Authors: Eiji Yoshikawa
Tokitada's sprightliness lightened the gloom of Kiyomori's secluded life; he provided a responsive listener for Kiyomori's confidences; more daring than Kiyomori, he also had bookish leanings, which Kiyomori lacked; possessed of a retentive memory, Tokitada's discernment often left Kiyomori speechless.
Kiyomori was strolling listlessly to the stables to look over his horses when he heard the cheering twang of bowstrings and turned his steps toward the archery range. An arrow hissed by and transfixed the center of the target with a sharp snap.
"Well done!" Kiyomori cried. Two figures swung round and faced him smiling: Shigemori, his ten-year-old son, and Tokitada, who was giving him lessons in archery.
"What do you think of Shigemori's shooting?" Kiyomori queried.
"As you see, he does very well, but—he doesn't seem quite able to shoot straight, nor to have enough strength. Temperament, probably."
"He's still young, Tokitada, and his bow is small."
"There's no denying that. A man's character, however, shows in his shots. Did you never hear of Tameyoshi's youngest son?"
"I believe I have."
"That lad whom Tameyoshi found so headstrong—I saw him at an archery match when he was eleven. He had a powerful bow even then and shot an arrow so deep into a mound of earth that two men together could not pull it out. Yes, he finally became completely unmanageable and caused his father a great deal of trouble."
Kiyomori laughed aloud. "Tokitada, you must be speaking of yourself."
"I? No, no, I've given up cockfighting, and haven't been in a brawl since that time at Gion. That taught me a lesson."
"No need to give up so soon, Tokitada. I hear that the Nara monasteries are again rioting, though Mount Hiei has given us no trouble since. I fear that one arrow hasn't been enough to cure them of their fighting."
"And that reminds me that at the end of last August, Tameyoshi of the Genji took his soldiers down to Uji and succeeded in turning back several thousand armed monks who were on their way to the capital. Since then the Court, I hear, has shown him much favor."
Kiyomori's envious look drove Tokitada on to greater volubility. "I also hear that the Minister Yorinaga is encouraging the Genji and plans to appoint Tameyoshi chief of the Guards while you and your father wait out the term of your penalty."
Kiyomori's slight frown betrayed nothing of his feelings, but the quiet surface of his days was ruffled. Just then Heiroku, the retainer, appeared to announce that Oshimaro, the armor-maker, was waiting to see the master. Kiyomori, who welcomed any visitor who would relieve the tedium of his days, quickly turned back to the house.
"I have come, sir, on the matter of the armor you ordered," the humpbacked old armor-maker said gruffly. His armor was said to be unequaled. Every strand of the armor-threading and each metal plate was assembled with matchless skill. Kiyomori, who had heard that the crotchety old man demanded astonishingly high prices and was particular about his customers, had ordered a suit of armor with a design of cherry blossoms worked into it. The armor was almost finished.
"The leather has been dyed to your order, sir, the plating finished—the thongs, leather camail, and greaves—everything is ready, except the foxskins you promised me. Now what do you wish me to do about that, sir?"
The old man used the skin of a freshly killed fox to reinforce vital points in the armor; Kiyomori, when ordering his armor, had promised two skins on whatever day the armor-maker named. The fur was to line the shoulder-guards, the skirt of the cuirass, and the underarm pieces. There was a secret to boiling the glue with which the uncured skins were attached to the armor; the glue required more than two days of slow simmering over embers and was then applied immediately to the skins, which, if they were not ready at hand, meant that the glue would have to be thrown out.
"I don't know how many days I have waited for you to appear, nor how many times the glue has gone to waste," the old man grumbled accusingly. "If any common skins suit you, it would be quite easy. If you are satisfied with such armor, there are plenty of armor-makers to please you, and you might as well order yours elsewhere."
"No, no! I'm sorry. Don't be angry—I beg you not to be so angry, my good man," Kiyomori remonstrated. "I sent my housemen out hunting several times, and each time they came back with badgers and hares, but no foxes. This time I shall go myself. Now —let me see, hadn't we better set a day?"
"And leave me again in the lurch?"
"Hmm—no, not this time."
"I don't mean to boast, but you must understand I can't leave the boiling of the glue to an apprentice or my wife. There's a secret to regulating the fire, stirring the glue, and watching the pot come to a boil, and I must spend two nights and days with my soul in the task, watching that pot. Then—no skins! The glue thickens and has to be thrown out. You can understand what a rage I am in by then."
"No, this time there'll be no mistake about it. What about the evening of the day after tomorrow? Just about dusk when the lamps are lit, I shall come without fail to your house and deliver the skins to you myself."
"You mean you will do that?"
"I would not leave it to anyone else now."
"What if you go back on this promise of yours?"
"I'll pay a fine in copper or anything else you ask for."
The old man shook with laughter and slapped his thigh. "Good! You are after all Lord Aki, who shot at the Shrine. I take you at your word. I'll go home and start right away on the glue, and look for you at dusk of the day after tomorrow."
On the following day Kiyomori took his favorite bow from its case, restrung it, and then went down a passage to look for his wife. A maidservant said that her mistress was busy in the weaving-house and offered to fetch her, but Kiyomori waved her aside. "If she's in the weaving-house, don't call her, just get out my hunting clothes."
Wearing his leather hunting trousers, a quiver slung at his back, and bow in hand, Kiyomori stopped at the weaving-house which had been built at his wife's wishes. There were two looms, space for dyeing vats, and embroidery stands.
Tokiko sat at her loom while her children played happily about her. She was proud of her accomplishment and enjoyed clothing her family in cloths of unusual design, for which she had often been complimented.
"Why—why so suddenly?" she said, leaving her loom. "Who is going with you?"
"I'm going alone. It's better for me to remain as inconspicuous as possible just now."
"Surely you should have at least one of the young serving-lads go with you."
"No, I shan't be going to the hills, and I should be back by sundown. What of that length of cloth you were going to send Shinzei's wife?"
"It has been dyed and the embroidery finished. Wouldn't you like to look at it?"
"Never mind, it won't be necessary since I have no eye for such things," Kiyomori replied, and departed by a rear gate.
Kiyomori had heard indirectly that Shinzei alone had spoken in his defense. Since then he had come to regard Shinzei as an ally and recently became friendly with him. When Tokiko suggested sending one of her finest cloths to Shinzei's wife, Lady Kii, Kiyomori had warmly agreed to the plan.
Kiyomori had often heard that foxes were seen inside the capital as well as beyond the city gates, but now as he looked about him he saw nothing but the silvery plumes of tall grasses stretching across the autumn fields. He spent the whole day walking through the fields, and at evening turned home footsore and empty-handed.
The next day it drizzled fitfully, but by noon the skies cleared. Tokitada, who had heard about Kiyomori's lack of success, urged him to remain at home, and made preparations to go with Heiroku.
But Kiyomori protested: "Oh no, when I saw you and Shigemori practicing with your bows yesterday, I suddenly felt a longing for mine—a kind of fretting for it from long idleness, I suppose."
As soon as Tokitada and Heiroku left, Kiyomori himself set out. This time he scoured the region outside the northern gates of the capital until sundown. He walked through the tall wet grass until his trousers were soaked through and his clothes damp to the armpits. He, floundered over boggy ground, through water-filled hollows, and over hillocks thick with hagi blooms, until a pale mist began to descend over the scene. A faint rose still stained the western sky, and a sickle of a moon hung in the indigo above him.
"Not a fox in sight—only birds winging their way home—and yet they say that the barking of foxes can be heard on these autumn nights," Kiyomori muttered.
In the distance he caught the gleam of a light in a field-watcher's hut. He pictured to himself the glue bubbling in the armor-maker's house, and the thought of disappointing Oshimaro made him feel a little desperate. He regretted his rash promise to bring two live foxes to the armor-maker at sundown.
The fields about him were now bathed in a deep blue light. As he turned to retrace his steps, there was a quick scuffling at his feet in the thick undergrowth; something crossed his path with a bound and vanished. Kiyomori instantly fitted an arrow to his bow, when another shadow slipped almost between his feet and disappeared with a rustle. At once he set out in pursuit of a vanishing tail; following it from grass-clump to grass-clump, he suddenly came on a fox squatting rigidly in a hollow; its eyes were fastened in paralyzed fascination on Kiyomori's arrow. He drew his bow. There was a low snarl and a disagreeable odor assailed his nostrils. He looked closely and saw more than one fox; two furry bodies were huddled together there. A pair of fiercely gleaming eyes were now turned on him. An old fox with a brindled tail bristled at him. The vixen, half-concealed by her mate, crouched with her claws showing, snarling deep in her throat as she watched the hand on the bow with terrified eyes. She was scrawnier than the fox, more like a wolf; the bones of her shoulders jutted out, her fur was lusterless, and her belly stuck to her ribs. Kiyomori looked again more sharply and saw how she shielded a young cub under her. They might have escaped to safety had it not been for her young, Kiyomori thought. Three—what luck! For an instant he considered which to shoot first. The full-drawn bow creaked. A phosphorescent glow seemed to emanate from the trapped pair, and they gave out a weird moan. The fox crouched threateningly, with desperate courage, while the vixen arched itself more closely round the cub.
Kiyomori's arm suddenly felt nerveless. "Ah, you pitiful, pitiful creatures! Beautiful family! Nobler far than stupid men . . ." he cried softly to himself. What was he doing here with his arrow? Cornering these creatures? Armor—an armor to brag about! Save his dignity before that armor-maker because of a promise? Foolish ... foolish! If the old man jeered at him, why should it matter any more; a common suit of armor would do as well! Armor did not make a man, nor did it signify valor.
"Dumb creatures that you are, how magnificent! Sorrow, love —parental love incarnate! Were I that old fox—what if Tokiko and Shigemori were trapped like this? Even the beast can rise above itself—could I as much?"
Kiyomori swung his bow round and let his arrow fly at a single star that shone in the darkened sky.
A movement like a gust stirred the grass at his feet, and then all grew still. He looked down; the foxes were gone.
On his way home Kiyomori stopped outside the ragged hedge of the armor-maker's house. He shouted at the humpbacked figure moving across the path of light cast by a small lamp: "Good man, good man, I want no foxskins for my armor! Use anything you like. I'll explain later on. Come tomorrow and penalize me in whatever way you will."
The pungent odor of boiling glue rose in the air as a humped shadow came out on the veranda with a steaming caldron. "What! You don't want your armor? What did you mean by that promise of yours? I tell you I've stayed up for two days and nights like a fool, boiling this glue! So you shot at the Shrine as a joke, did you? So I was mistaken in Lord Aki! Do you think I will make armor for anyone that has made a fool of me? I refuse—I absolutely refuse to do any work for you!—Here, you wild dogs, come and eat this stuff!"
The vessel of hot glue suddenly flew through the air and dropped at Kiyomori's feet. Steam and the smell of glue choked him and he turned on his heel and made his way home glumly.
Soon after, in November, the ban against Kiyomori was lifted, and he returned to his duties at the Palace. A few days before this happened, however, a visitor appeared at the servants' gate, begging tearfully for a word with the master.
"I have no right to ask to see Lord Aki, but . . ."
Oshimaro, the armor-maker, was shown into the house. His humped back was bent over even farther, and he refused to look up. "My lord, I beg you to forget my hasty words that day—the caprice of a foolish old master craftsman—" Beads of sweat broke out on the old man's wrinkled brow.