Authors: Eiji Yoshikawa
"It will do you no good. We received an injunction from the Court this morning, and have orders to behead you by four o'clock this afternoon."
"Eh—!" As Tadamasa rose unsteadily to his feet, protesting: "N-n-nonsense! Impossible!" Tokitada leaped at him and both men crashed to the floor struggling. Some warriors who were waiting outside quickly crowded into the room with ropes and secured Tadamasa.
"Call my nephew! Bring him here—Lord Harima! What does he mean by deceiving a helpless old man?" shrieked Tadamasa, but the door was nailed to and a guard placed outside, while Tokitada quickly departed.
Kiyomori spent the morning alone in his apartments; he reminded himself of Shinzei's words, but his heart remained heavy.
"Brother, it has been accomplished."
"Ah, is it you, Tokitada? What has he been snarling?"
"He clamored most vexingly. An odious old man for one so near his end."
"Had I known this would happen, I would have shown no pity and had him bound on the spot. He would then have got off lightly."
"Not so. You must remember that this is Tadamasa of the Heike. There is no question of his guilt."
"Have you seen the warrant that just arrived from the Court?"
"Yes, I have seen it. The execution takes place today at four, on the riverbank, a short distance from Gojo Bridge."
"To think that I agonized all night over Tadamasa, and now the order is to behead his three sons as well! Those are Shinzei's wishes."
"No worse than what we went through during the fighting when our sandals were soaking with blood."
"That was quite another matter. Different altogether."
"This, too, is war. What makes you think that the execution ground is not also a battlefield?"
Tokitada's bluntness was more heartening than Shinzei's specious reasoning and quieted Kiyomori's distrust of himself.
"For a nap, then. It's still several hours until four. Tokitada, hand me that box over there."
Kiyomori lay staring at the summer sky; from under the curving eaves he saw how the clouds raced across the face of the sun, throwing the world into abrupt shadow and then into dazzling light.
Public executions had become a daily occurrence since the war's end, but the common folk showed no sign of tiring of the spectacle. A motley crowd now swarmed on both banks of the Kamo above Gojo Bridge. Arriving officials, who viewed the executions as a salutary warning to the rabble, made no move to drive off the multitudes who kept coming in spite of the lowering skies. Fierce gusts whipped at the black and white strips of screening drapery marking off the execution ground and threatened to tear them away; a few heavy drops of rain fell.
Three youths sat submissively in a kneeling position on rush mats placed at equal distances apart on the edge of the river. Near by, a coroner dispatched by the Imperial Guards, and jail officers who had completed the necessary arrangements waited for Kiyomori and Tokitada to appear. Their arrival soon created a stir among the gaping crowds. Kiyomori dismounted and walked down toward the river, exchanging civilities with the waiting officials; following him came Tokitada, flanked by warrior escorts and leading Tadamasa on a rope. The prisoner was ordered to take his position on a fourth mat. Suddenly the three youths started to their feet crying: "Father!" The rope that bound each prisoner was secured to a stake, and jerked the three violently backward or threw them sideways to the ground as they sprang up. The sight of his sons caused Tadamasa to assume a fittingly paternal air and he admonished them:
"Calm yourselves. We must be resigned. This is a bitter moment for me; none the less, I am thankful for this unlooked-for chance to see you all once more. This was decreed by our karma.
Tadamasa's voice, now hoarse from noisily resisting his captors, rose to a rasping shout. "Listen, my sons—this is but the warriors' lot that brings us to die here like this, yet we have not fallen so low as that beast, that ingrate, Kiyomori! What wrong did we commit in being loyal to our sovereign lord? We never forgot his favors. . . . Look at him there, the same Kiyomori I knew of old. There is an ingrate, if ever there was one! What reason have we to feel shame?"
Tadamasa glared at Kiyomori, who was now seated at a table. Kiyomori glared back and said nothing; his eyes fell at the sight of one so close to death; the color drained from his cheeks, leaving him ashen.
Tadamori suddenly lashed out at Kiyomori. "Yeh, Kiyomori! If you have ears to hear, then listen! Have you already forgotten those faraway days when Tadamori was penniless and could scarcely feed you even the most niggardly gruel, and sent you many a time to me to borrow money?"
Kiyomori remained silent.
"Do you remember how you came to me on those bitter winter days in your ragged robes, like a beggar, with your tales of woe? Have you forgotten that you wept as you wolfed down the cold food I gave you out of pity? How I laugh to think that that starving devil is now the great Lord Harima! Let bygones be bygones, but what's this—betraying your uncle, who befriended you in your youth? So you call yourself a man who have bartered my head for more favors from the Court?"
“…”
"You fall short of even the brutes! Answer me—you—if you can!"
“…”
"I thought not. How can you? So you intend to behead me—your benefactor—your father's own brother? . . . Perhaps it was fated by my karma. So be it, then. I'll recite no prayers, but say the name of Tadamori over and over as I wait for the stroke."
Tadamasa's voice rose to a hideous shriek: "Here, now, strike!"
The clouds overhead grew thicker, casting a heavy murk over the scene. There was no sun by which to tell the hour. Thunder mumbled at a distance; the surface of the river grew choppy as a cold wind tore along the river front hurling sand and spume before it, and flinging the screening drapery to the ground. Though hardened to executions, the officials huddled in a group as though cowering from Tadamasa's rantings. The sharp sting of raindrops, however, seemed to rouse them.
"Four o'clock, Lord Harima—perhaps even past the hour."
"Oh?" Kiyomori received the announcement with a dazed air. With great effort he came to his feet. As he stood up, Tadamasa's eyes rolled upward and then sideways, following Kiyomori as he moved toward him.
"Tokitada—the sword."
Tokitada, who followed a step behind, unsheathed it. His eyes sought Kiyomori's white face with a look that said: "Which one?"
"That end."
A youth's face shot round at Kiyomori's pointed finger. Kiyomori glanced away quickly.
"Hurry, Tokitada—don't flinch," Kiyomori urged.
"This is nothing," Tokitada murmured. As he spoke, an odd sound like the squelch of a wet cloth struck the ears of the onlookers. In that same moment the sword flashed and dripped blood.
"Ah, Naganori, they've done for you!" Tadamasa cried. Another head fell with the same curdling sound.
"Tadatsuna! Ah, Tadatsuna!"
The cry mingled with the rumble of thunder overhead. Tadamasa's voice trembled to a shriek as the sword descended for the third time, but in a fumbling stroke. Tokitada suddenly looked up dazed and searched the faces about him with a numbed stare.
"Here, Tokitada, what's happened to you?"
"Water—give-me water before I finish the last. Everything went black; my hands lost their nerve. . . ."
"Coward! The blood's sickened you. . . . Here, let me do it."
Kiyomori's temper flared. He strode the few steps up to Tadamasa and stared coldly at the face turned up to him. He felt drained of all feeling and seemed to float in a white void. The core of his brain was like ice, so cold that it seared him. The sound of a short laugh startled him, until he realized it came from his own lips as he stood over Tadamasa, gripping his sword.
"Tadamasa of the Heike, is there anything more that you wish to say? I'm to give you the death blow."
"Hmm—see if you can," Tadamasa hissed defiantly, throwing back his head as though to stave off the last moment. Instead of exposing the nape of his neck, he sat up rigidly, arching his chest. "I never did like you—not even as a child, Kiyomori— you! I now understand why; it was a premonition of this."
"I believe you; nor have I ever detested anyone as I do you."
"As snow to ink—so unlike are we, uncle and nephew. You win. I die at your hands and nothing could be more galling than this."
"Bitter as this may be to you, this, too, is war."
"Not war, but fate. Your turn comes next, Kiyomori."
"No need to wait for that. Now, are you ready?"
"Don't hurry. One word more."
"What's that? What more have you to say?"
"Truly, the resemblance is unmistakable. There's no mistaking the spawn of that evil priest."
"What priest? What?"
"Your sire."
"Whomsoever I resemble, I had no other father but Tadamori."
"Come, come, Tadamori's first wife, the Lady of Gion, herself told me that you were not his son, nor that of the Emperor Shirakawa. The truth is that she had you by that debauched priest who was her lover . . ." Tadamasa babbled on.
"A curse on you foul-mouthed . . . die!" Kiyomori swung his sword. It flashed white, cutting clean through Tadamasa's neck.
Splattered with blood, Kiyomori stood motionless, his dripping sword at rest.
Lightning flashes darted before his unseeing eyes. Thunder crashed. The cloth screen flapped wildly. The ground under his feet seemed to roll.
"You fool! The more fool!"
"Madman! Brute!"
"You fiend!"
"You demon incarnate!"
This was not the voice of the thunder, but the howls of the crowd, their rage unleashed by the hateful sight of one who had put his four kinsmen to the sword. A shower of stones fell about Kiyomori, but he made an attempt to escape. A heavier rain of missiles struck his armor, his face and hands, from which blood now trickled. The cries of the multitude were drowned in a crescendo of roars. Kiyomori's attendants galloped into the crowd, which quickly melted away before the drawn swords. But Kiyomori continued to stand stonily near the four headless corpses. The rain now swept in white sheets over the lone figure; blue-white lightning flashed obliquely across the lifted pagodas on the Eastern Hills. Yet he stood motionless in the drenching rain, his sword drooping before him.
"My lord . . . my lord."
"The officials have left, sir."
"The crowd has dispersed."
"Your duty has been accomplished with no mishaps."
"It is time for you to leave, sir."
Kiyomori's soldiers crowded about him anxiously, impatient to be off, but he turned away from them and climbed the embankment; in the softly falling rain he lifted his eyes toward a break in the clouds and murmured a prayer. Then he called quietly: "Tokitada, Tokitada!"
The troubled faces of Tokitada and the soldiers cleared at the sound of Kiyomori's usual level tones. A rainbow arched the evening sky. An evil dream seemed to have dissolved, and Tokitada came forward leading Kiyomori's horse.
Taking the reins from him, Kiyomori spoke over his shoulder: "Stay here, Tokitada, with four or five of our men. Take the four bodies with care to the burning-ground at Toribeno. I shall go home and keep vigil tonight. I leave the interment to you."
That night Shinzei received Tadamasa's head. Korekata, the Captain of the Right, brought the four heads from Rokuhara to the waiting Shinzei, who inspected them by candlelight.
"Very well." He nodded, and listened to an account of the execution, of Tadamasa's last moments, of Kiyomori's conduct, and of the delays.
Shinzei suddenly laughed aloud, slapping his thigh.
"So that was what happened, and there are exceptions to the saying that the condemned die penitent. There are not too many like Tadamasa who die bitterly protesting their entrance into paradise. As for Kiyomori—a white-livered fellow. It's a wonder that he fought as he did at Shirakawa."
On the following day Shinzei summoned Yoshitomo and in his usual deliberate manner said: "Sir—Master of the Imperial Stables, Lord Harima brought in his uncle's head last night. A most exemplary act. . . . And, by the way, have you had any reports of one who has shown himself an even more dangerous rebel than Tadamasa? I mean Tameyoshi of the Genji, who directed operations against us."