded in reaching eastern Japan.
"Nothing remains to me now, Magoroku, except to take the tonsure and surrender to my son, Yoshitomo," he said.
When Tameyoshi's sons finally rejoined him, they found to their sorrow that he had already received the tonsure at the hands of a priest. And they wept. "Now are we robbed of all purpose. What is there left for us to look forward to?"
But Tameyoshi replied: "Not so, my sons, you cannot stay with me forever. A time comes when the fledglings must leave their nest for the endless blue that stretches before them." And he shed bitter tears at the thought that he had no more consoling words than these for his sons.
Magoroku, who had been sent to the capital with a letter from Tameyoshi to Yoshitomo, returned, saying that Yoshitomo had shown great joy on reading the message. Eager for more news of his son, Tameyoshi inquired whether Magoroku had also spoken with Yoshitomo, and was told:
"He was not at his house, and thinking I might find him at the lady Tokiwa's, I went there. I was fortunate to find him, still in his armor, and dandling his children on his lap."
"And you found him playing with my grandchildren? So he knows now what it is to be a father. There were two, were there not?"
"Yes—and it appeared that they look for another very soon, and because of it his lordship was deeply concerned for his lady."
"Ah, they tell me she is a pleasing young woman. He alone of us all is fortunate."
Tameyoshi's sons watched their father with silent frowns as he read Yoshitomo's letter to himself:
"I await your coming. My retainers will meet you at the edge of the woods on this side of the Kamo. You need not be anxious. I am prepared to forfeit all the honors that have come to me that I may plead for you with his majesty."
His sons, however, were unwilling that Tameyoshi should leave them and surrender himself to Yoshitomo, and Tametomo said:
"My father, is there no way in which to dissuade you? Who knows whether Yoshitomo is to be trusted or not? I feel you are in danger. Stay with us."
"Whatever you may say, Tametomo, I cannot believe that Yoshitomo would deceive me. Contemptible as I may appear, I do not go because my own life is precious to me, but to seek pardon for all of you—that, and because this is the only way in which he, too, will find peace of mind."
Tametomo shook his head. "It is only natural for you to think so. What son would wish to see his father put to death? Yet, were he such a monster as to allow it, no amount of worldly success would lay the pangs of remorse from which he would suffer ever after. On the other hand, consider how the Emperor betrayed his own brother, the ex-Emperor; the Regent his own brother, Yorinaga."
Tameyoshi pondered these words, but was not persuaded.
"I have already sent Magoroku with a message to Yoshitomo. Others in the capital must know by now where we are. Were I to reach Kamakura and then fail to raise an army, I should in the end have to sue for peace with my life. There seems to be no choice for me other than this."
On the following day Tameyoshi, leaning on Magoroku, made his way down to the Kamo. Loath to see him depart, his sons followed him until they were close to the capital, believing they would never see their father again.
Tameyoshi paused to look back, saying: "My sons, we are now near the capital. It is time for us to part—there must be an end to our farewells."
And Tameyoshi's sons lifted up their voices and wept.
A litter waited for Tameyoshi at the edge of the wood by the Kamo, and that evening he was carried to Yoshitomo's mansion, where three serving-women received him and saw to it that he bathed, brought him fresh garments and medicaments and all manner of foods, so that he wanted nothing.
That night he slept soundly, untroubled by insects and the fear of wild beasts.
Tameyoshi's first thought on awaking was that he was safe under his son's roof. It was not until noon, however, that he saw Yoshitomo, who came to him secretly. Less than three weeks had elapsed since they last met, but to them it seemed as though many years had gone by in that time. Tameyoshi and Yoshitomo wept quietly when they came face to face.
". . . My father, forgive me for the pain I have given you."
"Forgive? Yoshitomo, your father is guilty of high treason. I have no right to be here. Treat me as you would a criminal."
"My heart breaks to have you say this."
"No, no, Yoshitomo, I am an old man and resigned to my fate. This only I beg of you—to spare your brothers, the guiltless women, and the children. Let me be punished in their stead."
"It is for me to give up all I have to save you, my father."
"But, remember, there are many at Court who think differently. Take no rash step that will endanger your life. I only ask that you, my eldest, succeed to the chieftainship and preserve our name," Tameyoshi pleaded.
That night Yoshitomo, concealed in his ox-carriage, drove to Shinzei's residence. Shinzei was not at home. He had for some time been extremely busy and was not expected to return from the Court that night, his servants said. The next night Yoshitomo went again and was fortunate in having Shinzei receive him.
When Yoshitomo had finished speaking, Shinzei replied coldly:
"What! You ask that Tameyoshi's life be spared? Even I can do nothing for you. It is, moreover, most indiscreet of you to come to me on this matter. It would be more to the point if you presented your appeal in person to the courtiers."
Yoshitomo, however, did not lose heart. A general, Masasada, a former Minister of the Right, he knew was a man of wide sympathies, trusted in higher circles of the Court, and in the confidence of the Emperor. To him Yoshitomo went one night and was received with kindness. None the less, the general was not inclined to optimism.
". . . Yes, I feel that I understand what you are going through. But in these troubled times I can give you no assurances that the Court will even consider your appeal, though I shall see what can be done by adding a few words myself," Masasada said warmly.
At the next meeting of the Court councilors, Masasada himself presented Yoshitomo's appeal. Not only did he plead that Tameyoshi's life be spared in exchange for Yoshitomo's recently acquired honors, but he went on to say: ". . . The taking of one life will lead to the taking of another, and another, until even a hundred will not suffice, says an ancient adage. Tameyoshi sided with our enemies from a sense of loyalty. He is an old man and past sixty, an old soldier racked by infirmities. His grandfather was a warrior of great valor who subdued the enemies of the imperial house in the farthest marches, and there are many who still remember his exploits. To condemn Tameyoshi to death will surely kindle the hatred of those who remember his grandfather. As we judge, so also shall we be judged. It grieves and alarms me to think that harsh measures carried out in the name of the throne will only add to those barbarities we already see around us. Are not mercy and an all-embracing love the substance of the imperial prerogative?"
Someone laughed. It was Shinzei.
"What's over is over. Today is today. The task of government is to deal with the present. Sir, you give us fair words, but are you not aware of what is happening around us today?" he asked.
"If we spare Tameyoshi, how then are we to deal with the pretender to the throne—Sutoku? If instead of sentencing him to death we banish Tameyoshi, who can say that he will not marshal an army in the far provinces and once more march against us? Did Kiyomori hesitate to put his uncle to the sword? Is it just to make an exception of Tameyoshi and his sons?"
A malicious smile played over Shinzei's features all the while he spoke and watched Masasada.
"The Police Commissioner tells me that Lord Yoshitomo has given Tameyoshi asylum. Strange and improbable as this sounds, if proved true, this would be a flagrant violation of an imperial decree. Indeed, the honorable gentleman proposes that we be lenient when I already consider him deserving of the death penalty."
Shinzei flung out his last words savagely. Since the end of the war his authority had increasingly come to the fore, and the general realized that he had no chance of winning out against Shinzei.
Masasada later summoned Yoshitomo and told him of what had taken place at the council. "I advise you to act with great discretion, otherwise you may expect the other captains to attack you in your own house."
Tortured by remorse, Yoshitomo reproached himself for not casting his lot with his father's. His trusted retainers Masakiyo and Jiro soon saw what was going on in their master's mind. Not only they but the other retainers who had shared Yoshitomo's triumphs grew fearful at the thought of what might happen to him. It was likely that he would not only be ordered to behead his own father, but be stripped of all his honors and outlawed.
After two wakeful nights Yoshitomo called Masakiyo and Jiro to him and spoke with them.
Toward evening of that same day Masakiyo and Jiro brought a litter outside Tameyoshi's room and said: "There has been very disturbing talk about you, and our master is troubled for your safety. He has neither slept nor taken food these several days in his anxiety. There are some unbelievably malevolent persons at the Court. Because of them it seems advisable for you to go into hiding somewhere in the Eastern Hills, and we are to accompany you."
Tameyoshi rose to go with them, and turning in the direction of Yoshitomo's room, he raised his clasped hands. "Truly, it has been said that there are no treasures more precious than one's children. Only my son would go to such lengths in his solicitude for me. Such magnanimity cannot be forgotten. I shall remember this to the end of my days," Tameyoshi repeated again and again with tears.
Toward dusk Tameyoshi's litter was carried out by a rear gate and borne through the oncoming night. The bearers seemed to follow a road other than that leading to the Eastern Hills; and when they finally were outside the capital in an open field, Tameyoshi found that several of Yoshitomo's housemen had arrived and were waiting with an ox-carriage.
Masakiyo nudged Jiro, who frowned and waved him off, muttering:
". . . You do it. I cannot."
Masakiyo shrank away irresolute and called to the litter-bearers: "Aah—you there, set down the litter. . . . Sir, we are now outside the city and still have some distance to go; will you not take the carriage now?" And he came close to the litter. He drew back to give Tameyoshi room to step out, tightening his grip on his sword as he waited. Jiro suddenly spoke from behind and nudged the hand on the hilt.